aspirations...

Aspirations can be strange, holy and pleasant things. When you and the last girl you dated who is now a lesbian/partial lesbian are in her place and climbing on the glass roof to get to the helicopter that's parked next to her glass house it can become epic. Don't let her fall into the moat and it doesn't matter that the helicopter blades will hit the glass when you start it up, you'll still somehow be able to take off safely. Or when you are in some monastery in Quebec talking to Denis Leary about how the Hartford Whalers have reformed, don't worry,  he knows their theme song (Brass Bonanza) you don't have to fret when your phone is stuck in your pocket and you can't play it for him. Or when your friend Caleb is taking pictures of the inside of Gold Medal Olympian Shaun White's small house in Las Vegas where you think you are going to be moving to shortly. Not his house, Las Vegas. They have a nice lake there with boats and other assorted ships. And Caleb is going by Clay Ferfenstein. Actually, I think I just got "aspiration" and "dream" mixed up again. If I had a nickel for every time that's happened I'd still be $4000 in debt (roughly). These are a few of the many reasons why I never became a successful meter maid.