The SES are absolutely charming. Ruthless trained killers are just a phone call away.

Alright, I've now given up hope that blogger will EVER let me post a picture again, for the rest of my blogging life. Which, given how long trends last, should be about five minutes. Except that I am not terribly trendy, but I do have many, many opinions that nobody really cares about, and thus blogging is for me. So you don't have to worry. I know you were. Because, really, what brightens up your day like my trenchant comments on society??? Except for a bottle Stoli, I'm thinking not much.

You have been, however, sadly lacking in updates for the last couple of days.

Not my fault. I actually had to work the last three days, two of them for eight hours. This did not amuse me, as I am accustomed to and rather enjoy doing nothing. It also made me seriously doubt my ability to have a real job, where eight hours is like, Tuesday. And Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Hmmm. Maybe that art history professor idea isn't so crazy. Because I'm fairly certain that I could wax extensive about my personal feelings of the Medici family. No problem.

Not so good at standing for sixteen hours. On my stubs, which used to be feet, before they realized what I was doing to them and staged a revolution. And my finger, which I burned on the Pizza Oven of Doom and is now blistered. Grrrr.

But wait, it's okay. Because I made $4.75 in tips. Over EIGHT HOURS. That's like sixty-three cents an hour. Why don't people like me??? I'm nice, I'm not nearly as sarcastic as I am here, I'm well-dressed, I very rarely screw things up, and I did not tell the girl who ordered a cafe au lait at eight forty-five last night that she could warm the milk by sticking it up her ass! This other girl made two dollars more in the three hours she was there yesterday than I did all freakin' day!!!! And I don't have an angry attitude. HATE.

On the upside, don't have to work on Wednesday. See? God wants me to watch CSI: NY.

And it's freakin' hot. Like heat advisory hot. And I don't care how much the people in Dallas and Las Vegas whine about how "We wait for ninety-five! That's like October for us!" No. No, do not tell me that. We have it worse, because at least when you walk outside in Dallas your skin just blisters. Here, you walk outside and CAN NOT BREATHE. Seriously. The humidity is crazy high. I weep for those without air conditioning.

Completely chanigng subjects, yesterday I was watching a show on National Geographic, which is a channel that I very rarely watch, in fact, I think it's blocked out on my rotation, because I want very few educational shows coming at me when I'm surfing from VH1 to E! to CBS. But it was all about Masons, which was exceedingly interesting, mainly because it was an hour long show, and they talked about everything, except what it is exactly that the Masons do. Seriously. You have meetings. You have little rituals. You have "degrees". But what do you DO!?!?!?!?! Wikipedia was no help. "A peculiar (some say particular or beautiful) system of morality veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols"??? What does that mean???? GAH!!!!!! Craziness.

And no, I don't think that freemasonry was behind the French Revolution, the founding of the United States, or Truman's decision to drop an atomic bomb. I'm pretty sure those had to do with a bunch of irate commoners, damn King George, and the fact that the Japanese would JUST NOT GIVE UP!!!!!! I probably would have dropped a bomb, too, just to shut them up. But my feelings about WWII and how I would have handled things is a completely different political rant, which will have to come another day. I know you're all upset.

Imladris and I have decided that we must watch Love, Actually again (hence the title). Even though while discussing this we recited just about every line of importance. Which does not ruin it for us, as when we watch movies that are favorites we actually watch less of the movie and spend more time yelling comments at the screen. Like when Emma Thompson is all bent out of shape because her brother got to be all prime-ministery and England-rules and she got to make a paper mache lobster head, and I feel compelled to tell her to shove it because she gets to go home to Alan and that clearly is worth just about any political power you may wield. *sniff*

On to my Lala Land commentary...

Aww!!! Poor baby!!!! Does Mommy have to go fight another battle for you???

Seriously? Why?

Aw, Mel. Honey, why did you do this??? Now, I've never been terribly drunk and irate, at least not at the same time (HA! Kidding...), but I'm fairly certain that I wouldn't turn into a bigot.

Well, I'm out of sarcasm and anger. Have a good Monday! Ooh, watch Hugh Laurie on Inside the Actor's Studio tonight!!! I will, considering I've already watced all his movies, TV shows, looking into the US release of Black Adder, and read his book. Oh, and ransomed my soul to buy the second season of House. Hmmm. Maybe I have a problem...

Oh Peter Paul and Mary I'm going down!

What the hell is up with blogger being all bitchy and not letting me post pictures? Hmmm? Grrr. I'm guessing that Ted Kaczynski sent the first package out after blogger.com made him put up boring, picture-less posts. Apparently Myspace is crazy tempermental, too. I wouldn't know, as I prefer to make my stalkers work a little bit harder.

Of course, I'm alone like a dog, so maybe I should get a Myspace. Or Facebook, as then the crazies have your e-mail address!!! But it's okay, because it's your super-secret campus e-mail, that never, ever includes things like, oh, your last name and where you are located. Ugh. Stupid people bug me.

So yeah, boring day. Watched Regis and Kelly. Except it was Kelly and Geraldo. After realizing this, I decided that there was no way I could get that hour back and turned off the TV. Then I watched The View, which was awesome and awkward because Kathy Griffin was on and Barbara Walters was being a total frigid bitch and not really talking to her. Meanwhile, Elizabeth Hasselbeck was wearing a turquoise tent with a do rag. I think she must have been drunk this morning when she got dressed. Then I cleaned. Fun, huh?

Could sleep last night! Yayness!!! Even though it was freakishly hot and my parents got mad at me when I turned down the thermostat yesterday while they were gone. I'm sorry, but if you're going to set the damn thing at 78 you might as well just open the windows, am I right? But I was so exhausted I slept straight through. Hopefully tonight will go well.

I'm crazy sick of summer TV. I want my shows to start up again. I found pictures from the the next season of CSI:NY. Hmmm. I think that someone on the makeup team bought out the local Wal-Mart's supply of instant tan.

Okay, and I also found the story line for the season premiere. See? If it's new and kinky, CSI will do a story about it. Yeah, I'm actually pretty sure that that's not even a thing. Because maybe I'm just being naive, but wouldn't it pose certain...logistical problems? I would think so. But that's just me.

Well, that's pretty much all that's going on with my life, which is slightly sad, but true. So I'll write about other, more attractive, people's, okay?

Oh, Jada's on the payroll now, too. Who's next? Travolta?

Okay, what is it with pretty people and their intense aversion to working, like, at all. Seriously. La Lohan ended up in the hospital again for "heat exhaustion and dehydration". Didn't she just get out for regular "exhaustion"??? But the article was so serious, "Oh my gosh, she was just working, like, SOOO hard on this movie and it was like SOOO hot, and she just couldn't drink enough. But now she's TOTALLY fine. Why is it that people with real jobs who raise children and live sometimes without air conditioning aren't being felled by this plague of "exhaustion"??? Is being paid millions for pretending to be somebody else for a couple weeks really that much more difficult and illness-inducing? I think not. Sheesh.

*BAD PUN ALERT*

I guess he'll just have to jump in his car.

See? Told you it was bad. :)

I just gave a quarter to a homeless guy, I think it was Johnny Depp.

Blogger HATE!!!!!!! No icons today. Bugger bugger bugger bugger.

And I am NOT in a good mood. I got like five combined hours of sleep, if sleep here takes the meaning of tossing and turning in the heat and occasionally starting a rosary before getting really bored from midnight until 1:47 A.M., and then kinda sorta from 5:11 until I was awakened at seven thirty to be told that I was now home alone and had better be alert in case I was attacked by a hatchet-weilding rapist. I'm not entirely sure how being alert would help in that scenerio, except I'd know I was being hatcheted to death and raped, but it's important to my parents, I guess.

They should have gotten me at two o'clock. I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed then, because I'd given up on sleeping and was instead watching an incredibly mind-numbingly dull movie whose plot I could not follow. There was a soldier, and a girl, and they were in Mexico or something (actually, I thought it was Spain until the soldier started hitchhiking to San Fransico), and they were totally in love, but her family was against it, and there were tears and then a big fire and they tried to fan it out, even though it was totally NOT GOING TO WORK because it had TOTALLY TAKEN OVER THE VINEYARD. I think it was a vineyard. I know they were worried about roots. Maybe they were growning something else. I didn't care, really. But forty-five minutes in I was sick of it and was just like, "Oh come on. Give it up. I'm sick of all your whiny Mexican honor crap. Just throw down an make out already!!!"

But the hitchhiking, tear-inducing, out-of-control-fire-fighting, honor-clad soldier was Keanu Reeves, whom I love and and want to marry in a totally maternal way, you know, because of the dead baby, dead fiancee, and dying sister thing. Well, okay, not completely maternal. I'm compassionate. Not blind.

And he got 10% of the Matrix box office. That buys a crapload of compassion. And graduate school. I'd mother anybody for law school tuition.

So after Keanu finally did make out with the Mexican the movie was over and I laid on top of my covers and read Bergdorf Blondes, which is annoyingly chick-lit, but in a totally pretentious way, like Plum Sykes (which must be, by the way, a totally fake pen name, unless her mom was high in the delivery room) said, "No. Seriously. This is a real novel, dammit." No. No, it's not.

Hey, actually rejoined civilization yesterday. Went shopping, to a movie, and out to dinner. GAHH!!! I'd forgotten how awesome POTC is when you aren't looking at screencaps. Pirates of the Caribbean: Revenge of Mr. Collins. Still not hot, though. I don't know why people think he is. He scares me. And he should have shaved.

And I dragged my brother, because I was "being a good sister". Yeah. Like when I "was a good sister" and made him go see Harry Potter six times. And rent the first two movies. And rent Stuart Little. I'm such a bitch.

My sister is now standing on the corner trying to find somebody to take her to London, where she will storm Christies and steal this dress. But undoubtedly she will do it in such a cute way that they will love her. Or arrest her, and I'll have to go bail her out of some London psychiatric ward. Which would be fun, I guess.

Okay, I'd just like to say that I've been waiting for this since his chemistry with Joey Fatone was totally more believable than with the woman. Honestly? I think the Russians found out and were freaked out. That's just me, though.

Must go eat lunch and then sit in a waiting room. I know you're all jealous. :D

Day 11: Freedom is so close I can taste it.

I know that you all missed my mordant wit over the weekend, but fear not, I am back.

Much, much better today, y'all. My face has morphed back into an almost-perfect version of itself, which is regrettably not-so-perfect, so I can rejoin civilization soon. Whoo! 'cuz it's not like I've been clawing at the walls or anything.

And I can clean again! Mommie Dearest walked into the kitchen just now and was like, "Whoa. Lupe's back!" Lupe was really, REALLY not appreciating not being able to clean. And I can go back to work, which means my next paycheck will be $36.25 before taxes. Oh, living large.

I think I shall go see Pirates tomorrow just to make sure that I have another viewing in case I get felled by rubella or something equally implausible, like chicken pox.


Okay, so Imladris has been reading lately. This is not good. Now, I'm generally in favor of reading (oops, the peasants can read...HAHAHAHAHA), but she's been reading 100 People Screwing Up America or something, and now she's on a conservative kick and getting down on all my shows for being liberal and pretentions and platforms for Hillary Clinton's presidential campaign.

Now, I'm as conservative as the next girl, but I liked Commander in Chief. And yes, the producers probably had lofty goals of furthering Mrs. Clinton's political career, but that wasn't what the show was about. And nobody with half a brain will allow a show to influence their voting.

And I really like How I Met Your Mother, which is not pretentious. And yes, I know that James Spader is SO NOT hot, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy Boston Legal. And I like McDreamy on Grey's Anatomy.

And I don't care what anybody says- I don't like guns and I really think that Ann Coulter went a teensy bit crazy with this last book.

So that was the political rant for the day, and Imladris is no longer allowed to read. Humph.


Watched Miss Universe last night with loverly Mr. Bartles and Mr. Jaymes. We love them. Imladris got a teeny bit sick after half of one and I was forced to finish it for her. The things we'll do for our family. That is some crazy multi-lingual shit going down right there.

Ukraine's hair= Shakira on crack.

USA's national costume= what the hell? Did a patriotic horse-loving dominatrix throw up on you?

"Tough questions"= HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Yes, Miss USA, Lake Tahoe is pretty.

And I loved how they had a translator standing by during Miss Switzerland's answers, because it was a little dicey whether or not she was speaking English sometimes.

This post is over. I'm going to go bounce off the walls some more, okay?

Day 8: I am no longer amused by being ill.

Much to the chagrin of everyone who has to put up with me. I believe Mommy suggested that I "offer it up" this morning, and I may have uttered a something a teensy bit blasphemous in my head before responding "No". I am NOT in a good mood.

Brilliant Doctor who thought this was "just a virus that's going around" said that I'm still contagious until everything crusts over (such a lovely visual) and it can take up for four weeks for the scabs to fall off. Oh good. Because bunches of people will feel quite comfortable accepting food and drink mixed by a person with a scabbed over face. Yeah, because nothing perks you up like not getting a paycheck!!!

So now I'm staring at my last two remaining un-scabbed bumps in a desperate attempt to make them scab. It is not working that well.

Also a little teeny bit crazy-ass bored. I read four hundred freakin' pages of The Last Boleyn (which I mix up in my head with The Other Boleyn Girl, probably because they have strikingly similar titles and are also pretty much the same story. Except The Other Boleyn girl was better. If I were Karen Harper I would have slapped Philippa Gregory with one big-ass plagerism suit.) We all know that I loves me some juicy six-hundred page Tudor tomes, but over half of it is even a little bit much for me. Good book, though.

Move over KT Tunstall- I have a new musical obsession. Imladris begged me to listen to Hips Don't Lie, Shakira's latest I-don't-understand-a-word-she's-saying-but-something-makes-me-want-to-DANCE!!!!, much like Whenever, Wherever a couple years ago. So I did, and well, I don't understand a word she's saying, but dammit, I want to DANCE!!!! It is now lovingly in my iPod, where I shall listen to it repeatedly while reading more about the Tudors, who were really just a passle of whores. Every last one of them. (ETA: I am infinately disturbed by the album cover. *shivers*)

Like the icon above? I do. There were also a bunch of slash ones that were freakin' hilarious, but I'm morally opposed to slash so I felt guilty putting them here where impressionable eyes like The Boy's might see them. But they were funny---99 Problems but a bitch ain't one! Or Jack/Barbossa- Ew. HAHAHAHAH! *ahem*

Also spending WAY too much time on the message boards. Okay, I have another problem with these people. They're all so sure that Jack is dead. Now, if they just accepted everything without writing a thousand posts critiquing every little angle, this wouldn't be so annoying. These are the people who would probably believe the world is flat if J.K. Rowling said so on her website which " OMG always tells the truth!!!", but they see Jack Sparrow kinda sorta jump into a fake sea monster's mouth and they're holding internet prayer vigils even though they've all seen the freakin' pictures from the third one!!!! Johnny's still there, folks!!!

Morons.

Another symptom of having way too much time on my hands? I was watching My Fair Brady: We're Getting Married! on VH1 this morning. Oh dear. They were in a group therapy session, which makes some sense because they kind of spend the rest of the show yelling/crying at each other, but the therapist was ONLY talking to them. The three other couples were just kind of like, "Um...yeah...I have trust issues too...oh, did Peter Brady want to say something? Okay..." I would be SO pissed if I paid for group therapy and I had to watch Adrianne Curry cry for three hours.

Oooh, got a new car!!!!! Well, okay, it's ten years old, but it's new to us!!!!!!! And guess what? It has a trunk!!!! I've never had a trunk! I've always had massive cars that just open up in back, but this has a trunk with a little button and everything!!! And it's SOOOO cute! And it kind of stalled when I drove it and I felt really badly until Daddy fixed it. So much fun to drive!!!! Not that I have anywhere to go, but still.

Okay, you know what? Next year, I think Bush just needs to stay home. The G8 has NOT been good for W. Oh, honey. You do NOT try to massage the Germans. Especially when they don't see you coming. I'm actually kind of surprised he didn't get a roundhouse kick to the face, because that woman looks like she means business!!!

Day 7: I am going crazy.

Am also experimenting with concealors to figure out how much I would have to use in order to cover my pox and sneak out of the house, as I am beginning to claw at the walls. So far, oil-based works best.

I think I'm getting better, not that I would really know. But I am getting really sick of wearing clothes that don't touch my skin.

Imladris saw POTC again yesterday. I sat and tried not to scratch. Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger. I am not pleased with her.

While sitting and trying not to scratch, however, I did some thinking and realized that Jack Davenport sported a really hot quite full beard at the premiere, which occurred while they were shooting the third film. Ergo, as I'm fairly certain that facial hair was frowned upon in the Royal Navy circa 1800, Norrington must be piratey and hot for at least some of the next movie. Ha! I can rest easy. (Yes, I realize that is a little sad. I don't care. You try sitting inside for a week and a half. )

In keeping with our Pirate theme, which is actually pretty much the theme of my life lately, I opened EW's blog this morning and almost fell out of my chair. Okay. I read it. I understood it. I think it's fake. First, major grammatical errors. Disney can't spring for spell checker? Second, I'm disinclined to trust anything that shows up on myspace, except maybe threats of death of pornography. And third, my previous theory about Norrington's beard just doesn't fit at all. But I still feel compelled to post it anyway, because my brain has been hijacked and now strictly does Michael Eisner's bidding. And it fits with this, so I'm a little confused. For the emotional reasons that will be obvious to anyone who reads it, I refuse to believe it is valid.

*scoffs*

Oh, God, we love the glasses. *faints*

*ahem* Back in my real life, which is pitiful and irritated and scabby, I'm still having the major life/academic crisis of faith that I first described below. Although, really, you could scroll through here and find probably eight-ten different life/academic crises of faith, and they all look remarkably the same. Whatever. I'm not terribly imaginative, but I am dramatic.

So I don't know what I want to do with my life. Colleen thinks I should marry Tony Blair. Which sounds like a good plan, once you get past the "What? Ewwww!" factor, but I'm sensing some problems. While he is one of the few world leaders I can think of who isn't pervy, French, or poisoned (meanwhile, our pox match! How cute!), there are the teeny problems like a.) I don't know him, b.) he's married, and c.) I have a feeling that my constant quoting of Bridget Jones's Diary might get on his nerves. So no matter how much fun my sister thinks living in the basement of 10 Downing Street would be, I'm not thinking that's going to work out. It can be Plan B.

Currently, Plan A is under construction. It is a long construction, because the architect is keeps changing her freakin' mind. Bugger bugger bugger bugger.

I have decided, however, that part of Plan A will involve me living in this house. I don't know whose house it is, or why somebody made it into an icon, but I know I love it and I want to move in soon.

Big thunderstorms early this morning y'all. Terribly dramatic and fun to watch for those of us with insomnia around three thirty. Crazy lightening and thunder. Ooooh. Then they knocked the power out, which was terribly scary and fun until I realized that none of our fans worked and the air conditioning was regrettably also electrical. Bugger.

We spent the next hour lying on top of my blanket trying to sleep. Thankfully, a loverly little truck pulled up around five and began fixing things and soon our fans were back on. Whoo!!! Although I think they could have done without the flashing rotating law enforcement-like lights RIGHT OUTSIDE MY HOUSE AT FIVE O'CLOCK. But whatever. They gave me air conditioning and running water. I love them.

Okay, somebody has got to start telling casting directors that Henry VIII was NOT hot. Seriously, first that angry Irish guy my sister likes so much who is, admittedly, quite attractive, and now Eric Bana??? No. No. Henry VIII was powerful, and had a penchant for decapitating people who did not do what he asked. That's why he has so many wives. It was not his magnetic appeal. Although towards the end he probably exhibited something of the same gravitational pull of many planets magnets.

I'd also just like to say that I read The Other Boleyn Girl, as well as countless other books about both Mary and Anne Boleyn, and I CANNOT see Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson in the roles.

So, how much do you think Tom Cruise is paying Leah Remini? My guess? A LOT. Altough maybe it's easier to bribe a scientologist. You know, the brotherhood and all that.

Finally, I found this on somebody's blog. It's freakin' hilarious, especially for those of us who spend way too much time on internet communities. "going downhill", "not the same as it was". HAHAHAHAHAHA (John: Don't click on it. VERY bad language.)

Oooh, there was just a Very Great Crash from the kitchen, and Imladris just informed us that we need mayo.

Have a good day!!!

Day 5: I am amused by the Captain Jack Sparrow doll my Daddy got me from McDonalds.

Look how cute he is!!!!!! I am not above reverting to childhood when I feel a little bit ill.

He's sitting on our couch here. Now he is sitting next to the computor making me smile. I am such a dork.

A dork who is feeling better, though. While it may be the unhealthy amounts of Tylenol I take, the "sick" part of this virus is like gone, and I feel healthy enough to do anything. Unfortunately, I'm still a walking pox and will risk infecting Imladris if I touch anything. (Although I don't think it will be entirely my fault if she gets sick, because I came home from work last Tuesday night- when I was really contagious- and the pillows and such on my bed were arranged in the shape of a person, and several pairs of shoes were scattered by the foot of the bed. I'm just saying.) So I'm kind of just going stircrazy now and playing with my Jack dolly.

I'm also thinking about exactly how much money I'm missing out on making. It's gonna be a while before I can get back to work, because while I'm sure my customers will be glad that I am no longer pussy and swollen, they probably will not feel like buying food from somebody covered in scabs. I'm just guessing.



Having another major academic crisis, y'all. I know, I know, it seems like I have one of those every week. Which is kind of true. At least for most of the year. Occasionally I'll have bursts of happiness where I'm completely content and fulfilled for longer than seven or eight days, but it doesn't happen often.

Anyhoodles, the crisis du jour is pretty much the same as the last sixteen crisises (what's the plural of crisis? Crisises? Is that right?)---what the hell do I want out of life. Because now I'm thinking, as I've been thinking off and on, that maybe the perfect thing to do that would guarantee me never having to sit in a cubicle for ten hours a day is to plan on getting my PhD and teach at some university. I'm thinking art history or regular history. Think about it. I could wear normal clothes, talk a lot about esoteric subjects that are of interest pretty much only to me, get a cute office, and have the summers off. Plus, people would call me "Dr. something". Godwilling "something" will be different than my last name now.

The dilemma comes in when I realize that that is so divergent from my actual major that there is very little way I could prepare for both of them, which means at some point I would have to make a decision and I'm very, VERY bad at making decisions, especially about my future. This is why I'm taking French and Russian, not one or the other.

Argh. I'm going to go bury my head in the sand. That is one thing I am VERY good at.



Wouldn't want my CSI's to think I've forgotten about them what with all the Pirates-related screaming and fainting going on around here. (Hey- if McDonalds made a Grissom doll I'd have it too...)

So what else is going on? Not a whole lot. I've taken to sleeping large chunks of the day to pass the time and then taking Benadryl at night to go to sleep. You know, a lot of people prefer a more hollistic approach when they're sick---eating right, going with their bodies. Whatever. I can't keep down solid food and I prefer to squash whatever natural instinct my body has with some pill, be it Tylenol, Benadryl, or Valtrex.

Been watching WAY too much VH1, which is sad because I've seen every single I Love the '70's Volume 2 thing they have, except 1979.

Wow. That was a tragic decade. The hair, the clothes, the music, the dancing, the people. Oh God. I'm feeling a little bit nauseous. And I feel badly saying that, I really do, because the '70s were my parents time. That was like their whole high school/college/being real peole time, and I just feel a little bit sad for them because it looked like it SUCKED. No offense.

It does kind of make me wonder if in thirty years my daughter is going to be doing whatever it is they do instead of blogging about how awful the 2000s were. And then I'd have to remind her that while she was obscenely expenseive, I could still return her to China, so she had better keep her opinions to herself. Yeah, I'm gonna be a good mom.

Oh, and I've got so many links to comment on!!!

Yo Blair: The Transcript. Me? I want to know who this "honey" is that they're talking about. That's more interesting than Syria and Lebanon, no? And don't worry about Blair. If he can survive the Attack of the New Labour Mullett, I think he can handle this.

Did anyone NOT see this coming? Their union was pretty much just a joint syphillis-sharing session. We all knew it was coming. It barely deserves its own link.

Oh!!!!!! Helen Feilding had a baby!!! Congratulations Woman-Who-Made-My-Life-Better-Through-Plucky-British-Heroines!!!!!

Wow. I suddenly think that this would be better for the sanctity of marriage than this. Think of the diseases, people. *shivers*

I'm going to try to go see if maybe a touch of artsy scandal makes me want/hate academia any more. Have a good day!!!

Day 4: My Battle with the Plague Eases Slightly

Yes, I ripped off Imladris's title. I don't care. It's my illness.

I've moved past yesterday's Take Me Now God Anything That's Left For Me Cannot Be Worth This mood, which was accompanied by much sighing and nausea, and am now into the Exactly How Much Tylenol Can You Take Without Killing Your Liver Because It Makes Me Feel GREAT!!!!, which is accomanied by less nausea and infinately less sighing. Much to the delight of everyone else around here.

Still wearing the sick person's uniform of jeans and big comfy t-shirts from various universities I have attended/will be attending/was accepted at but can't afford the twenty-three grand they want what the hell, you're the freaking Jesuits, just go hit up some dying guy for his inheritance, he'll give it to you. Oh, and my CSI shirt. Because it's big, comfy, and I love it. Usually I'm looking for clothes that make me look thin or pretty---now the main goal is to have no fabric touch my skin at all. I'd wear a tent if I could fit it through the door.

The swelling in my face has gone down so I no longer disgust myself when I look in the mirror by resembing a puss-infected puffer fish. I am left to believe that the Spinning in the Water pills must actually be working. I know you're all thrilled.

But I'm still freakin' bored, y'all. Been spending mountains of time on the message boards. Which is never healthy, because just any old crazy can find their way to the imdb message boards, and if they have ten minutes to set up an account they can post about anything to their heart's content. Such as the budding geneartion of bondage freaks, the fourteen-year-olds who cannot get enough of the Will being beaten scene and don't understand why maybe there shouldn't be six different threads devoted to it (okay, if you're too young to know what the S and M stand for, you CANNOT be into it, mmmkay, sweetie???), the rabid Jack/Elizabeth shippers (*stabbity**stabbity**stabbity*DIE!!!!), the unbelievable number of "Was it just me, or was Norrington hot in this..." people (no, it's not just you. And the rest of us knew it two weeks ago), and the morons who have nothing better to do than come up with "Who would you do?" threads. (Really? I have to decide between Jack and some random cannibal on that island? Hmmm. Let me think...idiots) I want them all to die. But not until I can see the movie again, because for now they are my only connection.

Speaking of teenage shit angst, just got off the phone with sport-of-the-daygirl179 and apparently her friends are all upset about...well, I'm not exactly sure, really. Even though countless hours have been spent telling explaining who broke up with who and who is being a total bitch and whatever. I got tired of it and suggested she buy them a subscription to a newspaper so they could at least read about real drama.

Like Israel and Lebanon are trying to kill each other. Not like when Clinton actually stood up from his desk for twelve minutes in '98 and we bombed the hell out of Kuwait for some reason, but I think they're really in this baby for the long haul. Neither one will be happy until there is a big hole on the map with a little arrow pointing to it saying "Former Site of .

This crisis is also probably not going to help President Bush's approval ratings.

While also being infinately entertaining, the above link is just another example of how Tony Blair is our bitch. Seriously. Dude CANNOT get a word in edgewise. What follows is just the jist of the conversation, not an actual transcript...

Bush: They should just stop this shit and get along. I do not know why they continue to do all this.

Blair: Oh, I agree, I think we need to...

Bush: I mean give it up already! We're going to kick your ass so leave it alone.

Blair: Right, I...

Bush: You know waht? I think I'll just send Condi over there and hope she comes back alive.

Blair:...

Bush: And it's not like I need this to deal with right now, either! I mean, Laura and I have so much on our hands, just keeping the girls on the straight and narrow and OUT of the bars!!! How is it that your daughter has never been arrested for underage drinking?

Blair: Well, Cherie and I always tried to...

Bush: Maybe I should call Condi. See when she could get over there. She's real good at scaring people, and she might just scare the shit out of those Hezbollah guys. Loved the sweater, by the way.

Blair: *gazing at ceiling* Oh, it is my turn to talk? You're welcome.

Also, who told Tony Dear that pink was a good color? Because they should be fired.

Alas, my icons aren't working and I'm out of current events to comment upon, so I think I shall go scare up some more Tylenol.

Somebody kill me.

I now know why God only gives chicken pox to little children. Because when you wake up one morning and look like one of those scary witches from a fairy tale designed to scare the shit out of children, you don't care so much.

I've been felled by the bubonic plague. Worse, because witht he plague you were dead or better in twenty four hours. None of this seven-to-ten-days-maybe-then-the-searing-pain-and-irritation-where-no-girl-should-EVER-have-irritation-will-clear-up-but-maybe-not-why?-you-didn't-want-to-leave-the-house-for-the-next-two-weeks-did-you? shit.

The worst part? (Okay, definately not the worst, but right up there.) I'm on the whore spinnin in the water pill. I have herpes!!!!! *tear*

Except in my boils. Those are just disgusting. And not really boils. But still.

OMG, y'all, I'm going SOOOO stir crazy!!!! I need something to do. And I can't clean, because I'm freakishly tired (having herpes takes it out of you) and my family is worried about me spreading my plague around. Bugger bugger bugger bugger.

Hey- remember the summer of '03 when Avril Lavigne was just an angry little punk who would not shut the hell up and you could NOT get away from her or her annoyingly catch Complicated? Yeah, she got married. If the woman who brought us Sk8tr Boy can get married, why does no one like me??? Bugger bugger bugger bugger.

Not as interesting when it speaks.

Calm down children, I have not abandoned you. I was just busy warming over death. That's all. I have been slightly under the weather lately---it started off as one of my infrequent but painful nonetheless migraine symptom things, but according to my brilliant doctor (the woman who tried to beat a tumor into submission), it's just a virus that's going around and I'll be fine in a little while. Which is infinately satisfying, as I'm choosing to believe her over my scary chicken pox and hair loss nightmares.

Because I DO have a couple little red dots. Which I think are stress/heat (because it's roughly---oooh---112 degrees outside). So even though I was a freaky child and never had chicken pox, I'm thinking it hasn't decided to attack me now.

Okay, and the hair loss nightmares are purely psychological, but you can think of a bunch of scary shit at four o'clock in the morning when you're lying awake wanting to die. I began to think about whether or not the whole crippling headache was perhaps indicative of a greater problem, such as a brain aneurysm, which would either kill me instantly like a family friend which is very sad, or require me to have surgury that would require head shaving, and you know you can't find long wigs that look natural and I don't have bangs so how the hell would that work, and what if my doctors are all insanely hot like on House and I'm BALD!!!!! *ahem* I didn't say it made sense.

Feeling infinately better today, though.

Probably not good enough, however, to go see Pirates again today, which is terribly depressing as it's been almost a week and Imladris has now seen it twice more than me (*grumbles*). And the Boy was listening to the soundtrack on iTunes and I MUST SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe this weekend.

Did watch the fun extras from the first one, and we are currently struggling with our morality because we REALLY want to to rent Coupling. I probably won't, but still.

Seriously, y'all. I'm going into withdrawal.

Before I was felled by a nasty virus, I got to rescue Mary on Wednesday when she was stranded after her placement tests and abandoned by her drunken friends. I probably didn't need an hour and a half round trip with a migraine threatening, but I felt very badly for her as I could tell she was a little panicky and scared. As I would have been. Actually, I probably would have been curled up in the fetal position unable to dial my cell phone.

One word: Johnny. All you need for your summer blockbuster.

Going to go suck down some Tylenol.

The word is "muster", Denny, but you're right, the law lacks condiments.

Oh, Boston Legal. I do love me some esoteric quirky dramedys with James Spader. Although somebody has got to tell Dude that Sex Lies and Videotape was a LONG time ago and he is no longer attractive, which he obviously thinks he is. Which is not on tonight. Grrr. Do not like it when ABC toys with my affections. Especially for this crap. Except that this scares me a litte, because I have a scary attraction to an affinity for all men accented. And I would probably would have been totally into this guy if I knew him. In fact, I'd probably marry him, if he hadn't already bilked some poor American woman into the same thing. And I would not let ABC Primetime pry me from clutching a pillar in my mansion screaming about how I was a citizen of Her Royal Highness and they cannot do this to me.



*ahem* Taking a break from your regularly scheduled crazy and tuning into the once-every-three-years-pirate-and-hormone-induced crazy, which will probably peter out in a couple of weeks, or months, if it goes like last time, the above picture is seriously overused. Not that I mind, really, but somebody needs to find another screencap to make icons out of. Like that scene where in draws the gun on Jack, which Imladris has now seen once more than me, or even the part where he's puking over the railing. Which is grossly adorable, really. Yes, I know I have issues.



One of those issues is a love of all things juicy, such as the continuing Saga of the Mystery Baby, otherwise known as Where the hell is Suri????

I'm sure that y'all know about the birth certificate debacle, which is just soooo interesting. First, it's filed way later than it should have been. Second, both of her parents full and legal names aren't on there---Tom is still Tom Mapother and Katie is still Katherine. No matter what L. Ron Hubbard thinks. You have to use your real name on legal documents. And a "friend" signed instead of her parents??? My parents signed my birth certificate and I was dying. What the hell is up with that.

But almost all of that I could excuse, because things get screwed up all the time. There is some discussion on the boards about whether or not Tom actually changed his name legally, and I'm pretty sure that Katie could call herself Kate. And names get mixed up all the time- my middle name is different from my birth certificate, and my grandmother's has a different first name. And Tom was in Asia forty-eight hours after the birth, so maybe that's why a parent didn't sign it.

The one really weird thing though, is that the nurse who signed it NEVER SAW THE BABY. The doctor who delivered her "could not be reached"???? What the hell. He's a doctor. The hospital can't find him? So today I hit the boards just to check up on what is happening with all of this, and somebody did a search for this nurse and found out that the registration number doesn't match the name of the signee.

What?

Yeah, I know. I was totally floored too. Apparently the number belongs to a nurse that has nowhere near the name of the woman who signed.

Let's look at what we have here. A birth certificate signed by a friend of the family who didn't show up for three weeks, a possibly fake nurse who was not in the delivery room and has never seen the kid, with wrong names, that was filed way later than it should have been, supposedly for a passport. Now, do you really think that Tom Cruise could take a baby out of the country without having a single paparazzi photo taken? No.

She doesn't exist. That's all there is to it. She was either stillborn or never existed at all. My money's on the latter.



GAH!!!!! This must happen. I would SOOOOO watch. Not that I don't anyways, but I would watch more intently.

Made seven bucks in tips last night. Thank you Mary and Co. I would feel badly about taking money from them, except that I've been paying for Mary since 2003. So if she wants to tip me for making a drink, she can just knock herself out.

Today should mark a return to the more frequent fifty-five cents thing, even with my own dollar of inspiration in the jar. I get really possesive about tips---I get really mad when people either pay with a credit card or don't pocket the twelve cents in change I've just given them. Do you really need that twelve cents??? Isn't it just going to float around in your wallet for all eternity??? I could use it!!!! Grrr. I shouldn't be like this, because I very infrequently tip people at Starbucks, where I go to be disloyal. In fact, I don't think I ever have. But I don't feel so badly, because apparently Starbucks has a kick-ass benefits program that supports even your same-sex domestic partner. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. So they can do without my tips.

I'm not always stingy, like I tip waitresses and hair stylists. Mostly because I'm afraid that they'll spit in my food or screw up my hair, which is scary tempermental as it is. It's not because I'm a nice person.

Rant over. Go see Pirates!!!!!!!! I must!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now is NOT the time to start getting a clue.

God, that was an awful movie. And yet I'm considering renting it. I think I need therapy.

So how are we doing, kiddos? Basking in all the Pirates glory? (Please, if another person says "Pirates plunders at the box office" I will have to stab myself in the thigh with my pen.) I know I am. But I'm also a little bit obsessed. Just a little bit. Teensy bit. Hey, I'm owning it. But it beat EVERYTHING!!!!! It completely kicked Spidey's ass, and Darth Vader can just go suck it because it made five million more on it's FIRST DAY!!! Oh, the world is bright this morning.

Copyright Note: This is NOT my icon. This is Imladris's icon. But she already used it, and I can't find any (Imladris is something of a prodigy when it comes to finding icons), and I'm stealing it. Please spare me and the Holy Slingbacks, Empress of Squishy.

So, perhaps not surprisingly but noteworthy just the same, I saw Pirates again on Saturday with ma famille, probably less because they wanted to see it than I was desperate to again and was willing to drag anyone who had an inkling of interest to my nearest theater. They did not find it appropriate to break finger bones and screech like we did at the midnight showing, which was perhaps more suited to being in public but way less fun. ;)

Oh, it's still good the second time. I didn't notice a whole lot more the second time, except that I'm creeped out not only by the Elizabeth/Jack thing, but also by the fact that it appears our Friend From the Last Ten Seconds is shacking up with Tia Dalma, which is nausea-inducing at best.

And I cannot get over this. Please, join the rest of the nation and go now, if only for this one scene. It's worth it.

I'm going to try to make it a couple days before going again. It's going to be hard. But I'm going to try.

And Italy won the World Cup yesterday, which normally wouldn't interest me, like, at all, except that we watched the beginning on Telemundo. I know what you're thinking, "Really? She watched soccer?" Well, and I dont' speak Spanish. But you do not need a translator when Shakira is up there shaking her ass like the world's gonna end, and a bunch of weird people with spinny discs are dancing in the background. And then the game started and I quicky lost interest.

But I do know why we completely kick everybody else's ass around the world, no matter how much they gripe about it. It's because we do not waste like nine months (it seems like) out of the year on a freaking soccer game, and we waste even less time on spinny disc dancers.

Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall is my new musical obsession (although there are very few brain cells left for any other kind of obsession). Normally she bugs the hell out of me with her Scottish-accented-female-empowerment-go-menstruate-in-a-tent-kind-of-thing, but this song is really good. I haven't figured out how to link to a song yet, but I know it's on AOL music and probably other stuff if you're feeling creative. With the Dead Man's Chest soundtrack (which does get way better when you have scenes to match it too...like this one), it's pretty much all I've been listening to. Which is sad, I know.

Well, I think I shall go be productive and clean the kitchen. Please try not to be too jealous. Have a good Monday, y'all.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

(Author's Note: There will be no spoilers containded in the bulk of this post. I'll probably put something at the end because I can't NOT talk about it, but I'll have it marked. So don't worry, you won't learn anything crucial to the plot...Oh, and this is going to be kind of convoluted, because I'm working on like five hours of sleep, okay???)

Oh. My. God.

Two years and eleven months of breathless waiting FINALLY culminated last night with me FINALLY being able to see the sequel. At midnight. With a bunch of people who were arguably more excited than me. It was awesome.

Although I feel the need to point out, because even though it's unbelievably obvious critics don't seem to get it, but this is a pirate movie. It is not Schindler's List, it is not Saving Private Ryan, it is not Scarface. Do not expect to be moved to tears or take part in a gripping emotional journey. The fact that Johnny Depp was nominated for an Academy Award last time does not mean he decided to emulate Marlon Brando this time. It's Pirates of the freakin' Caribbean. Eat your damn popcorn and watch things go Boom in typical Bruckheimer fashion. It's summer for God's sakes. Loosen up. Thank you.

That being said, it was unbelievably awesome. Mary, Colleen, and I were gripping each other's hands for like the first twenty minutes. And my heart was doing this weird pounding thing where I was a little bit afraid that it would actually come out of my chest until Jack came on, because I was so excited about seeing his entrance.

Oh, it's good. *grins*

Anyhoodles, since we left them on a cliff in Port Royal three years ago, both Will and Elizabeth have stopped being such girls, Jack has returned to his pirating ways, Governor Swann has changed wigs, and Commodor Norrington has lost the commodor but gained a real sword and a TON of sex appeal. And that gay little suck-up (you know, "He's nowhere to go but back to the noose"...that jackass) of his is nowhere to be seen. So really, we're all good. ;)

Will and Elizabeth are arrested on their wedding day for assisting Jack Sparrow, and in order to escape hanging they have to deliver this Dead Man's Chest to Mr. Collins...oh, sorry. He's wasn't Mr. Collins in this movie. But he was in Pride and Prejudice, and all I could think every time he was on the screen was "I have singled you out as the companion of my future life." HAHAHAHAHA.

Madness ensues as Will and Elizabeth run off and try to find Jack, picking up a drunken, vomitting Norrington in Tortuga.

Oh, and despite what the bitch who clearly just does not know how to take the stick out of her ass long enough to have fun over at EW says, this is SUCH a good ride!!!! I mean, yeah, it's darker than the last one, and there's not really and ending, because it's kind of a bridge like Two Towers, but getting there is SO MUCH FUN!!!!

Jack's a little bit different in this one, I think mainly because Johnny Depp knew who the character was and kind of just pushed that to the limit, and fewer people were saying, "What? Are you gay? Drunk? The Village People???" He was probably less hot in this movie, because in the first one it was like OhmygodtakemenowPLEASE!!!!!!!!!, but this one he was just really funny. REALLY funny. I love him. *sigh*

And they let Norrington be funny too, which was good because Jack Davenport is so funny and he was kind of...not in the first one.

And the trifecta of hotness sword fight at the end??? I'm still recovering. *fans self*

But probably the thing I liked best about it was they didn't really try to be too different. They did a lot of the same jokes, and did a bunch of campy references that everybody ate up. Which is really what you want from a summer franchise, right? To feel like the director and writers knew that you paid attention and loved the first one. The music was pretty much the same, too. In fact, I only recognized a coupe pieces from the second soundtrack. They used the same score for all the important parts, another thing I really liked.

We had so much fun, too. There was this huge line of people, and Colleen made us repeatedly thank her for being anal about getting there so early. And there was this guy dressed up as Jack Sparrow walking up and down the line, scaring the Boy and being funny in an odd kind of way. Not as hot as Johnny. Bummer. And at the beginning of the movie everybody was so excited they just started like clapping and screeching and generally wigging out, which was fine, because that's totally what I was doing too.

Got out around quarter to three, and was on a high for another hour. And then I woke up at nine fifteen and couldn't fall back asleep. So I'm really, really kind of tired right now, despite the espresso in my frappucino.

But OMG, SOOOOO MUCH FUN!!!!! So totally worth it. I can't stop gushing. I just have to do a quick....

***SPOILERS*** (Click and drag your mouse over this section if you want to read it.)

Barbossa came back at the end!!!! And everybody cheered again. I don't know why I was so excited, because he's like a bad guy, but everybody was just like, "YAY!!! Friend from the first movie!!!!!" It didn't strike me until this morning that he died in the last one, so I'm not entirely sure how he's back, but he totally is. Yay!!!
And I chooose to belive that Jack did not die. He can't. And it wasn't really a death like eeverybody was saying. They totally overreacted with that.

***END SPOILERS***

And the ending??? You must go see it. Unbelievable. I have to see it again. First I have to stop gushing. But then I'll go see it again. :)

Have very few brain cells left to devote to this.

Thirteen hours and fifteen minutes. I am too busy bouncing off the walls to write a real post, but I will say that she must die. And no, it's not about Vanessa Paradis. Although she probably should too, just, ya know, 'cuz.



Emmy Noms announced this morning. Unlike the Oscars, I did not rise at five thirty to watch them. Good thing, too, as I probably would have been disappointed and cranky at the same time. Que loco, what the hell is this??? No House or Lost?!?!?!?!?! I am not amused.

So yeah, if you want a real post look at the one from yesterday. I'm off to go find incriminating photos of Vanessa and eat Pirates cereal, courtesy of Mickey. Have a good day, y'all.

Honey, I'm too tired to slap you. Bash your face up against my hand, okay?

Yes, I totally stole that one from Colleen. But it has Alan, Sense and Sensibility, and it makes me laugh. It is now mine. I am not above stealing Alan/Austen icons. I'm not too proud.

Again, I have not abandoned the blogging world, it's just been crazy busy around here, y'all. Or, at least, I have. Monday was nice and easy and normal (that is to say, I cleaned and watched Regis and Kelly) until we realized at four o'clock that the Boy was supposed to be at a birthday party at three-thirty. Infinate rushing and buying of gifts ensued, and then I had to go to work.

(Side Note: It was ninety degrees when I got home at ten thirty. I was NOT pleased.)

Then Tuesday we spent in pretty much constant celebration of our nation's independence, starting with a quick stop at Best Buy to purchase the Pirates 2 soundtrack, a loverly parade with bunch of dancing annoyingly thin girls, a subsequent party that was not marred too much by not drinking where we could make sure that we would NEVER become one of those dancing annoyingly thin girls ourselves, and then a quick stop at Blockbuster to rent The Libertine. And twenty minutes later I had to leave for work.

Where I made a whole sixty two cents in tips. It was dead. I was so bored. (Discovered that I DO NOT like ginger peach tea, though.) The manager came down and was like, "Okay. We're leaving at eight oh two." I got so sick of it, and my feet were hurting SOOOOO much, that I cleaned everything early so for the last half hour we only had one thing of coffee and a couple of bagels out. Because I was not going to spend twenty minutes cleaning up after non-existant people. That was just not happening.

(Side Shoe Note: I was masking-taped into my shoes by the end of the night. There was blood coming from places no blood should ever come from. I hate them. But I love them. Now I understand how abused women feel.)

Today has been completely wonderful and low impact. Got up and watched Regis and Kelly, took Mommie Dearest to the doctor, did some laundry, badgered the Boy to clean up his crap that was completely coating the living room floor, cleaned the bathroom, decided that any heart condition I might get in thirty years could not compare to the agony I was in and took some Aleve, ate lunch, and just got back from a library/Blockbuster run with Imladris. I'm just conjecturing now, but I'm thinking the day will continue much in the same vein, some dusting perhaps and then lots of Without a Trace viewing. Oh the joys of being practically unemployed.

Speaking of practically unemployed, I have eight hours next week. Now, I'm not hugely complaining, because I do love to have my evenings free, but eight hours??? That's sixty dollars before taxes (which should be about twelve cents, as I'm fairly certain that the state of Wisconsin can do without my paltry earnings). This is SOOOO not going to pay for ANYTHING. I need a second job. :( Especially since I've decided that world traveling is my calling. Yes, it can be a vocation. *sniffs*

On to happier topics, only thirty three and a half hours left. No, I'm not excited or anything. Got the soundtrack, and, well, I guess I have to see the movie first. I mean, I totally love it and have the entire thing ripped from the CD and put onto my iPod already, but it's different from the first one somehow. I couldn't put my finger on why until I was reading somebody else's journal and they were saying how it's less of an action movie score and more orchestrated. Which is true. The blatant "Yes! We're Bruckheimre! Let's blow some shit up!"-ness of the last one made it so much fun, and this was kind of lacking that, at least until I have some scenes to put the music with. Which will happen in thirty-three and a half hours.

Also rented The Libertine yesterday, because I decided that I couldn't spend seventeen dollars on a movie like that without first seeing it. So I now have to preview my own movies. That's kind of weird, actually. Even the girl at Blockbuster was like, "Um. Yeah. Horrible movie. Saw it in theaters. Horrible." I wonder what Blockbuster would do if they knew she was doing that...

OMG, can somebody PLEASE do something scandelous so that I have something fun to read???? Honestly. Apparently Kathy Griffin's husband is stealing from her, so she was supposed to be on Larry King last night but North Korea launched missiles at us instead, thus pre-empting her interview. You should have heard what Imladris had to say about that. I think she was definately more upset about the cancelled interview than the threat of nuclear annihaltion. Which doesn't say much for her political awareness, but it does say something about the lack of juiciness in Hollywood these days.

And WHERE THE HELL IS SURI!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

They're really just humiliated grapes.

Okay, I am officially holding my breath for the next eighy-four hours until I can see POTC 2. Really. I'm dying. I'm a total spoiler ho, so I went on IMDB and found out a ton of stuff about the movie from people who got to go to media screenings (Mental Note: Switch major to journalism) and I HAVE TO SEE IT. CANNOT MAKE IT UNTIL MIDNIGHT ON FRIDAY!!!! MUST GO NOW!!!!

Oooh, good friend works at the movie theater. Maybe can exploit connections to steal film. Wait. They use digital. Hmmm. Going to be harder to steal. Still, must call friend (well, actually should do that anyways, as I told her I'd call her two weeks ago and have been a bad person and keep forgetting).

And tomorrow I have to spend obscene amounts of money on all sorts of other Johnny projects- such as his almost-porn movie. And the soundtrack for POTC 2 comes out as well. Which I will undoubtedly have on loop on my iPod for weeks to come. And I can't buy The Libertine at work with my discount, because I really shudder to think what they would think of me. Twenty percent is not worth being known as the girl who buys movies that are knocked down to an R.

(Author's Note: I'm really way more intelligent and mature than I sound, honest. But whenever I think about Johnny or Pirates, I turn into a simpering mass of hormones and regress five years in development. Sorry, that's just the way it works. I expect I'll be back to normal sometime around Christmas.)




Other than talking quietly to myself about the joys of Johnny, not a whole lot going on. Daddy is off today, which would be loads of fun if we had anything fun to do. But oh well. I suppose it's better than the last two years when we have spent the holiday weekend preparing to go to various ungodly hot places.

Quick question- do we think we can brave the Slides of Doom at work tonight? Because it's freakishly hot and I really want to wear a skirt and I don't have any other shoes that go with a skirt! Bugger.

Hehe, Colleen is trying to get Daddy to watch Will and Grace in the living room. And he is not taking kindly to it. It's a little bit funny.

Yeah, so there's absolutely nothing going on in the world of Beautiful People. Nick Lachey wants to move on. Okay. I don't care. The cast of Superman was on The View, where they were peppered with such incisive questions as "How was it to wear the suit? Do you like it that you're famous now?" AGAIN. For once, I want them to say, "Eh, I prefered it when people didn't know me," and "Itchy, if you must know". Colleen wants to know if Brandon Routh has herpes. I don't know why, but she does.

Anyhoodles, I'm going to go eat and insanely early lunch so I'll be hungry for an insanely early dinner and won't feel like stealing chilli at work tonight. Have a good pre-fourth!!

Yeah, in your pocket, whore!!!

Yes, I know, I usually take the weekends off, but then I get angry messages from Imladris posed as some alias of Karen Walker and that just gets annoying. So I'm updating. Feel free to bow before my internet kindness. I've found a way to talk to people without ever actually having to see them. And introvert's dream. (I'm kidding, y'all. I'm not socially challenged.)

Thanks to the fast little workers at the registrar of deeds office, I now have a certified copy of my birth certificate. Identical, probably, to the copy that is undoubtedly in "a safe place" here in my house where no one will ever find it. Because while I may be irresponsible at times and maybe sometimes go on cleaning binges where I tend to just throw everythign in a Hefty bag and put it at the end of the driveway, I'm fairly certain that I would not have just tossed a certified copy of my birth certificate. Not that we're swamped with Irish runaways or anything, but that seems insecure, no? I may have shredded it, though, because I have an inexplicable attraction to shredding...hmmm...

I was slightly suprised by the date, September 15th. Four days seems awfully quick for filing the birth certificate of a dying baby. Then I realized that the hospital did that, which made me feel better because my parents were in the NICU with me and not doing paperwork. I would not have taken kindly to that.

So now I can go get a passport. Not that I have any reason to have one. And sometimes you need to have travel plans to get one. Hmmm. Might have to perjure myself there. Never actually perjured myself. Sounds interesting, actually.

Major academic crisis, y'all. Not immediate crisis, like "Oh my God there isn't another math class!" but rather a longer, existential crisis like, "Where am I going?" I'm a naturally practical person (except when it comes to my DVD expenditure), probably almost to a fault. So it makes sense that I'd choose something practical for my career. Except that I haven't. I mean, international relations is practical, although the learning Russian because I have deluded myself into thinking that I am Russian is another matter. But now I really want to minor in art history, because I loved it so much. And I would love to work at a museum or a gallery or end up in some literary thriller in a cute skirt with heels running through a long hallway because some priceless artifact has been taken only to join up with the hot intellectual guy and we solve the day and then make out and...okay, going to stop now...

I blame my mother for this. Why??? you ask, she has been nothing but supportive of you!!! I know. Not my point.

I want to go to law school. I'm not entirely sure that I want to be a lawyer, but I know that I really want that degree. My mother, who went into law school with the idea that it would be fun meetings and lunch only to realize that it's more like bastard attorneys and long nights in the library, wants to make damn sure that I know it's just bastard attorneys and long nights in the library (although, to be fair, she didn't have computors in 1985). And then she wants to make damn sure that I know exactly how hard it is to go to work for an actual law firm, and how hard it would be to leave your children (well, not that she has a whole lot of experience. She left the night before she had me and didn't go back).

And I'm not crazy enough to think that it's all pretty offices and make-out nooks like on Boston Legal, but everytime I bring it up she gets this pained look on her face like, "You so do not want this." I'm probably the only person who could g0 to law school and still spite her parents. :p

So now I'm going to go minor in art history and die alone and poor because I was talked out of law school. Humph.

Ooh, also speaking of lawyers and the like, I worked last night and there was this professional singles group meeting (please, do not ask me to describe it. I'm still scared that it's going to be me one day). So this woman (a retired doctor) who talks to me constantly came up and honestly said that she just could not believe it, but not a single one of those people, except for her, had a professional degree, and therefore were all masqurading. "They're all working class." Jaw, meet floor. Yes, she really said "working class". I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were in eighteenth century London. I was so hoping that the non-professionals could not hear her.

This is the woman who the other day told me that she solved the discussion she and her husband were having about whether or not to have a baby by having her tubes tied without telling him. Mmm-hmm. Yeah, that'll work.

Just one link for you today---but it's a good one, I promise. It takes a special kind of stupid to be able to sever a ligament accidentally. Obviously, one of his talents isn't shaving.