BONJOUR, voici les thoughts of the jour garcon, mettez your bras dans le air.

I'd like to state for the record that the previous blog was about Carey Mulligan. I have seen none of her work, and I only know she is cute as hell. I do not have a crush on Shia LaBeouf or fantasies about fighting him naked on a mountainside.

During the winter, I always get sick of the cold and the grey, and I get all excited for the warm weather to come back. Every year, I somehow manage to forget that it isn't all sunshine and unicorn farts, and it gets grey and rainy and dull and depressing in springtime too. Arghghhrhh.

After seeing Emma Stone in Superbad and Zombieland, I thought she was super hot, and checked out her IMDB page to make sure that she was, you know, an appropriate age for me to be having inappropriate thoughts about (yup I'm sleazy, deal with it). Turns out she is. But after examining numerous photographs of her, I've concluded that it's unfortunately entirely possible that she'll kind of look like Fergie once she reaches Fergie's age. So even though 68 is a long way off for Ms. Stone, it does kind of ruin everything.

I don't like being around high levels of cynicism and negativity, if I can help it. I usually can. It doesn't even make me feel sad anymore; it's just really tiresome. Above all else, I hate being bored. I think most people do.

Tonight, a man on the subway projectile vomited, spewed all over the wall and some seats. His buddies leapt up in order to dodge. It was only about 9:40 pm. My first instinct was to glare at him for being GROSS, but then I realised, I have been there. I have been the gross subway guy. Except not at 9:40 pm, and I'm fairly certain that my friends took care of me. I don't remember if they had to dodge my friendly fire.

Somebody left some Babybels in my fridge. I love Somebody.