Fine, Go Then. Well, I am.

I just signed an email petition to block legislation banning email petitions. Discuss.

I haven’t had a spare minute to write anything all day, because of the rush to take care of everything at work before vacation, which was inevitably coupled with the pre-vacation fight about all the travel plans for the vacation. So between getting actual work done and quelling another outbreak of “why can’t we hit Maryland on the way to Tennessee?” or “you’d better burn new CDs for the trip, because yours all suck” and “aren’t those mountains and these mountains pretty much gonna look like the same bunch of mountains?”, I am pretty damn ready to cry. Then again, the thought of not posting anything until mid-August left me a little broody, too, so let me give you a parting thought about, um, Project Runway. What?

All right so, fine. There is someone less intelligent than Angela. Keith. Dude…pattern books? Really? Isn’t that like sneaking a Brittanica onto the Jeopardy set? I particularly loved his histrionics when told he had to leave: ’my career is ruined, I’ll be a laughingstock’, like, maybe you shoulda though of that before you quasi-cheated on cable, yeah? I can still get my hate on Angela, even if she did win the challenge, because we all know that it was Laura and Michael’s tempering of Angela’s “style” that made that outfit all right. The style is more Laura’s than Angela’s anyway: uptown, sleek, cute jacket, something an upscale woman would actually wear. No bedazzled low-cut tank tops or mushroom cloud skirts with snakes coming out of the pockets that we expect when Angela has her full druthers.

Best moment of the night: Laura’s face when she realizes their team has won the challenge. Angela is scarily giddy, jumping all over the sidewalk in front of Macy’s, taking pictures of her outfit in the window with her little digi-cam—and Laura just has this perfect little squinty eyed smile that says two things:

1. Aw shit, now she’s gonna think she can make clothes.
2. Yay, I won.

She’s like a mother on Christmas morning, when her child squeals with delight over her new ballet slippers, smiling at the happiness of the moment while secretly laughing at the kid's dancing ability. There’s nothing she can do but smile and wait—either for the child to realize that she’s no good and give it up, or wait for her instructor to do it for her—because no amount of talking from her will dissuade the child from thinking she’s good at it. That is probably going to be the best Angela/Laura interaction of the season, and I want it on tape, so I can rewind / play / rewind until I wear the buttons down. Hee. Cruel. I love Laura.

Catch y’all on the woodsy side (who knows, maybe my “cabin” has DSL).


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