Warning: Stream of Consciousness Ahead

Dear gnat currently flying around my face and elbow, bugger off. You itch. XOXO, Claire.

Question: How do you feel about blogs maintained by people who are obviously not real, e.g. Schrute-Space, Dwight Schrute's blog, or the Bob Loblaw Law Blog? I go back and forth. The only one I read like it's a real person's is Barney Stinson's. Because Barney Stinson is a real person. Speaking of real persons whose blogs I read, I recently read pretty much the entirety of Things I've Bought that I Love (which Mindy Kaling hasn't updated since Tuesday, April 08, 2008--not that I'm bitter; I still want to be her when I grow up and finish my thesis) despite the fact that I cannot afford 87.668% of the wares that she flaunts for the sheer joy of sharing information, and the other whatever-percent of wares are just soooo urban and I'd prefer to flaunt them on that day when I actually finish my thesis and become a yuppie.

(Warning to men: If you don't understand the significance of a Marc Jacobs shoe sale, you will, very likely, not respond to Mindy's rhetoric so maybe you shouldn't even read it.)

Observation: My baby sister is surprisingly sophisticated and astute. She has proved herself as more than a mere force to be reckoned with in Jenga, more even than a second vote in the "Should we go shopping or save gas and stay at home?" debate. I say this not only because she tends to agree with me on very important topics like the futility of the middle school relationship, the superiority of classic Converse All-Stars, and everything about The Office. I realized today that she has interesting and valid opinions in her own right, and I happen to agree with those. How refreshing. This is my sister, as we discussed the merits and faults of stubble on guys:

"I think stubble is very mysterious. You have to think, 'I don't know what he was up to yesterday, but clearly it was so interesting and time-consuming that he didn't have five minutes to shave.'"

I never would have come up with that, but I'm saving it for when I write my Better-Than-Friends sitcom. (It won't be, but that's what I tell myself.)

Dear gnat, what the heck? We've been off; no more trying to caress my face with your little feeler limbs. I will slap the crap out of you, you hear? XOXO, Claire.