7 may 2004

Getting more and more involved in planning for The Witching Hour, and for the release of the next movie. V. v. excited.

Really quite sucked into the Dark Materials series, even though Philip Pullman is a jealous British prat.

I trying to come to terms with this realization I've only recently accepted, which is that I really enjoy children's books, and books about children, a good bit more than ADULT BOOKS. I have heretofore been resistant to admit this, worried that it meant that I am less intellectual, but perhaps it is true. Perhaps, due to it being a more fun place than a grown-up mind, and due to the high premium I place on fun, I have chosen to stay in a kid's mindset. A precocious kid, though. I like books about them the best.

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My mention of johnkerryisadouchebagbutimvotingforhimanyway.com made all my co-workers laugh today; it is nice sometimes to pretend that I don't know anyone who likes Bush. It is also good to know that at least one co-worker (our rad lesbian Corporate Operations VP) would totally appreciate my hot pink Fuck Bush panties.

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My mom got pretty flowers yesterday in early celebration of Mothers' Day! I love flowers. I wonder what I have to do to get more people to send me flowers. Get a sweet and sensitive paramour who lives far far away? Have a mock funeral and have the announcement give my address as the funeral home? Take out a personal ad: SWF seeking florist for friendship, maybe more.

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As far as life goes, I have had more than one surreal situation since the last entry, last Friday. These seem to correlate highly with instances of drinking, because of that inversely proportional relationship drunkenness and tact have. But really, in my everyday life, I think I may worry a bit too much about being tactful and polite. Sure, it's important to have a sense of it, and I still think that only in extreme circumstances should you make innocent bystanders uncomfortable to be near you, but some people deserve to be made WAY more uncomfortable with you.

Blah, I hate being vague, and I hate being gossipy. Actually this is not true: I love being gossipy. But I hate it when people think I'm being a shit-spewing bitch, which sometimes results from doing it in a semi-public forum.

What I should mention, however, is my newly developed phobia of storage spaces. Large rentable storage spaces, particularly those which feature seemingly infinite corridors of little orange gates. It is probably partially related to this story, which I liked a great deal, even though it may just be Pulp Fiction bits and pieces all pureed together in a blender. It is also partially related to a very creepy memory I have from around the age of eight or nine, while my aunt was in medical school and my mom and I went to visit her. I had just watched an episode of Scooby-Doo which was memorable in that it was perhaps the only episode EVER which was scary. I had something to do with the ghost of a blue bull. The bull was mean and scary. Shut up. When we went to grab something from campus, my aunt told my mom that they were actually working on cadavers, and oh, boy! What a fun show-and-tell that is! My mom is interested in all sorts of fun things like that (and as was I, until 11th grade biology, when I realized that the smell of formaldehyde makes me want to puke and then faint), so we took a little detour, and all decided that I should wait outside in the hallway, and even though I was bummed about missing the cool dead body, I was also okay with not seeing a gross, smelly and mutilated dead body. But being in a long clinical hallway by myself definitely gave me the shivers and need to keep looking to the left and right to make sure there would be no ghostly charging bulls.

xoxo,
m

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