I'll go as slow as I can

I had a dream last night that Charles grew to be as big as a panther, but he was very gentle with me. It was just rather unsettling to have an animal that large wandering around the basement. Speaking of Charles, if I'm home, he follows me wherever I go. That's not normal for a cat, is it? Usually, they wander around and do their own thing and only bug you when they want food. But if I'm upstairs, Charles is upstairs. If I'm downstairs, he's downstairs--usually trying to bite my feet. His favorite place seems to be the ottoman next to the fireplace, but he only hangs out up there if I'm not home or if I'm in the living room. This morning, he followed me all the way up to the bathroom, and he was sitting in the hallway waiting for me when I got out of the shower. And I had just fed him before I even went to take a shower. What a weirdo.

Did you know that slow is considered an adverb sometimes? It has something to do with the way Old English was originally structured and how it developed into modern English, so we can say things like "drive slow" or "breathe deep" and only give hives to crazy grammarians. I learned this senior year with Dr. Chaika, but I forget exactly why this isn't technically incorrect. Still, "drive slow" gives me hives.

You know what I love, though? When people form comparative adverbs the way you would form most comparative adjectives. Like wet becomes wetter, so quickly becomes quicklier. No one ever does that seriously, so that's why I like it. It's funny. Quicklier doesn't even sound that wrong, because it sounds like the comparative form of the adjectives that end in -ly, like lovely to lovelier. I think I actually heard this quicklier on a television show, and I wish I could remember where, because I adore it.

I still can't find out if the Shakespeare reference is in the original version of The Neverending Story. This is making me upset. Even with my German illiteracy, I think I'd be able to figure it out if I could get my hands on a German copy of the book. Or I could just ask my good friend Heidi Klum to translate for me, which I am only saying because Runway is tonight, and I have to remember to set up the DVR, because once again, I am working. Effin' retail. I thought I'd even taken tonight off, but...apparently I did not. It would be cool to be friends with Heidi Klum, though, don't you think? God, that woman is gorgeous (and I don't even go for blondes--I feel like I've said this before, about somebody else: Katherine Heigl, the girl who made me gay. Okay, um, maybe I do go for blondes...), and she's hilarious. Seriously, I don't care if the contestants are allegedly boring this year or whatever: Heidi and Tim are still awesome.

Speaking of Katherine Heigl, the girl who made me gay (I think that'll be her subtitle from now on, like Diana, Princess of Wales or whatever), I finally watched Knocked Up the other night, and it was really good. It sucks that Izzie is so goddamned stupid now that I can barely even like her anymore. Oh well. Sara Ramirez is hotter than Katherine Heigl, the girl who made me gay, anyway. And I've slacked on the Grey's watching again. It may take another montage set to Brandi Carlile to get me excited to watch the show again--and I even wrote that post about how I kind of liked it this season. Oh well.

Aw, crap, I totally missed the latest lesbian antics on Shot at Love last night. I'm, like, totally over tv apparently. Or doing anything that isn't sleeping when I'm not at work. Seriously, I'm so excited for tomorrow, because it's the one day this month that I don't have to work at all. Also, mashed potatoes. That's my favorite thing about Thanksgiving. Eff turkey and stuffing; all I need are smashed up taters. I still kind of want to know what went down with trashy-ass Brandi, though. And if I can tell cutie-pie Dani to call me yet.

So last fall, when I was unemployed, I went a rampant search for books about girls falling in love, and I found a big pile, but there were really only two exceptional ones: Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden, which I think every teenager should read, and Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg. I would like more. A lot of them were, you know, good; a few of them were dismal. Rubyfruit Jungle was especially grating--I think because I just wasn't stomaching Rita Mae Brown's rather brash writing voice. Or something. But the main character, Molly Bolt, was heralded by somebody as the gay Huckleberry Finn, and she's not. Huck is a much more sympathetic and interesting character. Wait. Is it weird that I sympathize with a ten-year-old boy more than with, you know, a college-aged lesbian trying to make her way in the world? Whatever, I wanted to be Huck and Tom when I was a kid--they always got to run around barefoot and get into mischief, and Huck got to go on that awesome raft ride. Whatever. I'm secretly a hick. Don't tell anyone. That does explain the mysterious country music affinity, though, I guess. And I was totally with Tom in his little-boy courtship of Becky Thatcher--you know, I was picturing myself as him, not as her, especially when they were lost in the caves together. When I was twelve years old. God, I am so gay.

So! Gay books. Find me some. I'm tired of looking. Peace out, internet!