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Do you ever look at the date on something and get this odd feeling that it's old? That happens to me in August. I'll look at the date on a posting or something and, for a second, I'll dismiss it as an old post before I remember that it is indeed, August. Of this year.
Does that make sense to anyone who doesn't live in my head?
In more coherent news: I finally own more than one serviceable pair of jeans again. I bought two pairs at Wal-Mart. Power to the faceless conglomerate that screws its employees (especially the female ones) and will ultimately screw every last one of its customers! Wooooo!
I also realized today, while discussing Exciting Summer Activites with my friend Alex ("What TV shows have you been watching? And what movies? Any good books?" Yep, it's a mile a minute in my life), that out of the five or so movies I've been fascinated with over the summer, exactly one of them has not had Willem Dafoe in it. Ealasaid, the woman partially responsible for my love of Willem (she's the one who introduced me to The Boondock Saints) was totally unsurprised when I told her this. She pointed out quite rightly that it's a by-product of obsession. And the entire point of all that unnecessary information was so that I could link to Ealasaid's blog, just because I know where it is but I can't find Alex's. Isn't that sad?
(And in case you care, the movies in question are The Boondock Saints, Body of Evidence, Spider-Man, eXistenZ, and Moulin Rouge. And if you can't figure which one doesn't have Willem, you are a) pop-culturally impaired and b) obviously not paying attention to my journal.)
I'm IMing with Mandy at the moment, and she and I seem to have decided, solely on the basis of this pic, that Willem wants Tobey Maguire in the worst way. Can you blame us? Be warned, though; the pic's really big. (And yes, I do know that Willem's been with the same woman for longer that I've been alive. And no, I did not need to be reminded of that fact. Not because I'm a loser possessive fangirl, because I can't stand it when people bitch about their celebrity obsession's significant others. It's just because it ruins my preferred perception of Willem as - god, this is going to sound so stupid - a faery, or an elf-type being. You know, a being not entirely of this world. Being told that he has a long-term partner, and a son, and an actual age is all so mundane and boring. It shatters my pleasant little illusion. And no, I'm not on drugs. Shut up.)
I think the above paragraph, if analyzed, would explain a lot about how my brain works and why I am the way I am. Especially since it was written sober, and I have never in fact had a significant amount of alcohol, and none at all of any other type of drug, in my life. I don't need drugs to be crack-headed. Which this entire entry proves. I could end it now, or I could see how long I can keep go on saying bizarre things and then dissing myself for it. I think I'll do the first one.
Does that make sense to anyone who doesn't live in my head?
In more coherent news: I finally own more than one serviceable pair of jeans again. I bought two pairs at Wal-Mart. Power to the faceless conglomerate that screws its employees (especially the female ones) and will ultimately screw every last one of its customers! Wooooo!
I also realized today, while discussing Exciting Summer Activites with my friend Alex ("What TV shows have you been watching? And what movies? Any good books?" Yep, it's a mile a minute in my life), that out of the five or so movies I've been fascinated with over the summer, exactly one of them has not had Willem Dafoe in it. Ealasaid, the woman partially responsible for my love of Willem (she's the one who introduced me to The Boondock Saints) was totally unsurprised when I told her this. She pointed out quite rightly that it's a by-product of obsession. And the entire point of all that unnecessary information was so that I could link to Ealasaid's blog, just because I know where it is but I can't find Alex's. Isn't that sad?
(And in case you care, the movies in question are The Boondock Saints, Body of Evidence, Spider-Man, eXistenZ, and Moulin Rouge. And if you can't figure which one doesn't have Willem, you are a) pop-culturally impaired and b) obviously not paying attention to my journal.)
I'm IMing with Mandy at the moment, and she and I seem to have decided, solely on the basis of this pic, that Willem wants Tobey Maguire in the worst way. Can you blame us? Be warned, though; the pic's really big. (And yes, I do know that Willem's been with the same woman for longer that I've been alive. And no, I did not need to be reminded of that fact. Not because I'm a loser possessive fangirl, because I can't stand it when people bitch about their celebrity obsession's significant others. It's just because it ruins my preferred perception of Willem as - god, this is going to sound so stupid - a faery, or an elf-type being. You know, a being not entirely of this world. Being told that he has a long-term partner, and a son, and an actual age is all so mundane and boring. It shatters my pleasant little illusion. And no, I'm not on drugs. Shut up.)
I think the above paragraph, if analyzed, would explain a lot about how my brain works and why I am the way I am. Especially since it was written sober, and I have never in fact had a significant amount of alcohol, and none at all of any other type of drug, in my life. I don't need drugs to be crack-headed. Which this entire entry proves. I could end it now, or I could see how long I can keep go on saying bizarre things and then dissing myself for it. I think I'll do the first one.
