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.