Movie Rants

Currently Listening To: Nicotine and Gravy by Beck
Went to the theater tonight with pa. Out of the eight times I've been to a movie so far this year, it was only the second with him, which is the opposite of how it usually is. Driving has pretty much cut off whatever sort of relationship I had with my parents aside from college/school talk and me hitting them up for cash. And the "Why didn't you call? We thought you were dead in a ditch" convos.

CineBitch has devolved quickly into my awkward relationships with my parents, and how I pretty much am unable to, you know, connect with them at all.

Anyways, back to CineBitch:

• First was the parking dilemma. It wasn't much of a dilemma at first; I saw a spot in the packed lot, pulled in, pulled out, pulled back in again... You get the drill. We were late, so I wasn't exactly careful (though most of the time I just park without any sort of regard for white lines). Anyways, we get out of the car and walk toward the theater. Just before I round the corner, a gaggle of cops I hadn't noticed sarcastically comment to my dad about my parking job. I sarcastically waved back in appreciation and kept walking. But the thing is, nothing's ever that simple for my dad. I kept walking and he didn't. Now, normally, I would have been embarrassed and told him to just scrape the cheese off the burger or whatever. He's a bit of a customer service nightmare. But this time I didn't mind, mostly because my driving skills had been cast into doubt by the authorities, something which hadn't occurred since I failed the driving test. After a bit of a squawk (in which plot twist it was revealed that I was 100% in between the lines), my dad moved the car to another, now-vacant spot. While walking back, he observed these cops watch someone else pull into our old spot and remark about how it was a tight squeeze and everyone was trying it tonight.

DIIIIIIICKS. Seriously. They're paid to keep the peace (which, when they're at the theater, means the pay is coming out of the higher ticket prices), and all they can do is stand in a group at side of the theater where nothing remotely suspicious is going on, then mother guard a small parking spot? Again, DIIIIIIICKS.

• Next, why the hell do we need rent-a-cops at the theater? You might say, "Oh, redneck goth kids are troublemakers". You'd be wrong. They loiter, but that's it. You want to know the verifiable conspiracy at play? The theater owners only get the guards when a movie aimed at a black audience opens. Seriously. All the Tyler Perry movies. Stomp the Yard. Big Momma's House 2. What have you. And I'll be damned if there's ever an actual incident. Again, you might say, "But the kids are on their best behavior because the cops are there!" Wrong again. May I point you again to the rent-a-cops huddled by the side door judging parking maneuvers?
• Finally, how come so many of the movies I've seen this year didn't have endings? Both Cloverfield (x3, one for each time I saw it) and No Country for Old Men left me hanging, meaning that p=.5 when it comes to movies I saw this year not being finished.

The good of today's good/bad? My 90's CDs arrived today: Midnite Vultures by Beck, Presidents of the United State's self-titled album, Offspring's Americana (which Robert bought when he was in like 3rd grade, but the disc has since gone missing), Bush's Science of Things and Spacehog's Resident Alien. I'm still waiting on Beck's Mutations, though. It's all good.

Other than that, I've just been hanging out lately. Learning lots of new things about learning about life. Such as:

• If, in K-Mart, you hear "Code 19 in furnitures", it means that some kids are doing the Lord's Prayer in round at a patio table.
• A scarf and bug eyed sunglasses on a cherub face such as mine are effective in convincing various people that I'm a hot, hot lady. Seriously. Those dudes were totally checking me out at the red light near the hospital.
• I would rather stick my hand into a beehive for 45 minutes than go to a select few of my classes at school. Those classes are also the ones with juniors/non-seniors in them. Coincidence? I think not. Non-seniors ask inane questions and need everything explained multiple times in progressively simpler words. I have grown to loathe many of the juniors in my classes.
• A school wide drug test would cost the school upward of $30k, thus dispelling the rumor that paralyzed our school with fear last week, and which may have started with me (though I honestly wasn't trying to start shit... honest)

Now, bed.

STORY TIME!

Currently Listening To: Odelay (the album) by Beck
Once upon a time, there was young man. This young man had many lucrative career opportunities as a result of his chosen major during his college days. He was in a relationship with a girl who loved him very much, and he loved her too. He lived in an apartment that was reasonably priced, quite spacious and in a great location. He had a very healthy relationship with all members of his family.

The end.

I should become a novelist, what with my gripping story lines?

I love Odelay. It is probably my favorite thing right about now. Things that aren't my favorite include Pad Thai, going back to school tomorrow and Pad Thai in my tummy. Pad Thai is the worst fucking decision I made yesterday. I can only pray that death comes quickly, in the same way that, at least according to the Pet Shop Boys, love comes.

Not Impressed

Currently Watching: Commercials (with men running into each other for thirty seconds every once in a while)
Super Bowl commercials.


Ah.


Some are good, some are great, some just completely fall flat.


And some are astonishingly... "Huh?"


Case in point: Tonight's Under Armor commercial. All I can remember (which is also bad) is at the end, a guy on a balcony was bellowing at a large crowd below, fists shaking in the air, while large red banners with the Under Armor logo flew in the background. Listen, ad execs, your cinema professor in college may have rubbed it off to Triumph of the Will, but most Americans aren't out to appreciate cinematography and whatnot. They see Nazi imagery and think Nazis, and nothing else.

Truly.

And I saw a girl at school on Friday (on our first casual day of the year) wearing a shirt that said "Frankie says relax". Hey, kids, I've got bad news. It's a counterfeit. Frankie say relax, not says. Take it back to Target, or even worse, Urban Outfitters (because if you got it there, you paid like twenty bucks more than at Target and it's still fake).

The Amazing Adventures of Me This Past Weekend

Currently Listening To: Tick Tick Boom by the Hives
So this weekend was interesting.

Scratch that. "It was interesting" is wrong. "Of interest" would be better, because "It was interesting" makes it sound like something bad happened.

Maybe if I stopped trying to describe it through vagueries and instead actually said what happened?

Okay. Friday night. Dane, this guy, that guy, those guys and those girls go to see Cloverfield. For those of you keeping score, that's my third time seeing that movie in theaters, and my fifth movie of 2008. Off to a healthy start. Anyways, it's amazing. We go to Sonic afterwards and I accost many a Sonic employee about how great Cloverfield is, stand on the tables whilst shouting Cloverfield repeatedly and running around while shouting Cloverfield, also repeatedly.

I tend to embarrass my friends a fair bit when we go out.

I guess that's not terribly interesting. What is interesting, you ask? Adrienne, Jenn and I were hiding from Dane (I am a senior and still play a nice game of hide and seek). This was later on Friday night, about 10:30. Adrienne and Jenn run into the girls bathroom. I follow them (a decision I was later asked to defend by a certain school administrator... He told me to not go in the girls' bathroom any more). So we're standing there in the dark in this bathroom at school at almost-eleven on a Friday night. We stand there, in said bathroom, for a few minutes. Hey, maybe a little light action? Sure, lights on. Hey, why not go into the stalls? Sure, back into the stalls--HEY, what are neatly folded jeans doing on the ground at the back wall? Hey, let's get out of here--OH SHIT is that a person in there? Yes, that is a person; a guy, completely naked in curled up in a ball on the toilet in the girls' room.

Naturally, we left. I mean, I don't know why he was sitting there curled up in a ball naked in the dark in the girls room, but at the time, I was less worried about the (I'm sure) fascinating story behind that and more concerned about being raped with a gun. So we left, but waited around outside to see who it was. We ran when the door actually opened, and Dane claims to have seen two fully clothed people walk out, but that doesn't change the fact that we saw one naked one in there.

My theories?

• It was a body snatcher, who proceeded to kill Dane and take over his identity, hence why Dane was so adamant about what he saw.
• It was a Terminator, which explains the nudity. It 'landed' in the girls' room, killing the girl crying her eyes out inside. The Terminator tried to put on her clothes as a disguise, but they didn't fit, so he folded them neatly and waited for someone else to come. If he's the Robert Patrick/T2 type, he possibly could have, again, killed Dane and taken his place.
• It was some child who just had a horrible and traumatizing experience and just needed someone to talk to, and we're horrible people for leaving him in there. And he killed Dane and took his identity.

Don't ask me why, but I think something happened to Dane up there. I mean, there was a considerable gap in time between us leaving and him meeting up with us.

Please note that that story, save for the aliens/robots/murder, is 100% true.

Seriously.

I also saw Atonement last night with Claire, which was AMAZING, as well as my sixth movie this calendar year. Go see that movie NOW.

Astonishing!

Whiners, Diners, Shriners

Currently Watching: The Daily Show
Some people have a lot of nerve. Actually, most people have lots of nerves. Apparently, we're born with them! Surprise, surprise. But some people have even more nerve. So much so, that they don't do schoolwork. Well, often times, neither do I. But these people always have some excuse up their sleeves. Oh, I had such and such commitment.

Er... That vague-ery seems to have been so vague that I now have no other ones. I mean, "commitments" are really their only excuses, but they've got wide ranges.

And I'm sick of it.

I mean, do you homework, or don't. I don't want to hear about you doing this or you doing that. If I do my homework, I get a good grade. If I don't, I'm fucked. Sure, I feel pissed off when I don't have it, but I won't put up a fight. These kids? They'll whine all class long. Listen, I know we've all got our shit. Some more than others. But you signed up for that shit, knowing the shit would shit all over your other shit. So drop that shit, cause I'm tired of your... shit.

Shit.

I really want to go back to that diner we went to after the Hot Hot Heat/Louis XIV concert. I had a Greek omelet, and it was amazing. I would do anything for another.

Well, not anything. But I'd really like one.

Sorry, no Shriners.

Dream Journal Part Infinity

Currently Listening To: You Owe Me An IOU by Hot Hot Heat
So I had another bizarro dream last night.

One of my teachers came to live at my house. It was fine, because she happens to be a likable, human-ish teacher (if that is even possible). But then one day, we're sitting at the dinner table, and she suddenly puts some lines of coke on the table. But the coke isn't white; it's that almost-black shade of gray, so it looks like gunpowder. In fact, it might have been gun powder. And she didn't seem to mind, nor did my dream brother, who looked nothing like anyone in our family and was my age. And we lived in an apartment. In fact, it was the apartment my brother took me to when I visited him at school. So I guess you could say we were living in a flop house.

That's pretty much it.

I've had dreams in the past, too. Read about them. I promise you might not be disappointed.

Hey, I saw a concert on Friday. Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, and Editors. SWEET. We were front row (general admission+getting there early=YES!), so I pretty much was closer to Steve Bays and Tom Smith than I am to my math teacher on a daily basis.

And my dream of seeing Juno was dashed yet again. Adrienne and I left school early on Thursday and drove 30 (thirty) (!) minutes to go see it at the nearest theater at the 3:15 showing. The 3:15 showing that was listed on their website. As in, the theater's website. Let me say that another time. The theater's website said 3:15 PM on Thursday. We get there. At 3:15. The doors are locked. Excuse me? We knock on the glass. After a while, a theater employee shows up and... Long story short, they don't show movies before four on school days. So... They're showing it at four, right? WRONG. In two hours, so we can't go. Bitches.

And in other news, I'm watching the Terminator show on FOX right now, and they've got a commercial for the movie 10000BC. That's funny; I didn't think the good people at FOX believed the earth was that old.

Can We Get This Straight?

Currently Watching: South Park
I DO NOT RUN ON DUNKIN'.

The commercial says, "America runs on Dunkin' Donuts." No. Wrong. Do you know who eats donuts? Fat people. But not me. So, fat people, excluding me. Anyways. Donuts. Fat people. Ever see a fat person run? No. They can't. And they've got a stick figure on their little logo. Seriously? Fat people eat donuts, and conversely, donuts make you fat. Instead, they should have a big bubble figure waddling while reaching (and NOT GETTING, because fat people have been statistically shown to never reach their dreams) for a donut.


AND THAT IS NOT THE PROPER SPELLING. IT IS DOUGHNUT. I don't care what you say about dictionary this, widely-accepted that. It's doughnut. It's through, not thru. Night, not nite.

And you know what's worse? Futurama, probably my favorite show except for Heroes and Big Love and South Park and the Simpsons, is now on Comedy Central. This should be great, right? RIGHT? They're known for playing the same ten episodes of funny syndicated shows ad nauseum, which is great. Unfortunately, it isn't funny any more.

I can't explain why. I don't know what's the reason. It's the same episodes (though apparently there are new episodes), but it just isn't funny any more.

Fuck you, Comedy Central.

I told Dane, and he asked an interesting question: If South Park was shown on Adult Swim rather than Comedy Central, would it be a lot funnier?

The answer? Yes.

Why? Ted Turner.

.

..

.

I kid.

I kid.

It Is 2008

Currently Listening To: Ma'am, Trim Your Mustache by My Communist Penpal
I was driving to the mall (of all places) today when I suddenly realized, "It's 2008." While this may seem obvious to most, and therefore moronic on my part, it's not the changing of the calendar date that caught me off guard. It's the fact that it is now January 2008.

I graduate in May 2008. Let's do some math: January is the first (1) month. May is the fifth (5). 5-1=4 (we'll round up since I graduate at the end of May). FIVE months until I graduate.

NOT ready for this.

But you know what I am ready for? SEEING JUNO NEXT WEEK! WOOO!

I'm excited. Can you tell?

ANNNND to make this mindless bit of daily minutia a bit more tolerable, some bitchin'.

First, let me propose my new idea, which I plan on sending a letter to some sort of linguistic authority concerning: Get rid of participles, at least in their current form. I came to the conclusion that this change had to be made when I used the word "fucking" in such a context. I think I said something about hating this fucking ______ (I'm drawing blanks, bear with me). Someone made a joke about it being a ______, but with fucking. This really, REALLY pissed me off. BUT, this confusion could be avoided if there was a new part of speech, wherein I would have said "I hate this fucken _____". Replacing "ing" with "en". It's brilliant. Nay, I am brilliant. Just send me a check for a billion dollars now, Oxford University.

It was a really piss-poor joke, I swear, thus warranting a new part of speech.

Guess you had to be there.

And, in tin-foil hat news, colleges supposedly look at applicants web activities? I must look like a fucken prat.

And then there's this ID at the theater nonsense. Last week, Bob didn't have his (the guy just had surgery, for God's sake) and they weren't going to let him in. I tried to bail him out, telling the ticket-taker, "Oh, well he's my older brother" (I had an ID). Then my brother pulled some Jedi mind trick shit and pointed at his Virginia Tech hoodie, stared the guy in the eye and said, "I'm in college." It worked.

Then I went with Dane tonight to see Walk Hard. He has some free pass deal, so we go a fair bit. Anyways, I left my wallet at home (I just had surgery, for God's sake*), and the dude at the ticket counter gave me a really hard time about it. But being the brilliant masterminds that we are, we got tickets to the Golden Polar Bear Fight, but instead of seeing that, we walked into Walk Hard. We are so smart. We should tell other people about our little trick. In the future, other kids could use it instead of the ol' buying tickets to movies they don't want to see and then seeing aforementioned movie they don't want to see.

*Well, not really. I'm just forgetful.

Car Bitch

Currently Listening To: Painted by Numbers by the Sounds
So yesterday was less-than-stellar. It was a half day (and our last day before Channukah break), which is fine, I suppose; we don't ever do anything on half days, so I would have rather slept in, but whatever. So I went to school as usual (though I did get to leave much later because of no advisee meetings and no homework to do). The usual-ness ended right when I was getting to school, though. The steering wheel on the Shit Wagon jerked to the right as I was getting off the highway, leading to me taking out the guardrail, going down into a ditch and then coming up the other side. Clearly, I was delighted. At first I thought I had blown a tire or something (two of them were looking pretty flat yesterday, but I put air in them and thought we were cool), and I also thought that I had knocked the axle out of place, so when I called my parents, I told them the car was done. Fortunately that was not the case. I would feel like a huge dick if I killed both the washing machine my parents had had since before my older brother was born (which I did do, back in September) and the car we've had for ten years (which I erroneously thought I did) in a three-month period. But some people stopped to help and I got the car out of the ditch and off to school. I got the whole "mom-thinks-I'm-dead-in-a-ditch" thing ironed out, got my knees to stop shaking and went on with my day.

I used to hate driving. Then Robert left and I needed a way to get around. I began to love driving. Then I realized that my car is living on borrowed time, and that realistically, I should kiss the ground every time I get somewhere to thank God for not killing me. My car is "Final Destination". It is a "Saw" trap. If forced to choose between driving 45 miles to school every day in it or sawing off their foot, most people would choose the latter. It's bad.

AAAAAND the new Batman trailer, which, I watch pretty much every day, is out. I swear, if I drove the Tumbler, none of this would have happened. I would have taken out that guardrail, then taken out this, then taken out that creek, then taken out the school and gone home, which I very likely would have taken out as well. I wish I were Batman.

PS: If you don't like what I say about you on here, either A) stop reading, or B) change, as I have no intention of stopping how I feel towards your behavior or whining about it on the internet.

Back of My Neck Gettin' Dirt And Gritty

Currently Listening To: Summer In The City by the Lovin' Spoonful
This, along with Blue Monday, may rank among the greatest songs every. I mean, there are songs I like, and then there are truly great songs.

Dane has driven me around considerably as-of-late, and we usually listen to that song, driving through town on a freak-out.

Just thought I'd let you know. Not really much to say beyond that, except that a certain someone is a colossal bitch, and I get the feeling she's just putting on a show. I know people who drink, and I know people who smoke, and they aren't nearly as in-your-face about it as she is. Screaming and yelling about how you just have to have nicotine... I'm so sure. I've seen her at other times when she's said she hadn't smoked in a while and she wasn't all bitchy like that. Truth be told, if I had been driving, I'd have left her ass on the side of the road.

But that seems to be more of a recent development. My tolerance for putting uo with bullshit has fallen to about zero. I actually did yell at her at one point last night, and at a kid in my econ class, and then about econ during econ. I'd say it's a sign that I'm growing up, but it's more of growing down, because I'm becoming less mature as time goes by.

Dumb

Currently Listening To: Better Already by Northern State
It may be really cocky to say this, but, well, I definitely think (so would that mean I know?) that I am bigger than high school. Above it. Whatever. Busy work, dress codes, internet filters, time-wasting this-and-that... I'm done with it. I mean, I'm not done with it; that won't be for about six more months. But mentally, I've moved past the point where I feel comfortable having people tell me that I lack the intellectual capacity to dress myself and occupy myself.

I'm also done with grades. Specifically, teachers putting in one grade that, at the end of the term will be meaningless because of all the other grades, but right now is my only one in the class, meaning that, once more, I am failing Spanish. I can't read ye olde poetry in English. Reading a poem written in ye olde Spanishe? No sir. So of course, I got a "What's the deal here?" when I got home, resulting in a "go to coach class." Teachers love to use that as a conversation-finisher, but the truth is, 9 times out of 10, coach class isno help whatsoever. Most of the time I get straight up ignored. Either the teacher prefers certain students in the class, or doesn't seem to care at all about the students in a given course. But still, "Why weren't you in coach class?"

High school is dumb. It only took me four years to realize it.

I'm Not An Inmate, I'm French, Damnit

Currently Listening To: Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex by CSS, which, I might add, I downloaded two weeks before I saw the iPod commercial.
And now I'm listening to Living in America by the Sounds, which, by the way, isn't about how awful America is, you ginger dope.
Ah, driving. I love to drive. It's probably the most relaxing thing I can think of. Except, of course, when other people get involved.

• Bitch in a Lexus riding my ass. Just because your car is sleek and sexy and fast doesn't mean you should try and hitch a ride on my bumper. Sleek, sexy and fast mean nothing when your grill is in my backseat.
  
• Passengers touching my wares. Just put it in the back, okay? No need to snoop. Last thing I need is anyone find my five bricks of coke and extensive German pornography collection.
  
• A certain other driver messing with my seat, mirrors and radio. He's shorter than me, so why is the seat pushed back? The radio's always both off and turned down. PICK ONE. The mirrors? I guess that's forgivable. But the rest? Not at all.
  
• Cops hiding with their lights off trying to pull me over when it's pitch-black outside and I almost hit them because my right headlight is out. Pretty cut-and-dry. Let's keep the lights on, Biggun.
  
• People on cellphones, or texting, or putting on makeup. I would say, "Can't it wait?", but most of the things being said over those calls and texts are usually pretty inane, so I'd advise those people to just forget it. Same goes for the makeup; you look like a hooker. That's not a good thing. Sure, Jesus rolled with a hooker (or more? I've never actually read that part... or most parts of the Bible. Just what we read in Church), but that's not the same.
  
• Radio DJs droning on and on and on and on, and when they DON'T PLAY DAVID BOWIE ON THE RADIO in the mornings. That man is the only reason I can even muster up the strength to get in the car each morning to go to school, and when I don't get my Bo, I can't function.

And in other news... Today must be the anniversary of Michael Richard's racist outburst, because they're talking it up on CNN right now. That's rather ironic because the episode of Seinfeld I saw on TBS today had Kramer falling asleep in a tanning bed and walking around in blackface. Hmf.

And I got some sexy, sexy shoes. I need to find a camera. I mean, seriously, I've never been so obsessed with shoes, but this pair is special. Magical, perhaps?

This Movie Really PIST Me Off

Currently Listening To: Out of Control (State of Emotion) by Kenna
It's a horrible pun, but I thought of it during the movie (at a point when I still liked it!) and almost died laughing.

Anyways, I saw the Mist. I love Stephen King, I had just read the Mist (in its <200 page glory) and was working on the Stand (which I have now completed all 1200 pages of), so laws yes, I went to go see it. It was quite faithful to the book as we merrily rolled along through a misty day in Maine, and still somewhat faithful through the second and third days of mistiness in Maine.

Then, of course, there was the ending.

LAWS YES, the ending, which I will reveal below.

M-O-O-N, that spells "Frank Darabont what the fuck were you thinking when you made the Punisher murder his son, his lover and the geezers in the backseat, followed thirty seconds later by him finding out he didn't have to?"

I know people say this every time EVERY TIME a book is adapted into a movie, but the book ending was SO MUCH better, and it would have worked! I guess not-so-much in a narrator-free movie, but they could have just shut the projector off when the car ran out of gas and we would have gotten the same effect. Instead, Americuh prevails and a man, after 2 hours and change of courage, turns into a coward who shoots everyone else but not himself.

BOLLOCKS.


'Course, I got $20 out of it. My dad and brother were positive ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE that Ms. Carmody was played by mom #1 in Big Love, but I knew, deep in my heart, it was someone else.

The War on Thanksgiving

Currently Listening To: Black Tongue by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
I went up stairs a while ago. I was craving ham (there's a large ham in the fridge; I don't know why it is there but it is delicious) so I went up to the kitchen for a ham 'n mustard sammich.

I was greeted with Christmas music. The same Christmas music that has been playing since the first weekend of November, a mere two days after Halloween.

It's no surprise that my sister is playing her music so loud that you can hear it in the kitchen. It's also no surprise that she is playing loud music while watching TV on a high volume. I've come to terms with that which I must endure if I want to live in this house.

But Christmas music? This early? The Christmas season starts on the Friday after Thanksgiving, not the day after Halloween. So I should be good for not hearing Wham! complaining about what he gave his bufu buddy last Christmas and won't be giving him again this year for another week. Instead, I am hearing Wham! complaining about what he gave his bufu buddy last Christmas and won't be giving him again this year.

People should have more respect for Thanksgiving. It gives everyone an excuse to be fat. And there's stuffing, which is the best food in the world. Seriously. My last meal before they put me in the chair will be a five-course meal of stuffing. First, a stuffing salad. Then a stuffing soup, followed by a stuffing filet with a side of mashed stuffing coated in stuffing gravy. For dessert, stuffing pie. Then the waiter will hand me my bill and a stuffing mint. So yeah, that's why I like Thanksgiving. And because I don't have to hear people bitching about this-or-that about the holiday (war on Christmas, Halloween is evil, Valentine's Day is BS, et cetera). Though I ought to remind everyone that it's a secular holiday, so all the church signs about Thanksgiving are a tad misinformed. Yet no one is running around like a decapitated chicken bemoaning the forgotten spirit of Thanksgiving.

So I'd like to take this time to thank my sister for destroying an American institution, and to give her the bird.

I'm really just complaining because I hate Christmas music. I find it annoying and crappy and corny even on Christmas morning.

And I suppose people do bitch-n-moan about the Indians at Thanksgiving and this stuff about genocide and whatnot. Genocide? More like, stuffing-get-inside. Mmmm. Stuffing.

Another thing about my sister: she's annoying. I get sick and tired of this maligned-middle-schooler crap. We get it; being a suburbanite is tough, what, with her fancy clothes (did I mention that last year, on the day after Thanksgiving, we went shopping as a family and she spent somewhere in the range of TEN TIMES as much as I spent?) and spending-every-waking-moment-on-facebook-listening-to-Christmas-music loud-and-watching-MTV-on-my-parents'-HDTV. Middle school girls are bitchy? Heard it all before... WHEN I WAS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL. I'm quite glad that chapter of my life is over, and I don't plan on reliving it until my children are in middle school, which, considering I don't even have a lady-lover yet, is quite far off in the future.

She was in high-horse mode last night. My dad had just gotten back from a business trip (to Mexico... sounds suspicious) and was giving out the souvenirs he got. For my sisters and mom he got some Mexi0-jewelry, and my youngest sister and mom were going through it to split it up when the whiny sister says, "I'll wait because I'm grateful." A few minutes later, she said something to the effect of "You guys take and the cute stuff and leave me the crappy stuff."

Bitchy to the MAX!

Oooh, now I'm angry. I'm probably going to stop driving her to school. She can find her own damn way. I didn't get driven to school until I was a freshman, why should she get special treatment?

Driving Hell

Currently Watching: Futurama
"When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all." - God

"I was God once." - Bender
"Yeah, I saw that. You were doing so well until everyone died." - God

I love this episode of Futurama so much; really more than anyone could ever begin to grasp. Just a little FYI.

So today was the first day of exams. I did somewhere in between "the best I've ever done" and "Ryan, we're making you repeat the twelfth grade... after you repeat all the others". I'm okay with that.

I'm not okay with leaving my head lights on for seven hours and having pretty much no gas. I'm especially not okay with calling school security hoping for some sort of assistance and pretty much being told to go fuck myself (not in those words, of course). Security at our school, outside of check-ins and sleeping in the parking lot, does nothing. So is it too much to ask for a ride to a gas station or a jump start, or any sort of "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do"? "Why would you call us?" was not the ideal answer. Jackasses.

But Claire and Andy and Doug's dad were all there to help, and after a few hours I finally got home. On fumes. Scary-scary.

And the g-d hood won't open. How am I supposed to fix the battery if I can't get to it?

Every Time I See You Falling, I Get Down On My Knees And Pray

Currently Listening To: Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order

So tomorrow is the beginning of the end of my high school exam taking. This will be the last set of fall exams at Dar. After this I only have winter exams... For the fall, there are only two that I could take (the rest are APs), but my Econ teacher probably wouldn't make me take it even if my grades were that bad and my Graphic Design exam would just be a portfolio...

But I digress. All that matters is that another phase of my youth is being phased out.

I saw a commercial earlier for some wildlife video. It promised something for everyone; animals fighting, animals mating-- Mating? Someone out there called up the company and said, "I'd buy more videos if you had some hedgehogs boning"? I hate this country SO MUCH. Though I suppose its not just America.

WHY? WHY DOES THIS COMMERCIAL PLAGUE MY GRAY MATTER?

In other news, in the month and one week since I've gotten my license, I think I've become infinitely more masculine and horny. I don't really know where I'm going with this. Maybe a warning for the ladies to keep an eye on their pants while around me.

There is no--
This is no--
Modern ro-mance.

We have security check points at school. It's pretty freaking ridiculous. After eight, they close all the gates but one, so to leave from the library parking lot (which I think is the only one I can park in after school; have to park at the gym during school) means you have to drive through pretty much the entire campus, which takes quite some time when you're going the 3 mph it takes to get over the cascade of speed bumps without destroying my car. THEN, after facing all kinds of going-the-other-way traffic on a one-lane road, I have to register my tag/parking sticker and tell them why I'm there. It takes forever. It's overkill, too; if I really wanted to get onto the campus undetected, I'd just drive through the tunnel from the gym. They put up some concrete cones so you can't do that, but there's totally enough space to get by them, so they wasted some concrete/time. I might try that.

Good/Bad

Currently Listening To: Cellphone's Dead by Beck
Good: Didn't oversleep this morning.
Bad: Had to go outside 20 minutes earlier than normal to get ice off of car (esqueeze me, but this is Georgia and we're in a drought... this shouldn't be happening)
Good: David Bowie on the way to school
Bad: Almost wrecked into my English teacher
Good: Ate a waffle.
Bad: Lost at Whammy in AP Stats (we play simulated gambling games rather than actually learn)
Good: Run panicking into college office only to find out that the college fairy had already dealt with my recommendations
Bad: Dan In Real Life sucks... The projector wonked out halfway through and Adrienne and I didn't even bother telling the manager for free passes... We just left.
Good: Asking Walmart employee where they shelf their man thongs.
Bad: Awkward conversation with mom, in front of her friends, concerning "lady-friend".

I report. You decide. Good day, or bad day?

Despite the English teacher and Dan-In-Real-Life incidents, the college this makes the day a victory... I was losing serious sleep over that damn common application, so to find out that my shazbot had already been mailed in was a gift from above.

Or below. It's always possible Satan willed it into action.

Illin' Like A Villain

Currently Listening To: Little Angel by Hard-FI
As I type this, at this very second, happening parallel to rising tensions in Pakistan, writers' striking in LA, husbands coming home from to work hug their wives & beat their childrens and car chases resulting in highly stylized explosions, I am sick. I realize that everything else is irrelevant. I am on my death bed, coughing up blood as the TB slowly claims my little body...

Okay, so it's not that bad; I had suspected strep (because I get it EVERY SINGLE YEAR, WITHOUT FAIL), but a visit to the doctor turned up some shenanigans about a virus and congestion or something. I just smiled and nodded while being told this, holding out my hand in time to have it filled with pills-- Halloween came four days late! Or three hundred sixty one days early. Take your pick.

But my illness did not prevent me from seeing 30 Days of Night on Saturday, which was the source of two complaints, neither of which have ANYTHING to do with that fantastic movie:

• Trailer for "The Mist", which ruined my reading of the book, seeing as they confirmed something that, at the point I was at in the book, was only speculation. Thanks, bastards. I even had my eyes closed so as not to ruin it, but... And my dad thought I was scared... Really? I mean, seriously?
• Fat bitch in back row, bringing with her FOUR CHILDREN, none of whom could have been older than three. In case you're unaware, which I can only pray she was, 30 Days of night is about a town cut off from the rest of the world by a pack of vampires hoping to eat everyone in the town. Key words being "vampires" and "eat". Blood is implied, as is gore. Lots of those two. Loud noises and lots of jump-out-at-you kind of things wouldn't be considered out of place. Yet this woman still has the nerve to drag a bunch of babies into this well-earned R-rating. Now, if they were complacent/mute babies, I wouldn't mind. Parenting is up to the parents. But when they spend the entirety of the previews and the first 30 minutes of the movie screaming and crying, there's an issue. Now, if you know me, you know it takes more than a full bladder, and empty drink and a burning theater for me to get up out of my seat, but I was driven to the brink of madness... This is why I hate children. And even after I got the manager to come in, it took the woman maybe ten minutes to get her act together, as well as dragging the stroller down the stairs, hitting EVERY SINGLE STEP. But everyone got a free ticket, so it all worked itself out. Again, my dad didn't have any idea what I was doing... He thought I was up for a piss or something, and someone else complained... NO, dad; I got you and everyone else a free ticket. People of movies 278 theater 13 on Saturday evening, you are welcome.
  

People just don't know how to go to the movies any more. It saddens me. Ruining the surprises of several horror movies in the trailers (The Mist, One Missed Call, a third one I've forgotten...) and crying babies... This is why movie theaters are dying. Do we really want to watch the fortieth James Bond movie on a home theater screen in however many years? I for one don't. If you do, please go step in front of the nearest train, because we're better off without that kind of attitude.

So basically, nothing's happening in my life right now. And I mean that in the least angsty of ways; just an observation upon re-reading what I've had to complain about.

A Yet-To-Be-Titled Post (Which Is A Paradox, As It Is Now Titled)

Currently Listening To: Paralyzed Prince by Office

So the drama-drama worked itself out. Everything went fine. Good for me. Good for him. Good for the other him. Though I did fall off the stairs in the Oscar Wilde scene. The lights were down, so no one knew. I knew. My failures keep me up and night, and sleep only comes after extensive crying-myself-to-sleep.

But do you know what's NOT resolved? My not having a phone. I own a phone. That's not the problem. I didn't have it taken away from me. That's not the problem either. It is currently locked away at school. Y'see, there's this rule... AT SCHYULE... that we have to turn our phones in to the teacher in every class. Something about cheating. Anyways, in some classes, the teachers have those shoe racks that hang over the door and you just slip the phone in. Other teachers have buckets. My problem lies with the buckets. Every day EVERY DAY I leave my phone in the buckets. Most of the time I figure it out a period or so later and go back and snatch it in between classes. This doesn't work when you have the class last and the teacher has already left. Then I'm left without a phone. I shouldn't mind that, considering I fucking hate talking on the phone, but it sill really gets at me. Something about not having the option to do something, regardless of actually wanting to do it. I don't know, I'm not a shrink. Maybe there's some... brain... thing


Aw, fuck it, I've lost interest in that rant. How about the one I left out up top, where someone got upset that I said "Goddamn" in the play. I had to change it for the second performance, and I felt really dirty for it. Can you say, "This douche has not artistic integrity whatsoever?" There are a bunch of trogs and philistines in this town. It's "Goddamn" for God's sake. If you, like me, opperate under the assumption that this God fellow created all of existence, surely you could reason that the guy is a little too important to care about someone tacking dammit onto his name. Besides, I don't think that's what the thing about taking his name in vain even means... That seems a tad petty to be worried about for, like I said, a guy who is a big deal, and I've always though people saying stuff like that was like, "This sucks, help me out," which is pretty much the point, no?

Taking his name in vain, to me, would appear to mean that people who seek to somehow gain from believing in him rather than actually believing in it are bastards. So if you use it to get you elected (re: almost everyone talking about running in '08), or use it as a sort of social-status (re: a lot of people at my school) or have a little fish on your company's advertisements, you're not on God's good side.

Just a theory, though. I think it's valid, though. Maybe I could send it to a Christian musician to write a song about it... Oh wait, he/she/they are profiting off of their religions.

What a petty, petty complaint. I am a whiny little bitch... disregard all of this.



Right now, there are only two words you need to know, and they are "Declan Sanchez"

...More to come.

Paranoia.

I feel a tad shameless for finally succumbing to the temptation that is video blogging. I feel kind of lame for doing it, but at the same, I don't. Suck it.

Homecoming Champ

Currently Listening To:

Less Than A Week

Currently Listening To: Forgotten Works by Klaxons
Sure, posts about my upcoming birthdays are uninteresting on a cosmic scale, but I still felt the need to talk about it.

In less than a week, I will turn seventeen. This means that I will have ceased to be sixteen, and will never return to that point ever again. That seems obvious, but ti's still mind blowing and depressing. I like sixteen. Sure, seventeen has its perks (er, perk; R-rated movies... and NC 17 movies), but I still like sixteen. Seventeen sounds too old. Too old, at least, to spend my afternoons playing N64. Now, instead of being eccentric, I'll just be pathetic. That's no good.



AAAAND I got on homecoming court, which is even weirder than turning seventeen. I mean, really, of all people, me? But I've decided to just roll with it. I even commissioned the design of some campaign posters (even though you don't campaign for homecoming king, or so I'm told), but they were deemed offensive and promptly ripped down during some teacher's planning period. But it's all gravy. AAAAND there was this whole ordeal of the school expanding homecoming court from six to nine girls (and subsequently boys), supposedly because of a tie, but I heard that there were some notable omissions, and so edits were made. SCANDALOUS. But then there's this one guy who, despite being on court the past three years and I think winning it once, didn't make it this year, even though the odds were better. I like to think that I was number nine, and he's number ten. Not that I have anything against him personally; it just makes me feel better about my sad, sorry self.

I still don't think a picture of Conan with my mug on it is that offensive; I didn't even have that little herpesmudge on my lips in it.

P-P-P-P-Pneumothorax is a word that is long;
Nah, just trying to put the punk back into punctured lung

Definition

Currently Listening To: For Us by Pete Yorn
I was just watching a video on CNN of a Senator (I think it was the Senate... I'm ashamed to say I can't tell the Senate from Congress) condemning Columbia University for hosting Iranian President Amamammenajabadroflmaobbq, when I heard one of the many words used in the media today of which I haven't the slightest idea what it means:

TERRR.

What the hell is terrr? I mean, this guys talks about it, Bush talks about it... Everyone talks about terrr. Me? I don't talk about terrr. What's terrr?

Oh, I see; terrr is how you pronounce terror if you're a backwoods, ignorant redneck who hasn't the slightest idea what he's talking about.

Ain't nobody talking 'bout terrr on Heroes, which starts once more in just one hour and 28 minutes... I am ecstatic. Time to find out who lived and who died... Apparently Claire is in witness protection! And boyfriended! EXCITEMENT ABOUNDS. Maybe some studying will too; we'll see how the night goes.

Rock Bottom

Currently Listening To: No Cars Go by the Arcade Fire
Just a little FYI, this song will be playing at my funeral. I'm not entirely sure how one goes about designating that (maybe carry an envelope with me at all times declaring it as such? or just flat out telling people), but if ever you find yourself being asked, "What song is to be played at his funeral?", you know.

I fell asleep on the couch last night. I woke up around 5ish (having fallen asleep hella early; I'm thinking 10ish) and looked at the floor, where I saw one of our dogs. It was strange; they don't usually go down into the basement unless there's food or a storm. Still, I called to her. She didn't respond. It's okay, I thought, she's sleeping. So I called her some more, and she did nothing. I rolled off the couch and dragged myself over to her and reached out to pet her (I was pretty delirious), only to find out that it was a pair of pants.

If I had to describe "hitting rock bottom" as anything, I'd say shouting at a pair of pants sums it up.

Desperation is something pretty well summed up as someone jumping out of their car at a stop light and pressing the pedestrian-walk-whatever button. I mean, just how bad do you need to get somewhere? Those things don't even work. REALLY.

Just thought I'd check in.

Currently Listening To: A Question of Time by Depeche Mode
While I lack something of actual substance to post, I thought that I would let any interested parties know that, were I to chart my emotional state over an extended period of time, the chart would look like mountain range or the heart rate monitor thing at the hospital, and right about now, I'd be down at the nadir (that, my friends, is a good vocab word; write it down). School isn't getting me down or anything (though I am welcoming this weekend eagerly). I'm just not happy. That's the worst kind of sadness; nothing's actually wrong, you're just sad.

I suppose that's just part of being a teenager. When I'm an adult, periods of unhappiness won't necessarily be periods of sadness. I just won't be either, which is fine by me.

It's weird that I'm feeling like this, because yesterday morning, I was riding on the biggest high I'd ever felt. Everywhere I went, it was like a chorus of people was whistling a happy tune and birds were chirping and the sun was shining and everything was well.

Maybe my being raped by a clown last night has something to do with it.