John A. sneaked into my head

I swear he probably explained my usual thought process better than I could with this comic:






I also do not know bjork, and have considered child catchers to solve problems.

New Plan.

I've decided to stop getting so angry all the time. Don't know if this will work, but well, I'm sick of being angry. It's bad for my health, worse for my social interactions, and I'm willing to bet it probably benifits "The Man" in some way and I just won't stand for it.

And I just feel bad when later on I realize there wasn't a need for all that fuss, and feeling bad is even worse than feeling angry.



In other news I've begun a novel. This may or may not become the theme for my blogging. Currently the biggest issue is consolidating all my notes into a proper outline, working past my atrocious spelling (i refuse to write in a program that will underline everything I do), and finding some music on my ipod that blocks out television noise but doesn't inturrupt my thoughts.

Prokofiev, will you be my friend?

Everyone needs to go see Coraline.

3d is not nessesary, but I will say that with it the opening credits were WICKED awesome, and creepy, and when everything turns spooktacular later in the movie, the 3d only adds to it.

Also, it's lovely to see a stop animation movie that isn't about a character who is inherently creepy and only wants to be loved boo hoo. Henry Selick did a great job adapting Gaiman's book, especially in keeping Coraline's little kid nature. Hanging off a doorjam and skulking through the house when bored out of her mind: perfect! Made me think of Charlie and Lola.

And you could totally see Vera Brosgal's influence on the characters! Which is something only I care about, but... D'awwww Verabee getting awesome work! French and Saunders were fucking hilarious, too.

Only thing is, it might actually be too scary for kids. I was actually worried for this girl that went into the movie before me, like, oh shit this is probably going to fuck her up big time. Especially when the entire world dissolved into a spider web and the animatronic hand detatched and chased after Coraline. Erik was even a bit leery at this screaming face on the little ghost girl.

So yeah, in conclusion, Dammit Tim Burton, THIS is what you should have been aiming for. And I wanna see it like, a million bajillion more times.

HOW HAVE I BECOME THE BAD GUY?

When did this happen?! What did I do wrong?

...fuck, man.

Snow Boarding

So today I went up into the mountains for my first ever in my whole life (minus that one time I was abandoned at bible camp) snowboarding lesson!

I don't know if this will come as any surprise, but I'm dang near impossible to teach. I frustrate easily, I'm way to hard on myself, and I inadvertantly tend to focus all of this pent up anger in streams of profanity aimed directly at my teacher. But man oh man that Man-o-mine stuck by me (to yell back "CALM THE FUCK DOWN"). And this is why I love him. Among other reasons, of course.

So, anyway, after a fairly unsuccessful run in "the medow" by my standards but I guess decent enough for a first timer, Erik and I went up a much higher chair lift. God that was pretty. I want to master this dang board just to take all the various lifts and peer out over the green and white. And despite the occasional GOD DAMMIT on the way down, I actually got to going pretty well. Had quite a few longer runs in which I came to a controlled fall, rather than a torso twisting tumble down slope. Unfortunately, I was only comfortable doing this on my toes because I've never quite mastered the ability to walk flat footed. So we came to a much flatter portion at the base, I slowed down, the back of my board caught the ice and I flew backwards what felt like about twenty feet, but I probably only left the ground five inches and landed square on my hip and the back of my head. I cried. It fucking hurt. And I cried. That mountain has tasted my tears.

I want revenge.

So I have vowed to get astonishingly good at the snowboard and kick that mountain's ass. It may take all season. Hell it will probably take all 8 and a half, but I shall not rest until I take the run up to the top and have a victory beer while stairing across the valley at Mt. Rainier as my equal. I vow to do this just as soon as I am able to walk across the living room without wincing, and there is a good amount of powder up there to pad my next few falls.

Oh yes, and I had fun.

Worst days

they are the worst...

Today I was so thankful for the Drop that I made horrible piercing screams at the top of my lungs while driving! And felt so much better afterwards. Because I'm not actually allowed (as one of the Fresh Young Faces of Half Price Books!) to make horrible piercing screams at the customers who piss me off.

And now I'm looking forward to calling the cops on Indian DVD lady and personally handing her a form telling her that she is no longer welcome in any of our stores. I don't think I've ever been in this light of spirits after an absolute shit day before. There really is something to this screaming thing. I hope she protests and the cops beat the shit out of her!


In other news I've begun outlining a possible collection of scary fairy tales that I really hope I can get to fit together right, and my sweater is 1/4 finished. That doesn't sound like much, but those stitches are so teensy that I have to count it as an EPIC VICTORY or I'll be disheartened and give up completely.

The saga continues...

Story club is on Wednesday, and each day I come to work, I get more material. The only question is, will my attempted altruism (attempted because I cannot actually find it in my heart to think the best of absolutely everyone, much as I try) interfere with the subject at hand? Especially when this subject makes bad half jokes and comes up with lame excuses even when there's nothing to be excused? Oh dear. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.

In unrelated news the sweater that I worked on all last weekend turned out to be worked on the incorrect needles, and I have to scrap the entire beautiful thing. Knitting is not as forgiving as sewing. After a night of epic dissapointment and counting the waisted hours, I've decided to get back on the horse or I'll be too fearful to ever try a sweater again. Also, it's practically war by this point. Give me a pretty gray striped sweater or give me death!