Tuesday, March 29, 2005

I'm Tired of Rumors Starting

There's a rumor (mostly spread by me, and Brad, and some gossip blogs) that Lindsey Lohan is filming down the street. I was tipped off this morning by the dozen eighteen-wheelers full of lights and miles of electrical cords being unloaded up and down my block, a process supervised by several walkie-talkied, extraordinarily stylish production assistants.

I probably would've gone to investigate during lunch even if I didn't have an actual reason to leave the building, but as fate would have it I need to buy a birthday card. Since I have an errand to run that necessitates my walking past the movie shoot, I'm free to gawk at Linz's knockers like every other red-blooded American citizen drunk on Access Hollywood, safe in the knowledge that my alibi will protect me from harsh judgment by my co-workers.

I need to buy a card because today's my littlest brother's birthday. (A happiest of happy birthdays to Chris, by the way.) Would it officially make me the coolest sibling ever if I got Lindsey to sign his birthday card?

Although, with my luck it's not another teen romantic-comedy they're filming at all. It's probably an episode of Law and Order: SVU, or something. Getting "Raped Kid #2" to sign the card doesn't hold quite the same allure.

Chris is turning sixteen, which is utterly unbelievable. I swear to God, he was playing with Thomas the Tank Engine fifteen minutes ago. Now he's legally able to operate my vehicle. (Note to Chris: legally, yes. If you value your life at all: not a finger.)

(Joking. He's allowed to drive my car as long as I'm in it.)

(And he's in the passenger seat, and I am driving.)

Chris's birthday, the sudden spring weather, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs album I'm listening to nearly a year after I took it out of regular rotation, and the distinctly collegiate smell of the laser printer right behind my desk all have me feeling very, very old. I suppose it's a good idea to kick my own ass into realizing almost an entire year has passed since I graduated college, but come on, a whole year? How is that possible?

It's not that I'm getting all Bryan Adams, those-were-the-best-days-of-my-life on you, it's more that I can't believe how quickly a year can pass sans virtually any interesting events to mark its passing. I used to wonder how the hell someone could work a single desk job for thirty years, but I get it now: they sat down. They blinked. Then someone was handing them a piece of retirement cake.

I could marvel at the poetry of Time for another couple hundred words, but I'm going to cut myself off. If I look like I'm thinking about anything too deeply when I meet Lindsey she won't want to be my best friend, or put me in her movie, or introduce me to her friend Ashton who's looking for something, let's say, a little more ripe for the pluckin' after a year of, well, let's call it "preserves."

A dusty, cobwebby jar of old, old preserves.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Gashton Gutcher said...

her name is spelled lindsAy. so disrespectful. you're gonna wake up tomorrow to a horse head staring you in the face, and there will be a note stapled to its forehead that says "why can't you let me live?"

1:44 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/03/29/falwell.health.ap/index.html

i'm starting a rumor now that when that bastard dies next week, the world will be a significantly better place.

11:02 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

I heard about that. My favorite part is that he's in Lynchburg Hospital.

11:10 AM  

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