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Jun. 27th, 2003
One good thing about graveyard shift
Jun. 27th, 2003 09:30 amYou know I had as soon as I got home from work this morning? A good hearty "breakfast" of shrimp scampi and Smirnoff Ice. Hee. Sometimes, I love working the night shift. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's the Graveyard Shift(TM), warping the delicate balance of my biological functions since 1995.
*******
Got to watch "The Amazing Race" last night -- go clowns and Supremes! -- and I think I've finally figured out why this season, the teams have been to, like, three different cities with canals. I'm pretty sure that the producers are hoping the same futile hope that the audience is and are fervently wishing that Jaree will get tired of Tian's bitching at some point, snap her neck in one easy twist, and toss that loudmouthed wench overboard.
Hmm. I like the sound of that. I think I know what I want for my birthday now. :)
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You know, I wonder if kittens bounce. I think I'll go check and see before my parents come home on Sunday. Here, Cooper, Cooper, Cooper ...
*******
Got to watch "The Amazing Race" last night -- go clowns and Supremes! -- and I think I've finally figured out why this season, the teams have been to, like, three different cities with canals. I'm pretty sure that the producers are hoping the same futile hope that the audience is and are fervently wishing that Jaree will get tired of Tian's bitching at some point, snap her neck in one easy twist, and toss that loudmouthed wench overboard.
Hmm. I like the sound of that. I think I know what I want for my birthday now. :)
*******
You know, I wonder if kittens bounce. I think I'll go check and see before my parents come home on Sunday. Here, Cooper, Cooper, Cooper ...
Strom Thurmond's dead, huh?
*happy sigh*
I think in loving memory, I'll close my eyes, play "Gay Bar," and mentally picture Strom and Satan singing to one another with great big fuck-me doe eyes. :)
Ah, yes. Moment of zen. Mmmmmm ...
EDIT: Oooo, you know what would be funny? If they sat on Fred Phelps' lap during the whole song.
"Cause of death: Hysterical laughter."
*happy sigh*
I think in loving memory, I'll close my eyes, play "Gay Bar," and mentally picture Strom and Satan singing to one another with great big fuck-me doe eyes. :)
Ah, yes. Moment of zen. Mmmmmm ...
EDIT: Oooo, you know what would be funny? If they sat on Fred Phelps' lap during the whole song.
"Cause of death: Hysterical laughter."
I should not be allowed to watch movies.
Jun. 27th, 2003 08:36 pmCase in point: Yesterday, when I caught myself watching "The Color Purple" for quite possibly the trillionth time. I didn't even realize I was doing it until the convulsive twitching in my eyelid stopped and the hitching sobs started to die down. Some people cry at movies ... I suffer severe emotional and physical breakdowns. It's not unusual, after watching "The Color Purple," to find me in a heap on the living room floor, clutching my hippie bear and whimpering pathetically. It looks a lot like what happens to me when Diane Warren wins Best Song Oscars.
Case in point, the second: Today, I went to see "28 Days Later." I think that when I go to Cinemark and try to buy a ticket for a horror movie, there should be a guy specifically to hand me my money back and go, "No. Just no." Or at least give me half of it back. Inevitably, my hands are covering my eyes so much of the time, half of it is all I end up seeing. Then again, this time they tricked me by repeatedly showing Cillian Murphy naked. Granted, they had a tendency to let him get attacked by zombies when that happened, but watch me complain about it.
No, God, please don't strip down the very pretty man with the soulful eyes and the rear you could bounce quarters off of and the nibbling lips and the cheekbones you could chisel diamonds with. No, oh, it's so demeaning --
*user gives up and skips off in the direction of nekkid Cillian like a giggling toddler chasing a butterfly*
*sigh* Somebody remind me to stalk that man professionally if I ever get to Britain.
And btw, this is further proof the Brits make better movies than us -- I mean, jeez, look what else is getting released this weekend. "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle," or the original title, "We're Strong, Independent Women, And We'll Dress Like Strippers and Act Like Airheads to Prove It! Oh, And All of Our Body Parts Are Real! Hey, Stop Laughing!" You know, I already thought Drew Barrymore had sawdust for brains, but then I heard that crap about "Angels don't carry guns!" and now I know it can't be sawdust in there because her head can't possibly be filled with anything combustible.
The only upside I can see to this movie is that Crispin Glover is back as one of the baddies, and that's only because I hope he brings his army of rats from "Willard" and tells them to eat the girls all the way down to the silicon. (Then again, that won't take long. Especially with Demi. Ashton, dude, you are about three original body parts away from having a torrid public love affair with a Demi-bot.)
I was also sorely tempted to open up the door to the theater where "From Justin to Kelly" was showing and scream at the top of my lungs, just to see what the echo would sound like.
And PennDOT or whoever the hell it is who makes decisions for highway exits and where they need to go ... yeah, they're schmucks. Whoever thought that having only ONE exit for a one-lane road that's the only way to get to the local baseball stadium, the nicest movie theater in the area, AND the biggest concert arena/ski resort around is smoking something that probably gives unborn children gills. Getting out of there on a Friday or Saturday night is like trying to make Jell-O melt using the concentrated power of your own dirty thoughts. Ick.
Case in point, the second: Today, I went to see "28 Days Later." I think that when I go to Cinemark and try to buy a ticket for a horror movie, there should be a guy specifically to hand me my money back and go, "No. Just no." Or at least give me half of it back. Inevitably, my hands are covering my eyes so much of the time, half of it is all I end up seeing. Then again, this time they tricked me by repeatedly showing Cillian Murphy naked. Granted, they had a tendency to let him get attacked by zombies when that happened, but watch me complain about it.
No, God, please don't strip down the very pretty man with the soulful eyes and the rear you could bounce quarters off of and the nibbling lips and the cheekbones you could chisel diamonds with. No, oh, it's so demeaning --
*user gives up and skips off in the direction of nekkid Cillian like a giggling toddler chasing a butterfly*
*sigh* Somebody remind me to stalk that man professionally if I ever get to Britain.
And btw, this is further proof the Brits make better movies than us -- I mean, jeez, look what else is getting released this weekend. "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle," or the original title, "We're Strong, Independent Women, And We'll Dress Like Strippers and Act Like Airheads to Prove It! Oh, And All of Our Body Parts Are Real! Hey, Stop Laughing!" You know, I already thought Drew Barrymore had sawdust for brains, but then I heard that crap about "Angels don't carry guns!" and now I know it can't be sawdust in there because her head can't possibly be filled with anything combustible.
The only upside I can see to this movie is that Crispin Glover is back as one of the baddies, and that's only because I hope he brings his army of rats from "Willard" and tells them to eat the girls all the way down to the silicon. (Then again, that won't take long. Especially with Demi. Ashton, dude, you are about three original body parts away from having a torrid public love affair with a Demi-bot.)
I was also sorely tempted to open up the door to the theater where "From Justin to Kelly" was showing and scream at the top of my lungs, just to see what the echo would sound like.
And PennDOT or whoever the hell it is who makes decisions for highway exits and where they need to go ... yeah, they're schmucks. Whoever thought that having only ONE exit for a one-lane road that's the only way to get to the local baseball stadium, the nicest movie theater in the area, AND the biggest concert arena/ski resort around is smoking something that probably gives unborn children gills. Getting out of there on a Friday or Saturday night is like trying to make Jell-O melt using the concentrated power of your own dirty thoughts. Ick.
