Smart does not equal serious

Here the thing, er, things:

This blog is pink.

I wear glitter to celebrate.

If you say something especially witty or interesting, I might clap (without irony).

I have strong thoughts on Sean Kingston (angry thoughts, but still).

I bake a lot of muffins.

I saw *I Love You Man* and didn't regret it.

I eat things that fall on the floor.

Until recently, I owned a grape-scented Barbie doll, and when I gave away said doll, it was with a great deal of careful consideration.

I'm afraid of bats, cabdrivers, having too many items in the express lane, and people thinking I'm dumb.

I'm not dumb! Not according to my last IQ test, anyway, although that was in grade 7. Whatever. My CGPA was high! Well, pretty high! I can do math in my head...sometimes.

Ok, sure: sometimes I like dumb things. Sometimes I like smart things, sometimes I like things that you can't intellectually assess (like gum!) Sometimes I *do* dumb things, like thinking I can make my own pastry bag. Sometimes I do smart things, like optimizing my bus route, or writing a good short story. Really, it happens.

I worry sometimes that no matter how carefully considered my thoughts on Thomas Hardy are, people are going to dismiss them because I am wearing rose-patterned tights during the conversation. Sometimes I think that I should be actively cultivating an image, and that image should involve sarcasm and clove cigarettes, or at least fewer hugs and less gum.

But then I have a bad day or someone says something mean or I get a headache, and I think that life is difficult, and we must find comfort where we can. And I for example, am immensely comforted by kittens. Their existance, their fluffiness, amusing pictures and videos thereof.

Friday I discovered I can haz cheeseburger and the LOLcats and it did my tender little tough-day heart a world of good. But I have picked the toughest, dark-angst-ridden artist LOLcats to share with you--see?





Tell me you aren't happier than you were a second ago?

RR