obfuscated girl

i will kick your prom king ass.

I FINALLY SAW IT
John Legend on the Colbert Report
AND NOW I CANNOT DECIDE IF I WANT TO MARRY STEPHEN COLBERT OR JOHN LEGEND MORE
I THINK THAT JOHN LEGEND IS UNMARRIED SO THAT MIGHT BE A BIT LESS MESSY

In other news, my childhood home is for sale, and for unrelated reasons (it's a tiny, crappy house [despite the new kitchen and giant fucking screen TV and pastel portraits of Jesus weeping] with some very bad memories) I am seceding from my family, except Emily and Ben can come with me, and we will create a new soverign territory, and it shall be called Peoplewhoarenotgiantdillholesistanabad. Dillholes will not be permitted entry. This means I may never see my dad again.

things overheard at whole foods

Little kid who was waiting for a bathroom stall rushed in and her mother said: "Sweetie I just wanted you to know that you're being really good."
Little kid: "I kind of already knew that."

-curtain-

dear netflix

What the fuck is the point of using you if EVERY NEW RELEASE THAT IS RELEASED is marked very Long Wait whereas I could walk over to Blockbuster, spend $5, and get the same movie ? Nancy Drew has a very long wait? Seriously? And I do not even want to think about how long it is going to take me to get the fifth season of The Wire from you once it is finally out on DVD. Probably I will be going through menopause.

Yes, I have Nancy Drew in my netflix queue.

Also, the above is a demonstration of what I will not be doing from now on*. I saw a thing on the TV this morning about this church in Kansas that believes that "your thoughts create your world and your world indicates your thoughts," and also that it takes 21 days to create a bad habit (apparently this is scientific fact), so they make these bracelets that you wear and refrain from complaining, criticizing, or gossiping for 21 days. If you do one of those things before 21 days are up, you switch the bracelet to the opposite wrist and start over.
It says they take three weeks to arrive, so I have some time, but here is a list of complaints to start getting them out of my system:

1. Dane Cook is not funny.
2. They appear to have canceled spring in Wisconsin.
3. Organic food costs too damn much, even with a regular paycheck.
4. Dan In Real Life was not as funny as I wanted like it to be.
4a. Steve Carrell is happily married and therefore will never be my husband.
5. The calluses on my right foot have grown like those sponge capsule things that you drop in water in my first month at work, so much so that I have named them. Their names are Gunther and Wilhemina. They hate me. Or actually, they love me.
6. I am third place out of three in my NCAA bracket right now.
7. No one gave me any Easter candy.
8. AND WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH AIRPLANE FOOD.

*hahahahahahahahahahaha

emily's answer

MP3: Phil Collins-Take Me Home
Confidental to Emily: If you are reading this, we may have already had this conversation. If you are reading this and for some reason we have not, it is because I did not get you on the phone yet, and I am not writing this to take place of the conversation, because it probably needs to happen. It's just that the question got me thinking.

I have been going out on weekends more. Most of the time it is with people, but sometimes it has not been with people. So last night I was at watching a[nother] horror movie (which did not really feel like a horror movie despite the fact that the last fight scene involved some concertina wire in very uncomfortable places and also there were some people who got their skin ripped off by this dude with a GIANT ANVIL PYRAMID THING FOR A HEAD) because it is apparently based on a video game and while I would be scared probably if a thing that looked like Gollum except without arms or a face ran up to me, exploded, and spewed what looked like blood except it was thicker and kind of purple but I think I am pretty safe from that ever happening, so. It got to be around 10:30 and Josh and his roommate and the girl who is trying to get with Josh's roommate were all very very tired and I was not very tired and I asked Josh if he wanted to go to the Riverhorse and he did not, so. I decided I would walk there and see if there was anything interesting going on. And there was. There was a DJ playing things like "Move Bitch" and "Breathe & Stop" and there were white people in Richie Tenenbaum headbands (why) dancing, and do you know what is funny? White people dancing. So I decided I would stay for a while. And dance. And so I did.

This is the part where things get tricky. Because I read Looking For Mr. Goodbar when I was in high school too, and when I go out by myself it is not to meet guys or to intentionally get excessively drunk or act a fool or whatever. And I didn't talk to anyone last night except for incidental small talk and did not see anyone at all outside on the walk home, the one that happened at 1:30 in the morning when I called Emily and was all I THINK I AM DRUNK TALK ME THROUGH THIS WALK PLEASE and she was understandably very annoyed (given the time zone difference) and maybe worried. And I also know that just because nothing bad has happened on these late night walks, impaired or completely sober, doesn't mean that it's not dangerous. And the fact that I apparently was self-conscious enough about being there to drink enough to lead me to call my sister at one in the morning and be all "wefgvbxdhmdsdbvxdytgkudhnszagack" also doesn't sit very well with me. I don't drink often enough to be an alcoholic (or perhaps I am an alcoholic in denial, woo) but I definitely believe that I have problems with knowing my limits and there are definitely DEFINITELY genetic predispositions in my family tree that make me not want to play around with this too much. I I think there is something attractive about there not be anyone around me to really go "um dude possibly that is a bad idea"--I mean, there are certainly people who will tell me after the fact, but there is something in me that really enjoys the idea of complete autonomy and not having to check in with anyone if I want to go somewhere. Someday I would like to have someone to check in with again or to Come Home To or however you want to put it. I do not expect to meet that person on one of these solo outings, nor do I want to. There are just times when I don't really want to stay home.

All of this might sound defensive, and it probably involves some pretty flawed logic, but this answer is the best one that I can give.
Because my head kind of hurts.*

*that's not funny

nobody calls me on my hamburger phone anymore

So I think I am one of the last three people alive to see Juno
(there were two other people in the matinee theater this afternoon) and I kind of...don't get it. It has been said much much better than I ever could and I don't necessarily agree with everything that is said in that article, and once the film got into its stride the emotions that I felt were very real and there was a lot of it that I liked, but the language was so distracting and, I don't know, in love with its own cleverness that it very much took me out of the moment and the enjoyment of it. And I get the criticism that I have read of it now that yes, no, teenagers don't really talk like that and if dialogue was written like teenagers actually talk it would be the most boring movie in the history of movies, but this seemed excessive. It's like the movie is so concerned with being all Hip! and making sure that you really know that this girl, this Juno, is The Protagonist! And She Has Her Own Language And Look How Nutty And Adorable She Is! And The Macbeths Or The MacDuffs or MacGuffs or whatever are Different! and now I am kind of sick of ironically capitalizing things, so. It's kind of like, with a couple pretty key exceptions, they forgot how to make Juno human.
That said, it also needed SO MUCH MORE Rainn Wilson.
And I love Michael Cera a lot, but the more I see him the more I am kind of convinced that I love him in the way I love my friend Big Gay Luke from college, because, um, I am no longer entirely exactly sure if dude is straight or not.

Speaking of dudes who I love, how happy am I that the dude at the blog linked above is still writing about America's Next Top Model and now I can justify watching America's Next Top Model to my friends by saying it's because of this website that keeps a running tally of how many times they cry on the show and writes things like
"I'm sorry, I hate to interrupt a Pretty Party [ed note: the Pretty Party is the part of every entry where he posts screen shots of the models from the episode he is discussing and then makes fun of them], but I have to interject. Here, Dominique's hair isn't so much Adelaide, as Miss Dott, my primary school bus driver with pervasive cooch smell (trust: I only realize this in retrospect), an eerily relevant resemblance to Large Marge and the ability to dash my festive spirit: one time, I wished her a happy Halloween as I was leaving the bus, and she informed me she didn't celebrate Halloween, but she would apply my well wishes to "Fall Harvest," which she did celebrate. I said, 'Bitch, that shit ain't transferable,' and skipped all the way home."
and
"...it looks like she has long armpit hair and, perhaps, scabies. The route from hipster to homeless has never seemed so direct."
and
"I hate that J always tries to make the makeover show about him. It's not about you, bitch! This shit is more than entertaining enough without your attempts at satire. This show functions as self-parody just fine without even trying, fool!"
and it is not nearly as funny to keep up with the writing if you do not watch the show?

You may have been able to figure this out, but I am very, very happy about this.

you know this place, you know this gloom? we've been here before

This is the first time that I have left this job and the sky has not been darkening 15 minutes after I leave work. TIME IS WEIRD, GUYS
This weekend, I lost my phone, danced around a lot with gay dudes, almost didn't go anywhere at all Saturday because I was so very underslept and overcaffeinated that when I walked down Farwell I got dizzy and everything was jumping around like it does in the movies when the heroine has been POISONED and I had to stand still, successfully avoided getting a cold and decided that the phone loss-ing was a blessing in disguise sort of because as of late everyone who I have ever talked to has complained that when I talk it kind of sounds like KRRSSH KRRRRRSH KRRRRRRSH KRRRRRRRRSH WRRRRRSH. I have not explained to them that this is because I am learning to speak Russian. In any case! I have decided that the Lord works in mysterious ways. Also with $50 deductibles.
Something else about the phone: I have started the task of collecting the phone numbers I lost because even though it would make sense for US Cellular to automatically back up my contacts beings that computers know a disturbing amount about me anyway, EVEN THOUGH THEY HAVE AN ENTIRE COMMERCIAL ABOUT IT, the only way they back them up is if you have EasyEdge, which, the only purpose of having EasyEdge is to pay an extra $4 a month for absolutely nothing unless you are really really excited about spending a penny a second (for real) to browse for and download that Chris Brown ringtone. Which I was not. And there are two people on my contacts list who I for various reasons that mostly involve the fact that they never ever call me back ever if I call them unless they have let a calendar month pass because they are fighting over the stupidest shit you could possibly imagine and apparently being friends by their definition means, um, "not really being friends at all." And so. I am not asking either one of them for their phone numbers. Nor am I asking them to go to Pitchfork, despite the fact that Public Enemy is playing It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back IN ITS ENTIRETY. OH MY GOD*. Because: fuck em.
Also:
This is probably almost as post-modernily passive aggressive as taking someone off your MySpace Top Eight
or breaking up with someone by writing about it on your livejournal.

*I am really not sure if I am ever going to take Flavor Flav** seriously again but OH MY GOD
**there was a fictional rapper on Everybody Hates Chris last night called "Slava Slav"
he had a song called "I'm Not Nice"
it was so excellent

YES

i don't sleep here no more so my shadow walks in place of me

Conversation with Emily, Wednesday night:

Me: So did you know there's a new Pussycat Dolls show?
Emily [cautiously]: ...yes.
Me: I, um, I watched it this week, and now I think that part of my brain is dead.
Emily: Also it probably has an STD.

-fin-

Hello internet.

I have been busy amassing gigantic bruises from file cabinets, and cursing people's inability to understand the alphabet, and getting paychecks (PAYCHECKS), and being told this place would fall apart without me and turning real real bright red, and running around outside and falling on my ass and dancing and drinking a bit and being dragged through ice by boys (not work-related), and being convinced by the same boy to watch horror movies from 1985 that are too campy to be really scary but then getting really really freaked out anyway, and i think when you are doing things all day it is hard to remember to keep up with the internet, and while they don't mind much if I check the internet at work there is just so much to be done,
and also I think I am really kind of boring when I am, you know, happy.