And I've been thinking (NO!):
Having a corner suite on the 18th floor with incredible views of both Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline is great. Except when some wacko blows a fuse that takes out 12 entire blocks of downtown power and you have to WALK up 36 flights of stairs to get to your room (curse vaulted ceilings), wash your face with water from the melted ice bucket, and read your scriptures using the backlight of your cell phone. RB Stairs what?
You really shouldn't judge people on how they look. You could have a cabbie who dresses like one of Puff Daddy's entourage but really just moved to the US from Nairobi and has an excellent command of English because that's what he has a bachelor's degree in and is now driving taxis to pay his way through Medical School. On the other hand, you could have a cabbie that dresses like Dennis Rodman and has the road rage and Tourettes to match.
It's a good thing I don't drink. For one thing, it uses up way to many tickets at taste of Chicago, and for another, its not funny if you're so drunk at the ball game that you can't find your seat and have to stumble around like a complete idiot yelling "TOUCHDOWN" and spilling Bud Lite all over your equally smashed girlfriend. It's only funny if you fall down. Ha ha ha.
I'm glad I'm not an otter. A five square-inch piece of their fur has approximately 6,500, 000 hairs, enough to cover the heads of 48 people. Can you imagine how long it would take to dry off?
I'm also glad I don't live in the 70s. Not only would I be forced to associate with balding men that probably would kill for that 5 square-inch piece of pelt, but I would be addicted to video games. Pong? Digger? Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy? Bring it on.
Ana Gasteyer was selling herself short on SNL. What a set of pipes. I am in awe.
Why the heck do I have to go all the way across the country to see a girl of seventy-fun? Don't get me wrong, Jena and I had a blast (picture to come) but what the heck's wrong with Utah?
Okay, I'm done.