-I'm going back to FIDM in April.
-I'll be living in Los Angeles.
-I'm trying to go to Faire this year, but no promises!
-I love working in a cubicle!
-I have a lot of clothes!
-Ebay is teh bomb!
-My sister is awesome!
-Today at work, I dithered on LJ and read fanfiction. That's pretty much it.
-I have seen 0 concerts, got 0 tattoos, saved 0 dollars, and got 0% cooler since my last update.
The boy bought us a bed!
Which isn't to imply we were sleeping on folded-down cardboard boxes every night. We have a very nice mattress and bedframe. But NOW we have the BED OF DOOOOOM. A queen-sized monster of mahogany. The entire rain-forest went into this bed. It's got high, carved red pillars, a broad, high headboard, and carved feet. I'm going to have to leap to get into it! Plus I'm going to get a canopy for it! Exciting!
Yet... think I may be too young for this bed. Older, more tasteful people buy this bed so they can match it around their French hardwood decor. They buy it and think, 'wonderful, it goes so well with the cherrywood wet bar and the trim on the french-doors." I buy it and think, "When we get this thing set up, I'm going to play 'maiden captured by pirates and stowed in the captain's cabin' all morning long! Because I'm going to be in a master bed-room with a fireplace! And a wide window! and an attached bathroom with a gigantic tub and a chandelier! And when we move, and set the bed up, I'll get a horribly bright persian-style rug to go in front of the fireplace! And I'm getting a new chair for my vanity table!
I'm in furniture heaven! I love my Erik!
I got a new job, this morning. Starting January third, I'm working at the Moorpark College bookstore. I'm excited, because, let's face it, bookstores rock. It's 9.00 an hour, which is only a bit more than I make now, but maybe they'll let me color my hair, and maybe I'll really like the job. The only thing that would make me quit would be polo shirts. I wouldn't survive in a polo shirt.
“V, this is crazy,” Evey stammered. She pulled on his arm and he turned to face her, mask implacable as ever. “I mean, how did you get to Larkhill from being V’s apprentice? And your legend hasn’t been around forever, you know. The first time you were ever reported in the papers was in 1993 – that’s not nearly long enough for fifteen years of retirement! Who are you really?
“Evey... I am Cary Elwes.” He ripped off his mask and showed her his true face; the stunningly handsome Westley from “The Princess Bride”!
For your convenience, I have written a brief synopsis of the new AFI music video, 'Love Like Winter'. This new video, like the previous video 'Miss Murder', has evoked questions by many over whether AFI is taking light thematic elements from pop culture and current circumstances. "Miss Murder" was released not long after the movie 'V for Vendetta' and during a time of severe political unrest. "Love Like Winter," likewise, was released not (very) long after 'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe' movie went to DVD, and during a time I could not find my blanket and my feet were cold.
"Love Like Winter:"
Davey and hardly-noticeable entourage go through the wardrobe. Given his less than lighthearted expression, they weren't playing hide-and-seek. Perhaps he was having his arms waxed; perhaps they were chasing him with goat-cheese puffs. Whatever; he doesn't look happy. Unfortunately for Davey, he did not have the foresight to grab a few fur-coats, or couldn't find a nice trench-coat not made with animal. He did, however, find a very nice pair of false eyelashes, which will serve him well against having his contacts frozen to his cornea. Or /would/, if he kept his eyes sensibly closed, but instead, elects to open and close them slowly, with all the preternatural grace of a garage door closing. He staggers through the snow, falling into ditches and snowdrifts along the way. In any other video, this might be comedic, but he looks so very sad, it's both comedic and maternal-desire inducing. One fully expects an anthropomorphic being to show up with hot cocoa as he's standing armpit-deep in a sink-hole, looking mournful. He's clearly regretting not wearing socks that day. Finally, the White Witch arrives, to see who's being so darn sexy in her lands. She looks like a teenaged Bjork, which surprised me. I always thought the witch should look and sound like Siouxsie Sioux after a night of smoking and yowling at people for putting her bras in the dryer, or mentioning Morrissey. So, we've got Davey in a ditch, and BjorkTeen in a long, flowing cape, gazing at each other longingly. The others in the band say, "Davey! We've read this book! Don't follow her! She'll do bad, bad things to you! She doesn't even like talking animals!" But he doesn't listen. Poor Davey. It might be expected that the best way for her to torture Davey would be to take him back to her place and toy with his emotions. No, our witch is cleverer than that. She knows goths too well. Any easily-crushed goth with their heart on their sleeve could rationalize going back to someone's house to be ignored. "I'll be human furniture", thinks hypothetical Davey. "I'll be unobtrusively hot, until she notices me again. We'll make this work." No, Bjork goes for the big guns. "I dunno..." She says. "I don't really dig guys with fake eyelashes. And New Order is totally better than Joy Division." He can't take any more of this. Really, who could? His gothy feelings wounded, he heads to the nearest body of water and takes a swandive. She'll be sorry. He'll finish what he started in 'Silver and Cold'. Glubglub. Bitch. But, wait! What's this? She followed him in! She's come to apologize! She'll take him back to her glittering city to change out of those wet clothes! They close in for a kiss, and she offers her parting shot: "You're cute, but Ville Valo totally turns my eternal winter to spring." The camera focuses distantly on Davey's tearful horror. Glubglub. And the screen goes dark.
I haven't shaved my calves in about three days, and I haven't shaved my arms or thighs in almost a week. I'm covered in a fine blonde fuzz.
It normally makes me feel horribly nasty. To combat this, because I'm too lazy to shave, I just look up the passages from 'Lolita' in which Humbert praises the little golden hairs on Dolores Haze's calves. I'm not gross, I'm just being... preadolescent. So it's okay.
So my company is very competitive. There is always /some/ prize for being better at selling acid-washed toddler jeans than the store in Simi Valley can possibly imagine. We're not just in a vicious battle against Osh Kosh and BabyGap, but also, are bitterly feuding between each district. As of the time I'm writing this, if Camarillo Premium Outlet The Children's Place gets more phone compliance and credit card accounts set up than the other five kajillion stores do, our manager gets a new car. I know, I'm inspired, too. Children's Place, ftw! If we win, yours truly gets a Coach keychain. I'm excited. I mean, a keychain is nifty, but I'd REALLY prefer it if Rita got a new car.
So, The Childre's Place is a hotbed of nasty infighting and sabotage. It leads me to the one, obvious question-
Why doesn't The Children's Place go One Workforce By Night? I know I'd be inspired to work harder if I knew I could go down to San Diego and torch their store while enslaving the cashiers. The managers would be diablerized outright; there's no reason to waste their experience, and I could go from 11th generation cash/wrap to 9th generation assistant manager in the space of six rounds of Rock Paper Scissors.
Last night, I fell asleep early. I shouldn't do that, because it gives me weird dreams that stretch out all... night... long. So, for nine hours or sightly less, I dreamed-
I was an elven princess. I hate elves, totally, with the exception of Titania because I support bitter elven divorcees. So, I was an elven princess, but the land of Faerie was over-run, and I was sold into slavery and separated from my family and people. I think I was purchased by a logging camp, which is a pretty ironic place for a wood-elf. It seems, in my dream, Faerie spilled out into the human world pretty easily. I escaped from there, probably not by poisoning every living soul in the camp like human Aerin would have done, but something gentler, like casting a glamour that made me look like a squirrel, or something even cuter. I escape, and live as a homeless street-person on the streets of Ventura, which is like normal Ventura only rainier and gloomier. I suspect even Hawaii looks like the bowels of Detroit after living in Faerie. Many months down the line, when I've almost forgotten about my grand heritage, I meet up with a fellow former-denizen-of-Faerie, who was, like, my father's steward or manservant or something like that. He does obligatory bowing and obsequity. He's doing much better than I am, and we chat for a while. I feel pangs of self pity for being where I am now, and he exclaims that no matter what I may look like, I am still a paragon of elegance, nobility, and virginity, the consummate princess. I cry noisy human tears (because elves cry pretty, I'm sure), and feel horrible because none of those things still apply to me. Then there was more, something about a field of dogs all howling for me, and a censor that could detect where I am by the smell of my skin on the breeze in parts-per-zillion, but I forget.
Needless to say, I woke up feeling very disapointed. I'm not an elven princess anymore.
A short list of things I'm not going to do in the coming week-
1. Panic about S. and L.'s wedding. Though I've posted in many ettiquette forums and looked the information up in somewhat outdated books, nobody has any information on the protocol of an ex-girlfriend accepting or declining an invitation to the reception. Ouija boards are looking more and more like a valid source of answers, since I have yet to run across anything with "Aerin, Yes!" or "Aerin, No!" omens about it. I'm panicking now, but my cut-off date for frantic terror is Sunday.
2. Going to any fast food restaurants. I've been watching television during the day, and have been unundated with shiny, flashing pictures of food that never looks that good when it comes in waxed paper. Just because I could conceivably fit a spicy chicken sandwich plus two tacos, a smokehouse beef sub and a 'crunch-wrap-supreme' in my stomach doesn't mean I should. I haven't eaten fast food in about three weeks, but the desire never- goes- away!
4. Cut my own hair. This is not the Great Depression. I can afford to visit a beauty salon. I just resent handing over fifteen dollars to someone to do something I could do if I could just twist my head on my neck an extra thirty degrees.
5. Buy the DVD 'V for Vendetta'. No matter how many times I watch for it, the directors /never/ include that scene where /I/ get sweet, mask-covered kisses and a train full of explosives. Buying the DVD won't help that. It's not in the 'deleted scenes'.