When you sacrifice a goat, do you then summon hellfire?

Ok, it's Wednesday the 13th and there's a bizarre dead bird outside the photo store's door. A bright yellow parakeety thing, like someone's frickin' pet. It's weird and surely a very bad omen. Though it is a really gorgeous day out. I guess bad things can happen on gorgeous days, though. It's nowhere near as cool as Mob's dead bird, but still.

And it's always bad when you realize how poorly some of your co-workers handle stress, or rather, don't. Take our personnel manager. Some backstory will be needed, so hear me out. 41 years old, very Catholic and we're fairly certain, never actually had a girlfriend (or whatever). You would probably find this unbelievable if you worked with him for a while, as he seems normal. But in any social situation involving unfamiliar ground, a cute female, stress, pretty much anything actually, he totally shuts down. Stressful situations here at work? He flips the fuck out. It ain't pretty. He actually said one time that in the event he ever did meet a nice girl and ask her to marry him, if she said no he would probably throw things. He's not abusive by any means, but rather, insanely childish. Beyond what you might expect. So every once in a while, like today, I get a glimpse of that and then I remember that's probably why he moved back in with his parents.

Infact, he has greatly improved in the past 1-2 years. I recall back when I first started working here and it was not at all uncommon before noon for employees to ask around if anyone had talked to him yet that day. It was far smarter to see if anyone else knew if he was in a particularly sour mood, as it was fairly often the case.

If he were still like that, I honestly don't think I'd still be here. Which might be ok, too, as I'm pretty sure this isn't an actual grown-up job. But oh well.

Anyway. In the middle of a two-parter of House, M.D. toward the end of season 2. It is agonizing. I want Forman (Omar Epps) to positively rot in hell, his character is such a shit. One more disc and then I start in on the new season 3, which my family has been wonderful enough to tape for me, squee! (If you recall, we sadly have neither cable nor internet at the moment, but come Saturday, oh baby, that is going to change). We hope. We are dealing with some of the most moronic specimens our human race has to offer. I've just got my fingers crossed.

Rings tomorrow, whee!

Got much of the entry way and kitchen painted. That place is crawling with ugly-ass wallpaper, it's out of control. When I pried off a lightswitch cover, it revealed even older wallpaper under the first layer of horridness. Looked like goddamn Christmas paper...aaaaaaaand I even finished unpacking nearly all the boxes! So exciting. I am going to have one tasty ass bottle of something when I get the place presentable. I'm sure it'll never be "finished," so I think in terms of "presentable."

And in cleaning up the harddrive here at work I found I still have the wedding invite photos that Cinema Mark did on here! So for anyone who never saw them, here they are. Actually, the first is the invite, the second is just me not being able to keep a straight face. And contrary to popular belief, the photo was my idea and no, D is not forcing me to get married on Halloween. But Mark is the one who added veins to my cheek and made my eye cloudy, tinkered with the color, basically made it look far better than I ever could!

Keep your hands off the suit, buddy.

Ok, seriously. When you guys view my blog, is the sidebar all the way down at the bottom? What the fuck. I don't know if it's a template thing? Or maybe if I switch templates that would help? Have to re-do the customized crap, however dull it is, so that would kinda blow. It is annoying me in any case, though.

Work has been hella busy! Which I guess is nice, I mean, makes me worry far less about the whole place shutting down. But it does make it tricky to blog. Shah. Bastards.

Did jack-shit with the house last night. Just made very yummy dinner and kept plugging away on House, M.D. I'll spare you the episode details this time. Tonight however, is going to see lots of upacking and minimal painting. Oh yes, it shall be done. It's just that after standing around goddamn Hobby Lobby for a fucking hour, waiting for them to SUPPOSEDLY frame a poster, they came out with it trimmed and said, "Ok! Here ya go!" I said exqueese me? They said, oh, you wanted it FRAMED. That'll be a week. *shoots all employees of the Hobby Lobby* Dirty place anyway. By the time I DID get home, I was so done. And there was all this thunder, talk of a "cold front," and what the hell happened? Yup, nothing. Infact, I had to get up at 3am to close the windows because it was just that hot and muggy. Ugh.

On the plus side, I had a dream in which Sonny Crockett showed me how to ride his motorcycle. Ahem. Who the hell knows. So what if he had a Ferrari and not a motorcycle? And that I would prefer the Ferrari?

Anyhoo. Well, looks like if I play my cards right (really, just if I luck way the fuck out), I will get to screen both Black Dahlia AND Last Kiss tomorrow night. I laughed to see Mia Kirshner in Black Dahlia. D and I know her from The L Word and simply refer to her character as 'Mouse Stain,' because well, she is one. What an annoying-ass character. The show itself is pretty crap, but we really love hating her. Anyway, totally pumped for Black Dahlia (written by James Ellroy, of L.A. Confidential, *droooools*), and kinda eager to be irritated by Last Kiss. Can't help myself.

D closes tonight, so hopefully I'll get tons of crap done and won't find myself wandering out to the spa. I haven't had time with spa in like, three days! I decided I should name the spa Steve. Not just Steve, Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve. Like an I Saw What You Did kind of Steve. D doesn't have to know...

Oh, and the wedding rings should be here tomorrow! Very excited. I had them sent here to work to be safe, plus they're FedEx and I don't want to have to chase them down since no one's ever home. Seven weeks. Yikes. Even New Zealand Derek is almost here, just a couple more weeks. Bastard asked me to look into one-way airfare to Cancun for him. Wtf? I'm mixed with jealously and curiosity...does he plan on coming back from Mexico? But still, so excited to see him and everyone else.

Just gotta get that marriage license thingy, whatever!

My first boy-girl thing was with a poster of you!

Fairly uneventful weekend, which is nice. Been cramming season 2 of House, M.D. down like chocolate crack. Yum. Tickled to see Adam Busch (ew, that site makes me feel gross) pop in for a role. Saw a band a few years back open for They Might Be Giants, called Common Rotation. Really liked them. It was near the end of their set when Alex headbutted me and said, "You dumbass, that's Warren from Buffy!" Actually, she was much nicer. I hadn't recognized this dude, who is perhaps the most infamous baddie on Buffy.

Even better, we couldn't recall his character name at the time (ironically, I thought it was Adam), so we made D go ask his tableful of peons. Seriously. He must love me *a lot*; I can't imagine a more humiliating social faux pax. But great band, I enjoy them very much. He popped up in season 2 of House trying to convince Dr. House that he loved cows. Like, a lot. So much so that he was afraid he was going to love the cows. It had a funny ending.

Then, two episodes later, Michelle Trachtenberg (aka annoying Dawn), ALSO from Buffy popped in for a 'sode. Only she was the main sick person, not a sidestory. And I simply can't go into it without ruining it, but at the very end we discover what's wrong with her...and boy is it unfortunate. But not depressing. Just...yeah.

Ok well, nearly time to go home. This has got to be one of my most fascinating blogs yet...Internet this weekend! Woooooooohoooooooooooo!

Driving with a load not properly tied down?

Sweet! I finally posted my first little review over at Big Suck Loser. Finally! And sadly, it's for Hollywoodland, which pretty much let me down bigtime. Just plodded along and did a crappy job telling the story. But if you follow the link you can read all about it. But yeah, the Afflecktion did kinda kick ass.

And yesterday late afternoon Blogger started giving me shit about my cookies, so I had to leave without linking to the rest of my crappy pictures.






Quite possibly the world's shittiest sink. I mean, what the fuck is it made of? And could the garbage disposal side be any smaller?? But then there is the kitchen, which is grand and lovely. The fridge even has a beverage compartment in the door for my wine! And there is the living room (note Gladys, Vel and Alex!), which is still getting worked on, see the crap everywhere? The double doors lead out to the sunroom which houses, lastly the spa! Whee!

Ok, much later in the day...fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. D's car has been kinda sputtering and puttering and he finally took it in. I'm trying to keep in mind that the car hasn't been worked on in years, really, so this may just be the sum total of work it's needed for awhile. But fifteen hundred goddamn dollars?!? Once you own the car, nearly everything is worth not buying a new one. Almost. But the radiator is cracked, the fuel line is bad, all kinds of shit giving him bad gas mileage and all kinds of problems. Here's where I piss and moan that I wish I knew anything about cars. But I don't. So time to bend over and well, you get the idea.

So then we find out Time Warner is going to give us internet next Saturday and instead of the $5 transfer fee or whatever the Christ they charge, it's now a new set-up fee of $25. D argued with them but had to get off the phone and decided he would call them later. I called instead. And while I did speak with a fairly brainless specimen, she did at least try. And Time Warner is just waiving the fee altogether. I wish I could just have decent customer service, rather than shitty customer service where I find myself forced to be shitty right back in order to get what I should have gotten in the first place. Working in customer service has only taught me that in America, if you bitch long enough and at the right person (and no, you don't have to be an asshole while you bitch, it's a delicate balance), you will get what you want. I hate everything ever, all due to Time Warner and those cunting locksmiths.

Almost two and time to start start drinking.

Niiiiiiiiiice. Topper for the day? My local forensics dude just had me sign out for three rolls. They only have me sign for it when it's actually evidence. And it's only evidence when it's of something illegal, yes, kiddie porn. Bring it on. I've been getting a little less nervous about these rolls in the past, as it is never kiddie porn. Today, however, is just the sort of day that it will be.

Whew. It's not. But one of my printer racks has snapped and I've had to rig it and it's barely working. So at least the day got me anyhow.

I'm not going to meet someone like Diane Court at a kegger.

Ok, every time I upload pics here, instead of being all aligned on the left, they show up jumbled. So what-the-fuck-ever. But here are the UGLY light covers I could not take down fast enough, followed by the tiles that surrounded the spa AND filled the entry way of the house. See? Sbarro pizza all around. And one ugly christing wreath they left behind. I would, too. Next, we have one of the spare rooms, probably mostly mine as you can tell by all the books. After the paint, we just sort of refer to it as "the shire." There's Bourdain, hanging out and being far more at ease than in the past few days...and my precious, the black jet tub. Don't think I'd go for black in the future, kinda weird. But damn is it one nice tub...

You know, some of you guys have some cute little asses. It'd be a real shame if I had to blow'em off.

Well balls. I was GOING to review Death Race 2000 for BSL but then my Netflix copy seized up both in the middle and at the end. I just had to re-order it. It was RIGHT during the Frankenstein/navigator seduction scene, just as her towel slipped off. Stupid Netfux. And it was a chunk, too. We may have been the first people to ever find ourselves confused by Death Race 2000. But liking it bunches so far. The death scenes are GREAT. The blood has quite the Argento look to it. And the hospital scene (wheeling out the elderly) was priceless. If only the disc had worked. More on this when I actually fucking finish it.

I seem to have gotten talked into working at the theatre tonight. Thursday nights blow, as they are all trailer change-outs and screenings. The shit we get usually sucks, so I end up screening the latest Strand production. (LOTS of manlove and poor production values). However, now that I'm the go-to for help on Thursday night rather than the regular, I get to screen what *I* want. I like this. Tonight, I get to screen Hollywoodland. Now, it's Diane Lane so it's fairly safe to say I would get to screen this anyway. (The other projectionists are well aware of my love for the Lane. See, unlike Cinemaslave Joe, I will totally watch a film just for the acting or more specifically, for certain actors. Not many, mind you. But I think Alex can totally back me up here, as we've probably seen the entire lifeworks of Gary Oldman (well, maybe not so much lately). From Meantime on down to Criminal Law. Some real shit. That man owes us several dinners. And it should be noted that when I do watch a film specifically for an actor, I don't necessarily expect the film itself to be good. Which is why you had better be a damn good actor). Anyhoo. I'm looking forward to Hollywoodland in a low-expectations kinda way. Strangely, I've heard from both the head projectionist and others that (prepare yourself) Ben Affleck is one of the best things about this film. I'm sure Ms. Lane and Adrien Brody do their usual great stuff, but apparently, the Afflecktion not only doesn't suck, he really pulls one out. I'll keep you posted.

Then next week I get to screen The Last Kiss, a fairly mainstream film we have no business getting and will surely get our asses kicked, Zach Braff or no. We're only getting it because our marketing director had a girly hard-on for it. Whatever, I'll screen the hell out of it, no problem. I'm actually kinda curious about it. And I'm not a Garden State freak in the slightest. Oddly enough, quite a bit about that film irritates me (mostly Natalie Portman's "quirkiness", e.g., the whole "make a crazy noise and be SO original!!" bullshit, plus the fucking screaming-over-the-cliff-moment GAAAGG!!! The Paul Simon song was the sole thing preventing me from disemboweling myself in lieu of continued viewing...oh and the goddamn ending. That reeked of shit), but anyway. All that shit bugs me, but then I'm oddly drawn to the rest. Weird. Anyway, this isn't even a Zach Braff-helmed picture, but rather Tony Goldwyn. It actually sounds a little bit like crap that will surely annoy me. But I'm curious. And therein lies my problem.

I should mention that I've consumed far more caffeinated beverages than usual today, and therefore this could be even more discombobulated than average. I drank tea all the way from Arlington and then unexpectedly had to pick up Cinema Mark from the auto shop; any time Mark is involved, so is Starbucks. So I had an Americano. And now I'm insane. At least on the drive up I had an episode of Nate and Di to entertain me. It was an episode in which they re-visited the ruins of the old drive-in they used to manage. I found it quite shocking that they had to live there and use their paycheck money to buy shit for the theatre--like concessions and shit! Not sure I could have done it...and paychecks of $125 a week, for both of them, and only received when begged for. Jesus! Impressive to say the least...

I think the next film trilogy I Netflix is either going to be Bond or Woody Allen (the latter to D's chagrin). Thinking Goldfinger, From Russia With Love, License to Kill, and On Her Majesty's Secret Service. So by "trilogy" I mean foursome. To get a rounder impression. I think Woody Allen, it'll be Sleeper, Play It Again, Sam, and Interiors. But first I gotta wrap up my TV shows to some extent. We're in the middle of the second season of Lost, Desperate Housewives (shut up), West Wing (well, season 4 there, and just me on that one), and House, M.D.. But then after that.

On a totally different track, we met with Reverend Roshaven yesterday, who is going to be marrying us. Having set foot inside a church perhaps four times in my life (not counting sightseeing in the UK), I was a little nervous. He is a Unitarian, at least, so that took nearly all the pressure off. He didn't even ask us about our religious orientation! D was fairly opposed to the whole Unitarian thing originally, as he is Lutheran, but I think when he realized finding the master of ceremonies would become the task of whomever won that one, he kinda let up. Honestly, I think he's just relieved I didn't insist on being married by the Justice of the Peace. So anyway, this guy is very nice (for three hundred christing smackers, he'd better be!) and basically gave us a ceremony menu, from which we can choose the different parts of what ends up being said. Looks like the whole thing should take about twelve minutes. (Which makes him more expensive than most hookers, if you ask me. But in this case, shorter is sweeter).

Ok, I think that's enough blathering to make up for yesterday.

Excuse me, Johnny, I've got to hang up. We're expecting a call from you any minute.

Ok, I bring you Johnny Two-Lips. I actually had less time to dick around today, so this is my contribution to my blog, as I'm about to leave work. Isn't he just the ugliest fucker? And there he is, hard at work in that wide shot. Just beyond him is the spa I got up and running last night. It glows dark blue at night, hee hee.

Ruprecht, do you want the genital cuff?

Ok, so there is no longer internet at the house. If you find the following to be confusing, please seek a job at Time Warner Cable:

We live at the new address on Mahonia; the old account is on Arapaho.
The previous residents at Mahonia have asked their account be terminated on September 14.
We live at Mahonia. They are gone.
May we please have internet?

Again, if I lost you there, please seek a job with Time Warner. An annoying future awaits you and your customers. Actually, making it even stupider...the account is commerical, not residential, so apparently a whole other side of TWC has to get involved. I don't know WHY this is so complicated, but it is. Holy jesus is it ever.

And the modem WAS working, but from what I gather from Moron #4 is, basically: everything was hunky dory until the modem or whatever it sends its signal to, sat up in bed one day and went, "Holy shit! Who are you??" and then leapt out of bed and out the door. But for three, nearly four days, it had no idea. What a slut.

So it may be a while before D or I update BSL (I swear I AM going to actually start blogging on it, I do) or D can even update his blog.

I did get a lot done yesterday, I finally figured out how to drain the spa. They have the spa right next to a window, so you would think you could just connect the hose and drain it into the sink. Apparently gravity is not that interested in helping out. So the sink was out. But I did manage to drain it and I'm sure it's nothing the EPA needs to know about. Now that whole room just needs re-doing, including curtains (apparently we bought the house from exhibitionists).

I like my smooth-top range. It's neat.

Mouchette loves the sunroom and entry way, I was finally brave enough to let him out. (Although I did make sure all the screen doors were locked, cause he might just reach up and open one). You could tell Bourdain really want a piece of the action, or to at least look cool, but he is really not into the outdoors. Which is great with me. Stay inside. Love the indoors. Outside bad.

And it has been raining and raining and raining today! So nice. Yesterday never even broke 80F. Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Please stay this way.

Thanks to Mob over at Dear Bastards, I've been listening to The Nate and Di Show, which is damn funny. I downloaded a few at random, and the very first one happened to be the infamous mall parking lot episode. Apparently I need to listen to the one involving morning glory seeds...

Ok, back to work. And back to offering up sacrifice in the hopes of improving the brain power of the shit squishing collective fuckwits over at Time Waner Cable.

Rex cries when he ejaculates!

I did not take a picture of Johnny Two-Lips. I was tiiiiiiiired. I had to hit the apartment before going home for the plants (which were not dead, although our very last pirate fish (he had his eye eaten out by other fish, which is how we obtained three "pirate fish"), Tail-Chasing Tom, died over the weekend just before moving out. I was not surprised, he had to be on his last legs), and get some bits out of the fridge (ok, my chipotle sauce for my fried pickles). The power was still on, so who the fuck knows what goes on in that crazy little world known as Green Mountain.

And by the time I hit the highway, I discovered to my ignorant chagrin that there was a fucking homegame for the Cowboys. I cannot stand American football and now I have to pass by Texas Stadium to get home. Curse fucking American football and especially the goddamn Cowboys. It was so depressing to see not only how many people were desperately trying to get there in time, but how many thousands of cars were already there. I do not thank my lucky little stars enough that D is not a sports fan.

Got home and had to explore the grocery store. VERY excited that Arlington at least sells beer and wine. Have to go to Fort Worth for liquor, but that's hardly as pressing as my wine and beer needs. Not only does Kroger have great selection and oh nelly, I love me some Arlington beer prices, but Kroger is even cheaper than standard Arlington beer prices. Kirin Ichiban 6-pack, $5.99. Yeah, baby.

Finally home. Disgruntled to realize that I have also already seen disc 2, season 2 of House, M.D. and I apparently just need to get online to figure out where the fuck I WAS when I stopped watching. On the plus side, however, there is a special feature on disc 2 in which Dr. Cameron and Dr. Cutty re-shot a scene Valley Girl style. It was great; one moment in particular made me laugh out loud.

And I must, must remember that season 3 starts next Tuesday. The previous residents' cable, which they seem to refuse to cut off, had better fucking include (I can't believe I'm about to say this) Fox. I hate Fox. I'm shocked they didn't cancel House, M.D. and I kinda hate that I must watch their crappy little channel.

As we ramble on directionlessly, my other show, Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip, airs tonight (I'm guessing due to the holiday), and while I've already seen the pilot via Netflix, I do plan on tuning in on regular basis Monday nights at 10pm. Conveniently, the show D wants to watch, Heroes, is on just before. It actually sounds intriguing, I admit. I also feel a bit like I need a bath. Having been an anti-TV snob for so long, a tiny piece of me seems to have died and/or been yuppified upon the purchase of a home.

Mondays--Heroes, 9pm (premieres Sept 25)
Studio 60, 10pm (premieres Sept 18)
Tuesdays--House, M.D. (same bat time, same bat channel, sept 5)
Wednesdays--Lost, 9pm (Oct 4!! Plenty of time for me to cram in season 2 on DVD)

Jesus Christ, ER is seriously still on? Season 13! Balls. I gave up on it (season 6? 7? cough, cough) when I left Japan. What happens in Tokyo, stays in Tokyo. But then look, The Simpsons are starting up season 18 and 60 Minutes is on season 39. So hey. Oooh, and Desperate Housewives is only on season 3? I could conceivably cram in season 2, but it's such shit. Not sure I could make the effort to tune in weekly. It does much better when I can pack it all in marathon-style. Otherwise it occurs to me what shit it is. Had this problem last night as we hunkered down with disc 1 of season 2. Been so long since season 1, I'm quite aware of how shit it is. But I can already feel it sucking brain power, my senses are numbing (though I still loathe the Teri Hatcher character and want her dead), and I'm sinking into the bog once again.

We seem to be getting back into our normal morning routine: I wake up and Bourdain follows me around and as soon as the shower's off he hops in and laps up as much water as he can (including from the tap). He even wags his tail. Mouchette can be found by the best window, contemplating whatever it is cats contemplate. I realized this this morning, as I wondered where Mouche might be. Where is the best window in the house?, I asked myself. Oh, the bay window at the kitchen sink. I knew it would be a future issue the first time I looked at the house. Needless to say, kitchen counters really aren't kitty places, but it is a nice window. Hard to blame him. Sure enough, there he was. I think Mr. Mouche and I are going to have to find another window for him.

The other morning I told my boss I thought it was officially the start of autumn. It was 68F when I left the house in the morning and upon entering Starbucks, they have once again unleashed the pumpkin spice latte. I treated myself. It's no gingerbread latte, but it'll do. Later that day, he tells me now, he was coaching volleyball and one of the other coaches came up to him and said, "I think it's autumn! Starbucks has the pumpkin spice latte!" I found it terribly funny and a little embarrassing on my part. That's Dallas for you. How the hell else are we going to know.

On the dark side of the pumkinness, however, I purchased their pumpkin cream cheese muffin this morning. Sounds good, looks good...but upon smelling it, I realized I had made this same terrible mistake last year. I bit into it, just for fun, and sure enough...it's still shit. How do you screw that up? It's really nasty, though; I even had to spit out my bite. Avoid at all costs.

We can record our love.

I forgot to mention that Mouchette, the older cat (5 years, nearly 6), is handling the move with very admirable pluck. The kitten Bourdain (though he may be far too girthful to continue to refer to him as such), on the other hand, has been utterly terrified. At least it means filling up the food bowl less often.

The first evening he curled up on the counter of one of the built-in china cabinets in the kitchen. Usually a yelling would be in order, but I'm not going to yell at the kitten when he's already freaking out. It was fairly open for him, I was impressed. I had the top cabinet above it open for putting glasses away, however, and while my back was turned he crawled into the little box of a cabinet and left his paws dangling over the edge. He even slept that way for a while. I had no camera and was terribly sad. It was wonderfully cute and pathetic.

Also forgot to mention that for the first time in my three years here at the photo lab, I was unable to print some pictures due to illegal content. Now if you've read anything about this place in my previous blogs, you know that's quite a feat. The owner dabbles in the porno business on the side and the mail-in porno pics are actually run through this side company of his. I have seen more things than I ever cared to have, so reflect a moment on the fact that I was unable to print these pictures. Basically, there are two things it could be. Kids or animals. It was the latter. A Doberman. And the dog wasn't really being...I can't say "abused," but you know what I mean. It was a woman and there were also several shots of the dog's penis. What the fuck is wrong with people.

On a far tamer note, my drivetime has changed so considerably that instead of taking 3-4 whacks at the Cinemaslave podcasts, I now get to listen to nearly the whole thing at once. This is kinda nice, but at the same time, that's a fuck of a lot of driving. And I really enjoyed this last podacst (#57) and I think I'm in the middle of #45. I had to add Death Race 2000 to the Netflix because his review really made me smile. It sounded like me trying to get people to watch Streets of Fire. Plus it sounds damn fun. Also added Cinderella Man, against my better judgment, but since my doubts were similarly expressed by those reviewing, I thought I'd give it a go. However much I dislike Russell Crowe as a person, he can be a fairly decent actor. Speaking of Aussies, I also added Chopper, which seems to be a big favorite among many for its black comedy, so we'll see. And I saw American Movie at SXSW way back in, oh what, 2001, I guess. Don't recall being all that impressed but then again, I also don't recall it too well at all. I put it on the 'flix for another chance.

And at first I found the James Bond freaks a little annoying, but now they're sort of endearing. I have just never really been into the older Bonds, though I try from time to time. Infact, when I was little and both my sisters used to watch them, I'd leave after the Pink Panther cartoon (which preceded each Bond flick) was over. Come to think of it, aside from both being UA, why the hell did each Bond movie have a Pink Panther cartoon in front of it?? D doesn't even really believe me on this. But anyway. Obviously On Her Majesty's Secret Service needs to go on the list, as it's one that seems to have a fairly rabid fanbase. I do enjoy the newer ones...well, Goldeneye and Tomorrow Never Dies, anyway. Curious to see how Daniel Craig does. Having a hard time picturing it, but I'm hoping for the best since he was so nice to me during the sound check on Layer Cake at one of our endless stupid festivals, can't fucking even remember which one. Just a really polite, meek guy. And my height, too! Bond is short! But one of the other Cinemaslaves, (Shayne, I believe), did have the suggestion that if it was a blonde Bond they were after, wouldn't Sean Bean be the best pick? I have admit I find that idea superb. But I guess since he was already a baddie in one of the Bond flicks that might be weird. Oh well.

Now if you'll excuse me, two young men have sent me twenty-one rolls of their bondage love. Please, if a Polaroid is asking too much, please learn to use digital. It would be so much cheaper, if nothing else. And I've finished up everything else in the lab, so I have no choice. And six more hours to go. Going to be one of those days....

It was just as if everyone had swelled.

It's not my fault--I was moving.

And I have dealt with more stupid people than I ever thought possible. If anyone lives in or near Arlington, don't EVEREVEREVER use Martin Locksmith. They changed our locks completely instead of just the keyhole (so $22 instead of $9), no one ever got any information straight, one of the locks DID NOT WORK!!! and the guy had to come back out to replace it but they gave him the WRONG ADDRESS. It was the WORST CUSTOMER SERVICE EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE. Infact, everyone ARGUED with me. I actually got so livid today that I found myself yelling into the phone, "I WANT MY FUCKING MONEY BACK!!" (This may be a good time to add that not only do I NOT yell on the phone, I certainly don't swear, and I think that for the most part I'm a fairly agreeable, easy-going gal). And that shit was at work, so naturally everyone was nicer to me the rest of the day. But seriously, they overcharged us, argued with me, then told me they'd send the guy back out today to put our old locks back on and give us a check for the money back. Dude gets out here and argues with me some more (and this is just after I've been on the phone with Green Mountain who inexplicably shut off the power at our apartment which is a big no-no as the apartment will charge us since we're still renting there. So I'm primed. Actually no, this had gone on so long I really just wanted him to go away. He argued with me some more and I said he was just supposed to change the locks back and give me a check. He said, "No, we don't do that." There comes a point when it's a good goddamned thing I do not own a gun. I would have gotten it out and just ended Mike. He asked if they could just refund the difference between the estimate and the overcharge. (Which is what I wanted in the first place). I said fine and he said it would be reflected on my account in thirty minutes. I do not see it yet.

Green Mountain apologizes and cannot turn the power back on til after the holiday. *LAUGHS MANIACALLY* At least they say it is all their fault and Celery Stalk is not going to charge me anything extra for this. Celery Stalk is my apartment complex, I realize with their name I should probably clarify that. Don't ever live there, but that is for another blog. Sixty-day notice my ass.

The house is great! The plumbing on the washer was fucked but is now fixed--Sam the most wonderful agent in the world "took care of it" and I am so afraid he personally paid for it, but don't want to delve and be rude. I was very grateful. I patched the ceiling (badly) from a water leak and my wonderful father patched the flashings on the roof in 100 degree weather this past weekend. Dakota's was later had (oh holy jesus I'm going to propose to the truffle butter sauce), followed by a couple Sam Adams and MST3K's The Dead Talk Back. Damn good one, never seen it. That part of the weekend was incredibly fantastic and must be done more often.

Ok, this has been too long of a break. More unpacking (and if you think I haven't cracked open a bottle of wine you're absolutely crazy).

Oh, and you also need to know about Johnny Two-Lips, the world's ugliest fish trinket the previous owners left behind. I will take a picture. We named him and deemed him Sponge Holder and Kitchen God. He will keep the ants out and keep the meat tender. He is really, really ugly. I cannot wait to show you. He is hand-sized with an opening in the top (a slit, as if for a sponge??) and hole in the bottom. Like a teeny tiny flower pot. But so not. I will add him later. He is living in the kitchen for now.

This is exactly why you can't touch my markers.

I have no idea where I left off in season 2 of House, M.D., so it's actually perfect that I have disc 1 while I pack. I've totally seen them all, so attention is hardly mandatory.

Packing the kitchen. I know, I know, it's hot. White hot.

I had to leave work at noon to go out to the house to be there for the window of 1pm--3pm for Water Man. I had to be there In Case. I put the primer on the door (it was dirty and peach, yuck...soon it shall be a vibrant purple. I think all three of us [sisters] should have something shocking and purple about the exterior of our house...in Veloute's case, the whole house!) and started putting wallpaper-be-gone-primer on the entry way wallpaper. I'm going to leave it for now and work on the bedroom instead, since the bedroom will have furniture in it on Sunday and the entry way won't. Well, we hope, don't we.

Water Man came at 2:20 and seriously, went *twist* to something in the ground in the front yard. Two seconds. I had to be there for that? JFC. At least I got some painting done. And did I mention I had to borderline BEG to get someone without 24-hour notice? I mentioned that the website said something about same-day calls having to be in by noon, plus I probably had a fairly desperate tone...in the end, she got me my Water Man and I told her she was wonderful. All by 8:02am. And to think it's supposedly so much trouble for some dude to come out and go *twist* that I almost had to go without water til Monday. Woulda been a lotta trips to Starbucks...

Went back to work, the traffic in my city was FINE; Dallas on the other hand...omfg. I-35 and LBJ were just standstills. Friday afternoon, baby. Got back to work for those last two hours. But fair enough, the lab isn't going to shut itself down...and the money we've been spending...every hour counts!!!

My house has WATER. Beautiful, gorgeous water. I cannot wait to sanitize my sexy jet tub.

That spa is sooooo gonna hafta wait. I told D since he gets out of packing, moving, painting, moving, packing, packing...he gets to figure out the spa. Buy me chemicals, pump out the grody other-people-water and make it all nice and new. You know I would totally make the spa my priority but it just isn't logical. I don't live in the spa, after all. (Well, not yet anyway).

Ok, boxes and vodka beckon.

Oh, and Mob should be tickled to know I'm taking my dad to Dakota's tomorrow night (again, too lazy to link) because he's going to help me fix the flashings on the second chimney (oooh how much I like saying 'second chimney') and help me paint, yadda yadda...plus I've wanted to for so long. He used to always try to get me to like steak when I was younger and I just didn't. And now that I'm older, of course I do. When I used to tell my mom about the strange foods I ate in Japan I think she wanted to kill me a little ("finicky eater" may be putting it mildly if one wished to describe me as a child). So I try to take her to Japan from time to time to make up for it (ok, so once so far and here's hoping for March--April 2007...hanami time)!

Dakota's was even better than Bob's Steakhouse. Truffle Butter Sauce. Say it with me now...and Zinfandel....

That was more of a yield at that stop sign.

It's very surreal and doesn't actually mean a whole lot yet, but we have a house!!

I bought pain, it had better be mine!

Whoops, upon proofing, that was supposed to be 'paint', but I think it's kinda funny. A little depressing, but funny.

The lights and AC are on as I planned. Didn't really think that whole water thing through, however, which is of course run by the city. That will be a desperate phone call for 8am tomorrow.

The moving chick went out of her way to get people together for Sunday, so it looks like I'm moving Sunday. Which means I am packing like a motherfucker right now. Obviously, I'm not. I'm typing. I'M TAKING A BREAK.

Took D to the airport this afternoon, he is on his way to Wyoming for his grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. His plane got delayed in Dallas and then again in Denver, so he'll be getting there a couple hours later than expected. He hadn't flown in over ten years, so they wanted to make sure he got the full experience. He'll be back Monday. I'd be sad and lonely but luckily I have a jillion things to do and no time.

And I have to flippin' work tomorrow. Except for that part where I run out to Arlington so I can stand there while they turn the water on. Seriously, you have to be there. Blow me.

And the signing wasn't so bad. Except I had a really hard time signing my name. I actually sign (instead of just a scrawl), so it takes more time than one would like when signing thousands of documents. I honestly don't think a single one of my signatures matched the other, and everyone staring while you sign doesn't help. My signature looked like "May Bell" at one point. I cracked up a couple times, though, because of the papers we signed to verify that we had just signed the papers before it. I shit you not.

Then I made D take me to Jack In the Box at 10:30am because I had a tiny little hangover. Magic.

Back to packing.

I may go insane.

Teenage Suicide. Don't Do It.

Moving suuuuuuuuuuuuuucks. Don't do it.

I did get a ton of it done yesterday. We took apart the Hoosier, I bubble wrapped the antique bookcase and my desk (though I do need to research how best to move the rear projector TV, groooooooan). Lots of shite boxed...still pretty much the whole kitchen to do. Moving right along, though I seem to nearing the end of my boxes.

I like to think I'm not that stressed, but then again, I did call a 'flamingo' a 'kangaroo' yesterday.

Yeah, when you were at the bar you were saying 'diaphragm' instead of 'diploma.'

Which reminds me, my Criterion Collection Kicking and Screaming should be arriving today. Finally. My head projectionist friend Jeremy and I are taking it up to work to screen it on the DLP projector on the big screen at the theatre. Sweeeeeeeeet. So very much looking forward to it.

Supposedly, in less than 24 hours, we will have closed on the house. Supposedly. Any second now someone is going to call me with some bullshit and it is going to be the least biggest surprise ever. Or worse, Sam will call with everything completed and he'll have the number for me--you know, the amount of money we'll need to have at closing. I think I need to take a Xanax or a shot before that phone call.

Ok, it's later...and we are paying a LOT less at closing than I expected. It's actually the fault of my lender--she forgot the seller credits back that year's taxes so far, which she did not factor in. She also misunderstood the amount we wanted to put down. (We wanted to put down more, but at this point, fuck it.) At the end of the day, though, the monthly payment is where we want it, the down payment is fuckin' great, and in five years we'll refinance anyway.

Time to start perusing online for good champagne suggestions...(D doesn't drink champagne, but no one said I was sharing anyway). I'll pick up some Lambic for him, he'll be happy.

And best of all? Today is Dumbshit Fuckwit's last day here in the lab. No, he did not get fired, he's just going off to school. Whatever works, whatever does it. Thank fuck. Now if only the B&W lab would fire that creepy shit delivery guy. *skincrawls*

Du Jour means teamwork!

Ok, seriously, will someone buy us this poster of Casting Call as a wedding gift? Come on, it's only 975 pounds! So what, about $1500? Are you fucking kidding? I'll take a reprint, though, it cracks me up. That whole site is great. My other two favorites would be The Curious Female and Rollerbarbies. Priceless.

Had to play mediator between the lender and the insurance agent today because the lender (and she's not even the lender I've been dealing with, but some other chick that my chick delegates to? who the fuck knows) is a bitch and pissed off the insurance agent. The lender sent me an email asking if I could poke at the insurance agent because when SHE tried, the insurance agent "got all hateful." *facepalm* I called my insurance agent (Toni) and apologized that the lender (Liz) was a total cunt (actually, I did say bitch) because well, she is. Even Sam hates her. So I gave Toni most of what she needed and she got everything to Liz a few hours later. Toni needed the appraisal and some digital pictures and had needed them for at least a week. But got nothing. Cause it took them forever and ever to GET the goddamn appraisal cause they dragged their ass. The lenders, it would seem, again and again fail to give anything to anyone. They seem to prefer to sit on their asses and wait for someone to ask for it. This is (I'm told) not how it should work. I forwarded the email about how "hateful" Toni was to Sam (my realtor) who got a huge kick out of it.

So I think everyone has everything. For real, man. And Sam says he's calling Liz when this is all over to tell her just how appalling and unprofessional this whole mess has been. Go for it.

And even better, I spoke with Brandon the Boar Man. That barbeque is on for Saturday, so the wedding is on for Saturday. I'm hoping he has the time to make the jalapeno things (the boar is wrapped around a hollowed-out pepper and then a piece of bacon is wrapped around that, it's YUM, but so time consuming), but we'll see. His huge Halloween party is that night as well, and so anyone looking for a bit of action after the reception, he said, is more than welcome. He's brewing six different kinds of ale this year, they're having a DJ (something I shall never understand...Superfly Amadeus Shaft Ipod is the best DJ in the world!), and even more barbeque.

Time for more packing. Sam Adams and packing. It's fun cause it kinda freaks out the cats.

Sometimes she spells the hyphen.

Before I blow my brains out, I will first tell you that we are perhaps closing this Thursday. My telling you is vaguely akin to Mob not wanting the "jinx thoughts" to actually leak out his ears and end up having to work late. I probably just screwed myself merely by telling you. Oh well, I'm used to it.

I am just about done.

Well, it looks like we may move the wedding to Saturday the 28th rather than the 29th; it will make it much easier for the people flying in. And we don't really care, so why not. And I am also thinking, for the honeymoon...wait for it...yes, Austin! I know, give it a couple posts and I'll be espousing the romantic power of Cool Beans and why don't more people spend their honeymoons in Denton? But seriously, it will be nice to see Austin again and show D all my favorite places. AND, the real reason: the 2nd part of the honeymoon will be a weekend (and by 'weekend' I mean at least Thursday--Sunday) in December in NYC, during which time we CAN see Black 47 and watch Julianne Moore in The Vertical Hour. That's the plan for this five minute span of time, anyhoo.

And this way, he can actually eat at Hudson's On the Bend (the wonderful place where I tried rattlesnake and bear...I'm hoping to try their 'roo meat this time; ignore what it looks like, click on the pot that says 'menu'), Salt Lick (THE place for BBQ, even though I secretly always preferred Scholz Garten or even County Line), and surely at least eight good Mexican places. And I've also been pricing the hot air balloon rides...why not. Even if that is the thunderstomy time of year. And hey, even if it does thunderstorm, it's a honeymoon, I'm sure we'll find something to do!

I was perusing the Alamo Drafthouse website, though (downtown, naturally), and they seem to have let up on the cool midnights. The hell's up with that? Seems like Mr. Sinus Theatre is every weekend instead. And hey, that's fun, too, but still...

And the dickholes at Netflix are on my very serious shitlist. Almost always if you send something back Saturday, and something on your list permieres Tuesday, they send it out Monday. EVERY. TIME. SO. FAR. But since this time it's season 2 of House, M.D., well....eh, not so much. Those jerks. Grr.

Ok, this may be the dullest blog entry ever. I try.

Sporks.

So we just got back from Snakes on a Plane. Holy. BALLS. I was expecting good time fun, but DAAAAAAAAAAMN. I wasn't ready for it to throw down and taunt that 'R' rating it got!! (No spoilers, I promise). From the very first snake encounter on down to the bizarre credits, it was never ordinary. And NOTHING was sacred--everything was fair game. Things that normally make you think, "Oh, they're not going to do that..." OH. They DID.

I wanna go see it again! And I can't say I'd necessarily own it, I'm actually getting a large part of my enjoyment from the audience reactions. And maybe the second time wouldn't be so great, but the whole thing is just so shocking and fun. Great pace, they get right to it--seriously, this movie was totally made by people who knew what they like to watch in an action/gore type flick. Very good stuff, I absolutely loved it.

I hate to post a review on BSL because I'm petrified of giving anything away; plus I told D he could have it.

All that needs to be said about Snakes On a Plane is that it could not have been done better. It is the silliest, most ridiculous movie ever--but it has so much fun and it knows exactly what it is. And I would love to mention all the perfect touches, but I don't want to spoil it.

Cynthia Fine says he's got charisma.

Tonight brings us Snakes On a Plane. There was a big to-do on the cinemaslave forum about whether or not people were seeing it this weekend. I think I utterly failed to get my point across in my argument to see it this weekend. I agree 100% that if I want to see a good movie, then yes, I'll wait or, more likely, see the midnight to increase the chances of fewer stupid bitches. But SOAP? Does anyone think this is going to be good? I'm going for the sheer event of it, that's it. The more people, the better. Though yes, I can really do without cellphones, that is a big one I admit.

Although, I did just read cinemaslave joe's take on SOAP, and he actually said it was a kick-ass-fuckin'-good-time. (Maybe not those words). But he said it did an excellent job casting a spell and sucking you in. Just what I need right now, sounds perfect.

The funny thing is, we saw X-Men 3 opening night and it was shocking how few people were there. It had a decent take that weekend, so I can only surmise that showing it on eight screens (ok, maybe 4) in the same megaplex spreads it out more than enough. We were curious as to whether the dropoff in theatre attendance was already this noticeable. Heck, you can usually count me out. I love our sweet-ass TV in all its flat-screen beauty and there is fuck-all to see in the theatre these days--why would I go out?

Ooh, and the boar meat is back on! Our John Locke-esque boarhunter will be going out at the end of September/early October so it's as fresh as possible. I think there will be a ton leftover, as well, since he's planning for about fifty people. Mom and the Veloute clan can stay at the house to housesit and eat my boar! It is sooooo good. This makes me happy as well, because it means I can make the wedding around sunset-ish time (5:30?) and not feel bad about only feeding people dessert! Watch, I'll probably get married inside anyway. Halloween is so hit or miss in these parts...

You know, this is a totally random thought I will flesh out later when I'm less irate, but it occurs to me from time to time that I really need to acquire a lawyer friend. (And gee, while we're at it, a mechanic friend and a dentist friend). I shall add these three things to my to-do list. And must obviously start running in different circles. Harder to throw threats around when you don't actually even know a lawyer.

This is two days in a row a customer has nearly passed out in our store from being out in the heat. And my Milky Way is gross and gooey. Apparently none of us learn.

And none of this explains why I've got the theme from Masterpiece Theatre in my head.

The rain on my car is a baptism, the new me, Ice Man, Power Lloyd, my assault on the world begins now.

Ooh, here's an idea: when you do finally get pictures taken on your wedding day, don't get photographed on a carpet that's even tackier than your wedding dress! Juat a thought here at work...

So closing may be early Septemeber it seems. Follow this bullshit: it was getting pushed anyway cause the lender was dragging her ass. Then the lender found out about the foundation problem (ahem, it wasn't ME...ok, it was, but how the hell was I supposed to know?), and that means the appraiser has to go back afterwards as well, to make sure it's taken care of. Now this is kinda silly, because if the appaiser had reached the same conclusion anyway (i.e. that the foundation needed work), he'd STILL have to go out again. It's kinda goofy, Sam feels bad and has offered to pay the extra fee for the appraiser having to go out twice. Not sure how I feel about that, but hopefully if we just take Sam to dinner that'll even things out.

So closing was going to be just after D got back from Wyoming (he's going next weekend for his grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary). I said you know, let's just do this Sept 6th as long as we're pushing it back. The trick here is that when you close after the 5th, you don't have to pay for that month. It could be a load of bullshit and/or too good to be true, so we'll see.

But I called the goddamn utilities and movers one last time to reschedule. JFC.

And Mouche has a heart murmur! It's not a big deal, the vet said on a scale of 1 to 6 (six! That's it! The perfect scale!), it's about a two and she was not concerned. But his ringworm never really went away for good so they're giving us a different treatment. And of course it's right around his eye so I have to NOT get it in his eye. He's usually very good about it. So I'm picking him up after work and heading home.

Too bad I packed all the goddamn DVDs already...

Though we do have the final two episodes of Firefly, and then Serenity should come in the mail tomorrow.

It's just too fucking hot to do much of anything. I'm in the lab doing jack shit and I'm sweating. AC on fullblast, it doesn't matter. The apartment is the same. From about 3-6 it's almost impossible to do anything without leaving a trail of ooze.

The dumbshit 5-year-old who works here just popped into the back to ask, "Hey, does 'enlargement' have an 'e' after the 'g'?" Don't get me wrong, we all have days when spelling is just too much to ask, but in this case, well, no. He really is that dumb. This bastard cannot go off to "college" (Stephen F Austin, read: party school) soon enough.

This weather is So. Fucking. Gross. Yes, it IS going to be a cold honeymoon (uh, weather-wise...that sounded kinda bad for a second). I am going to buy some New York tickets and railpasses to Canada any second now. And because timing is a motherfucker, Julianne Moore is opening on Broadway November 30, a full month after the honeymoon. Bitch.

I'm different all the time...

Holy SHIT. I just watched Don't Bother to Knock (1952). In case you didn't catch that, 1952. And DAMN. That movie was messed up. It was based on a book, Mischief, by Charlotte Armstrong (1950), which is obvious. Anything with this kind of characterization is either based on a play or book. And holy balls was it incredible.

Monroe plays a woman who's helping out her uncle--a longtime employee of a hotel, an elevator man--by babysitting. Well, she's disturbed. And then she meets a man from across the courtyard who's having lady-issues. Yeah, his lady-issues kinda EVAPORATE when he meets Monroe and gets a glimpse into her world. The end had just a tad of cheese I coulda done without, but all the in-between more than made up for it.

Even better, this was 1952, before Marilyn Monroe was considered a "sex symbol," so she's not doing that airy vampy annoying BS she ususally does. She was actually acting.

It was fucked up and disturbing. I liked it a lot.

This was a fantastic film for acting--it started out slow (an early film for Anne Bancroft, too--her first, infact--she's in the beginning and the end) and then it just went crazy. I guess I can be a little naive with what I expect from older films, so when things started to get a little dark, well, I just had no idea what might happen. This would be really incredible onstage and everyone involved did a remarkable job making it an incredible movie.

Damn.

I recommend this, totally.

You made a woman meow?

First of all, very sad to see the passing of Bruno Kirby, I always found him enjoyable to watch and pretty damn funny. His roles were always very memorable. And it's really weird when they die at a fairly young age...

I think I'm just going to have to tell D not to read my blog until after we're married. I want to rant about the honeymoon plans and his wedding present and I can't do that if he's reading the damn thing! I guess the honeymoon isn't usually a surprise, but since I seem to be the one making plans, it feels like it might as well be! And he doesn't really care where we end up (Rwanda!), so why not.

I thought a really fun wedding present would be to get between 20-30 DVDs--you know, those DVDs you keep meaning to buy but don't, or have been on your list forever...it's kind of a bitch because the DVDs aren't always the best transfer and you just don't know until you watch it. So with the rear projection TV, sometimes even though a movie is 1:85 or anamorphic, it still doesn't take up as much of the screen as it should and ends up being encased in black. It's irritating and you can only be a snob about it for so long. I'm over it. So far, I have Reservoir Dogs (special edition, the pink one!), Wayne's World, Prom Night, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Fright Night, Big, Beetlejuice, and Dazed & Confused (Flashback Special Edition). I want to get Re-Animator (special edition), that's a must have. And even though we got together the night we saw (unfortunately) Cannibal Holocaust, neither of us EVER needs to own it. I'll take a poster.

And I bought my dad a bottle of Laphroaig in anticipation of his helping me de-wallpaper/paint/etc next weekend. (I remember buying the same brand in Scotland, though that time it was for an unworthy boyfriend. Too bad I couldn't know then that the scotch was better than the boyfriend). Closing Day got pushed to the middle of the week because my ditzstain of a lender only ordered the appraisal and survey YESTERDAY...which meant I had to push the utilities and movers back a day. I love being on the phone with these fucking places all day. Anyway, the scotch is aged ten years (wanted more, but the price get sharply higher after the 15 year mark, and the 15 wasn't aged in oak the way this one was). I can't stand scotch but I wish I could. As expensive as it is, I'm surprised I don't like it.

On a completely unrelated note, I had the yummiest damn thing today--my co-worker Donna (it's just the two of us in the lab and I am so lucky that we are nearly identical in our habits, mood swings, reasoning, etc), anyhoo, she brought back dark chocolate covered honeycombs from this new little grocery down the road. OH MY GOD. I was actually hoping not to try one cause they sounded kinda...gross. And dark chocolate is not always my thing. But daaaaaaaaaaamn. Like Riesen. But crunchy and then chewy, then a little honey flavor...I can see more of those in the immediate future. Real bad on the teeth.

And still making decisions on the honeymoon. Considering recently events, you'd think tickets to the UK would have dropped off a wee bit (not to sound insensitive). Nope! Infact, tickets to Dublin went from $600 to $789! I'm sure they'll drop again, but I'm still really contemplating upstate New York and Canada (I originally wanted Calgary, Alberta--ever since I did some work on photos taken there I've really wanted to go...gorgeous). And every time I think "Calgary" I get that goddamn Death Cab For Cutie song in my head...which is a good song and all, but after a while I'm done. But upon actually seeing a map, whoops! Alberta's all the way on the other side! Messed that one up. My Canadian friend Nell would be embarrassed.

We would have to fly to New York City and well, I'm pretty sure that would involve stopping at Les Halles. I printed out the dinner menu and drooled a little. So considering we can both get to New York for under $400 (as opposed to $1300) and then spend the rest on FOOD, take the train to Saratoga, up to Ontario, maybe see Niagra Falls, perfect time of year weather-wise (hopefully we'll miss the peepers, otherwise it'll be like Disneyland in August)...I start to think, Ireland? Who's Ireland?

Considering it was 85F by 6:30am, I'm ready for some Canada, baby.

I just LOVE finding new places to wear diamonds.

Wow, I'm actually impressed. I really enjoyed Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I can't stand the whole airhead blonde persona thing Monroe does, but at least she does it well. Jane Russell is quite good, but really, the movie just has some great lines and the dialogue is more than a little raunchy. The entire musical number for "Ain't There Anyone Here For Love," consists of Jane Russell singing amongst a large Olympic team of nearly-naked men clad in flesh-colored tight briefs. Ahem. And really, this is the same director as To Have and Have Not, Bringing Up Baby, and The Big Sleep, so I guess it's not just a fluke I like it.

I dibbled around on imdb and learned a few things about Monroe I previously did not; she married Arthur Miller in a beige wedding dress and dyed the veil in coffee so it would match. She suffered from endometriosis, had two miscarriages and the drug overdose she suffered in 1962 was actually deemed suicide. I'm always the last to know.

We'll see if the other two Monroe films are any good. Plus the last disc of Firefly is on the way, and I doubt I can be held responsible for the order in which things get viewed...

I developed that cynicism the day I discovered I was different from little boys!

Today dragged on endlessly, I came home and packed, wow. I did watch Inside Man, and while it was well done and I suppose I enjoyed it, it didn't really do a whole lot for me. And it had Clive Owen. He and Jodie Foster were in it about two minutes a pop and while the whole film had a deliberate pace, it did just kinda plod along. It was clever in its way, but nowhere near astounding. I expected more...shit, more of Clive Owen would have made me happy enough, but I didn't even get that. Eh. It goes on my list of good Spike Lee movies, so now that list has extended to two.

Cinematographer Mark forwarded me a really awful video I think I'll have to share. This guy ran up his parents' credit card bills nine years ago and bankrupted them on a 16mm film he made. Obviously it went nowhere. No one really heard from him ever again...until someone found this...(uh, it gets pretty disgusting toward the end, I could have done without the last bit; consider yourself warned).



So that is what some people do with their time.

Naturally I forwarded it to Chris and Dion at Cool Shite and inquired as to whether or not this was an accurate depiction of Australians.

I really was going to cook tonight, I was. Enchiladas. I admit I am looking into the future and other than opening a bottle of wine, I see myself doing sweet fuck all in the kitchen.

I'm trying to bump things into groups on my Netflix queue, so the three films I've got up next would be Niagra (1953), Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), and Don't Bother to Knock (1952). I'm not a Monroe fan (obviously, or I would have seen them by now), except for her little cameo in All About Eve, which is pretty much a perfect movie. But I figure I should see them, what the hell. And they are supposedly good movies in their own right, and as good as her acting gets.

The good faith estimate arrived from the lender, lots and lots of thousands of dollars...I've just become numb to the idea that we're shelling out thousands of dollars. She's getting the appraisal done and hopefully stepping back from the ditsy pills long enough to actually fax it to the insurance people. Assuming all goes well, Monday is Closing Day. I tried to set-up cable for Thursday, so surely something will go wrong...I think I could spend the rest of my life quite happily without cable, but I know how much D wants it. And honestly, the incentive of being able to watch House, M.D. on a weekly basis in my living room is plenty good enough for me.

That should be the new slogan. Krispy Kreme: So good, you'll suck a dick.

Wow, nothing like getting spanked from all the way over in Tasmania. If it wasn't on my list of things to do before I die, it should be and I should consider it crossed off. Mortifying and hot always did go so well together. Got bitchslapped on today's podcast and as requested, I did infact email Chris to apologize profusely for the fact that we in America actually do have a "sarcastic font" and clearly it just hadn't made the journey over. And no, we don't get it.

Though it was grand to hear Triple B finally, she always has great comments over at the Cinemaslave forums!

I was in the middle of packing up the apartment and nearly left the room (not that I ever leave the room mid-podcast, ahem) when I seriously fucking heard, "Oh, and for Ellen Aim..." and nearly shit myself in embarrassment. Luckily, I'd already promised myself that if I packed x-number of boxes I could hit the Flying Saucer for Most Pints $2.50 Night. So several Stellas and I read a few more chapters in the ol' Bourdain. Then D showed up and he is currently renting a season of Aqua Teen Hunger Force because it has just been too long. And beer and ATHF just go so nicely.

And considering that in a one-hour time span, both Cool Shite and Bourdain discussed The Prisoner, clearly it is just time to Netflix 'em.

Ok, I had planned to write more about foodie-ish things, Bourdain in China, best meals recalled...but hey, there's Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Blue Moon Ale waiting. Later.

Sandy, you're the only person I know who can make "Yes, Ma'am" sound like "screw you."

Great. Obviously shaping up to be one of those Mondays where I clean the film processor's air filters or some shit. Of course, it's tangibly wet outside and hotter than fuck all before 10am, so I guess I can see why no one wants to battle the construction crew that's surrounding our little store to begin with.

And now that I'm at work I have plenty of time to actually link to the stuff I've been listening to, lots and lots of (Cool) Shite On the Tube this past week. It cracks me up, even when I have no idea what the fuck's going on. And I also have no intention of ceasing to shove my foot firmly in my mouth, as I also stand by the thought that no one reads this damn thing anyway. And as is naturally my luck, I get backhanded by the one with the sexy voice. Well, you know, sexy for an Australian.

The funny thing is, I think living abroad has almost made me touchier about generalizations about Americans than ever before. I guess hearing them nonstop does it. The worst example (as Mob, Triana and the sisters know) is hearing yourself having to say you're from Texas and then hearing the other person say absolutely anything involving the words, "George W." *skin crawls*. Although I did actually meet a Brit one time who started singing the praises of GW to me (and no, she was not being sarcastic) only to have me yak right on her shoes.

I'm also distraught my little sidebar lists no notable films I've seen in August. I just haven't. I did watch Paradise Lost 2 the other night, but I don't know that I recommend it, and certainly not as wholeheartedly as the first one. I mean, 40% of it is rehashing the first anyway, the rest points a finger at one of the victim's fathers, a savory character if there ever was one. I could recommend it based purely on the notion that oh holy jesus, what a spectacle this little town is, all by itself, crime or no. But it is depressing. Just, you know, a bit around the edges.

D and I may finally get in the double feature tomorrow night at the Tavern of Miami Vice and The Descent, so that will at least be worth blogging about. Very curious about the Vice...

And we're almost done with Firefly, sniff. Just saw the torture episode, wtf! I'm always shocked by what's acceptable on commerical TV nowadays. However old that makes me sound. Taking ears off before 9pm? Sure, why not! Really good episode, in any case.

Hey, I'll bet Serenity will merit a place on the sidebar, I'll hurry up and Netflix it before the end of the month...and I'm a little sad to see Disc 1 of Buffy still at home for Veloute...I promise it gets addictive! I did notice Firefly mercifully has less of the "hip" dialogue Buffy tried to hard to beat to death. Though if one more person refers to "the 'verse," I may just launch my lunch.

Which do you think I should wear for the Englishman? The red, or the blue?

VERY uneventful weekend...well, except when I opened at the Angelika and one of the platter systems totally failed to take up the print. It was kinda neat in a way, cause I had to take apart the power supply and remove the take up control card and replace it with a new one. We actually HAD new ones, so I didn't have to take one out of the brains and transform it. I had no idea how to do this previously; it was all done while on the phone with one of the more seasoned projectionists...and it would have been even loads better if I hadn't had to cancel a show of Scoop. Just doin' my part for Little Miss Sunshine (which they all opted to see instead)...but it did get fixed and hot damn was that exciting.

Then I broke down some trailers and read The Nasty Bits.

Off today, made a trip up to Denton which I don't get to do often enough...D opened at work so he wasn't the happiest of campers...got home and packed (gee, how exciting)...started season 4 of The West Wing, it's ploddingly along decently...except they had to kill the special agent that CJ was dating...holy balls isn't this woman allowed to date someone for more than one episode?? It's annoying.

The apartment is looking slowly emptier. Tomorrow I need to line up a reverend, rings (actually order them), make sure my lender faxes her appraisal to my insurance agent, line up cable and movers for the last week in August, double check that all will be done by closing time especially the foundation repairs...hmm...I guess that'll do for tomorrow. And you know, keep packing.

I have been downloading and enjoying Cool Shite (too lazy to link, bite me, I'll mention it later) on the Tube to amuse me. LOVED their review of American Psycho. And the Bollywood blow-by-blow was, uh, interesting...but good shit nonetheless. But what the bloody fuck was up with that bullshit question "Do Americans get irony or sarcasm?" It takes an incredible lot to offend me, and while I'm certainly no fan of the general American population, I still found the question insipid and insulting. Not unlike one of us asking, "Why do those weirdos over there have those funny accents?" I had to roll my eyes, suck it in and just keep listening. Wankers.

D's finishing up Terror Train, which I introduced him to a couple Halloweens ago. Can't believe he'd never seen it. Great stuff. Hopefully maybe he'll write it up on Big Suck Loser...

It's not even 10:30 but I am just that lame. And tired. Going to hit the Bourdain book and pass out.

I have to return some videotapes.

I somehow got conned into actually working the shift last night, but I did get both Almodovar films out of it, both brand new, squee! Women on the Verge did have a negative scratch throughout the last reel, (at least it's not our fault), but is quite bad in that it's a big white scratch right down the middle. Either all the prints will have it or just some, but it's not my decision to order another reel. I did encourage it heavily, though. The print is flat and mono sound, so eh, I admit I was unimpressed though it was really nice to see it in the theatre.

All About My Mother, however, is anamorphic and Dolby Digital. Very sweet print (plus I screened it in the big house).

Everyone else screened all our prints of Little Miss Sunshine, which I'm told I'd also enjoy. There seems to be a stripper-esque scene at the end (by the wee girl of maybe 8, mind you) that is jaw-dropping (again, so I'm told). Sort of a talent-show scenario? I assume it's funny. Anyway, this will put Toni Collette on 5 of our 8 screens, due to the combination of this and Night Listener. As it should be.

I also got to hang out with the head projectionist, who also just bought a house in Arlington, and listen to him pine and pine for the lack of a romantic female prescence in his life. He has a crush on the new marketing manager we hired, who just broke up her 2 1/2-year relationship on Tuesday. My friend Jeremy is also himself a recent dumpee. In any case, he has allowed himself to get fairly smitten, and last night the crush's ex showed up at the festival. So guess who was mopey as shit. It doesn't help that the ex drives a Porsche and lives at the Mockingbird Station lofts (very shi-shi and right next door to our little theatre). But the ex's name? Jesse. I nearly snorted. And I did refrain from making jokes, but wow, finally someone really named Jesse, it's too perfect. Though I doubt he'll be able to listen to the song anymore.

So now I'm going on four hours sleep (which I realize is so lame to complain about in view of the fact that 2 of the 3 people who actually read this have small children or babies and would probably kneecap someone for the chance to get four hours in a row). Anyhow, got that twitchy glazed thing goin', good to make the day different. It is kinda nice cause the coffee actually does something. Whee. And I'm back over at that shithole tomorrow. Least I got the better part of The Nasty Bits to keep me company.

Ever had sex with an animal, Jack?

I'm so excited. Due to the fact that we at the Angelika are being bombarded this weekend with THREE prints of Little Miss Sunshine, someone (me) has to watch one of them OR...one of the two Almodovar prints we're getting for press screenings. There is a mass re-release of eight classic Almodovar films; the two we have tomorrow night will be Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and All About My Mother. I nearly wet myself, whining if I could somehow watch all three. Admittedly, AAMM is probably the better film of the two, but I have an incredible soft spot for WOTVOANB, as I've known it well since childhood. The head projectionist was a little confused, as we'll be getting the Almodovar films again (this just being a press screening), whereas we're actually opening LMS. I adore Toni Collette and would indeed watch the film just for her. But given the choice, even still? Fuck it, give me the other two.

Sony Pictures Classics is responsible for releasing these Almodovar films again, the series is called Viva Pedro, and two of them, Flower of My Secret and Matador have never been available on DVD in the first place. I've seen the latter, but never even heard of the former. I will certainly keep my eyes out for when they sail on through. The films are all being shown in NY and LA this August and will widen throughout the US as fall continues. I hate my crusty anus of a theatre, not that there is a single good arthouse theatre in Dallas. I wish to Christ we had one to really showcase these films well. I have no doubt these will be newish prints (new ones are being struck for the occasion); I just hope they stay that way. Except for Talk to Her and Bad Education, those are two pieces of shit I could do without seeing again.

In the world of TV, I feel totally used by Netflix. I just rented something called Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip (who ok'd that shitty-ass title?), as Netflix recommended it and it's written by Aaron Sorkin (Few Good Men, Sports Night, West Wing) and stars Bradley Whitford (most commonly known in my circles as the scumbag from Adventures in Babysitting), Amanda Peet and (blech!) Matthew Perry. Like a sheep, I totally rented it. It is, infact, a pilot for NBC and I presume is wearing thin via promos plastered all over TV (we don't have TV, so to speak). It is not even out yet and will be premiering this fall. Netflix totally singled me out (which is funny, since they often suggest shit for which I cannot fathom their path of reason) and hey, they were right. There was also a pilot for something called Kidnapped and I so wasn't even curious enough. Just ignored it. (Watch, it'll be the new pink). Anyway, S60 was pretty good. It's the pilot, so I can't really say I creamed myself, but it had definitely potential. Great writing as always, could be really cute and witty. I think we're going to treat ourselves to cable (I feel both defeated and minutely excited at the thrilling promise of hours of self-inflicted (not to be confused with work, mind you) numbing mindlessness yet to come), so I think my Monday nights may have something in store. Oooh, and House on Tuesdays! I'll start googling ways to further yuppify myself. (Though I still like to pretend my choice of TV viewing helps draw the thin gray line...)

Been packing tonight. Jesus F C, we got alotta shite. D is a friggin packrat, but I'm not much better with what could safely be described as 60% books, 38% kitchen, 2% crap. I have barely made a dent. I hate packing. At least we're being professionally moved, that'll be a notch in the Things to Do Before I Die list.

Finished Darkness, Take My Hand, another superb Lehane novel. Next up, my dad checked out The Nasty Bits, the new Anthony Bourdain (yes, this is the chef for whom my kitten is named) and let me take first crack. I did actually mull over the possibilty of New York for the honeymoon (cheaper plane tickets), but as the trip would naturally need to include a trip to Les Halles, well, that would surely be just the beginning of quite the expensive trip now, wouldn't it.

That time again, must go work on shitty slide trivia for the Studio Move Grill. I feel a lame month of trivia coming on for the patrons...

Ooh, and also very excited to see there is a new Cinemaslave podcast, as Joe had been away. Got it downloaded, but think I'll save it for work tomorrow, since Thurs/Fri are my a lobo solo days in the lab.

A man in a really nice camper wants to put our song on the radio!

Ok, before I forget, Alex sent me this fantastic site which asks the question, Is Garfield Dead? The great part is I remember these comic strips but not the little lecture at the very end. Being young at the time, I found them odd but not as totally fucked up as I do now. D said the same thing Alex wondered, "Did Jim Davis's dealer sell him some really bad shit that week?" Wikipedia even mentions it in their Garfield entry:

Alternatively, some theorize that the end of this storyline actually
implies that the rest of the series, the more conventional strips, are
all fantasies Garfield is playing out in his head to delude himself
from realizing the dark turn his life has taken, as he slowly starves
to death in an abandoned house. This is arguably supported by the
text, as right before Jon and Odie reappear, the narration reads:

"After years of taking life for granted, Garfield is shaken by a
horrifying vision of the inevitable process called 'time.' He has only
one weapon...denial..."

Uh, I never put that much thought into Garfield before. Dude.

On a completely different note, I just bought a Twix from the candy machine here at work. It's so disgusting in Texas that my Twix has seen far better days. If my Twix had been in Raiders of the Lost Ark, it would have been the guy whose face melted off. And yes, I ate it anyway.

I almost forgot to mention the excitement I witnessed this weekend, that only Mentos and Diet Coke can provide. I was out at my friend's new house in Arlington he'd just bought, and suffice it to say that those there (having moved all his crap earlier that day) had been drinking long before I arrived. Without the cap, it just makes the most incredible geyser, best appreciated (I assume) while three sheets to the wind.

And speaking of houses in Arlington, the next step is taken! They are going to fix the foundation...and nothing else! Can't say I really care, that's fine. Everything else is stuff I'm happy to learn to fix myself, plus I plan on cleaning the shit outta that place before moving in anyway. I may need paternal assistance with fixing the flashings on the roof (as he's done it before on the family house), but my biggest concern at this point is, how do you get a damn big ladder from Home Depot to your house? Next time, on Homebuying Adventures. Surely they have some that, like, fold? Or assemble?

So I have no idea what the next step is, all I know is, I'm not paying for the foundation fixins! Whew.

It's so stimulating being your hat.

Today is minutely better. Although Derek did already call me to inform me it was barely 10:30am and he was already thinking about drinking. That kind of morning over at the PetSmart.

Ok, it is evening now. We hit the Flying Saucer. I got there first to have a little Dennis Lehane with some thunderstormage that died nearly instantly. Then Rob showed up and we caught up for a couple hours until D was released from the little hellhole full of birds, fish and assholes he calls work. His day seemed much better than his morning. Anyhoo, it was $2.50 Most Pints Night and good times had by all. Even if they were out of Stella. Found out from Rob that the Ghost Bar, infamous yuppie death trap we nearly frequented, is $20 per male just to get in. $300 if you want a table. So needless to say, still happier than ever that didn't work out.

Waiting on the house and the owners...Sam and I figured out which repairs we wanted to ask for, nothing major really, and we also had a foundation guy come out. As it turns out, yes, it does need minor work. There is some vague suspicion that the owners infact knew this, but Sam is going to let them "revisit" the seller's disclosure. In any case, it's out there now and no lender will lend on a house that needs foundation work. It's minor, about $2500 worth of work. To me, I think, holy shit. But apparently that's how foundation work goes.

Could this post be more exciting?

I tried the first disc of Footballers' Wives, the British Desperate Housewives. For the first time ever, I gotta say I was so unimpressed with the Brit side. I hated everyone. Characters in things like these usually are trashy and soulless, but these people were all about five times worse. I just didn't care. I packed while it was on. It had good car-accident-appeal, at least, but I can't say I'd willingly rent the rest.

So it's back to finishing up Firefly, just saw the episode where they all nearly suffocated and we saw how everyone came to be on Serenity. Naturally I was fairly entertained at how Kaylee got her job.

I just read on imdb that Nathan Fillion originally auditioned for the part of Angel on Buffy. Holy shit, I can barely conceive of a world in which I could actually like Angel. I might have actually been sad when he died. But then, if I had liked Angel, whose forehead would I have been able to mock?

I'm not out here on jerk partol so you can just let them in the back.

I was having such an incredibly wonderful uneventful day until around 3pm. I had two dick customers in a row and apparently we need someone on dick patrol.

Then. The cunting 8-year-old who works for us put some film through the machine on a card that was dented to shit. I've warned him before--if you put a dented card through the machine, it will jam. There is nothing worse in my little work world than trying to fix the film machine when it jams. That films get fucked. Two other roles got only a little fucked. (They, at least, had progressed to the stabilizer). I worked on that bitch from 3 til 5:30, I had to break apart the rack (which is nearly as tall as I am) to extract the film. I had wankfuck call the customer to explain, apologize and offer the free you-just-got-royally-fucked roll of film. Needless to say, these were pics of her daughter and husband--oh, but wait!!--the husband is in Iraq. She cries. I can't say I felt bad for him--I am just so glad I didn't feel the need to make that call myself. Worse yet, she was really nice about it.

I fixed the machine, but the bitch of the processing rack is that the gears turn in a very exact way--the "timing." Jack with it just a little and the timing is off. I called tech support and they ignored me til 5:15pm. We close at 6. I had already called Morris by 5:15 to invite him out for the numerous beers I was planning on consuming anyway at this point. Well, Morris's cat has had his bits nipped off and as such, was getting picked up and pampered at the time of the call.

So cut to me, alone, at the Flying Saucer, reading over my home inspection report (uh, I don't think there's anything disastrous), at what I admit to being a fairly large table. It was the only table, however, and it's not my fucking problem it's the only table left. Twenty minutes later, five people poke me and ask if I'm saving the table. "No," I say, as I sneak my brass knuckles from my bag.

"Can we join you?"

Fuck. Of course. So I'm cornered, hovering over my beer and pretzel and home inspection report and realizing I really should have just gone home to begin with. They were nice enough people, I suppose (someone's father was seated next to me, and when they ordered dessert, he offered me a spoon. I nearly cried and threw my arms around him, it was that kinda day. But luckily for all that know me, I just smiled and said I was fine). These people weren't even good for stealing conversation snippets. Nothing outrageous or moronic...just really boring mediocrity--the chick was going to college in a week (and did not look it...and she was drinking beer...clearly I just don't have all the information. whatever).

So I loathe and detest the wankfuck who ruined that woman's film and my day...but to be fair, he may have felt worthless for at least thirty minutes. Plus he had to help customers without asking my help, as I'm fairly certain he knew I was going to set his scrotum aflame at the slightest provocation. I could feel his goddamn worthlessness and the fact that he probably felt it as well. So I felt a teeny itsy bitsy microscopic bit bad for the guy. He was just getting a tiny dose of what awaits him in REALITY now that he has graduated high school. He is off (not soon enough) to SFA, Stephen F Austin uni, which is very well known as an easyass party school. I give him a year. One semester of probation, then he's out.

I have learned that if and when I ever become so demented as to have actual children (spoiling my beautiful magical nieces really ought to be enough, should I ever see them more than once a year), they are SOOOOOOOOOOOO not attending cunting Dallas public school. Cinematographer Mark's five-year-old can speak more eloquently about Van Gogh's Starry Night than this shitstain can about WHETHER OR NOT WE CAN EVEN PROCESS BLACK AND WHITE FILM. A WHOLE GODDAMN FUCKING YEAR AND HE HONESTLY DOESN'T KNOW.

I have clearly not consumed yet enough beer to will away the evil.

You don't realize how desperate I am. Ever since our separation, I've been paying women to touch me.

I don't like posting more than one picture on this thing. Depending on the computer, the format appears to be completely different. Oh well, whatever.

Another exciting Friday at my exciting job. It's nowhere near six, either. And tomorrow brings us Angelika joy, which, all things permitting, should just mean starting movies and kicking back with Darkness, Take My Hand, a Dennis Lehane I've yet to read. I seem to just read that set out of order.

I feel like I should really cook tonight. I've been pathetic. I was at least going to wrangle some tacos or nachos last night, but there was this major episode with queso that shouldn't have been one iota as complicated as it was. And really, it's all because of the catfood I started buying. I have to buy the catfood at Whole Foods, so hey, I'll get the rest of the crap I need, right? WRONG. Apparently, your basic ghetto-style queso is waaaay too pleb for Whole Foods. Add to that a creepy guy who remembers you buying catfood before (this may be the guy who marked out the expensive stuff and gave to me, how foolish was I to be impressed he was doing his job) and have him stalk you while you grocery shop. It becomes a little game and you buy a frozen pizza for the husband, mozzarella sticks for yourself and you get the fuck out of there.

Even when I was single, I never found myself getting all twitchy and sweaty for someone who said, "I never forget a pretty face!" I was a little irritated at having to maintain the facade that I like people, seeing as how working hours had long ceased, so I muttered something about it being a tired face. "Still pretty!" he chirped. *facepalm*

I tried to wrap up my shopping experience as rapidly as possible, with my eager helper frequently offering to hunt down whatever I might want. And the queso episode (which involved him bothering a woman I had already asked, so now I was briefly that asshole customer everyone hates because they never believe what they're told the first time) ended with him marking out some hummus and giving it to me. So at least lunch is free today. And garlicy, a bonus for my customer service skills.

Don't listen to him, he just wants to scrape our faces off.

Our bizarre little entry way...note the Sbarro mats...they come right up (though not fast enough)!


Our li'l cul-de-sac!







Sam & Derek trying to get in...







Looking out if you're in the entry way (soon to be full of plants)!







Derek and my new best friend.








My kitchen, desperately needing to lose the wallpaper. That cupboard back there is built in!


For more crappy pictures, look at the listing. The outside of the house looks nice, but the rest is shit (picture-wise). All their crap is a little off-putting...They don't even snap the fireplace in the bedroom! (I didn't cause they had put their crap in front of it AND it had fake wood in it--ew!)

It's wrong to destroy literature.

I'm terrible, I know. But the only things that come to mind when I recall the first part of the week is that we made an offer on a house and Tuesday morning the first thing to greet me upon my walking out the door was a dead cat. For just that nanosecond my brain was trying to make sense of the cat lying in the alley (awfully ballsy for a lay-out, even these bastards). And of course, common sense prevails, you notice that his eyes are actually open and there is a blood stain (that remains even now). Despite this most ominous omen for the day, the day was relatively uneventful.

But enough about dead cats, we're getting a house! I took a couple pics, which I will try to upload in a bit. We agreed on a price and they are throwing in the fridge (it's quite old, but it's also nice and deep, if only it were stainless steel! sniffs), a year of security system taken care of, and they are also paying the house warranty for a year. This would include, oh yes, my beautiful spa and the jetted tub. You know, the crucial things.

We're aiming to wrap this up on August 21st, so less than a month of ass pounding, maybe it won't be too bad? Assuming there are no ugly hitches--after all, I haven't set up an inspector yet. Something I'll need to do this morning. How exciting.

Ooh, but one thing I AM excited about would be my good friend Derek from New Zealand is flying out for my wedding! Derek is someone I taught with in Tokyo; he arrived shortly after myself and left about six months after I did. He was always a blast to hang out with, so I'm excited he's coming. He'll actually be arriving in the States Sept 27th and I think has plans to drive wherever a cheap POS will take him. I'm kinda hoping to talk the powers that be into planning D's Real Bachelor Party for the last weekend in September. You know, in the interest of showing a kiwi the sleazy side of Dallas. Well, the obviously sleazy side of Dallas, anyway.

Seen nothing worth mentioning as of yet...though our anniversary (the Cannibal Holocaust anniversary, I guess) is the 7th so we plan on hunkering down at the Arlington Movie Tavern this Sunday (which looks to be about a sneeze away fom our future house--squee!) for a double feature of the Vice and some godawful POS called The Descent D is going to subject me to. I should add that the Tower (of Beer) may play a crucial role in both these films.

Back to piddling around with the lender, the inspector and Sam. Hot damn.