Friday's Fancies (1)

If I can manage to write 2 posts a week that would be great. I sometimes don't post because I want to leave plenty of time for people to see the most recent post. Well I was just thinking let's try for 2 a week and see how goes it. Then I thought every Friday I could post Friday's Fancies, which will be random things I like for the day or just random babble.

Yesterday, Thursday, I created a new Pandora station based on my liking the group Rasputina. The group Cake Bake Betty appeared today and now I find myself hunting YouTube for more. Fancying Cake Bake Betty! I couldn't find much about the group and for now I don't care. I just like the sound. Their lyrics are refreshingly quirky.

At 12:01 this morning (more like 12:17, as for some unreported reason, they were running late) I watched Iron Man 2 with my brothers. Aside from being surrounded by the most obnoxious people I've ever had to be in a theater with (not my brothers, everyone else), the movie was great, better than I expected. I laughed, I cried...wait I didn't cry...anyways I enjoyed myself. I may just see it again.

The entire day I have been sitting at my desk and all my thoughts are in Shakespearean language. Me thinks, Would that I were...Where is this coming from? I know what you're thinking, why is Maddie talking to herself? I sit in office that isn't exactly close to anyone else's desk. What am I suppose to do, have intelligent conversations with my imaginary friend Mr. Bingley? Nah I'd much prefer to muse over things in own mind in a tongue that would cause many people to look confused, may hap I spoke that way out loud. It's not as though Shakespeare and I our close.

The weekend is only 50 minutes away! I work the bookstore tomorrow, you should check us out on FaceBook. Then Sunday is Mother's Day and shame on me...I have nothing yet. I feel like scum.

Quote of the Day

Iago:
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:
But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
-Othello Act 3, Scene 3