Why is the gingerbread man made of mud?

Today I went to see The Brothers Grimm (Uhh...what?) for $4.75, which was better than The Village but worse than Catwoman. Still, $4.75. I could probably feed a lot of Indians for that price. Poor Matt Damon. It's always sad when such attractive, overly talented, Bostonian Oscar winners make abysmal role choices.

I have an eensy weensy moral problem involving the replacement of my desktop computer with a more mobile laptop. We'll see.

P.S. The RENT theatrical release has been bumped back to the week AFTER HPatGoF, and is now opening Thanksgiving weekend. Natale, if you're out there, come back for a genuine New England Thanksgiving, so that we can go and experience this movie together. You know, the way the Pilgrims would have wanted it.

God, I love The O.C. on DVD. No commercials AND a hilarious gag reel! Joy!

Speaking of gag reels, I now have, in my posession, One Screw Loose: The Anna Anderson Story, circa 2002 World Studies History. Yes, that's right. I will screen it for whoever wants to watch. It's fantastic.

So, I guess I should start packing...you know, for the empty apartment I'm about to move into. The one that DOESN'T provide furniture. Riiight. Starting tomorrow. Most importantly, I need to invest in more pairs of work appropriate denim AND prepare myself for working the right brain, hardcore, because friends, that is what Emerson is all about.

I swear I'm not lame.

I'm a little short of breath and my lungs hurt and my throat is shot and I keep coughing, TB style. Why? Don't know.

Diagnose me.

But if it ends up being anything remotely fatal, I'd prefer it if you just lie to me, because I tend to prefer the illusion of health as opposed to the gutwrenchingly harsh realities that I involuntarily shove to the back of my mind every single day.

I'd rather ignore the random inexplicable abnormalities than point them out to the someone and risk further, potentially frightening examination.

Hypothetical situations have always been my forte, along with empty wishing and imaginary scenarios where everything and everyone that I love last forever. Perfectly. AKA, exactly the way I like them.

One thing that provides me with just enough of a glimmer of hope is the notion that this time I just may be exactly where I'm supposed to be. 

There's always a reason not to throw away things you think you could someday need again. Sometimes it's best to just be frugal and ask yourself if, one day, you'll wish you'd kept it.

I really ought to stop more often and just work on being more appreciative of the things that I have, while I have them.

Instead of looking back, I'm just going to wonder about next year. What will have happened, who will I know, and where will I be?

Chinese Immigrants.

Every now and again you need someone to cackle with, and quote with and pick right back up with from any given time frame over the past ten years or so. Even if there is that coast that divides. Because really, it's not all that far, and in the grand scheme of things, months are very short.

Hear that??? It's da noise...and da funk.

Tell everyone.

Well.

Tax free weekend is over, thank Pete. Can I just take this opportunity to let everyone in on a little secret? You know that state right near us? Not New York but New Hampshire? That little, often forgotten state? Well. You can shop there tax free...EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE BLOODY YEAR! Now GO FORTH! Freak out! Flock to Manchester and flood their stores with frenzied big ticket purchases!

It's too bad all summers can't be as fantastic as the best one of your life. But I guess that's what sets that certain special one apart from all of the others. It's just a shame this one had to contrast so sharply with its' predecessor.

It must be nice to be able to easily replace everything that needs replacing.

A few of today's dietary factoids: Red Bull is derived from Beef and Sour Patch Kids hurt your teeth after eating them for four consecutive days.

In case anyone wanted to learn some stuff about hemophilia, here's a legitimate website:
http://my.webmd.com/hw/blood_disorders/aa8423.asp

Here she is, our Mount Rose Amercian Teen Princess.

I have spent the last two days in Internet darkness. It was tough, but NOTHING compared to the Great AIM Blackout of 2004 in Amherst, even though that only lasted like 4 hours.

I don't know why, but August 9th is ringing some kind of bell for some reason. Is it anyone's birhday? Did something unbelievably cool once happen on August 9th?

Maybe it's just special because it's the day after yesterday, which was the day I walked across the Longfellow bridge from Boston to Cambridge, for absolutely no reason. MMMMMMM, fun. I also learned yesterday, from an extremely chipper social worker in a yellow shirt, that as I was enjoying my time on Newbury Street, thousands of children all over the world were being sold to old men for sex. 

...

Yikes.

Yesterday was also special because we set up to have a long anticipated re-viewing of Drop Dead Gorgeous, but instead were blessed to find out that the REAL and ACTUAL Miss Teen USA was on. So we watched that instead, which is always fun. Ohio won. She's beauty and she's grace. She's Miss United States.

Cereal would be nice, but Lucky Charms are just too much of an effort right now.

Duck.

My friends absolutely slay me.

So much so that sometimes I just grin like a fool for hours because I remember that they're so much better than anyone else's. Suckers.

Tsh, I want to be a Party Girl. And not some half assed But Also Quiet at the Same Time poser type. It has to be balls out, 110% Party Girl, because it's been awhile.

That is why I must go to sleep and prepare myself for A 9:00 AM DUCK TOUR. Criminy.

Mo chuisle

FINALLY watched Million Dollar Baby, which was in fact, the Best Picture of the Year. Hands down.

Definitely the perfect opportunity to reinstate Drama and a Pint Nights with Leez.

Sometimes movies completely amaze me. I love it.

Sometimes Clint Eastwood does, too. But in a completely platonic way. I'm not about to act out a crush on a man who is older than my grandfather with children younger than my sister. Kind of disgusting, but also irrelevant to the fact that as a director/producer/actor he rocks.

I think it's sometimes good to just disappear for awhile.

Every now and then.

Today at work I met Denise Richards. She had a serious cluster of BANGS and two apparantly interbred boys who had their very own checkbooks with which to pay for their Moshi pillows and Mike & Ikes. Each wrote their own check for $8.50. Separately. I don't know if any of you understand how tedious that is.

I also encountered a slightly off, elderly Puerto Rican woman who was shopping with several generations of her family. They purchased 20 of those grippy foam placemats at .15 cents a piece ("for the porch"), a sno-cone maker, and an electric pancake griddle. This wouldn't have been half as weird if the afore mentioned matriarch didn't have some sort of melt down/short circuit/stroke which caused her to toddle around in a circle and slur "Leeninsandschings" (translation: Linens N Things) repetedly for five minutes while her great granddaughter's infant son gnawed on the nickles his mother got back as change for her sno cone maker.

I really could not make this stuff up. Forgive me for sharing if you don't care, but I really just think I should have it on record for posterity and also just in case I ever need material for a book.