* Time: 10:22 pm.
(1) Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban fuckin' rocked my socks. The darkness of the film makes it the best out of the three thus far, and the acting was fantabulous. This dude should definitely direct the next four books... it was just that good.
(2) Daniel Radcliffe is turning into a yummy monkey. Especially with the glasses and messed up hair. Mmmm.
(3) Hermione... Mmmmm..... Well, I've already addressed my pedophilia.
(4) Smarty Jones is such a great fuckin' horse. A pox on all your houses! *Grr! Gargh!* >_<
(5) Reagan died. And I actually don't give a damn - dude sold weapons to Iran without even knowing about it, and ruled over one of the worst economies in history. Granted, he ended the Cold War, but was also 93, for crissakes. I say it was God's mercy that took him - too bad we can't all die peacefully.
(6) My girlfriend is suffering from the Black Death. Go over and say hello. :)
And finally...
(7) My mother would've turned 56 today. I bought her sunflowers, slept on her futon, and prayed for tiny miracles.
My mother died BEFORE Reagan - how fucked up is that???? She, too, was bad at politics - but at least when she went, no one could say she funded terrorists nor invaded Grenada.
What type of fucked up Karma system is this???
* Mood: 
blah.
* Music: "The One" by Freddie and the Dreamers.
* Time: 10:49 am.
Gay people make kids fat.
Makes sense, doesn't it?
* Mood: 
amused.
* Music: "How You Remind Me" by Ryoksopp.
* Time: 2:07 pm.
I love these guys, but the new campaign is absolutely fantastic. Go check it out. :)
* Mood: chipper.
* Music: "Filter" on G4TechTV.
* Time: 12:33 am.
"Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
- William Shakespeare, "The Tempest"
* Mood: blah.
* Music: "Gravity of Love" by Enigma.
* Time: 10:48 pm.
They want to sell this house. I can't blame them. For most of us, walking through these rooms is a movie of ours lives - poems spouting from our lips at each entryway. I see flashes of color, moments and turning points, paintings of emotions that have flowed deep, long, and repressed all these years.
God, I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
We are going to do a quick file; which means decisions, restorations, and cleaning must be done within 4-6 weeks. I must paint over my neon green bedroom in the next 4-6 weeks. I must get rid of every shade of blue my mother wanted - and hopefully that fuckin' pink carpeting, too.
"It's called mauve, honey."
"They told you that 'cause they couldn't sell it as 'pink'."
"No it's not - it has a tinge of purple in it!"
"Mom, it's the color of bubblegum. And bubblegum is typically not mauve looking."
"Oh, don't be silly!"
Oh, I am absolutely fuckin' delirious. I look at the dime store foil Indian pieces my mother would get; $5 at Seymour's Pharmacy when it was still around. I would be looking at makeup and perfume, and she would be browsing the carousel display:
"God Bless Little Girls!"
"God Bless Little Boys!"
"God Bless America!"
And so on, and so forth. In her dining room she's displayed, around an especially large Indian Maiden, a gallery of these things.
I might have to take one.
But most importantly, I'm taking the jewelry chest she got from Vietnam. Her future husband at the time, fighting for our Democracy in the 1960's, brought it back as a present of his.... oh, undying love. She was a senior in high school, and he was going to marry her someday. This beautiful, wood-carven box of birds and bamboo and other things was lined with red velvet. Another symbol, perhaps?
It doesn't matter. I remember my mother leaving the house, and my younger self sneaking into her room - playing with the rings, necklaces, and bracelets inside. I would read the announcements and invitations; the envelope that said "First Teeth" and dared myself to take a look - ewwwww. There were also a few dogs tags from long gone pets, and some "Baby Girl Upton" memorabilia in a bottom drawer.
I remember she kept things in there that were more personal than writing; more personal than words can speak. I hold things that are so old, I can feel their worth. I can feel their history.
God... damn.
When I die, perhaps my children will learn more from me, picking through my jewelry box. Perhaps, eventually, I will leave behind something of myself.
* Mood: 
contemplative.
* Time: 10:49 pm.
Bush Falls on Bike Ride.
Too bad that helmet was padded.
* Mood: amused.
* Music: "Zero to Hero" from Hercules.
* Time: 1:49 pm.
"I should have prayed to the ancestors for luck."
"How lucky can they be? They're dead."
My nephews are making me watch Mulan. Must be all the samurai action, no? Although perhaps I should omit the mass-watching of Barbie Swan Lake they did a couple months ago... Well, it DOES have a hot chick with boobs in it. I'm willing to give them benefit of the doubt.
The great thing about my brother, though, is that he doesn't even blink an eyelash. Even at the sight of his sons constantly reaching into our purses, bringing out the compacts, and trying to use them. Seems there's no place for that arrogant machismo, anymore. I remember a couple years ago, James tackling his cousin Jaime in the living room, and I'm like, "James! You're not suppose to tackle girls!", and Michael responded, "You actually believe that weaker sex sterotype?"
All of this, of course, from my Republican Nazi brother. Yes, him.
It's just... too much. But everyone's changing, nowadays.
* Mood: 
awake.
* Music: "I'll Make a Man Out of You" from Mulan.
* Time: 9:28 pm.
Stole this from Becca-Schmoe, because... um... I wanted to?
( Please don't shoot me, wahhh. )
* Mood: tense.
* Music: "Walla Walla" by The Offspring.
* Time: 8:50 am.
Hmm, let's see... how much money can we crank out of the homos?
Not that it's a bad concept, or anything. Perhaps if it's true, then more states will jump on the bandwagen - which would then decrease the annual economy of any sort of "tourism". But ya know, when it comes down to it, marriage is still marriage. I've always argued that it's almost impossible to change people, but very effective to just live your life and not be scared. Prejudice didn't exactly lessen because of civil rights, but more because as generation to generation lived with people of different backgrounds, they've seen the inaccuracy of stereotypes. My brother went to Harding when there was hardly any Asian people - mostly white, a little black. I went to Harding 9 years later, and 60% of the school population became Hmong/Southeast Asian. In the beginning, supposedly, prejudice was abound - "They are gang leaders", "They can't speak English", "They're not as smart". But in 2002, my good friend was 8th in the class, going to Brown University for Pre-Med, and was also Hmong. Our Homecoming King, people, was Hmong.
I don't think any of that changed because the teachers told us to be accepting of our peers, to treat them with respect. It happened because in 9th grade, when I was scared shitless, and was alone and the last picked for any team in Phy-Ed, Mai-See came up to me and went, "Hi! You want to be my partner?", and we just so-happened to become friends. I use to call her "Super Athlete" and she use to call me... hmm, well, by my name - but she did save me posters of Ricky Martin from her younger sister's teen magazines. (You all do remember that intense obsession I had, don't you?) I don't know... she's one of the most genuine people I have ever met. I haven't talked to her in awhile, but she did promise to treat me if I ever have some incurable, jungle illness. =)
Don't know what my point is, anymore. But when it comes down to it, live your life, and don't be afraid to be yourself. That shall always be much more effective than any PFLAG pep rally.
* Mood: awake.
* Music: "Murrow Turning Over in His Grave" by Fleetwood Mac.
* Time: 8:30 pm.
Life is really, really great when you can see. I got a new prescription for my contacts today, and my mind has been taking in its fill - why, yes, I can see individual blades of grass and wheat. Why, yes I do know what highway we're now turning onto. Why, yes the Radisson needs to fix its fourth letter; it's blinking on and off - flit, flit-flit.
Afterwards we went out to breakfast, and it was Senior Citizen's Day Out - or at least felt like it. We were crammed in a booth, and Sister ordered pancakes with her eggs benedict. I read an inlet in her climbing magazine - something about sightings of humanoid robots in the Oxford countryside. I had a huge-ass glass of orange juice, and I like it when I can taste the pulp. The waitress was so attentive to the point of demeaning.
I should've bought a paper - not that I can ever solve the Friday crossword, anyway. I can barely solve Monday's. But it makes me feel smart - when I can get that 46 Down, "Spanish for January", and then eventually remember "Enero". Thank Gods for that three years in high school, eh? I need to prove myself to the New York Times.
Then I came home to Pongeria and Denali Nu-Nu, and Sister went back to bed. I was sleepy, but stayed awake petting Baby Bookie and Piper Maru; who always insist on standing on the most uncomfortable spots on my body. I watched clouds pass by out my window - they move fast when you pay attention.
Overall, it's been a decent day. Would've been better if you were here.
* Mood: blah.
* Music: "Mother's Little Helper" by The Rolling Stones.
* Time: 11:43 am.
*prances around in shorts*
*prances around in shorts*
*prances around in shorts*
Ya know, I always forget how much I hate pants 'til I'm forced to wear a pair of shorts.
"Oh my Gods, oh my Gods... it's 86 degrees outside! It's so humid! People will think I'm freaky if I wear pants! Oh no, oh no, oh no!"
And then, moments later, after I dig out a pair and try them on...
"Oh my, thank Gods it's 86 degrees outside."
Now you won't be able to get me out of them for the rest of the summer. Wahh.
Man, I'm so damn sexy. Woo!
*Look for a paraphrased version in the fall, where I say "Prances around in pants, prances around in pants... Man, I missed them! Woo!!"*
* Mood: 
bouncy.
* Music: "Children of the Revolution" by Kirsty MacColl.
* Time: 5:30 pm.
My girlfriend makes beautiful noises. You are not suppose to fall in love with someone because of the way they say "Awww..."; but I guess I never learned that. The way she says "Awww..." is uniquely and wonderfully lovely, along with the rest of who she is. But I do have to say, I really like her noises the best. (And it's not what you're thinking, Schmoes. Stop it!)
There's this one noise that I've only heard her say twice. The first time was after I said, "I love you" last Sunday, and the second was on Wednesday, after I said something so brilliant that I immediately forgot what it was. It came from the back of her throat, and only lasted for about a nano-second - I couldn't even try to reproduce it for you, because it was so quick. But it makes my heart sigh, in that way of "There is so little room in this expanded chest, what is one to do?" I need to hear it - over, and over, and over again. I told her, after the second time, "Honey, I love that sound you make - " but she was in some world of her own, not listening to me.
Good Gods, I love her so. And "noise" isn't even the right word, but "sound" doesn't even begin to cover it. Fans, blowing at high velocity, are not making "sounds". They are creating something - blank walls, time lapses, white popcorn on the television screen - white noise.
Yes, my girlfriend makes beautiful, beautiful noises, indeed.
* Mood: happy.
* Music: "Blame it On Me" by Barenaked Ladies.
* Time: 8:41 am.
Monitor hath gone to hell. Stop. Send backup now. Stop. Life really really sucks. Stop. Must drink massive amounts of coffee. Stop.
The arrow for my mouse is acting like the barely-alive Bob Hope. (Yes, I know he's dead now - shut up.) It needs a wheelchair and decrepit status. Now only if it were cute and fluffy, and entertained the troops in a USO tour. Then it would also be legendary, too.
Humor hath gone awry. Stop. Send backup now. Stop. Today really really sucks. Stop. Must eat massive amounts of insulin-raising sugars. Stop.
(I'm trying to act like morse code-"I'm working on the railroad"-telegraph; if you're too blank to notice.)
We had to put one of Mom's dogs down yesterday. I've known him since I was 8, so it was a little tear-jerking. Almost every traumatic event in my life, he's witnessed. It's like putting away an old era.
Nostalgia runneth overboard. Stop. Send backup now. Stop. Dogs who are susceptible to cancer suck. Stop. Must... wah... work now. Stop.
* Mood: 
aggravated.
* Music: "How Soon is Now?" - The Smiths.
* Time: 12:52 am.
My writing teacher wrote a poem of hers on the board today:
Love
If I fall
It's not because
Someone
Pushed me
- M. Laurel Walsh
* Mood: 
sick.
* Music: "Box Set" by Barenaked Ladies.
* Time: 11:57 am.
So, I went to make a doctor's appointment. HealthPartners has the worst website in the world (go see), and I couldn't find the number for my clinic, so I had to call the regular hotline. Lady was annoyed with me. Which was okay, 'cause I wanted to beat her with heavy, blunt object.
I would never be a superstar in the customer service world. Library patrons are lucky enough that I don't yell and curse at them, much less act like a civilized being.
* Mood: 
irritated.
* Music: "I Bought Me a Cat" by James Taylor.
* Time: 11:46 am.
When I have kids, I want to make their birthdays as special as possible. With balloons, candy, parties - whatever it takes, whatever they want.
I don't know what it is about birthdays that should make them special, but they should be. They shouldn't be like ordinary days. They should be something to look forward to, and enjoy.
Sister had her 36th birthday on Sunday. Her boyfriend was in Kentucky fishing in a $20,000 Muskee tournament, and neither of my brothers actually called up and said a word to her. Bastards. Michael and Christine talked on the phone briefly, but he didn't seem to remember. What a schmuck.
The highlight of the weekend was being forced to play Bingo Saturday night 'cause Sister wanted to, and then winning $500. We split, and it made us very happy. I haven't had cash in my wallet for months, much less several twenties.
But I couldn't help but think Mom pulled strings somewhere, though. I remember her conspiring to get my sister a Beagle - which are $500 pups. It's really silly, and my sister was joking about the Beagle at Christmas (ya know our gag Christmas lists), but Mom actually was gonna do it.
Pennies from heaven are very, very lovely. Indeed.
* Mood: quixotic.
* Music: "Imagine" by Eva Cassidy.
* Time: 3:47 pm.
Hear No Evil, Read No Evil, Speak Drivel.
Read it just for the fifth paragraph: "I know he doesn't read."
That made me giggle incessantly.
* Mood: amused.
* Music: "Murrow Turning Over in His Grave" by Fleetwood Mac.
* Time: 10:43 pm.
Stole this from Krjt. Hee.
( Somebody please shoot me. )
* Mood: 
full.
* Music: Music from Pirates of Penzance.
* Time: 12:01 pm.
Our class film last week was Bowling for Columbine, and we were talking about why Americans are so fearful and paranoid. But the truth is, 70% of the world's serial killers live here. Isn't that a decent reason enough to be fearful? That, and to want to move to Canada? ;)
Though when I did talk to the psychic, she said I would move out of state someday - just after school was finished. I didn't ask country, but I doubt I would ever be that brave. As much as I hate our politics, there's a spirit in the land that I can't leave. I can't imagine never seeing our arches, mountains, or lakes again.
I mean, where else in the world can you drive from the Atlantic to the Pacific? That's gotta count for something.
* Mood: 
complacent.
* Time: 11:44 pm.
I have to write an essay for Monday, and I probably won't get any quiet before then... but at the same time, I just can't write a rant about politics, right now. I drank a beer, watched TV and finished a book, and I feel too out-of-sorts to write anything interesting. Especially anything that sounds smart and coherent. But I did get a good page's start earlier, though, so I feel a little at ease.
______
I had a dream last night that I was raped. By a really ugly madman, who invaded my fancy hotel room and forced me to conduct lewd acts - or otherwise kill my sleeping family in the other rooms. It was not fun, and very painful. I have a feeling it tells me something, but I'm not sure what. It involved curling irons, an ugly old guy, sharp pointy objects, and a really ugly old guy. There were also other women in the room, and I was being video taped. I woke up at 7 feeling like my skin was crawling - my stomach had been punched. It made me paranoid of noises in the house. Recalling the dream, now, I think the dude was wearing white face paint. So he was either a perverted clown, or a weird-ass goth.
Either way, I still felt like I had been violated.
______
I did get lots of books today, though. I ordered from a book close-out site, and got 30 books for like... $30. I got some kids books for my niece for under 50 cents a piece. They were really great deals, though the books were slightly outdated and probably wouldn't interest many. But I did get a few fantasy anthologies, which I definitely look forward to reading. After I finish Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. (Shuddup Mike - someday it will happen!)
* Mood: 
tired.
* Music: "Cinematech" on G4 TV.
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