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.