Must... have... coat

This one's from two nights ago, so the deets are a bit fuzzy: I flew into New York and was planning to take the Subway to a movie theater to meet Anna. The train didn't have a clear explanation of what stops were coming up, and I was concerned I was in the wrong one. Just to be sure, I stayed in one a stop longer than I should have. I had to cross the tracks to back-track, and then I realized I had no idea what train number I had been on in the first place, and the train I got on could very well be headed someplace else entirely. I took the risk and went one stop. I walked and walked through the tunnels, before coming to a grand, carpeted staircase lined with movie posters. Anna was waiting for me.

I was in DC, I think, again to visit Anna. I quietly put my bags in her apartment (she was sleeping) and went into a mall area that was attached. Most of the stores were closing down, but Anthropologie, where I really wanted to be, was still open. I browsed through the sales rack and considered buying sweaters even though it was summer. Then I saw it. The most perfect coat I had ever seen in my life. It was a combination of my two winter coats-- thigh-length raspberry red felt with a hood and toggle closures, and thick enough to withstand Minnesota winters. I checked the price. It was $100 off-- down to $44.50. I knew it had to be mine. Anna came into the store and I tried on the coat for her. She agreed. It was perf. So I whipped out my credit card.

Sites and trains

I'm hanging out with Perez Hilton, the gossip blogger, and charming his socks off. He's about to hire a cadre of employees to help him run the site while he takes on various other projects. I'm applying for the animal reporter position. "You do understand that I would be writing pure snark because I'm not a huge animal fan, right? Is that OK?" I ask him. "OK??? That's PERFECT!" he said.

I'm in Paris with my parents. We're trying to get to a castle called Rouilly, which is near the Bois du Bologna. I'm getting frustrated with trying to direct them, because they don't believe in my metro navigating skills. And, unfortunately, I've left my guide book, along with the Victoria's Secret bag containing a bottle of water, a jacket and an umbrella, in another train. I was pretty sure the guidebook said the castle was only open from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Saturdays, and it's nearing noon. I manage to find some information about it on a map in the station, but just says it's open from "Atlantic time to Pacific time." Does that mean three hours? My parents decide it means all day. I have frequent freak-out fits at them. I tell my mom to remind me to call my friend Marcy that night to hang out since she lives in Paris. I'm worried I'll be too tired to call her.

Hair power

My brother was chasing me up Spirit Mountain. It was an evil, dangerous chase, not a fun chase. I had a hair dryer in my left hand and a brush in my right. I raised both above my head and began to float up and over the mountain, but they couldn't power me enough to rise very high. Jake managed to wrest the brush from me and raised it over his head. He started to float, too, and wasn't very far behind me. The city was spread below me like candy-colored Monopoly hotels.

I ran into George Clooney. I knew Julia Roberts was going to be in town, so I pressed him for details. He brushed me off. I knew in my head that he wasn't interested in talking about it because he was gay.

I was in my boyfriend's dad's apartment. He had a hot tub that had a mattress cover you could zip on to make it a bed. There was a toilet attached in the corner of the unit (it had separate piping and everything; it was just modeled that way). "I could live here," I thought.