Monday, March 17, 2008; 2:46 PM
baby I can make you feel nice

It's becoming a trend how I'm starting each new blog entry with some sort of scream, haha.

I'M BOREDDDD. I spent all last night emailing out applications to different companies and so far I've gotten two replies - I got rejected from one (which doesn't really matter because I wasn't so interested in it anyway) and another one says they will get back to me so that's good. Now I just need to burn multiple CDs and snail mail them all over the place.

Otherwise, I am bored. It's another 40 degree day and I'm lounging around my computer watching YouTube videos and blaring Britney Spears out my speakers.

Last night I dreamt I went to this really posh, large, rich barn to ride and they had dozens of different arenas of different footing and sizes, their own streets with stalls, hundreds of staff and was just so posh and incredible. But there was no traffic control and cars don't turn on their headlights at night which makes one doubt the safety of the horses. The place which caught my attention the most was the stables, beautiful and wooden and rustic, warm with good lighting and plenty of hay and the unmistakable smell of contented horses. There I got my ride for the night - a tall handsome bay gelding called Fleetwood Mac (where have I heard that name before?), who was handed to me by an equally handsome, strapping Irish stablehand with hair the colour of straw and deep blue eyes. Our eyes met and we talked and he was arkwardly charming whilst I resisted the urge to chant, "Tiddllee tiddly potatoh!" and then I cantered Fleetwood Mac out to the dressage arena over the cross-country course, which was large and a beautiful violet under the stars and we did canter pirrouetes and perfect piaffes in the large sand arena with floodlights. He was an amazing ride and would jump anything. His canter was akin to that of a Grand Prix dressage horse, smooth and balanced and he was attentive and soft.

I proudly told anyone I could that I was from Blinkbonnie, and no matter how posh and awesome their barn is, nothing beats the warmth hospitality of Blinkbonnie. When I returned Fleetwood Mac to the stables, I helped the sexy Irish stablehand untack and groom, and he was apparently captivated by my radiant beauty and kissed me tenderly in the stable, underneath the lights, beside a steaming horse and flying bits of hay. It was very romantic.

When I awoke I was slightly disoriented, wondering why I was in my dark little room instead of a sweet-smelling hay loft with a cozy little bunk and a stablehand who's scent was akin to that wonderful comforting smell of horse with hair the colour of straw and deep, blue eyes gently ravishing me, a lantern burning on the floor. It felt so real and I lay there for a moment or two as reality sank in, then I realized I read too much Flambards and Dick the stablehand doesn't exist outside of the fictional world.

Then I felt a little guilty towards McCool for having such a magnificent dream and focused my brain towards the scent of sandalwood instead, which made me feel a little appeased.

Mmm. Back to being bored out of my mind! Will edit with Sketch of the Day later if I get round to it.

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