he's not exactly father christmas
It's technically Friday, so I'm posting now because I have a feeling that I won't remember to later. The weird thing is that instead of just typing "later" like I was supposed to, I typed "yesterday," which makes no sense. I must be tired.
I'm visiting Michael in the afternoon. Normally that would call for a smiley face, but because there are virtually no ouranophobe readers who would continue visiting my site if I were to do so, I'll refrain. This time.
Christie and I saw Gosford Park. It was about as great as I thought it would be; very subtle wit and a great ensemble of actors. I think the highlight was Jeremy Northam's piano-playing (and singing). It was really cute to watch the servants dance to the 1930s lounge music. Also, Kelly Macdonald was in it--Diane from Trainspotting. She's great in both. Oh, and Ryan Phillippe. I don't need to elaborate there. I think it's funny how anti-American all of the characters are when it was written and directed by (American) Robert Altman.
Michael once said he wanted to move to Ireland, write a book and adopt an accent. I think I want mine to be Scottish.
01-31-2002 10:12 PM - comments (0)
ohmigod, i don't hate people today
Whenever I get more than nine hours of sleep, I feel wonderful the next day. I want to get spend lots of time in the shower (with my new Clinique sparkle skin exfoliator), get dressed up, listen to the Pixies and smile at everyone I see, like we all share some weird secret worth smiling about. Today is no exception; I'm wearing my wild purple short-sleeve shirt, the one with the bohemian half-ruffles and ties on the sleeves. I don't think I've ever worn this to school, but then again, I have a whole closet full of clothes I've never worn or only worn once (much to my mother's dismay). I have my white studded belt on and some purple glass and rhinestone bracelets on (presents from my friend Jen and my mom). I did my hair a little bed-headish and layered on the magenta lip gloss and mascara.
I told Sarah yesterday that it's not often that I act like a total girl. I feel that I'm entitled to right now, especially given the week I've had I haven't posted about all of it because it would have taken me too long. Suffice it to say that it's been pretty stressful and upsetting.
01-31-2002 10:02 AM - comments (0)
rolling in dough
I made the mistake of going to an informational meeting on studying abroad, and now all I can think about is London. It's a wonderful, amazing city and everyone I know who's studied there has demanded that I go. But it will most likely end up being more expensive than staying here (tuition is the same but housing and food is obviously more). Then again, I do have study abroad scholarships...and the Dow Jones money...I guess I'll have to put some thought into it before I try to sell my parents on the idea.
I have 5 bids on my Walt Disney World pass! The highest is $177, which is great. I bought it for about $200, but I don't expect to get it all back. Anything over $150 I would have been satisfied with. My godparents also sent me $50 for my birthday and I'm getting paid for the Student News soon. Hooray for money flow.
01-30-2002 8:44 PM - comments (0)
I'm about to watch the State of the Union address. I'm interested to hear what Bush's speechwriters are going to have him say; Dan Rather just mentioned that he will most likely leave Enron out of his message. It's frustrating that Ken Lay, Enron CEO, attended my school...
How would you rate the state of the presidency? Please vote in the Student News online poll. We're curious to know how you feel.
I locked my keys inside my house today right before my first design lab. I frantically asked a neighbor (I had never met her) if I could use her phone to call someone to pick me up. I couldn't remember anyone's number besides Chase and he wasn't home. Thank God Ray (another neighbor; I interviewed him for my in-depth piece on race relations) offered to drive me. I was 10 minutes late, but because we're only learning Quark--something I know fairly well because of MUSN--I didn't miss anything important. I was just so upset and embarassed to have done something so dumb like lock my keys in my house.
Okay, Bush is starting his speech. Gotta go. One more thing, though: Laura Bush is really creepy.
01-29-2002 6:12 PM - comments (0)
Ever since we got digital cable, I've spent more time watching the TV Guide channel than actual television. The hosts on that show are really incredibly annoying, especially when they're spinning around to look at the next set of cue cards. It's like on parodied news shows (think SNL's Weekend Update) where they show the newscaster spin his chair around after he's finished reading a news blurb so he's facing a different angle. It looks so ridiculous and forced. Also, I don't like Sibila Vargas or anyone else. They're always so damn perky.
I also really don't like E!s Jules Asner. Her questions are lame and uninteresting, she should not be considered a journalist and THEY ALWAYS SHOW HER NODDING TO WHATEVER THE SUBJECT HAS JUST SAID. This brings me to a very relevant point: why does E! hire "totally hot babes" like Brooke Burke and Jules Asner as their on-staff reporters? If I'm not mistaken, the only people who watch E! are sorority girls, bored girls like me (who like True Hollywood Story and viciously making fun of Joan and Melissa Rivers) and GAY MEN. None of these groups, to the best of my knowledge, has any desire to watch "journalists" donning bikinis and subsequently asking fluff questions of George Clooney and/or skydiving. The only worthwhile person on E! is Aisha Tyler, and even she's sunk to hosting a dating show (granted, it's the best of the "multi-person" Rendezview-type shows).
I saw The Royal Tenenbaums with Michael last night for the third time. It's still weird and funny and it's still not as good as Rushmore. But Gene Hackman was definitely deserving of the Golden Globe.
I need to dry off from my shower and make some blueberry muffins for Michael. He loves blueberry muffins and I love chocolate chip, but sometimes you have to sacrifice for those you love. Or make two batches of muffins and eat all of the chocolate chip before the one you love finds out you're a greedy little pig.
I love Eddie Vedder. He was my first real celebrity crush--I had a picture of him on my ceiling for six years--and I've followed him from angry grunge rocker to thoughtful socially-aware folksinger. I know his birthday, I know when he got married (damn that Beth Liebling) and I swore I'd sell my right arm to see Pearl Jam in concert. I ended up seeing them in St. Louis in 2000, arm intact.
But I am growing weary of his new song, a cover of the Beatles' "Hide Your Love Away." It's on the I Am Sam soundtrack and played on the local rock station incessantly. Not to mention my boyfriend has been singing it ALL DAY LONG.
Ahh! It's stuck in my head! I want to smash something! "He-eyyy, you've got to hiiiiide your love away!" No! Correction! You've got to hide that song away before I act on my homicidal rage!
Ouranophobe reached the 5000-hit mark Friday. Instead of a familiar visitor (gatech.edu, shsu.edu, charter-stl, wustl.edu, missouri.edu), my 5000th hit came from Computerland. Yes, you heard me right. Computerland. Sounds like a retirement home for robots, doesn't it?
Thanks for stopping by so often. My ego thanks you.
Overheard, a la ab9online:
Christie to my cat: "Why are you going in the closet? Do you want to be a sweater?"
Elliott (sounding blissful at the idea): Meow.
Professor Jan Colbert to my magzine design class, explaining why Texas Monthly used gothic-looking design for its feature on nursing home abuse: "How much more gothic can you get than killing and abusing old people?"
Michael to me in an AIM conversation from before we met, around this time last year: "if nothing else, I am captivated by your video library."
Me later in the conversation: "I am in a very Jon Secada mood now."
Michael: "I think its safe to say thats a mood Im not really ever in."
I can't say I know of a better way to spend 11 months.
Political correctness aside, Elliott is 100% retarded. Or maybe 90% retarded and the other 10% insane and morally bankrupt.
Oh, screw it. My cat is 100%...adorable.
It's rare that I allow my readers any meaningful glance into the important parts of my personality; you might define the average ouranophobe post as part exposition and part "here's what I did today." I regret that, because this website was meant not only to be a way for me to try my hand at a daily writing project, but to share part of myself with you. It seems I only give as much of myself as my work ethic or courage will permit, and I'd like to change that. Here goes.
I had my first day of classes today and I was uncomfortable the entire time. I felt the same gnawing feeling of nervousness and awkwardness splash over me each time I sat down in a classroom. I rather like school, so I know that's not the reason my mind and body conjure up so much dread; I'm simply terrified of other people. Anyone who knows me might be surprised by this admission; I'm usually one of the more talkative students in class and I don't seem to have a problem communicating with people.
I used to say that I was a social butterfly in grade school and that somewhere along the way, I allowed myself to be taken over by ugly antisocial behavior.That's simply not the case. I've never felt at home among people and it explains why my plethora of friends has dwindled down to a necessary few. IIn some ways, I realize I did this consciously--I don't like excess, although I'm ironically prone to overconsumption in most areas of my life. I quietly prefer modesty and simplicity, and recently I've tried to apply those rather harsh-sounding (but ultimately real) standards to my circle of friends. But these preferences help little when it comes to college classrooms, so I swallow my fear and try to fit in.
I realize everyone feels the same way in a new situation--full of dread and worry about how things will turn out and usually more than a little stressed out about the change. It's partly why I despised my Missourian experience (the journalism class where I worked at the student-run community paper); I never got over that "first-week" anxiety. I'm about as stubborn as one can get; I let fear turn to anger and anger to hatred simply because I didn't want to adapt to "their" way of doing things. That fear and stubborness cost me a poor grade in the one college class I probably needed an A in, not to mention any hope of recommendations for jobs.
Maybe I'm lucky. Some people who feel similarly might not be able to disguise it as well as I think I do. But it doesn't make the fear any easier to deal with.
I'm happy. I finally downloaded the Vanilla Sky soundtrack, which is really warm and beautiful. It's funny, because now whenever I'm in a record store, they're playing that Peter Gabriel song "Solsbury Hill" (which is on the soundtrack). I wonder if his record sales are up. Sadly, I also need Morpheus to illegally download the new nine inch nails album--I have to review it for the Student News.
It's 9:25 a.m. and I should be getting ready for class (my first day of International Economic Relations, 20th Century American History and British Literature) but here I am, posting. I wanted to say that it thrills me that someone from the UK regularly visits my site. I've become obsessed with Britain in recent years, and well, that has nothing to do with that person visiting my site. But I'm still happy.
song playing: "Have You Forgotten" Red House Painters
I'm sick of opening up other webpages and having my post disappear when I try to go back to it. I had written a very nice and soothing post, making fun of lots of things and explaining and dissecting my newfound addiction to Diet Dr. Pepper.
I like my Magazine Design class.
Andy: did you win the Mr. Debonair contest? What was your talent?
Life is good. Bob Dylan is better. Show some respect!
song playing: "powder blue" elbow
I really don't feel like posting. I just got back from hours of Student News stuff. I also just had Healthy Choice Rocky Road ice cream. My new goal is to consume fewer than 30 grams of fat per day. That's about half the recommended value.
My eyes hurt when I think about my diet.
This guy is crazy--read today's post. The hilarious thing is that an ad for that Amazing XCam or whatever (the ad that informs voyeurs they can watch people without them knowing it) pops up on his site because he's lame and his site is on GeoCities. In some strange way, it reminds me of the SNL Goth Talk sketch, where Azrael, Prince of Sorrow and Darkness, slips up and mentions that he works at the Cinnabun in the mall.
Melissa alerted me to the very cool Spinner Internet radio station. There are dozens of genres to choose from and you can rate songs, add your favorite tracks to a list and view the artists' information. I'm glued to the Best of Indie '01--I've heard some really great stuff, including Low and Dirty Three, Elbow, Belle and Sebastian (well, it's okay) and even some more mainstream Coldplay. There are some lame folksy girl groups and the occasional ad, but for the most part it's foolproof. Check it out.
Kaity went with Melissa and I to Shattered last night. I had no desire to drink (I had raspberry daiquris on the rocks the night before and a strawberry margarita at Los Bandidos last night before we went out), so I offered to be Melissa's designated driver. This meant I had to drive her car (it was the only one in our driveway that wasn't covered in snow) and rememeber how to operate an automatic. I kept trying to shift with the parking brake. How I missed my manual!
Going to Shattered is always a mixed bag. On the one hand, you get to get dressed up in flashy garb, listen to really interesting music and enjoy a night with the girls. On the other, if you haven't been drinking, you have to acknowledge once and for all you can't dance; perverted, sweaty guys try to see how much they can invade your personal bubble and your friends (who promise they won't ditch you for a guy) end up ditching you for a guy.
I won't be going back anytime soon.
At 11 this morning, I heard my doorbell ring. "This is going to be a wonderful day," I mused. "I'll either get my new sheets or my underwear from the postman. It's weird he's coming so early." But it was no postman. It was Mormom missionaries, come to save my soul (and their own, most likely). I think my bathrobe bewildered them, because they apologized profusely for coming so early and promised to come back. I should have shown some skin to ensure they wouldn't return. All humor aside, they seemed like nice guys who were proclaiming, or whatever it is religious people do, in really cold, snowy weather. I should have offered them hot chocolate or something and then broken the news about their chances of converting me.
I forgot to mention that the other night, Michael made me an incredible dinner--meat ravioli with garlic and onion pasta sauce, garlic bread and Caesar salad. I joked with him that he shouldn't cook for me or I might get used to it. Going out is one of my favorite things to do (not to mention that there are no dishes to wash afterward), but there's something to be said for a home-cooked meal. And the company that goes along with it.
This is going to be a boring post because I am very tired and I'm going to go to bed. I spent all day today rearranging my room, and now I am achey. I had to post because of my resolution but nobody said it had to be a "good" post.
Okay, that's all.
I really didn't want to leave Michael's today. I had been having such an amazing time and then that stupid voice in my head told me I needed to get back to reality. Which, of course, includes doing laundry, cleaning up and other menial tasks.
I'm thinking about rearranging my room tonight. I'm sure you've noticed by now that I'm the kind of girl who clings to change like an insecure adolescent does to her more popular boyfriend. I need more wall space and I think the only way I can get that is by moving my bed so only the head is against a wall. It's going to make my room look smaller, but if you've seen my room, you know I've got it to spare.
Where oh where will I put my perfect Rolling Stones print? And when oh when will my red sequined plunge bra and panties from Victoria's Secret come? (Note to parents and/or boyfriend's parents: I am not awaiting any such underwear. I am simply a jokester. A clown, perhaps. A funny girl. Gulp).
Michael and I spent a while last night trying to determine which rapper in Outkast was which. Here's what we know: the good-looking one (in my opinion, not Michael's...or is it?) is the one I like and hoped was named Andre 3000 and was the better rapper (the one with the witty, adorable lyrics). Big Boi would be the ugly one who rapped obscenely. After much Internet research, we figured out that the cute one was Andre but was not the preferred rapper. It's a little depressing because he was the one who wore the lederhosen to the MTV Video Music Awards this past September. And sexy Southern rappers who wear lederhosen and have huge smiles are appealing.
I wasn't going to comment on it because it seems every media outlet has, but isn't it absolutely strange about Bush's pretzel incident? When I watched him recount the incident to reporters, he couldn't get the words out and it seemed what he was able to say was a total lie. Not that it makes any difference at all, but I bet there's something more to the story. And if paranoid conservatives could make the Clintons' lives hell for eight years, I figure it's about time we liberals had our heyday.
There is nothing to eat in Michael's apartment, save for some Wheatables (which I hope are his) and caffeine-free Coke. I get generous when I'm hungry, so I think I might take my boy out to lunch at Talayna's. I haven't had real pizza (does CiCi's count?) in too long.
Now that I think of it, there's really nothing to do in his apartment, save for surfing the Internet and posting. He doesn't have cable at the moment and I can't even get the TV on to watch my soaps. I know what you're thinking--tragedy of tragedies, but I can only take so many naps before my body gets annoyed.
I wrote a beautifully moving post earlier, but for some reason Michael deleted it. So I'll just tell you about my boring day. Michael had classes/meetings for much of it, so I was left with nothing to do except buy contact lens solution. Did you know if you put contacts in their container overnight without solution and then soak them the next day they work just fine? Ha. I did.
I ended up with a gross lunch from Panera. It was expensive and disgusting and I hated it. I don't really even like that place, but I think I pretended I did when my friends and I would go because who wouldn't like a bread company? I bought Cosmo (this month's features: how to please your man, how to make your man happy, how to make your relationship sizzle, bedside astrology guide...oh wait, that's EVERY issue) and the intern director at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch called the duplex about a summer job for me. I called him back and told him Dow Jones had me, which was definitely satisfying (the woman from the paper I met was a real bitch) but also depressing (I would much rather work for the Post-Dispatch than the Globe-News, but I signed a contract).
I got Michael Pi for Christmas, so we might go watch that. It's a lot different than Requiem for a Dream, Aronofsky's other (and more publicized) movie. I liked Requiem better but I get the feeling a bunch of drugged-out nymphomaniacs wouldn't appeal to Michael.
I woke myself up coughing this morning. I've really hit rock-bottom with this illness. Even though every muscle in my body was begging me not to, I unpacked, bought my books, set up my printer and had my car washed. And then I drove two hours to see Michael. The only good thing about driving for 15 hours straight is that any other trip seems like a breeze in comparison.
We had Outback tonight. Yum. I pretended like I was deaf for the first half of the meal but forgot I was pretending. The waitress seemed shocked when I said thank you. Also, Michael told me I had to sit at the end of the bench so the waitress wouldn't try to sit down next to me. I don't understand why they do that at Outback. It's creepy and weird.
Michael has taken to singing Soul Asylum and Gin Blossoms songs. I think it's my cue to stop posting.
I'm back in Columbia, safe, sound and more than a little tired. I always get bursts of energy that come from nowhere after traveling for 14+ hours, so I (with the help of my built roommates) brought all of my stuff inside and upstairs to my room. There was a lot of stuff. I am not looking forward to having to unpack it all.
I need to call Michael before he thinks I've died (or become a nun.)
I'm leaving for Columbia tomorrow, so I spent today shopping and packing. And eating Swedish pancakes at IHOP. I tried to steal some of the lingonberry butter for Christie, but it melted before I could get to it. I'm exhausted so I think I'm going to cut this post short.
Wish me luck on my trip back. We don't want another life-affirming but car-totalling accident.
For those of you who suspect I'm a crazed worrier, please don't read the following. It will only make convince you further of my delusions.
I am in love with my boyfriend. It feels weird to admit that saying that and even feeling it surprise me, but as I've mentioned before, I grow weary of things after a short while. Even things I once adored and probably overconsumed. I just want to let it be known that this has not happened to me in regards to Michael and ried I will die in a car crash and not have been able to say that enough to him. So you have to understand that saying this was something I needed to do.
one of my great dreams
is to live inside a pouch
warm, fuzzy, with you
I woke up this morning around 5, which has become my new wake-up time (or so declares my cat). I stumbled into my bathroom to see why my eyes were in so much pain. It turns out they were nearly glued shut. When I finally pried them open--a formidable task when one's motor skills are sleepily dull--they were bloodshot. No, I was not taking shots of 151 last night during Amelie. It turns out that my new third-favorite beauty product (behind BeneFit's Bathina Body So Fine and Origins Ginger Glitter Powder), Oil of Olay cleansing cloths, are not to be used on or near the eye area. That or I developed a rotten case of pink eye in both eyes, a possibility I can't entirely dismiss given my recent luck.
So I'm stuck wearing my cooler-than-thou black-framed glasses. Yes, they are prescription, in case Chase rightfully demands to know. Yes, I'm pretty sure I had them before pretentious indie girls and boys claimed them, seeing as they're Snoopy brand kids' glasses. And they're "black cherry," not actually black. I'm not sure why I'm trying so hard to distance myself from that trend. Oh, that's right. Indie kids, their '80s thrift store uniforms, their childish belief that they're unique (in psychology, it's called the personal fable) and their tendency to listen to lame, sappy, poorly-written music by bands with trying-to-be-cute-and/or-witty names disgust me. How could I have forgotten?
Speaking of sappy...so yeah, Christie and I finally saw Amelie last night. I went into it with a bad attitude--I like films that make you think, not swoon--but it was pretty good. I don't particularly like Audrey Tatou (the French actress who plays the title role) because her eyes are scary. I also resent the fact that one critic compared her to Audrey Hepburn. Right, only one of the most gorgeous and amazing actresses ever. It's like comparing Limp Bizkit to The Beatles or Britney Spears to Frank Sinatra, which one "music critic" I know did recently. I'm pretty sure that if you're under the impression that Britney Spears can and should be lumped in the same category as Sinatra and you want a career in music criticism, you should go ahead and never say that to anyone with a pulse.
Back to Amelie. Sorry, I get sidetracked often. The guy who played her love interest was very cute. The ending was sweet, as was the clever beginning. But by far the best parts of the film had to do with a certain traveling lawn gnome.
Unfortunately, it's really hard to see movies and not be critical when you've seen so many wonderful ones recently (Mulholland Drive, A Beautiful Mind, Life as a House). It will be the same way with Gosford Park tonight (if I feel well enough to leave the bathtub). I'm not sure if you remember when American Beauty came out, but I saw it right after seeing Three Kings and Fight Club. After those three, nothing seemed good for a long time.
I'm feeling a little better, but Dayquil is totally wacked out...sure, it makes you feel like you're not sick anymore, but it replaces the illness with a floaty high that makes driving nearly impossible.
I think I'm going back to school on Sunday with Christie...I wanted to leave today but I really shouldn't be operating machinery alone with my driving record/sickness. My parents are bribing me (!) to stay for a couple more days, so I got the hair done (did I mention it cost $120!?) and might be hitting Urban Outiftters/Express etc. down in Rice Village as part of my compensation plan. I could really use a denim bag and some new expensive and nearly useless (but horribly trendy) stuff. Especially if my dear parents are paying.
My glam roommate Melissa (not that Christie isn't. Come on, Christie, stop getting offended. I'll come up with a superficial descriptor for you soon) sent me a very cool e-mail that demonstrates just how far off the deep end she's gone. It's great. She's bemoaning life in Columbia by imagining herself among the hollow NYC socialites. That's pretty much how my entire adolescence was. Actually, this is how my entire adolescence was:
1. obsessed with skater boys (very much not in right now, but at least i never drooled over guys like justin timberlake)
2. obsessed with politics
3. obsessed with journalism
4. obsessed with fashion
5. obsessed with creating a fantasy world in which I was married to old money and was a philanthropist and attended every party and fashion show and maybe wrote a fashion column for some alternative newspaper. Oh, and I was Clinton's biggest donor
6. liked philosophy a lot
Well, I also cared about school immensely and fought with my mother constantly. When I think about it, everything I liked in high school was something that distracted me from my real (and boring) life. I don't need that so much anymore.
Today I got my hair cut by a girl I used to go to school with. It is finally all one length, and there are highlights and lowlights. Even though I was good friends with the girl in high school, I received no discount. But it looks very good. (I think.) If michael ever chooses to create a bio section for me, I will include a picture of me with my new haircut.
I am going to send Aaron Sorkin a letter about the waning quality of the West Wing. Althought I believe the show is excellent, I am tired of the constant repetition and blatent moral-spewing. Its getting to the point where it would be better if Martin Sheen would look directly at the camera when he delivers his final five minute speech summing up whatever topic the show chose to cover that week. I don't like for writers to underestimate my intelligence.
I had been writing a post of great interest to you. It was about my white blood cell dreams, my MASH watching this morning at 5, my Sonic Drive-In misadventures, elephant hedge sculptures and my caloric intake. And then some fiend in my house picked up the phone and knocked me off.
I apologize, but I really am too sick and weary to rewrite it. Tomorrow I promise to post when no one's home. Also, I need some time tonight to come up with an idea for my haircut tomorrow.
I am very achy and sore and tired of drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. I also am experiencing moments of extreme coldness and heat. I think I am also losing vision in my right eye. For these reasons, I am unable to complete a worthwhile post today. Please come back tomorrow when I will fill you in on my misadventures at the Sonic drive-in. Thank you for visiting.
Rachel L. Otto
I used to hate Sundays, but they're not so bad when you're on vacation. There are always a ton of lame horror movies on Lifetime and TBS, plus I can use the time to clean up, cut coupons and add to my to-do list. Maybe someone should make a horror movie about a frightening girl who enjoys making lists and checking things off with a red pen. Maybe it could even be about me. Christie could play me and I could play her and John Ritter could play Michael. Craig T. Nelson could also play a small part, maybe the crooked electrician.
After much research and worry, I found the perfect place to go to last night--Numbers, an '80s/new wave club for all ages. I spent a long time getting ready. It's one of the great things about being female--I'm more than happy to show off my intelligence and I'm not afraid of my ambition, but I still love the simple pleasure of getting dressed up. I was finally able to wear my '40s-style black dress and new shoes, and my mom helped me spiral curl my hair. I laid on the eyeliner and red lipstick. I felt good.
Jen and I met her friend Laura at the club. Shiner was going for a quarter until 11 and other specialty drinks were $1.25. Yum. I found myself telling the bartender to surprise me; I ended up with a martini, shaken not stirred; a vodka sour with cherry juice; an amaretto sour; a Jamaican Surprise (think bananas and rum); a Kamikaze (some drunk guy declared that he wanted to buy drinks for everyone around him, but he only had $7. Luckily I was next to him so he was bound to buy one for me) and a "Pez," which one of the bartenders swore was a Numbers original. It did not taste like Pez, but who am I to complain?
The best of the above was the vodka sour, which tasted like glorified Hawaiian Punch. It was very pretty and not Listerine-flavored, which I appreciated. The music was very sexily dark and gothic, and so was the clientele. Sans the sexiness. The best moment was when the DJ played Marilyn Manson's cover of "Tainted Love." Pixie (from Shattered) would never play anything like that--if it wasn't made in the '80s, he won't touch it. I think that's ridiculous--a lot of good new wave was made in the early '90s, not to mention that a lot of good alternative rock was made in the '80s (he plays a lot of Pixies--I'm very glad, but it certainly doesn't fit in with Duran Duran and New Order).
This Scott Weiland lookalike insisted on putting my shoes on (I had taken them off because they were causing me excruciating pain) and spent way too long fastening them. I wish Michael had been there to beat him up. Around 1:30, Jen and I went to Katz', this Jewish deli that's open all night and is conveniently right near Numbers. It was pricey but the French dip was amazing.
I need to rethink my diet. I am not as strong as I would have hoped.
I can't stay home every day and watch soap operas, can I? It's gotten to the point where I can predict lines word for word and guess the number of cliches used during each episode. I counted 45 today during Young and the Restless, arguably the worst-written of the daytime trash television offerings. I swear, if the writers use the expression "nip it in the bud" or "hold down the fort" one more time, I'm going to...um...stop watching for a couple of days.
Last night I played Taboo with Kevin, Ryan, Ryan's girlfriend Erica and his brother Jeremy. The funniest moment was when Jeremy was trying to get Kevin to guess the word "glove" and he used the hint "Danny ____; black actor." Kevin guessed "Glover," and Jeremy said "Shorten it." So Kev said "Dan Glover." Which was really funny for some reason. Ryan's attempt to get me to guess "flaccid" were also funny, but a bit embarassing when I noticed Kevin's mom was in the room.
I'm not sure why that game brings out the vicious competitor in me. I get buzzer-happy and have to stand up when I read the clues. In my immortal words, something must be wrong with me. Except for my original words were "something must be wrong with you," but I really can't risk talking to myself. Otherwise, someone will catch on and the plans I've been working on for so long will be ruined.
Speaking of crazy, we saw A Beautiful Mind last night. It was superb, but the critics were right about Russell Crowe's accent--it was laughably terrible. Half the time he sounded like he was from New Zealand and the other half a mumbly West Virginian. But he was good as usual. Probably Golden Globe and Oscar good. He's one of those peculiar actors who isn't really handsome, yet radiates something amazing on screen. His ability to portray a troubled genius was worth the $5 I paid to see it. But not the additional $5.25 I paid for Sour Patch Kids and Cherry Coke.
Tonight: we will hopefully get dressed up and go to the Red Cat Jazz Cafe downtown. An organ band is playing, which sounds interesting enough. I wish I could fix my hair like Marlene Dietrich.
I have got to stop letting Elliott decide my sleeping schedule. He curls up on my bed for a nap and I suddenly yawn and that's the end for me. I'm sucked into a two-hour long nap with him. He probably dreams of me with a leash on and talking to me in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, getting to decide when my meals are. But then he wakes up and realizes I still have parents to do those particular jobs.
My friend Lars IMed me today. It's good to hear from him. He was moved to military intelligence at Fort Hood, and it sounds like quite a job.
I think I'm going out with Kevin and Ryan tonight, two of my old friends who Leslie said turned into "snotty intellectuals." The gall of such a comment. They always have been snotty intellectuals, which is why I like them so much.
Diet report: read enlightening article in the Chronicle that praised the merits of nuts and legumes and advised avoiding red meat and advertised "low-fat" foods. Realized moving towards healthier eating is better than merely dieting. Was doing well until some ungodly force beckoned to me. Opened the Godiva box to see where the sinister voice was coming from. Had to consume truffle to silence it. The world is safe again.
Today was my father's 50th birthday. Much to his chagrin, my mother decorated the kitchen with "Over the Hill" banners, the same ones I think she used when he turned 40. I think he's taking this milestone better than the last.
Lord of the Rings was good the first time. It was merely long and tiresome the second. I only allowed myself a handful of Jujyfruits (they're far-free for those of you who are monitoring my diet) for the movie. This, coupled with the Slim-Fast I had for breakfast and one serving of Triscuits for lunch, left me starving. Of course, my dad chose Mexican for dinner (!) But I was good and had taco salad, if there's such a thing as being good at a Mexican restaurant. (More salt on the chips. An extra-large order of queso would be delightful. And don't forget my second margarita...)
Well, tonight we were supposed to hit the Houston bar scene to celebrate my coming-of-drinking-age, but cold weather and a general malaise among the group are preventing us. Maybe it would be better to go this weekend, so I will actuslly have time to devise a plan. I just wish there was a club downtown that: played good music ('80s, good hip-hop, dance, etc. But mainly '80s), served alcohol, allowed minors on the premises and was near a decent restaurant. You'd think the country's fourth largest city could cough up something nice. No, we get Enron Field and Taco Cabanas. Damn oil executives.
Happy New Year, ouranophobes. Much has happened to me in the two and a half weeks since my last post: finals (a great success), my trip home to Houston (a great success except for the car accident I was in, which claimed the life of my car but not my boyfriend or cat), my parents' meeting of Michael (a great success), Christmas (a great success except for my near-trip to the emergency room), the reunion with my friends (a great success except for the time we came close to never speaking to one another again), my 21st birthday (a great success except for my lack of becoming wonderfully intoxicated, but one might consider that the real success) and our trip to Disney World (a great success except for its cancelation).
Although Michael says it's because I needed one more day to finish my birthday cake and chocolate lasagna from Olive Garden, my New Year's resolution to diet for one month will begin tomorrow. I am separating myself from the myriad of other resolved dieters, and for this reason I feel I will be successful when they fail miserably. It has also come to my attention that the fatter they become, the more slender I seem in comparison. So please, eat away. Throw your resolution down the tubes. Resolutions are for the weak and unimaginative. Come over so I may feed you chocolate lasagna.
My other resolution is, ahem, to post at least once a day for the entire year. Note the absence of the words "well-written," "thoughtful" or "having any reason for existing." So please check in daily. I need you to support me in this venture and I need for you to think I'm skinny.
I forgot to ask Santa for self-worth and an Ab-Energizer. Maybe next year...