See, this is the thing: I still do not get the fascination with Maroon 5. They're just not very good and I don't understand why all the kids on the street think they're all awesome and shit. So they don't suck as much as Good Charlotte. So the band members are all deliciously attractive in their own indie kid white belt sporting ways. So the hurt, staccato vocals in the above-referenced song are so dead sexy that I am rendered into a speechless, blushing, open-mouthed pile of warm apple pie every time the video plays on channel 472 or the song comes on the radio or I think about it when I'm working on blog content or uh I oooh....
Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be back in a second. One second.
Okay, I think I'm seeing the attraction.
As you all know, this weekend heralded the advent of Spring which is a silly name for a season, don't you think? It sounds so commonplace alongside Summer, Autumn and Winter. Le Printemps is way better. Yet another reason why French people aren't totally useless. Okay, back to the weekend and the advent du printemps. After slogging though the depressing morass of the end of Seattle Winter--the grey, the rain, the wind, the endless 40-something degree days punctuated by the occasional, fleeting sunbreak--this thing happened when all of a sudden, it was 65 degrees and I was wearing a skirt without tights and no jacket and squinting into the...the what, the sun, YES, the sun! A shopping trip in the suburbs were taken, by me, and we went to TCBY and ate nummy frozen treats and life was good, especially when I discovered the cache of European candy and snacks at Cost Plus World Market--oh, Hob Nobs and Munchies and Aero and Yorkies, how I love you so...I invite you to stay in my home until such time as I desire to devour your chocolately goodness. The highlight of the weekend, naturally, was the quick jaunt down to Tacoma to visit lovely Heather who looks like Jason's mother. We lunched at the best place in the world, our favorite: The Enchanted Tea Garden. Little sandwiches arranged all pretty on the plates and fruity tea and scones and Devonshire cream and then full bellies and good times had by all.
I don't want to work anymore. I want to go and have high tea in a garden everyday. Is that so wrong?