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I have absolutely nothing interesting to write about, but I feel like writing anyway.
You know what really annoys me? People who refuse to page me. By that I mean, instead of paging me, they call my house and leave long complicated messages that fluster my senile grandmother and force my mother to grab the phone from her and take the message herself. I mean, fuck in a bucket of bananas, they KNOW I'm not fucking home, so my only guess is that they WANT to talk to my fucking family.
I've told Over-Published millions upon millions of fucking times. First, I started out politely. "You have my pager number right?" Then I got blatant. "Don't call the house, just call my pager." How much fucking clearer do I have to make it? I don't wanna be a bitch and say, "You know what, don't call me cause I'm sure I'll just hear it through the grapevine."
I can't believe I even spent a dollar more on his birthday than I should have. Since I don't know him all that well, I just picked him up a Hollywood Hogan action figure from Warner Brothers since he likes wrestling. (Yes, he's that type of person. I seriously worry about those that watch wrestling.) Then I go down to Wal-Mart tonight and they have it for a dollar less. Of course, I could've made full use of my quarter Chinese blood and returned the Warner Brothers one and got my dollar but, fuck it. Plus tomorrow's Haircut Day and I really really really enjoy haircut day.
I remember long time ago when I saw the preview for The Big Hit and they played this rap-kinda song with the "Staying Alive" bass-line and chorus in the background. I really thought that was groovy but I could never find the song. Low and behold, I go into the Other Side to drop off a job, and I find Dell Pickle and Darth J dancing to that song. Turns out it's Wyclef Jean. (If you told me that one day I would be using a $5 coupon from CDnow to buy a Wyclef Jean CD, I would have spit on you.) Dell and Darth then proceeded to Night-At-The-Roxbury me.
sigh *shaking head*
The world seems so much more boring without Las Vegas.
Back to the same old, same old. I don't even feel like working on my various projects. I feel like a total, lazy slug that I'm not contributing anything to Group Therapy. But then again, with my fiction, I pretty much know what's working and what's not. In the end at school, workshop sessions turned out to be, basically, test screenings to see if people were adequately amused, repulsed, excited, or aroused.
Blah.
I really need to get a life. No. I really need to be like Kitsune and get a real fucking job.
Since the town location is thoroughly fucking up my schedule and I absolutely didn't feel like lifting in the daytime yesterday, I went to the Waikiki one. Wow. Small. Kinda empty so that was good. Maybe I'll go there every once in a while. It's not that much of a detour and it's really neat to be able to do abs on a balcony over-looking the ocean. Only thing, the people there are a little strange.
I put myself on the scale last night and I lost five pounds, probably from the eight days of no-lifting in Vegas. Strange thing, I'm not sure exactly where I lost it. My clothes fit me no prob and my shorts aren't looser. Odd.
You know what really fits me cool? I tried on this Banana Republic sweater kinda as a joke to myself and I turned out to really like it. It was a pretty good price and even Kitsune thought it was okay. Only thing, I swear, if it's hanging on the hanger by itself, I think it looks kinda fem. Therefore, does it look fem on me? I gotta ask for another opinion. I mean, when I see it, I just think "Ricky Martin video." And that can't be a good thing.
I swear, that Ricky Martin's too-much-no-good already. I mean, go to a magazine stand and between him and JFK Jr... When I heard Livin La Vida Loca the first four hundred times, I thought the song was pretty fun. Then it was kinda making me nauseous. On top of that, The Good Mother would Ricky Martin-this and Ricky Martin-that all day.
I think the apex was on late Friday afternoon. I was in traffic and I wasn't really paying attention to the radio until I noticed that 93.1 played Livin La Vida Loca twice. Then I heard that "KQMQ's undergoing construction" or something like that, AND THEY PLAYED IT AGAIN. And again. And again. And I was in traffic. The first few times were annoying so I changed the channel. Then I got curious and I checked back and they were still playing it. Then the whole rotation got really surreal and Groundhog Day-ish. Then I started doing the Ricky Martin pelvis gyrations in the car. Then I picked up Ball And Chain and made her listen to it and then I started having hysterical laughing fits whenever the song would start again.
I'm not sure exactly how long they played it over and over but it must've been for at least five hours. I guess they thought it was better than dead air. And you know what? It must've worked cause dumbfucks like me kept listening to see if they would break the Loca circle.
Went to the Farm Fair. Vaguely threatened to punch Generic Cigarettes' boyfriend. Ball And Chain claims that Generic Cigarettes is attracted to me. Personally, I think she just pays me more attention cause I'm the only other one in the group that smokes. Non-smokers just don't understand the unspoken bond between-- Ha ha. Gosh I crack myself up. (At least I crack someone up. Trademark tagline time: just nod your heads.)
Anyway, I learned something about myself when it comes to amusement park rides. All night I was being an ass. Whenever people asked me if I wanted to ride anything, I'd go, "The New York New York roller coaster."
I mean, I was looking at all the rides the Farm Fair had and with the exception of bumper cars, I found none of them appealing. The thing I like about the roller coasters in Vegas; you get to go fast, but you don't get sick. The roller coasters at Magic Mountain were a little too much. Plus, when you're that high up, Vegas is more scenic. You really get to see how smack-in-the-desert you are. I guess cause of the limited space in Hawaii, the rides are all stationary or small and circular, and the central theme is to turn you upside down. I'm sorry, but being upside down isn't one of my favorite things. Go fast and make the skin on my face pull back like Dan Ackroyd and Chevy Chase in Spies Like Us, fine. But turn me upside down and I'll just drop loose change and throw up.
The Blair Witch Project is one of those movies where I was more scared by all the boyfriends around me tapping their girlfriends and causing them to scream in my ear. The whole time, I'm going, this ain't scary, it's all hype.
Then I was by myself in my room... I almost crawled into bed with Mommy and started begging for a night-light. The real review is upcoming in Spunker so go read it there.
All this time, I really wanted one of those Blair Witch pins that were shaped like the cross/stick man things they find hanging in the woods. Now I totally don't fucking want it. I'd feel safer parking at Morgan's Corner.
I really wanna discuss something about the ending but I don't wanna blow it, so if you didn't see it yet, I strongly urge you to come back after you've done so. YOU REALLY REALLY REALLY DON'T WANT THIS RUINED FOR YOU!!!!!
I'll start the countdown now.
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
Okay, at the end, I first thought that Mike was hanging, ie. either someone hung him, or he somehow hung himself. Then I realized, there was no rope so he must've been just standing there. And I'm like, oh well. Art film.
Then Ball And Chain mentions something and I remember the interviews in the beginning and how the guy talked about how all the children would stand facing the wall during the murders and... Oh shit!!! Shit! Shit! I'm scared shitless now. I'm turning on the lights and watching a nice, friendly DVD like Payback. It's not real. They made it up. It's not real. They made it up.
