Modern Romance

The other night I went to the temple.  Upon arriving, one of the workers asked me if I was alone, and where my priesthood leader was.  I admitted that I didn't have one; he admonished me to "pray harder."  Um, like I don't already know that.  Good thing tomorrow's Fast Sunday. 

Speaking of men, the other day, I was aided with my car wash by an attendant who looked strikingly like Daniel Craig.  I did not mind, and then I went and saw Skyfall.  Then today, my vegan banker looked like a taller James McAvoy. What is this. 

At work:
Boss: Is this the only thyme we have? The fresh kind?
Me: Yeah, that was all that was in the walk-in.
Boss: What about the older stuff? Don't we have any older thyme?
Me: You mean, 'the past?'

I went and saw Anna Karenina this week. (Don't even get me started on the costumes, the music, Mr. Darcy's mustache, or Count Vronsky's cheekbones, please.)  Before the film began, they showed a preview for "Les Miserables" that I hadn't seen before and, of course, it was soooo good. As always, I got the chills and I wanted to cry but also smile and laugh and tell people all about it because not only was the music to die for, but the actors! the story! France!  I was clenching my emotional fists in excitement.  Sometimes when I see something that good, that right, that excellent of an example of art that makes me feel such a reaction, I don't even know how to respond.  I almost want to absorb it into myself so I can be the art and it can be me and all of that art-ness and good can dissipate through my body and actually become a part of me.  But then again, that's also how I felt about the Jonas Brothers concert in 2009.

Since getting Twitter solely for the purpose of following celebrities, all of a sudden, I now feel like I'm best friends with all of them because, obviously, they're giving me [and 750,000 other people] these exclusive glimpses into their personal lives.  But the best part is how much better I feel like I know Josh Groban (JGro, if you will).  His wit, sarcasm, and general curly hair have speedily converted me into a shameless Grobanite.

I'm glad it's Christmas time, but I'm even happier that now it's that last sacred month of the year where popcorn is sold in five-gallon tins of deliciousness, veritable triumvirates of happy holiday snacking.