Good Morning

Up until now, I can remember experiencing only two celebrity related dreams. The first one featured a semi-sexual situation with Will Arnett and occurred when I was taking in an inordinate amount of Arrested Development. The second was a bit more involved and entailed Luke Wilson operating on me in a local grocery store after my sister and I made a pact to shoot ourselves in the head.

Last night I drifted into an easy sleep that led me down an unusual path. I awoke refreshed and feeling particularly well and immediately headed out to my little vegetable garden. Standing in the morning sunshine snapping fuzzy green beans from the vine, a series of dreamy snapshots manifested a larger picture in my mind. A nautical themed restaurant, shaped like a boat. Hairless chests on shirtless men. Velvet-cushioned benches. Blinding, grinning white teeth.

I came inside and sat on the edge of my bed, musing and munching my harvest, and there it came to me. A love triangle. Matt Damon. Ben Afleck. And Me.

(I'll Have Myself a) Big Mac Attack

I find myself sitting at Rosie O'Gradys in downtown Ferndale, somewhere I have no desire to be but where, by a series of unfortunate events, Violet has ended up working as a waitress. My plan was to come here and film her undertaking of a "detox" program in which she eats nothing and drinks only a sad mixture of water, maple syrup, powdered cayenne and lemon juice. I thought this would be a good idea when yesterday I picked her up mid-day from our friend Amelia's and she ambled out clutching a suspicious looking grocery bag full of said ingredients. My pseudo-boyfriend Bryan and I looked on with amusement as, in typical Violet fashion, she hastily assembled the beverage, failing not to loudly smack the excess syrup from her finger tips, Susie-Q style (according to her, a main “perk” of the system).

Electronics in tow and ready to take action, I arrive at the restaurant. I sit down and ask Violet how the diet's going. “It's not,” she replies. Less than 24 hours into the program she caved, having been tormented all last night by a sole pastry sitting on the counter at work. The culprit took the form of an apple torte, but she “only ate the insides, so that's not that bad, right?” Immediately after her confession a co-worker appears to accuse her of recently stealing half an order of spinach dip. Five minutes later a large quesadilla arrives at our table and we are swarmed by a posse of hungry waitresses who greedily devour the shoddy fare and trade tales of experience with the Master Cleanse. “I'll pay for that,” Violet assures me, mid-chew.

Despite her break with the system I did end up filming Violet concocting the tonic one last time, complete with unsolicited onscreen input from her waitress friends. Unfortunately, the video is a lengthy and largely uninteresting three minutes. Eventually I do plan on honing my video-editing skills; until then I believe the above image of a confused looking Violet offering her viewers a sampling of the cleanse should suffice in fulfilling your visual needs.

A Typical Exchange