Babel What?

I don't even know what to say?! Honestly. Manrissa? Can you comment? I think we agreed it was the most upsetting movie of all time. Ever. In the history of movies. Top of the upsetting list. Can I say it again? Super upsetting. Crying in your popcorn sad.

I hate this idea of movies that leave you with no hope. Crash was the same way. I walked away feeling as though the director/writer/whomever was telling me that people are evil and/or do evil things, and no matter how hard we fight to shift the system, nothing is ever going to change, so quit trying. I don't get it.

What do I know, you ask? I know that watching Brad Pitt wander around a Moroccan village moaning about his wife's gangrenous arm, his children abandoned in the Mexican abyss by a drunk lunatic, while half way across the world a naked Japanese deaf chick contemplates suicide is not my idea of a good time. Nor will it ever be.

Now board games? There's my idea of a good time. Sign me up.

Jobs-Schmobs

The end is nigh. And I think we're ALL grateful for that, one way or another.

Who's not Moping? ME!

In the words of dearest Lainey: Bitch... please. Get over yourself. Seriously. In the most ridiculous of ways, he actually helped me realize I'm further along than I thought. Who knew one email could do so much for the ego?

It's actually laughable.

Talent Show Auditions

I volunteered at an elementary school on Friday--I was the storybook lady, travelling from class to class with my picture books and stuffed faux Gary (I should mention that it was "Snuggle Up and Read" day, and we were all in our 'jamas). Part of the deal was that I got to be the "celebrity judge" at the lunch-time talent show auditions.

*ahem*

The highlight of the day?

Two grade one boys (approximately 6-7 years old) walking into the room, both a little on the baby-chubbs, both wearing those Spiderman shoes that do the little light-em-up action on the side. They wanted to show us the "dance" they had "choreographed" to...

Smack That, by Akon and Eminem.

For those unfamiliar with the lyrics:

Maybe go to my place and just kick it, like Taebo.
And possibly bend you over.
Look back and watch me
Smack that, all on the floor,
Smack that, give me some more,
Smack that, 'till you get sore
Smack that, oooh.

Oh. My. God.

Can you picture my reaction? Hmm? Can you?

Sometimes I Feel Like This:

One conversation can literally ruin a good day.

Just a Thought...

Sufficed to say, we can all assume where some widely used traditional cliches originate:

"Bee in your Bonnet": No doubt, back in the days of yore or whatevs, some woman probs did have a literal bee in her bonnet, and had a nervy b--I did the same when there was a bee near my head, as Fingers can attest to.

But what about some of the more modern (and arguably less classy) cliches?

"Pickle up your @ss" for example.

Who started this saying, and why? Hmm?

Just a thought.

Odd Experiences

Friday night I had both a flashback to 1995, and a flash forward to bizarro world. Where, you ask? Well, gosh darnit, it was at a good-ole' fashion girly sleepover with the "gang" from high school (listen to me, will ya? I sound like Archie for crying out loud... The gang...)

1995 World: Having a rocking time playing "Girl Talk" with Free Samples, Fingers, and Poomobile, to the point of almost peeing my pants. Highlight? When Poomobile had to call someone and ask if the cutest boy in school had a crush on her. So she called her brother in sucky Victoria and inquired as to whether or not he thought Poomobile's husband actually liked her, because, you know, she really likes him and all (*scuffs toe*)...

Bizarro World: Sharing a bed with Fingers. There we were, me doing Sudoku and she reading a book, tucked in for the night with our glasses of water and (for me anyway) a Kleenex tucked in my sleeve. I looked over at her, just before giving up on my blasted puzzle, switching off my bedside lamp and rolling over onto my good side, and realized that this is what my life would be like if we were married.

Good lord.

I hate blahdays. You with me?

I'm Switching It Up

Things have been rearranged on the list, Muchachos. Daniel Craig, although dreamy, is cut. For those of you fearing for his post-list stress, don't worry. He'll most likely return with his portrayal of Lord Asriel in this year's "His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass" (a personal fav in the book category).

For now, I'm replacing him with Clive. Dearest Clive. First and foremost, because he's taking up with Cate in "The Golden Age"--I'm a sucker for anything historical-romance-y, especially if it involves Clive swooning over Queen Elizabeth in a pair of tights.

Also, because I really liked "Children of Men". Also because he's got a deliciously deep voice. Also because he's been monogomous for 19 years (let's hope the fame doesn't go to his head). Also because I love him.

Do we need further explanation?

Lesson Learned?

Never go in against a Librarian, when $100 is on the line.

The Last Kiss

On one hand, it confirmed for me what I think I already know--that, for the most part (a few good ones aside), men shouldn't interact with woman on an emotional level until their 30's. All the men in this film are whiny babies. They're unsatisfied with their lives, do a lot of shitty things to the girls they're dinking, and for the most part, go unaccountable for their uber wrong actions. I think it might be the first time I was rooting for the girl not to end up with the guy.

That's not to say there's no blame to lay on the leading ladies. Rachel Bilson plays the classic "prowler"--you know the one... she's a sideline lurker, just waiting for the puck to drop; for that thread to pull. But in the end, unless you're a wee bit of a crack pot, I'm ready and willing to argue that all girls in their mid-late twenties are looking, in one way or another, for a relationship. No matter how free they may appear to be. Take me on. Just try me.

I think there's something to be said for balancing a movie's romantic angst with at least one couple in a healthy relationship. I believe they exist. I refuse to admit that all consummated partnerships are as negative as this film portrays them to be.

And with that--yes, I realize this is a movie and not reality.

But I'm disapointed, nonetheless.

The Weekend:

1) The snow has finally arrived--hurrah! A small sprinkling, but it's lovely to see nonetheless. What excites me most is the idea of skiing. I was a wee bitter to learn that Banff is in the midst of it's best season in 38 years. Ironically, it's also the first year in six I'm not there to use it. Poo on Banff.

2) The worst part of the snow is the shoveling. Sore back, chapped hands, blah blah blah. The horrificness of it all is amplified when you have a cracked sidewalk. The shovel jars on those devilish cement outcroppings and you end up jamming your hand (or worse, your nungas) up against the handle. Poo on shoveling cracked sidewalks.

3) Amy's stagette was a success--double hurrah! She had fun, and no one threw up on themselves which is always a bonus. Hightlights: white chedder popcorn; uber pink; bottle service; Lindsay Lohan's Hpnotiq; 12 long-stem thong roses; Mandy, the carny from Iowa and Missy, the sandwhich artist from Scranton; and let's not forget our run-in with the "Department of Erections"...

Possibly Screwed

On my not-so-lucky-lucky day, I got a job interview, found $5 on the ground, and won (at least) $6 on a Bingo scratchy ticket. Those tickets are so big, and there are so many boxes, sometimes it's hard to tell if you're a winner. I get all nervous... I'm a wiener.

On my way home from dog-sitting tonight, I stopped at Big Bear to turn in my ticket and collect my prize. My favorite part is when the machines makes the "do-do-do" noise. Needless to say I was pumped--this was my not-so-lucky-lucky day ticket.

So I go in and present my winner, all smiles and happiness, and the guy behind the counter scratches the secret box that correctly identifies in some sort of scratchy ticket code if I've one something, and he says to me:

"How much did you win?"

And naively, I say:

"I think $6"

So he puts the ticket aside, and asks me if I want more tickets or the money. But I wanted that "do do do" so I ask:

"Aren't you gonna run it through the machine?"

And he says:

"Money or tickets?"

He then hands me $6 and turns away. I'm now completley convinced I won more and that he's not only collecting my excess cash BUT ALSO my excess "do do do's". I'm pissed. PISSED! I read about this in the National Post. Not to mention, this is the second time in a month I've been ripped off at a corner store... (*mumbles*) $1 tax on $3.50 my ass.

I'm thinking about flying SS down here for some recon work and a law suit.

Dearest Pants clued me into this one. Dear lord. How do people get so funny? Honestly? Are they born that way, or is it learned? Seriously, this girl is my hero.

Natalie Dee

p.s. When the t-shirts are available in Canada, I want 'em all. Buy 'em for me. Somebody. Please. And the bags. Thanks.
p.p.s. Keep your fingers crossed...

A group of kangaroos is called a "mob".
The Galapagos Islands belong to Ecuador.
The only letter not found in the Periodic Table is "J".
Howard Stern made $190 million dollars last year.
Kit, of Night Rider fame, was a Trans Am.
There are 36 black keys on a piano.
Chartreuse is a shade of green.
The Titanic was built in Southampton, England.
Peppermint was the first Life Saver Flavour.

I love trivia night.

Slacker

I'm a slacker. My posts have been mucho boring lately. Sorry, punks. I'm getting back on top of things. In honor of this pseudo-resolution, a more informative update:

1) I've started a couple of things as of late--habits, if you will--none of which I'm prepared to reveal, all of which are guilty pleasures. The question: is there anything wrong with guilty pleasures? And again, for certain individuals (*coughFreeSamplescough*), keep it clean.

2) A certain something was alluded to this weekend. Sent me into a bit of a tale spin, really. I guess it made me realize how "not normal" I still am, even after 3 months of coziness. Not that I've ever been conventionally normal, but you know... *scuffs toe* I've been in denial, I guess. And I don't mean the river in Egypt.

3) I'm dreaming of my first car, which I'm so far from, and yet that one step closer. My dream might be an eggshell Mini Cooper, or maybe a green VW Rabbit... I can't decide. I don't know who I'm kiddin' though. I'm totally ending up with a Yaris. It's my family's schtick.

4) I don't like awkward situations.

5) I dislike secret-tellers.

6) WARNING: Catty moment. Do not proceed if you object to cattiness. There's this girl who goes to my gym and she really bugs me. She's maybe 19-20. She wears the same outfit every time she's there = uber short shorts and a tiny pink spaghetti-strap tank. And she's a "social gym-er". In other words, she flutters from one machine to the next, never really doing anything on any of them, making sure that everyone sees what she's not doing. At one point, while I was all sweaty and gross in the corner doing my sit ups, she sat on the bench I had my feet hooked under reading a magazine. For like, 20 minutes. Why? That's all I ask. Why?

7) Also, in light of certain realities, I've made some changes to my layout. I think it's time I start moving forward, and stop looking back. Not that I'll stop loving those things not seen. They're still tops in my heart (and framed perfectly on tops my TV)...

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I have an interview. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Thoughts on Spontaneity:

Isn't it strange how people--just in general--surprise you? I'm never really ready for when that happens. I guess I'm kind of cynical in that sense, always assuming boys/girls/old friends/new friends will behave the same ole' way. And then, out of the blue, someone comes along and blows your whole theory out of the water.

Usually I'm the kind of girl that likes her routines. But I think I like this type of spontaneity. Keeps me guessing.

Shitballs Mc.Gee.

Seriously, why is Guess Who so much fun? And why am I so good at it? Too bad there wasn't a job opening for a professional Guess Who player. I can see it now: A world Guess Who League... International tournaments... A life of debauchery and extravagance... Women, booze, jazz...

Do you have facial hair? Are you looking to the left? Do you have full eyebrows? Are you a person of color? Are you DAVID? I'm right, aren't I?! Oh man... The excitement!

God, I love Guess Who.

p.s. For those questioning minds: floss more and get my act together.