In what can only be called a rather karmically interesting turn of events, my old lamp that used to belong to my grandmother and that I've had with me since my sophomore year of college has just stopped working. Apparently, it knew that I was planning on selling it, so it chose death rather than being owned by someone outside of the family. How Shakespearean.

I've never understood why people constantly second-guess you about the silliest little things when you assure them that it's okay. I had two people stop by tonight to take a look at lamps and other fixtures I'm attempting to get rid of, and both saw that I was barefoot so both asked if they should take off their shoes before they came in. I assured them both that it was okay, they could leave their shoes on, but both asked at least two more times if I was sure and that they could take off their shoes if I wanted. Personally, I just enjoy the freedom of being barefoot in my own personal living space, but that doesn't mean that I automatically make people take their shoes off once they enter. If I tell you that it's okay to leave your shoes on, I'm not going to change my mind if you ask me three more times. I will get annoyed, but I won't suddenly change my mind and tell you that yes, you do need to take off your shoes, especially when I expect that you will be in my apartment for less than five minutes.

Sexuality is such a double standard in society. A man can go out and sleep with half a city's metropolitan area and he's considered a stud and is held in high regard among his peers for his "achievement," but if a woman does the same, she's shunned as a slut. In some countries like Japan, it's almost a given that a man has a mistress on the side in addition to his wife, but women can't take lovers in addition to their husbands.

I don't understand why the identity of Elizabeth Hurley's baby's father was kept quiet for so long and why he didn't really own up to it once the information came out. I'm sure I speak for most heterosexual men when I say that if I were her baby's father, I would've come right out and said, "Yeah, it was me! I'm screwing Elizabeth Hurley!"