I believe...

in PINK.
I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner.
I believe in kissing. Kissing a lot.
I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong.
I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls.
I believe that tomorrow is another day and
I believe in miracles.
--Audrey Hepburn

Don't you just love Audrey? I mean, come on. How can you hate someone who starts a quote with "I believe in pink?" I submit that it's entirely impossible. And ridiculous. Since this is my blog, I get to be right. That's the best part about a blog. If people don't like/agree with all of the genius that I'm spewing out into the interwebs, they don't have to read it any longer. Also, I get to be a big deal on my blog. This is particularly helpful when I don't feel like I big deal in other places. In short, (bah! the puns I could concoct with that phrase) a blog is a fantastic self esteem booster because a) I get to be right which is one of my all time favorite things and secondly) I get to be a constant big deal. If you haven't caught on already, today I'm in a slightly scattered mood. I really couldn't tell you why. It could be because I stayed up entirely too late watching Friday Night Lights for most of the weekend. What is entirely too late you ask? I'll tell you: 5 am on Friday (or is that Saturday?) and 2:30 this morning. Put your judging eyes away. Have YOU watched it? Then you can't judge. It's kind of awesome. Anyway, it could be that or the decided lack of air conditioning in my house. It's possible that what few brain cells my university education left me are now fried to a crisp.Can I please remind you all how much I loathe hot weather? Blech. I hate feeling like I need to shower three times a day. I change my clothes even more than normal in the summer because I always feel disgusting. I like the early mornings and the late evenings when it's cool out and it smells like Russian Olive trees and honeysuckle. But all that nastiness in the middle? I wish I could sleep through it all in a frigid room. Wrapped in a sweatshirt. Oh the delight. To combat this insanity I plan on going to the Shakespeare festival in Cedar City, which isn't any cooler than Salt Lake, but copious amounts of the Bard combined with a visit from Charisse has a tendency to make me feel slightly less...upset about the heat. In preparation for delightful journey, I'm watching the Shakespeare ReTold version of Macbeth. James McAvoy and Richard Armitage in the same movie? Yes. Yes, please. I don't mind if I do. I'm just hoping that this viewing doesn't lead to insane dreams about attractive Scottish men killing one another. Which wouldn't be pleasant. Well, the attractive men would be pleasant, but the whole killing thing wouldn't be so much a party. My subconscious has a tendency to take things and run with them at a breakneck speed. Once after watching too many episodes of Bones before bed, I dreamed that I was performing an autopsy on my little brother Cole. I woke up in tears. I might have to hang out with the Gilmores before bed to stave off the awful dreams.

(I told you. My brain is jumping all over the place. Don't judge.)