The Consonants and Vowels.

I am a breath of fresh air.

This lack of crabbiness may have something to do with my current location. I am getting paid to sit in Caribou, drink coffee, and write haikus. There may be no better way to spend a quality Thursday afternoon in December (besides sledding with my nearest and dearest neighbor! Shoutout).

I really don't understand the point of asking for things for Christmas when I don't get them. This is the part in the blog where I complain about my life and you skip this paragraph. I didn't get that book to learn Korean, and Barnes and Noble apparantly is against the country of Korea and all pre-med students. Their alphabetical listing of languages skips from Japanese to Latin. Even Latvian has a book, but Korean is nowhere to be found. There are two books on cracking the MCAT. Two. At the university book store, there are no short of five-hundred different books on getting into medical school. So, not only did I not get what I want, I can't go buy it myself (until January 13th).

I saw Holiday (the movie) yesterday, and I have decided that I am moving to England to start my life over. Obviously, I am living on the wrong side of the Atlantic, because my life (as of now) is not exactly a romantic-comedy. Millions of years from now, sociologists will suspect that divorce rates are so high in the "00s" because there were not enough clones of Jude Law ('s character. I guess we can do without all of the cheating-on-the-wife-with-the-nanny). I shall be forever forced to recognize the inadequacies in my personality and ther personalities of others. I am not a bubbly, movie-trailer-making blonde from L.A. who can't bring himself to cry, or a widower with two adorable girls that reviews books for a living. I don't have an english accent. I can't compose music. I don't live in an adorable cottage in Cary Grant's hometown or in an extravagant mansion in the city of angels. I, in the world of Holiday, am closer to the screw-up exes.

So, like I said, I am in Caribou. Of the four tables surrounding me, there is exactly one laptop per person and one laptop per four chairs. Of the ones I can see the screen (three including mine), there are none doing anything remotely productive. I am blogging. The girl immediately to my left is on myspace, and the girl directly behind me is checking facebook. The only one who remains a mystery is the man in front of me. I would say that it's safe to say he's not doing anything, either, because he's on a MacBook (and I'm not sure if I've ever seen anything productive happen on those. They're just too pretty to work on.)

Four people. Four laptops. Eight tables. Sixteen chairs. (Eighteen if you count the two comfy chairs behind me).

This makes me assume that most of the world's population has a laptop, though I am quite sure the children in Ethiopia would disagree. When I was little I used to tell my parents that if the starving children wanted my food, we should package it up and send it to them. Let's just say that thought didn't go over so well. I've always been rather ungrateful, but we'll just say that this was apparantly an unacceptable threshold to cross.

Wait. Another woman has joined the madness. She has taken a seat in one of the large, cushy chairs. She too, with her long, NorthFace jacket and choppy, business-woman, brown hair, has a laptop. She may be doing work, though. I am genuinely impressed. Not everyone in Rochester is living the fabulous life of leisure. (I find this hard to believe). Though I guess seeing is believing.

The truth is that I'm writing so much because I am alone. In Caribou. And I wish someone was here with me, but no one is. And I don't have headphones to listen to music. And I am not a starring character in Holiday! Obviously, I am lacking some form of gumption. (I had to look up that spelling).

A few things that I have decided:
If I could sing, I would write you a Emmy-winning where I dueted with Christina A. to let seventy-five million people know exactly how I feel.
If I could dance, you had better bet that I'd be Ginger-Rogering my ass off for you.
(I bet you didn't even know Ginger Rogers could be used as a verb).
If I was a munchkin, I would setup a guild just for you.
If I was the creator of South Park, I would write an offensive, uncut script where you saved Jude Law from a burning building, but managed to piss off at least one person from each ethnic background in existence.
If I was an ice sculptor, I would not set my chainsaw down for a second while I carved you awakening from a giant clam shell.
If I had a million dollars, I would buy you a green dress
(but not a real green dress, that's cruel).

All because you're the Merideth to my McDreams,
The fries to my happy meal,
The whipped cream to my mocha latte,
The laptop to my life of leisure,
The wordplay to my clever blogging poetry.

Love.