Technology.

Wow. I just found out that my iChat has this neat little feature where it ARCHIVES every single iChat I have ever had into this cute little folder. It's just been doing this, completely unbeknownst to me, for the past year. How convenient. For what, I don't know, but I guess you never know when you need to go back and read some archived iChats. Like now, for example. On October 23rd, Kristina and I had a nice little conversation about the common cold that I feel applies right about now, as I may or may not have some form of tubercliosis. It's either TB or I've become immune to ZiCam. AND I keep taking Mucin-X but unlike the repulsive Mucin-X commercial where the gross green cartoon mucus blobs get ejected from the lungs when the Mucin-X moves in, nothing's doing.

MsOpposableThumb: like cut off my toe - fine- but i cant deal with congestion.
MsOpposableThumb: they're so long and miserable
xxdaninaxx: i hate it when one nostrel is clogged and the other just breathes hot air
MsOpposableThumb: yah
xxdaninaxx: i HATE that.
MsOpposableThumb: i hate it when one is clogged and the other is so clear that when you take big breaths you have to sneeze and then your throat itches and your eyes water up and all the boogies from your clogged nostril drip out but you cant feel it cause your congested and youre just a big slobbering mess.
xxdaninaxx: yeah that's disgusting. and then you wake up with your face covered in boogies and your eyes are glued shut with eye goo and you're drooling all over yourself
MsOpposableThumb: yeah
MsOpposableThumb: disgusting
xxdaninax: i'm glad we went through this.
MsOpposableThumb: and like, its something that sounds gross and pathetic but that literally happens, like exactly that
MsOpposableThumb: which is why colds are so uncomfortable and gross.
xxdaninaxx: the end.

Mmm. 

"Yeah, I have a Range Rover and my pants are Nantucket red." - Liz on Beacon Hill residents

I could be feeling pretty sorry for myself, given that my apartment is meagerly heated by the two units below us and nothing else while my windows are already drafty enough for me to notice significant billowing in the curtains even though the windows are most definitely closed, I have more work to do in the next two days than I have had in the past two years, Operation Be Caller 103 and Win the $1000 Simon Mall Gift Card is not going well, and I have a cold that even ZiCam is having trouble fighting. 

But really, it's not worth surrendering to all of the crappiness when there's so much to love. Like, for instance Charles Street at Christmas is so beautiful that it's totally worth the extra 10 minutes in my walk home to pass all of the store windows and gas lights with all of their evergreen garlands and read bows and white lights. And yeah, my apartment's cold, but that's what outerwear is for, so now it has become innerwear and I have no reason to gripe since I bought Hagaan Dazs Mango ICE CREAM, not sorbet, and it is more creamy and delicious than all of the other ice creams, to eat in my freezing room. 

The radio contest thing is still a crock of bullshit though, because the bitches who keep winning live in New Hampshire, which should not count. They shouldn't be allowed to listen to Boston radio, let alone win Boston radio contests. That's what they have Nashua for.

We've got no heat!

One of my favorite things about the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is how Oldies 103.3 plays non stop Christmas music. I actually really love it. I have one problem though, and that is their obsession with Dominic the Donkey, which is not even a real Christmas song. It's stupid. They play it at least once an hour. I'm all for Chrismas music, especially Oh Holy Night and the Trans Siberian Orchestera, but this one I really just don't understand. Not to mention, Dominic is probably among the most decidedly human names in existence, and is therefore an inappropriate name for a donkey. 

But now James Taylor is singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and that is just great.

It's so balmy outside that I feel like this must be what Christmas outside of New England feels like. I can't decide if I like it or not. Obviously we should all blame the President for the climate.

The sheer volume of work I need to do in the next three weeks is staggering. I think I'm going to need to invest in a new pack of printer paper, hopefully my ink cartridges will hold out.

Last night was the American Girl Christmas movie featuring Molly. It was sub par compared to the Samantha and Felicity movies, which is a shame because Molly's WWII story probably had more tearjerking potential than any of the other ones, with the exception of Addy the slave of course, who is clearly in a league of her own when it comes to hardship.

Speaking of hardship, I registered for next semester's classes today, which was laughable. You'd think junior standing would give you options. Nope.

Um, I don't actually want to start doing all of the aforementioned writing assignments, but I probably should.

I am trying to evolve.

Whenever I'm really feeling like I don't want to do something, my favorite way to procrastinate is to go back in time and read old entries in this blog. Oftentimes, I'm not going to lie, I really just crack myself up. But then I also want to smack myself other times for being so lame and angsty for Pete's sake.

One of these days, in the name of all things Narcissus, I have every intention of buying a fresh ink cartrdige and a pack of printer paper and printing out these entries to make them slightly more permenant. I think they'd make a lovely sequel to The Diary of 1995-1998. Criminy.

A reoccuring theme I would like to call a bit of attention to is that every time I have brought up life in Los Angeles after college, it always involves subsiding on Tostitos. I really don't know why that is, it's not like Tostitos are your typical destitute man's snack or anything. But it's true, that is what I imagine eating a lot of when I become poor and Californian.

So, big news. Liz, Meaghan, and myself have finally done it. We had waited long enough. We decided we were in the right place in our lives. The timing was right. We felt comfortable. It had to happen sooner or later, but we didn't want to rush it. We were ready, physically and emotionally, to deal with whatever would result from...putting up our beautiful silver tinsel Christmas tree before Thanksgiving.

Yeah.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, in one week I will offically be on BREAK, and everyone will be in Leominster, and it will just be great. And then, the day AFTER Thanksgiving, the radio stations will start playing non stop Christmas music, and I WON'T be working black Friday at LNT (I never have, but can you imagine anything more horrible?) and maybe it will snow, and then won't everything just be lovely.

I just made two cookies out of this enormous tube of cookie dough, and I think now is the time to eat them.

Great.

Get off of me, you filthy communist.

I'm discouraged. And if I were a quitter...now would be the time where I'd be doing some major quitting.

It's terrible when the things you thought you loved start to make you want to add them to your hate list. Really terrible.

My rubber dish washing gloves make me feel like a cow insemenator.

Feminism is a nice idea, but do there really have to be so many different versions of it? Really? Let's all just pick one and go with it.

I want to go shopping and purchase a new hat and possibly some gloves and maybe even a scarf. Oh God, that's right...I haven't earned a cent since August. 

Speaking of earning cents, Linens N Things was the answer to a question on College Jeopardy last night. It was cute. 

I have to get a variety of opinions/criticisms of my screenplay, so if anyone's interested...let me know. It's only the first 10 pages.

I've successfully farted away another hour. This is GREAT.

I'm not the kind who needs to tell you just what you want me to.

Today I gave Emerson my deposit to secure my position in the LA Program for Spring 2008. That used to sound SO far away, but now I feel like it's catching up to me pretty quick. So I guess in a mere year from now, I'll already be finishing my last semester in Boston before the golden gates of California welcome me and my little dreams with open arms into the land of Hollywood opportunity.

Right. I'm sure that's how it works. Ask ANYONE.

Regardless, I'm excited/terrified at how real my predicament is. I could easily be a homeless and unemployed aspiring screenwriter/production assistant/TV production graduate in a little over a year. 

Criminy.

Speaking of California, while I used to be really jealous of Elliott and Michael and E.T. when they got to go trick or treating without any coats ruining their costumes, I really don't think Halloween would be as awesome outside of New England. The beautiful, well kept brownstone on Joy Place I walk by every day secured my feelings on this matter, because they changed their normally white window lights (which are on 24/7 and are sneakily fixed on the inside of the many windows, between the curtain and the glass, to prevent creeps like me from looking in) to yellow, green, and orange ones and then put really fancy Halloween cutouts in the windows that get lit up by the colored lights and just look so cool. I can't wait to see what they do for Christmas.

I love it here. I love being with my friends and my proximity to the Whole Foods dessert bar's apple crisp and the fact that Marie Antoinette and The Prestige lived up to my expectations.

I'm pretty upset that Reese and Ryan have gone splitsville, though. Not going to lie.

Of all the things that are going away.

Today is Wednesday.

Wendesday is supposed to be one of my favorite days of the week. No meetings, no shows, no waking up at 6:30, no coming back from campus at 10:30. 

Wednesday is NOT supposed to be the day I have to spend studying for a godforsaken exam, how is it possibly midterm already? 

Wednesday is supposed to be for LOST, not for waking up to the sound of Steven the Mouse (pray to God he's a mouse) chewing on the wrapper of the peanut butter crackers that sustained me all day yesterday, the wrapper that I ignorantly left in my bag like a fool, like a fool, thinking I was safe. Steven lives. He is tangible. With a secret escape route from my room.

Wednesday, and two day weeks in general, should definitely not be this horrendous.

"Dishes, Kitchen, Bathroom, Getting Ass..." - The 50 Garden St. Chore Chart

Alright.

I was legitimately surprised/upset when mine was NOT one of the 300 names picked to recieve tickets along the red carpet for Oscars 2006 in February. Hmph. I really thought I had that one. 

On the plus side, I was able to get my LA Spring 2008 application in 53 minutes after it became available online, so with any luck, I'll win the Oscar Lottery NEXT year, and I won't even have to buy plane tickets. I bet that's what fate is waiting for. Fate wants to save me a couple hundred dollars. Sure. 

I'm glad I got to see Babel tonight, it was basically yet another vingette film that makes me never want to set foot in Mexico, ever. Love those.

I have a feeling all of my involvements are about to come crashing down, cartoon anvil style, onto my head, causing me to become 2D, get little birds flying around my head, dissolve into ashes, etc. etc.

I hate Media Criticism and Theory, probably because I don't get it, because the readings are a snorefest. All I wanted to do was write my first paper on what "paradimatic signs" and "semiologistics" make E.T. magical. I thought that would suffice, but then my adorable little Asian professor with an affinity for air quotes had to complicate things to the max.

Time for Nazi mouse comics and bed. That's f-ed up.

Whatever.

I should have known that God was out to spite me today when I was forced to suffer through a "freezing, maybe a couple of degrees over" shower this morning. It was numbing, to say the least.

I'm feeling a mess. Maybe I just drank too much white trash sparkling nail polish remover tonight.

One thing I know is that I always try to do the right thing, regardless of whether or not anyone necessarily deserves it. I'm also really tired of being a fallback. I'm tired of apologizing for no reason, and while I'll never get tired of caring, I am tired of caring without any appreciation. I've watched enough movies to know what I want, but I've also lived long enough to know that certain things may never happen. I may have little to no sense of reality, but at least I don't pretend I'm one way and act another.

I don't want to have invested all of this time only to lose everything, but really, it's out of my control.

The statehouse looked especially beautiful tonight.

Of Mice and Moi

So, I'm coming to terms with this addition of a fourth, freeloading roommate.

His name is Steven, and he is, so far, a hypothetical mouse that may or may not live in my apartment. I hope to God that he stays hypothetical and minds his own business if he is there, so that I don't have to deal with seeing him and being made completely and solidly aware of his presence. 

But I do have confirmation that there are mice in the building, based on this conversation I had not too long ago with my California Cool Classmate/Downstairs neighbor named Micah.

Me: (Clomping down the stairs with trashbags in my hand) MICAH. Do you have a mouse? In your apartment?
Micah: (Slowly emerging from his apartment, startled by the volume of my voice and my presence in general) Uh, yeah. We have two.
Me: Awesome. (Hurls trash bags out onto sidewalk)

So now I have a dilemma. I can either leave the mice alone and hope that I never see them, ever, or I can call the landlord, get some traps, or bring in a cat to release it's scary, mouse repelling, cat smell. The problem with the latter is actually having to see the mouse bodies, or, in the cat situation, facing the possibilty of having a half dead mouse being dropped lovingly at my feet and or on my lap.

HEINOUS. I'm living on edge these days, kids.

But I DO love Grey's Anatomy, so much that it probably could be considered a problem. It's just always so good. I'm always satisfied. Ahem. I also love H&M and Pan Asia at the dining hall, even though Pan Asia has the potential to give the Aramark chefs a heart attack, they were just so intense. Kristina and I witnessed the terrorization of two students who simply did not understand the mechanics of Pan Asia. 

I absolutely need to stop procrastinating, as I have more work to do this weekend than ever before, starting tomorrow with a day of watching Emerson Channel crew and talent auditions, wahoo!

Set the fuse to go.

It's days like today that really make me grateful to just be alive. (I actually mean this in a very literal sense, as a few minutes ago I was nearly taken out in the crosswalk in front of the statehouse by some mongrel running a red light in a pimped out Dodge Neon.)

Classes started yesterday, and while I may have originally misread Media and the Holocaust as my required Interdisciplinary course (we don't get to watch Schindler's List and we're required to read Maus I and II, which are little "comic" books about Nazi mice that I'm going to have to carry around and find a way to read in public without looking like a terrible human), I think it will end up being very interesting; more so than Media Criticism and Theory, which I still don't know a thing about. I'm in love with Writing the Feature Film, mainly because the "STAFF" that was teaching it at the time I signed up for the class turned out to be a woman named Diane Lake, who literally wrote the screenplay for Frida and who's jetsetting back and forth from LA to Boston to teach this class at Emerson. Thursday I have Studio Television Production, which I'm sure will not suck at all. 

Time goes by, but dates stick out in my mind, and even after three years, it's so easy to go right back in time and remember how it went, where I was, exact lines of dialogue and what I could have done if I'd known what I know now. But I like to think I've learned how to deal with the past a little better than I could before, and that being done, all I can think to say is thank you. Thank you for opening my eyes and making me aware of how important it is to appreciate every moment. I just wish we might have learned together.

So I'm glad I survived the walk across the street, I'm glad it's fall, I'm glad I belong here, and at the moment I'm glad I have no problem with the prospect of selling my soul in the name of Hollywood, but check back with me in five years or so.

Promiscuous Girl!

I can't believe how tired I am. I blame the Hill.

I also can't believe that I've worn the same black STAFF shirt for the past three days in a row. I think I'm allowed to switch over to the green t-shirt for tomorrow. Ahhhhhhh, fresh, clean green. I guess I COULD do laundry. Regardless, I've met Kristina's roommates twice now, and both times I was wearing the exact same outfit. They probably think I'm the Rain Man or something, and that I have some bizarre attatchment to the black T-shirt. I don't.

The Facebook has crossed a definite line. Between knowing exactly who's writing on who's wall and who's gone from "Single" to "It's Complicated", there's very little left to do in the way of good, old fashioned, discreet Facebook stalking.

I really don't think I'll ever get enough of Dawson's Creek. Tonight I'm capping off my night with the episode where Pacey invites the hotel critic to the Potter B&B and we see how much Pacey loves Joey because he's able to watch her sleep, which, according to Grams, is a telltale sign of love. If that's not poetry, I don't know what is. I wonder if I'll achieve the level of coolness and maturity in my whole life that those Creek kids managed to accomplish by the time they were sixteen.

Jaws was on earlier, and I absolutely love stumbling upon Jaws on television. Lizzy was impartial to the fact that Steven used a midget in place of Richard Dreyfuss when he filmed the scene in the shark cage to make the LIVE SHARKS in the shot seem bigger. If I were a midget, I would sprint to Hollywood as fast as my teeny legs would take me so that I could take advantage of the high demand that Steven has for midgets/shark bait in his films.

The pouring rain is no place for a bicycle ride.

I'm just online.

FINALLY ABLE TO BE ONLINE IN THIS NEW APARTMENT.

AND I can watch television. Love it.

So we moved in this past weekend and it was a little hairy in the beginning, but things are shaping up to be quite lovely, indeed. Once my moving bins are back in Leominster and not in our living room, and once the empty boxes in the kitchen have been disposed of, and once the painters come to eliminate the random red wall that the previous tenents felt was necessary, this apartment will really look par. I'm excited. And there are gas lanterns and brick sidewalks and Whole Foods and Coldstone and I'm just really loving this Beacon Hill business. I just hope I don't die trying to walk down the incline in the winter. Perhaps I'll get a sled.

Fast Forward/Rewind is making me forget that I have classes in a week. I should probably purchase some books.

I hate how when I don't have to wake up early in the morning, I get all riled up and stay awake forever instead of catching up on sleep. It doesn't make sense. I'm going to schleep.

Buenos noches, says Juanes.

Bon nuit, says Eleanor, who gets to live in Paris now, lucky CANARD.

We are so lucky to have been brought up with catalogues.

I have decided that I have a major problem with the following:

1. King Richard's Faire. True, I've never been, but I just saw a commercial for it and I'm just bothered for some reason. I think it might have something to do with carnies that go along with travelling fairs, and that the ones that travel with King Richard's Faire are not only carnies, they are carnies who believe they exist in a completely different era. It might also be the extra "E" tacked on "Fair" to make it seem authentic. I realize it's completely unjustified, but whatever.

2. The fact that my beautiful Powerbook G4 may have been recalled by Apple for housing a battery that is a potential fire hazard. This is just plain bull, because if it's true, then my computer could potentially be faced with the trauma of a battery transplant, and you all know about the risks that go along with transplantation. As a side note, if the computer is a fire hazard, then I've been pretty damn lucky all year, as I have lain in bed with that computer on my lap doubling as entertainment and a personal heat source on more than one occasion.

3. Adults with braces.

Things I do NOT have problems with include:

1. Cherry Hill's delicious fall flavor of the month, Pumpkin.
2. Good old LnT, now that I have rung up my last guest until December, I'm realizing that it really isn't such a bad place to work, and that I will miss the people I worked with more than I thought I would. I was actually starting to get a little ferklempt over my last day, but I definitely got over it. 
3. The prospect of going to bed. I'm tired, I can't think of a third thing that is more appealing then sleep right now.

Bon soir.

What does the dirty napkin say?

I think I need to learn how to be one of those people who can effortlessly live in the moment. And by I think, I mean I definitely do, because the amount of time and the amount of sleep I lose fretting about the future and about things that are completely out of my control is staggering. 

I've also decided that it would probably be in my best interest to get over myself, because I've come to learn that nobody cares as much as I think they do.

I guess the bottom line is that after everything, I'm still absolutely terrified of being a failure, of wasting time, of being alone, of regret, and of losing the ones I love the most.

I probably shouldn't be bitching while Michael has suprisingly NOT died at the hands of the oral surgeon and has miraculously been given a second chance at life.

And I should probably be feeling pretty badass for getting interviewed by a police man patrolling LHS who thought that Kristina and Page and I were up to no good this evening while we decided to visit the new ampitheater behind the theater and dance/holler. Now that I think of it, I should be REALLY thankful that that police man:
1. Didn't have a hankering for some sour apple Altoid gum.
2. Wasn't around 3 months ago when nothing happened with nylon masks and duct tape, mostly because that probably would have been more difficult to explain.
3. Didn't mistake my jitteriness and overly apologetic demeanor for the after effects of cocaine.

So we all are pretty lucky, after all, and in the grand scheme of life and all that could go wrong, I have it pretty good. 

I just wish I could know for sure that I'm doing everything I need to do in order to take full advantage of this little life of mine.

Someone call the girl police.

My last Sunday at LnT, kicking off my last week until moving back to le city.

Sad.

Except not really. Today's Sunday Coupon Recipients weren't AS maniacal as I've known them to be in the past, so that was great, I sold the same highly phallic double spoonrest to two separate people before Kristina's shift started, so I had to chuckle quietly to myself instead of having someone to share the hilarity with. Then I got called into the office so that I could verify my price overrides to Jill the Manager, which was a relief because I was originally worried that she was going to call me on giving my employee discount-which is supposedly not to be shared with anyone who does not claim me on their tax returns as a dependant-to everyone and their mom. 

But then I remembered that I work at Linens N Things.

Anyway, so I'm pretty excited about my new apartment and learning my way around Beacon Hill and starting my producing job for Fast Foward Rewind, and receiving the complimentary Crew T-Shirt for Fast Foward Rewind, and for my classes and for fun to come, etc. etc.

I'm also pleased to note that I have found a goof in Titanic that, as far as I know, has been overlooked even by IMDB. You all are dying to know. I'll share.

Okay, so during the illustrious Portrait Scene, I have always been way distracted by Rose's nakedness and otherwise caught up in the moment, so much so that I never noticed that the lovely, firelike glow that lights the scene is created by a large, square, halogen lamp placed directly in Rose's fireplace.

I really love it.

Simple and easy assembly.

Work today was surprisingly enjoyable, considering I started at 6:30 AM. I think I mostly just like hiding out on the floor somewhere, opening boxes and avoiding the guests.

Yesterday in Boston with Kristina and Jen I accomplished many tasks which included purchasing an embroidered, built-to-last, heirloom quality Emerson sweatshirt, signing my landlord contract for my new apartment (if I give birth or adopt a child under six this year, I need to let him know so that he can get the paint checked for lead), and vetured out to Lechmere, the absolute last stop on the Greenline, to go to the Cambridge Side Galleria and oogle shoes and Macs. We were also approached by Veronica of Veronica and Company herself, who mans a ceramic curling iron kiosk and begins her spiel by enthusiastically jumping out in front of people and exclaiming "Hallo, let me SURPRISE you!" Unfortunately it wasn't all fun and games, as there was an extremely ripe man just stewing in his own BO centimeters away from us on the redline back to Alewife.

Oh yeah, and can I just get a PRAISE THE LORD for WINGS OVER WORCESTER?!! Now I can get succulent honey barbecue chicken with celery and smushy fries in forty minutes round trip as opposed to two hours down a vacant road through cell phone darkness. Not that the chicken wasn't worth the risk, but I'm all for convenience.

I'm all for health, too. I'd love it if we all could keep it that way.

I take thee, Circus Freak.

Finally watched The Shawshank Redemption and caught up with the world. It was great. I also discovered that the theme I've been wondering about, the one that's always in the background of trailers for inspirational movies, is from...The Shawshank Redemption. I wish someone would have told me.

I've also been working a lot, which makes me feel like such a robot, especially when I get a short circuit and accidentally ask for a "guest's" phone number twice in fifteen seconds. All of the monotonous hours I've spent scanning barcodes and stocking candles had better pay off someday, when the screenplay for May I Start With Your Phone Number: A Glimpse Into the World of Retail gets discovered by Steven, who will offer to produce it, thus making Kristina and me famous. For now we're just looking foward to August, when the Yankee Candle Scent of the Month will finally finally change and we won't have to smell Midsummer's Night aka Midsummer Man Deoderant any longer. Also September will be cool too, when I can STOP working there for, hopefully, ever and find a relevant job where fifty percent of my coworkers do NOT represent the demise of America.

My roommate is officially a Celtics Girl, which is the Boston equivalent of a Laker Girl, which is awesome. Jack Nicholson loves Laker Girls. Meaghan will probably get to be some other celebrity's obsession, how cool is that?!

This year will rock, oh yes it will. If for nothing else, than just for the discovery of melon gelato.

Coming ATCHA!

Hm. I'm upset that Andy Milonakis is thirty. This information is going to haunt me for hours. I used to think he was this oddly impressive and clever adolescent. Now I'm creeped out. It's just too much.

The things I love most about working at LNT are, in no particular order: Damaged food/Floam, co-workers I couldn't make up, co-workers I legitimately love, sniffing candles, subconsciously sassing "guests", feather dusters, and the fact that I get to semi-quit again in three months. Today I thought about how cool it would be to film a ball of Floam slowly sinking into a pancake and then speed it up to make it look like it was morphing. I also ripped my work khakis right down the inseam, from crotch to knee, two hours before I got to leave. Thank God for aprons. 

Lost is irritating. But at least now we know why the plane crashed...maybe. Whatever, Grey's is hot.

I can't decide how I feel about Extreme Extended Family Weekend in Canada this weekend. 

I would like to go back to Boston someday very very soon. I'm missing Sicilia's, and I guess I'm missing my little room-bihds, too. 

Duty calls again tomorrow, so bed is probably a good idea. Gotta rest up for all the dusting and stapling and sniffing.

Cannes-tastic.

I just wanted to let you all know that if you don't see me for the next few days, it is because I have jetted off to Cannes for the film festival.

So if you think you'll find me "doing my little turn on the catwalk" in Fabulous Designs by Natalie or working at Linens N Things this weekend, you are sadly, sadly mistaken because those are all just lies I told all of you so that you wouldn't be jealous of the fact that Cannes is just so so so beautiful and when you throw world premiers of The DaVinci Code, Marie Antoinette, and Paris, Je T'Aime into the mix, well, you can see why I wanted to protect your feelings.

Psyche.

Friends don't let friends eat grocery store ice cream.

Last year learned that sometimes it's possible for people to just suck, and that's all you can and need to say, because that's all there is to them. They suck.

This year I've learned that those beautiful flowery paintings that you may or may not have seen of Boston Common are in fact done from life. I've never seen so many huge flowered trees look so fantastic before in all my days. I've always loved the contrast of flowers in the city, like those huge bouquets of tulips that people sell in the subway. Any flower looks more beautiful in the subway, and flowered trees and mini gardens look that much more beautiful when they're scattered around the city. I actually think that even the bums and the heroin dealers that are usually in the Common acknowlege how pretty everything is, and just disappear for awhile to let people enjoy the grass and the baby leaves and those damn swan boats that are just too appropriately picturesque for words.

I love mes amis and I love May and I love Berry Berry Berry Good in a waffle cone and I love Wicked and I love Grey's Anatomy and I love tomato/basil/proscuitto/mozzarella sandwiches on sesame bread and I love little sprouts of ivy and I love John Williams and I love beating the Red Sox Rush on the D Line and I love Emerson, even though they refund me $30 for a $115 psychology book that I barely touched and I think I love Hint of Lime Tostitos, but I'm not quite sure yet.

Everything that sucks, well that's too bad for you because you have to deal with the fact that even Hint of Lime Tositios are more likeable. 

And that's saying something, because tortilla chips covered in limey powder are pretty strange.

"When you stare at something for a long time, it just looks so...right."

Happy Holocaust Remembrance Day!

Last night being Holocaust Remembrance Day Eve, I decided to sit my roommates down and force them to watch Schindler's List, so we could, you know, remember the Holocaust. After five minutes they opted to switch to The Sweetest Thing, starring Cameron Diaz. 

In other news, the man who lives downstairs from me is a genuine creep who molests his cat, his legitimate pet feline animal. In the hallway. It's a huge cat and he's foreign. 

I'm getting closer and closer and closer to The End of School. Which is kind of sad, because I'll miss it, but also okay because summer's fun, and next year will be pretty bitchin', and Cherry Hill is more delicious than ever, no lie, ten cents MORE delicious, but what can you do.

I really hope that I have a job this summer, because not only does Jill from Linens N Things NOT call people back, she also likes to leave them on HOLD for twenty minutes. I hung up. I feel like holding on a cell phone for that long could definitely give you a brain tumor or something.

Last night I had a really sweet dream that I was in school learning how to morph into an animal, like Hogwarts, but just all about morphing into animals. I wish I remembered more of it. Pratically the only time of day I'm NOT staring at some kind of screen is when I'm sleeping, but even then, I dream in the third person. I should probably read more.

"I indulged in a little weughm this morning." Natalie "Eahly Bihd" Zekos on being the first to wake up today.

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

As satisfying as it is to cross off the little demands on my To Do list, I can't seem to help wasting time finding out about myself via PERSONALITY TESTS.

I always seem to do the easy tasks first. Makes sense.

If wasting time were a sport...I'd be on Varsity fer sher.

Yesterday with Kristina and Anna I ate so much McDonald's that I can pretty much still taste it and feel it festering in my stomach, 24 hours later. Love it though.

Liz thinks people can eat opium. This isn't right, is it? All my opium expert friends...

Natalie has decided to "soften her touch" and become creepy beyond all reason. This means instead of punching you, she strokes you. 

Eleanor doesn't talk anymore and just sleeps for years.

There's your update on the occupants of 100 Riverway.

I'm up to my earlobes in significant work and Grey's Anatomy makes me think I wish I were a surgeon, because everyone on that show is awesome and seems like they would be good friends for me, so then I have to watch the behind the scenes special feature on my season one DVD to remind myself that I hate blood and love television.

Nobody knows where they might end up.

It's interesting what a too close for comfort freak accident will make you think about. It makes you think about how miniscule you are, and how your life could literally just end at any moment without any warning and without any regard for what you want or what you need to say or what you have to do. It makes you think about the people around you, and just people in general. It makes you think about how much people care about you, and how much you care about them. It makes you not want to leave anything unsaid or undone and it makes you realize that grudges are stupid. It makes you grateful for every moment and for the little miracle that is making it through the day. It could make you think of morbid and depressing things.

What I've learned from a too close for comfort freak accident is that thinking about morbid and depressing things is pointless. What's meant to happen is going to happen, and it'll happen for a reason. Things will happen that I can't even begin to worry or think about, and there's nothing I can do. If this is fate, than I believe in it. Scary and sad as it may be, in a way I'm really comforted by it, because it makes me believe in good luck too, and when all you want to do is head for Hollywood like everyone else, you need to believe in good luck. 

Sometimes what happens randomly in real life is so perfectly scripted that I have to remind myself, once again, that I'm not living in a movie.

...Yet.

"I miss bumpin' Jeezy wit you in my whip."

I love Bedtime Magic and getting sexed up via the radio by David Allen Boucher. 

It's just weird to me that David Allen Boucher is a faceless radio personality who says things like "Where is your heart tonight? I know where it is...it's here...on Magic...106.7." Really David? GRANT MY THREE IN A ROW REQUEST, DAMMIT.

Cover for me RIIIIICK.

Here's to procrastination and casually watching Schindler's List while I clean. Do I have a problem?

Today is Sunday, and I have every intention to rot in a sweatsuit and my glasses all day, because to be frank, today would be a total waste of eyeliner and contact lenses.

Last night 2/3 of the roomies an I went to Beacon Hill/Loews to see a movie and ultimately come as close as we've ever come to mace-ing a sexual predator. Good times.

Today I have to finally finish re-living Camping 2005 and get this script done, read a couple chapters, learn a monologue for this damn Theater Appreciation class that's turning out to be more trouble than it's worth, find time for the Season 10 Friends Marathon and sift through my movies to find MONTAGES. 

That last one will kill me, mainly because I love montages and have so far spent the better part of my day watching them, which is technically an assignment, but also technically the LEAST important of all my assignments. 

Tonight is Grey's and Pretend Like It's The Weekend Banana-Chocolate Chip Pancakes for Dinner Night.

Sad as it will be to have to work somewhere all the livelong summer, it will be nice to have the option of coming into the city with some of my bitches and PIZ-ARTY-ING.

Buleria, buleria!

Three days ago there was a spidah on my wall right near my bed. Liz killed it and proceeded to shove the smooshed spider Kleenex in my face as proof and to get a rise out of me.

I'll say it. I'm still a little paranoid about this spider near my sleeping area issue. I'm sure he had friends, friends that are probably pissed that he's dead. It's not even that I'm worried about them getting in my bed, which I am, don't get me wrong, I just can't stop thinking about that statistic where you eat like seven spiders a year in your sleep or something. Now that is upsetting. 

I've seen some bitchin trailers lately, all for summer movies, all apparantly kickass. I think making movie trailers is my true calling. I'm going to look into that. Also, can I just say how uplifting it is that Snakes on a Plane got made? I feel much better about my chosen career path knowing that someone can make a living off of a movie that abysmal. 

I'm exhausted. Here's hoping I don't eat any spiders tonight.

Death, you are my bitch lover.

I just really love Wednesdays in general, but today was extra super special because it was a Wednesday with no class.

So I figured I'd just catch up on some work, which obviously did not happen.

Instead, Liz, Natalie and I carjacked Eleanor's car and ventured off to Quincy where we drove in circles for two hours trying to find Wal*Mart, ate in at a classy McDonald's, found Wal*Mart at last, purchased coloring books and fabric-necessities for the fashion major, and drove home in 1/3 of the amount of time it took to get there. 

Liz turned Lisa Frank kittens into Painful Realities, and obviously instead of doing what must be done, I have spent the evening coloring Precious Moments pictures with not-so-subtle Christian undertones. I think I will be sending some of them out as gifts to my family and friends. Autographed and dated, obvi.

I'll believe in you all my life.

This break went by hecka fast, and now I'm getting a little scared about the massive amounts of work I have to do in the extreme few remaining days I have left of school. But it was nearly 70 degrees today which made me want Cherry Hill and Nantucket and Summer Adventures but not Linens N Things so much, even though I guess I get good material from working there. And good material is important.

If watching E.T. doesn't make you want to strap on a headset and park yourself behind a camera, than for Pete's sake I don't know what does. I really don't know why I am not a film major.

It's hard out here for a pimp.

Martin Scorsese- 0
3-6 Mafia- 1

This was definitely one of my favorite Oscar Nights. And I love Oscar Nights. Especially when they feature a gazillion beautiful MONTAGES.

George Clooney's proud to be out of touch.

I would be, too. I really hope I can be someday, even if the furthest I get is living in some godforsaken studio apartment in LA with my fellow tortured artist/best friend, trying to make a living by documenting real life, even though God knows, real life's getting more like fiction each day.

Ahem.

We peaked on the phone.

This week will probably be pretty hellish. I'm a teensy bit excited about my cut-loose-girls-gone-wild-esque spring break...in Leominster. 

Today I have to get excited about making a media production study guide, editing a Nightlies script, finishing my audio track (hello, inspirational), telling a family story, and writing about Dominique de Villepin, who is the French Prime Minister and is NOT a girl, unbeknownst to me. French guys can have such pansy names.

I don't know about the rest of you, but at the moment I'm kind of embarassed to live in a country where Eight Below, Date Movie, The Pink Panther, Curious George, and Final Destination 3 were the top 5 at the box office this weekend.

How was your day?

Okay, I'm just really beside myself, because some dear friends/brothers of mine have been in London for a little over 24 hours, give or take the time change, and wouldn't you know, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts Awards are on today. 

Fancy that.
So...

Jude Law now knows that my brother loves him.
Kristina heard the fetal heartbeat of Darren Aronofsky and Rachel Weisz's unborn child.
And everyone has footage of well, EVERYONE who is ANYONE in Hollywood right now.

The best part is, I'm not even exaggerating. Heath and Jake where there too, HEATH AND JAKE. And Steven. Spielberg. Don't even get me started. I guess I should be thankful for the stroke I have avoided by not experiencing this firsthand..

OHHHHH TO BE IN LONDON!!

I guess I'll just continue hanging out in my house with my lovely parents and watching Pirates of the Carribbean, which really is such an excellent movie because pirates are the coolest. Second only to a red carpet award show experience, of course.

Life goes easy on me, most of the time.

If Valentine's Day were more like Thanksgiving, it would be more appropriate for me to say that I am [still] thankful for Coldstone being so close by. Berry Berry Berry Good in a waffle cone truly hits the spot. I'm preparing for my glorious after-college future (which will hopefully have something to do with me living in a closet somewhere in LA and subsiding on Tostitos) by building up some solid fat stores. 

I'm also thankful for those who need me as much as I need them. God, okay bipolarity is the theme I guess, so here we go.

I'll never understand the bullshit character change that causes people to completely and utterly blow off people that love them, ignore attempts at communication and otherwise forget about everything, because why remember when you can replace? If there's one thing I have always despised, it's being ignored and it takes a lot for me to give up on people, but running into this brick wall gets less and less appealing every time.

This is a brand new kind of disappointment that really just puts everything else into perspective but still breaks my heart. 

Um, so happy Valentine's Day.

Do the damn thing

Have you ever wondered if there's anything more to life than being really, ridiculously good looking?

So there was a blizzard and the city crapped out, including Coldstone, so there was nothing left to do but make Liz look glamorous.

I think I can now officially consider myself an artist.

I feel really excellent about the things I have done in the last 48 hours, including but not limited to:

-Eating 12 pounds of Chinese food...twice.
-Watching The Talented Mr. Ripley, The 40 Year Old Virgin, Armageddon, Flight Plan, Ten Things I Hate About You, Zoolander, tons of VH1 and even a little Phantom Gourmet.
-Making and completely consuming a 13x9 inch pan of chocolate chip cookie bars and a couple of half gallons of ice cream.

So I feel really great about this. I hope I don't gain 40 pounds, I should probably get off the T at Park Street this week.

Some for better, some forever.

I just wanted to watch Schindler's List tonight, but I can't because the DVD player crapped out halfway through and I'm very upset.

But I know I'm an idiot for complaining about this, given the subject matter of Schindler's List and the fact that there are people in this world who sawed their toe off. 

Real problems. Problems that are real.

Look at your little eyes.

Today I walked into Best Buy, all excited to finally purchase two movies: Little Women and A Little Princess. I expected them to be side by side in the Family section, but unfortunately neither was in stock. So then I decided to look for The English Patient, which I've never even seen, but have always wanted to because I think I'd love it and it won Best Picture in 1996. That wasn't there either.

No movies from Best Buy for me. Now there is nothing left for me to do but try and take artistic digital images and trudge out in the snow at 10:00 because my future depends on it, or so they say.

I'm much sadder about this than a twenty-year-old should be.

Lock it up.

Guess who had to answer the door when Steve-Brady-Will-Hunting the Rodenticide man came persistantly a knockin' to check our glue traps at 9:30 this morning?

Me. The best part is what I got to wear: My XL-one-size-fits-all Titanic t-shirt circa 6th grade, my XL men's sweatpants with the saggy inseam and elastics at the bottom, my fleece Laura Ashley robe from BJ's and my dirty glasses. Luckily I had woken up two minutes before he came, so I had already removed the retainers.

There was nothing in the glue traps, thank the Lord. 

Last night I had a dream in which everyone was playing a huge game of Shout About Movies in a movie theater, and then afterward Natale, Liz, Natalie, my cousin Celine and my sister were sitting around my fireplace listening to Kristina and I complain about literally everything when my dad interrupted us by telling us to get on the commuter rail because we were all going to Neiman Marcus for dinner, so Natale ran inside my coat closet and emerged awhile later in a completely different, dinner appropriate outfit.

"Bacon...baconbaconbacon." - Eleanor

Yesterday I succeeded in smuggling a waffle cone full of ice cream into the movie theater.

I think I MAY qualify for the title of movie food smuggling champion. 

My computer desktop is Liza Minelli and David Gest's wedding photo. It gets me every time.

Daddy, why won't Shakira wrestle an alligator?

I don't know what it is about weird weather weekends spent watching movies and consuming massive amounts of football food, but sometimes you just need them. 

Natale is back in Florida, which is very sad, but at least he took a commemerative shot of vegetable dip with my mom before he departed. Ohhh love him.

And now for the highlights:

1. Kristina slumbered here because her parents are totally inSpain. We spent a lot of time in the Hatch, committed to E! because the TV in there has no remote because it was born before those were invented. Scarlett hosted SNL and was amazing.

2. Saw Munich, which was about thirty hours long, but at least I won the Game. Camera B operator was definitely named Danielle. The Game is when you watch all of the credits of a movie to see if anyone has same name as you, nicknames do not count. If they did, I'd win every time, because apparantly there is some quota that needs to be filled in Hollywood where you NEED a person named Randy on the project. Natale, I know you're being a creep and sneakily reading this, so if you want me to give you a list of some movies you should watch if YOU want a chance in hell of winning, let me know. I used IMDB to cheat a little.

3. This morning we made banana pancakes and pretended that it was the weekend. Didn't have to pretend too hard, but make believe is always fun.


Back to Boston tomorrow and GOLDEN GLOBES!!

You are worthless, Alec Baldwin.

Obvious reasons aside, here is why I identify with Scarlett:

"If I spend an hour in the gym in the morning I feel great about myself for the next three days. I'm like, 'I can eat whatever I want. I went to the gym for an hour three days ago.'"

...I did pilates with Natale for two hours before Christmas, and the night before that, I did a few sit ups. This makes it fine that strawberry ice cream on top of the MASSIVE amount of unnecessary food I have consumed all day ("Oh goodness, I am so full, I could not possibly eat another bite..what's that? Pizza? Oh, well if you insist.") is so delicious at 11:45 p.m., especially on my poor throat, which has been itchy for days now.

Other than eat, today I went to Providence to see Evita with my mom and Natale, which was an interesting musical. Does anyone know where/if Evita's body was found after the 17 years it was missing? The show kind of left me hanging. I was also disappointed to learn that Evita was a money hoarding slut and not the humanitarian saint I for some reason thought she was. 

Maybe I should actually learn more on the subject via historical reference and NOT Andrew Lloyd Webber musical before I pass my final judgement on the woman. But uh...really? She deserved a musical, Andrew?

Then I hung out with Kristina and the Blanchflowers, where Natale informed Mr. Blanchflower that a stool killed Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby and we watched Team America, which continues to surprise me with its hilarity, mainly because I think Trey Parkey MAY actually hate Alec Baldwin as much as, if not more than I do.

Burlington with Mumsy to try and get a hardrive and my godforsaken B key refastened at the Apple store, as well as LNT tomorrow.

Theresa toasts a bagel.

Ever think about what your E! True Hollywood Story would be like? Naturally I always do, mainly because I love E! True Hollywood Stories and the concept of being famous. Mine would be pretty cool. There'd be a grainy, sepia-toned shot of the exterior of Linens N Things for one, maybe another of a "Welcome to Leominster" sign (because there are like fifteen of those). Then they'd interview some distant member of my family or a really random friend that I haven't spoken to in years, anyone ready to just DIVULGE in my life's secrets, like that random aunt of the Hiltons that loves talking about Paris and Nicole, or Lindsay Lohan's one time friend with a massive nosering who is probably not allowed to hang out with Lindsay anymore, so she just jumped at the opportunity to be interviewed for E!THS. Heh. I wonder which of my friends would do that...

This is Clint Eastwood's mom, Ruth. She was born in 1909. Clint Eastwood was 11 pounds when he was born.

http://us.movies1.yimg.com/movies.yahoo.com/images/hv/photo/movie_pix/oscars/76th_annual_academy_awards_arrivals_photos/clint_eastwood/oscars4.jpg

Whisper Quietly To Your Team About Movies

I thought work would blow tonight, but it didn't, mainly because Jen was there and the damaged snacks just FLOWED in. Now I have a bellyache, thanks to a liter of seltz, gummi raspberries, Kids, sour jelly beans, chocolate graham chracker pretzels and pistacios, in addition to the nutritous vending machine dinner of bacon cheddar potato skin chips and Kit Kat bar. Sickening. I should really work on thinking ahead.

Shh, don't tell anyone, because there are no little secrets, but Match Point comes out in Boston on Friday, peeyourpantswithexcitement. (1:00, 4:00, 7:00, and 10:00 at AMC Fenway, student discount $7.50 WHAT?) My favorite thing about the locale of my apartment is probably its proximity to AMC Fenway, in the Select City of Boston. Bliss.

I'm thinking of capping off the night with Cinderella Man. Going to bed depressed plus the unruly combination of crappy food I have consumed this evening should make for some really bitchin' dreams that I may or may not remember, like last night, where I was on Lost, hanging out with Boone. Oh, Boone. What a strange name. Written out it looks like it should either rhyme with "no one" or be pronounced Boonie or be a typo for Bone.

5...4...-...3...2...1

If this New Year's Eve Extravaganza set the tone for 2006, then I think we're in for a real treat.

I really just love my friends and my family so much, especially when Gabrielle dances, Paul just wants to express himself by acquiring a pom pom fur scarf/cat toy and cubic zirconia earrings, only to be pressured into Yankee Swapping for a manly hammer by his father, my Uncle Stu, who put his Yankee Swap prize (a crushed velvet Santa underwear ensemble) to good use by sprinting a few laps around the first floor of my house wearing nothing but a hat and boxers to ring in the new year. 

And naturally, Grandmama wore the Suzanne Somers gold glittery pajamas, complete with cape. 

For me, the BEST part is that my friends rock SO much that they completely just blend in, embrace the madness and dance along, as my mother, covered in confetti and donning a party hat tries to force feed them beans and champange.

So I just feel really lucky because they are all pretty much the bomb and I love them.

Off to bed for moi though, nothing says celebration quite like a 9-2 shift at Linens N Things.

After that, I think it is high time to just lie down and watch several movies in a row.



Oh yeah, that lurch you just felt was the world slowing its' rotation.