"Someday my prince will come"
and I'll probably be dancing half-naked in my kitchen sorting cans of spaghetti-o's and harbouring sixteen pounds of plastic butterflies in my hair.
Trust me. This has happened. And when found, I hid behind a wall, then later used a small couch pillow to hide myself. It did not work well, and is still mocked profusely.
Much like the time I threw a whole bunch of rocks at this guy Mel knew -- he got me mad so I started.. uhm, throwing pebbles at him. Alas, I didn't even have a diagnosed mental deficiency to present as excuse. And, yet, I do not regret it. Violence. Yes.
Anyway, if I were to have a wedding, I think I'd have one like this. Only because I'm crazy over Halloween and seeing my family and friends dressed in costume while I take my vows would be the highlight of my life. Especially if I managed to convince my father to dress (once again. Ahem.) in drag, and surprise him by making him do the ceremony. (Have I mentioned before that my father's a priest? Yeah. So, uhm, the power of christ compels you, yadda yadda yadda, "thou art a witch!" and all that. Or, no.)
Of course, this would be assuming I didn't once again perform the fine arts in sweats in my kitchen and spend the rest of my life collecting cats and naming them after dead presidents.
Monday, January 28, 200212:02 a.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
Bored. And restless. Contemplating making card houses.
Today has been rather... slow. I've done relatively nothing: read a book, ate some pop tarts, did some light taunting and then realized the mocking was mostly of myself, and I was talking to myself as if I was not myself. You see? Is it making sense? Yeah.
BORED.
I've been downloading some eighties songs, as I'm apt to do in these times of dullness. Sadder still, at one point I stood in my room and sang along to some DMX. I'm not sure how one can really do that. It was rapping, I was singing. It was like the Odd Couple musical and I was Julie Andrews as a drunk as the disorganized one. DMX was rapping in his corner, telling me he was going to "bust a cap in my ass" if I didn't clean up my pigsty.
I obliged only because the voices told me to. Aaaaaand, nevermind.
I went to see Orange County -- quite good, more later.
For the most part, I'm saving up my lazy energies to sluggishly make my way downstairs later for RoseRed. I like how, specifically, at the website, the gargoyle looks like a mix between Frank Sinatra and Eddie Munster. Nice touch, yes.
I've been busy busy busy with all my projects -- I have the week off for exams though, so I expect to spend my days getting into head-on collisions with my Buick and pasting things into notebooks.
Sunday, January 27, 200207:47 p.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
Thursday, January 24, 200204:29 p.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
Discussing good bacteria, killing yogurt villages
Actually, to tell you the truth, I can't eat yogurt. Its not just the fact that its gross, somewhat lumpy and has a liquidy film of water underneath the lid when opened. Its that I just can't stand thinking of myself eating scores of tiny yogurt villages. As in, General Strawberry-Banana screams at President Berry Mix: "Code RED! The lid is open.. I repeat THE LID IS OPEN!" , and then the Spoon of Death and the devouring as tiny bacteria cultures run for their tiny, microscopic lives...
Horrible, really.
And, I'm finally finished this semester of school. Yay for that. Except, I'm only really finished English -- both Art and Writer's Craft continue yearlong. Next semester I'm looking at possible mornings off.. (my tired, sluggish body would be quite thrilled) and History... I might gut my schedule though, switch it around.. dunno.
For the most part, my brain cells aren't quite all here right now. I'm pretty tired, and almost 80% insane after pointless exam questions.
(Eg, "Answer these questions even though ten years from now you'll be drunk, alone and in the middle of divorce number four and none of this will matter when Ted, the bastard, wants half your stuff and your retro kettle from 1960 so he can sell it naked on ebay.")
Aagh. I'm going for a nap.
Thursday, January 24, 200202:22 p.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
We're having exams tomorrow -- but for today, we're supposed to bring our copies of 'Hamlet' and 'The Great Gatsby'. Unfortunately, I can't find 'Gatsby' anywhere, and I don't think I burned it in a fire ritual involving boredom, some matches and a hell of a mental problem.
Blah.
Wednesday, January 23, 200209:49 a.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
Omens, omens, everywhere
So, today hasn't started off well. "Well" as in.. everything's out to get me. The car, that unmarked van outside, my bloody keys. Its some what akin to Lady Luck bashing me in the head with the Frying Pan of Doom -- if such a culinary marvel existed. Which I'm sure it does, and Lady Luck is using it.
It all started up with my getting out of bed rather late, which meant I got into the car looking like I had seventeen kids and a twig for a hairbrush. Then, as mornings are, it was cold. For this I was well-prepared, but there's nothing quite like that bitchslap of freeze to start off your day, and really, no way to truly prepare for it. I drove my mom to work, waved goodbye to her, kissed her cheek, gave her a list of some more supplies I needed and a trenchcoat with extra pockets in which to carry them. (I forgot thumbtacks, you see. And neon feathers. Stupid of me, really.)
She grabbed her stuff from the back and left, and I went on my merry way, dodging small children; leaning over the wheel and doing thirty -- at the very least I figure people will think I look young for my age. (Which is better then people thinking I'm older. Case in point, when I was 13 and people thought my two year old cousin was my daughter. Or, better yet, when someone thought I was my 85 year old grandmother's daughter. Thats right. Because she had me at 60. She's a wild one. ANYWAY...)
So, I'm driving -- when all of a sudden I hear a bang and a whoosh of air. Freaking out more then slightly I turn around and see that the back door is OPEN. Aagh. At first I planned to just pull over, until I realized I was on Vicker's in early morning traffic, so I did a dangerous turn and sped into a parking lot. Getting out I closed the door but -- surprise, surprise (enter frying pan) the door seems to be broken. Hooraaaaaaaay. I managed to get it locked and closed, but I'm pretty sure its thisclose to popping open and attacking unsuspecting pedestrians as I make my unsafe turns.
And, since I'm already a little freaked out about that, I get to the intersection, close to my house and my driveway and big bottles of Scotch, when I rub some sleep from my eye and WOW, it goes into my eye and STINGS. Since when does sleep sting? Apparently since I woke up this morning and omen abounded. So I made the turn with one eye closed, ensuring that I looked like a drunken pirate, and came fairly close to the pole.
Turning into my driveway, I was so happy to be home and in serious contemplation about how the bloody hell I was going to drive the death car to school. Still seeing out of one eye like a one-eyed bandit I laughed bad depth perception in the face and ran up the stairs, took out my key, put it in the lock and... IT BROKE.
Fer chrissakes.
Not they key, though. But the keychain. Which, to be sure, isn't as bad, but still, I'm sure not a very good sign at all. Plus, it was my favourite keychain. The one with a picture in it of me and some friends looking like bedraggled cheerleaders and a girl we knew for a day but kept trying to hug us. And it being the carnival, of course, said keychain cost the equivalent of my college fund.
If my college fund were $12.00.
Which, in fact, it is.
The moral of the story is -- there is no moral. For the most part, just watch out for Buicks on unlucky mornings.
Wednesday, January 23, 200208:56 a.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
A Beautiful Mind
I just got back from seeing A Beautiful Mind. To use the cheesiest line I've ever used, if such a creature existed, or hadn't been stown away in a top secret vault never to be seen or heard from again, "It wasn't a movie, it was a religious experience." Yes.
Russell Crowe was awesome, even if occassionally I couldn't take my eye off that "friggin' pimple in the middle of his goddamn eyebrows". And Jennifer Connelly? Y'know, the chick from the Labyrinth (starring David Bowie, and in tights yet! But that being another story, and this not being it...).. ? Most excellent.
Among my "cultured" film list, it ranks pretty damn high. You all must see it if you have the chance. And I know the address to the Internet Yellow Pages. Beware.
And of course, Alicia and I nearly accosted the woman ahead of us who said, "God! I fell asleep 3 times in there! It was soooooo boring."
After Alicia beat her with her handbag several times and we fled the scene, we reflected with snobbery on the uncultured masses, adding a "fer chrissakes, you cad, read a freaking book!" in between sips of our brandy, puffs of our cigars, and ogles of our youthful butlers, as being both snobby and sexually repressed, we are apt to do. Or do anyway.
Must, you, go, see, now. Now now now.
Now.
Tuesday, January 22, 200210:11 p.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
Raiding supply closets like Dr. Carter
Weird. My phone just rang, and I know it was Mel, because I know things like that, but I think either I hung up on her, she hung up on me, or my phone is bugged.
Excuse me while I grab some radar-blocking tinfoil.
Pitas has been worse then a deadbeat dad lately. Seriously. If this doesn't post I'm quite prepared to go Social Services on its figurative ass.
I've been working extrenuously on my poetry book for art-- so far its sucking. I went to my mom's kindergarten room today and raided the supplies, sneaking out past the janitors as inconspicuously as possible, colourful felt and sparkles slipping past my jacket and leaving a glittery trail of evidence behind me.
"No, no, Mr. Janitor. I always carry googly eyes and giant wads of string with me. Call it paranoia. Who knows when I'll need it?"
Like now, for instance.
I'm hoping this whole art process is going to cheer me up a bit -- school and blah blah blah is crashing together into one big mound of disgusting "personal problem" bubblegum. Its been solidifying under my proverbial desk for some time now, and its threatening to attach itself to my hand and grow like the thing that ate Tokyo.
I guess it all comes down my friends... and "their"... changing-ness. Its like, one minute she was Michael Jackson, and the next she was a forty-year old scary white woman with short pants. The metamorphisis is a little shocking... and annoying.
The end result, as always, seems to be "anal-ity". (Use it as you will.)
More on that later.. but for now, BLAH.
Tuesday, January 22, 200205:30 p.m.
listening to; Across the Universe / Fiona Apple
reading; Obernewtyn by Isobelle Carmody
..::: - & - :::..
Wisdom: Forever mocked by the evil, brilliant mind behind computer solitaire.
