I like most people who have April birthdays, or I like to think that I like them. Let me rephrase: I have this strange fantasy in my head that everyone I know with April birthdays would be good friends if we all hung out with each other, even if I've never actually spoken to some of those people. Oddly, I'm only now realizing how ridiculous that statement sounds.
The weather has been so poetically perfect lately. It's that time of the year when daytime may be slightly too warm, but when the sun goes down, the night is just perfect. You can walk around outside in shorts and not freeze, or even be uncomfortable, for that matter. I wait for weather like this to listen to certain music. Some music just sounds better with certain seasons. For example, Bon Iver fits best with winter, in my opinion, whereas The Weepies is perfect for mild sunny days. Spring calls for sounds like Iron & Wine, Ingrid Michaelson, Jason Mraz, Emiliana Torrini, and basically anything with a guitar.
Last night I had two dreams involving burglary and murder. One right after the other. The scenarios were similar in plot to that movie "When A Stranger Calls." Then, I dreamt about one of my friends eating at a restaurant by himself. THEN, I dreamt I met up with a kid from a music program I did last summer and his parents were there. Why did I meet his parents? I half-think that all dreams, or at least the ones you dream consecutively in one night, are related in some way. I bet the reason I saw my friend eating alone was because I had recently talked about that with one of my other friends. Not the friend himself, but eating alone in a restaurant. I can't bring myself to do that. When people play the "Never Have I Ever" game, I should list that as something I've never done, although it's in no way sexual or even interesting. But it's true. And I think more people do that than they let on.
To expound on the area of uninteresting topics, springtime beckons the completion of a litany of unsavory tasks. Grownup tasks. There's nothing I enjoy more than doing taxes and filling out FAFSAs.
Lady Gaga is coming to Oklahoma City this summer, and the ticket prices have exposed my lack of dedication that I regrettably bragged about having. Last time I checked, the cheapest ones were $138. The highest was something ridiculous like $350. I would like to take this opportunity to make it clear that I am NOT that big of a fan. Sorry, Gaga. You inspire and fascinate me, and I love you to pieces, but I can think of much better things to do with that money. Like buy your CDs on iTunes and your weird line of sparkly earphones.
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