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So I was surfing on tehfacebook and what should I find, but the engagement page of some guy I knew back in high school. Let us call him "Matt". Apparently they're going to be honeymooning in Bora Bora after their wedding in 2009. Here are some pictures of where they intend to stay:



"How cool is that!" I exclaimed to my sister, "You could look through the floor of your hut and see the fish!" My elder sister, in her wisdom, mused, "What if someone went snorkeling under your hut?" She made a face that such a snorkeler might make as he or she swam under your hut and looked up through your floor, and it was very hilarious and troubling, indeed.
So perhaps a glass-floored cabana isn't the best place for honeymooning activities, not to mention the difficulty in going to fancy dinner parties when the only way out of the cabana is by wading through 5 feet of water. Your rolley-suitcases wouldn't seem to do you much good either. Perhaps they outfit the place with a small rowboat or gondola. Hopefully you'd get a singing gondolier in the bargain, because I dare say if they didn't I'd make my husband do it, and I don't really know how well he'd like that after the fourth day of singing. Not to mention he probably doesn't know that much Italian. That's only a guess though, as I haven't actually met him yet.

I've also heard talk about some completely underwater hotel rooms (specifically in Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, see: 'Hydropolis'). In some of these the bathtub is made of clear plexiglass so that it will feel as if you are bathing with the creatures of the sea.

Now the question here is: At what point do you begin to feel uncomfortable- like, when do you start suspecting that instead of watching the fish, the FISH are watching YOU? You really want all them fish watching you with your body awkwardly pressed against the plexiglass bathtub? You wouldn't sit in your room, gazing starstruck at the passing schools of fish, but then awkwardly jam yourself into the closet to change, lest the fish with their wide, blank, unblinking eyes seem to be staring at you? I wonder how long an alien could charge you to stay in a plastic bubble in the middle of his alien starship before you realized that you were the one in the zoo, and not the other way around?

What are the fish really up to??? Are they in league with THE ARABS??? Are they just a whole society of voyeurs, luring us to build hotels in their midst so as to get a proper look at us? Sure they always seem to be frowning, impassive, those fish, but you know they're smirking at us on the inside!
If I lived near the underwater hotel in Dubai, I would perhaps build a pair of underwater binoculars... and charge a fee for a little look-see beneath the surface. And you can bet my customers would react with a face not unlike that of a sub-honeymoon-cabana-snorkeler.

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I had a dream that I was in Montreal. No, I've never actually been there. But I was there in the dream, and I was playing a video game. Or shall I say, living a video game. Luckily I was playing a level that I had already beaten once a long time ago.

It consisted of a room much like a messy basement or attic, with many random items strewn about. I recalled from when I'd last beaten this dungeon that the first trial was a terrible high pitched screeching whistle, which laid most people flat on the ground. I was immune to it of course, for reasons I could not fathom. However, I knew that once I made it through the other dangers awaiting me in the room, I would encounter The Shroud. The Shroud was not a particularly difficult monster, just a ghostly apparition that erupted out of the floor in a manner reminiscent one of the booby-traps that the children encounter in Number 12, Grimmauld Place... if you know what I mean. Anyway, I knew that my own inherent weakness was this monster and that alone I could not hope to defeat the dungeon.
I knew I needed the help of ranor, who, while greatly affected by the high whistle, was immune to The Shroud. I sent for him and he came forthwith. We entered the room, I first, to dispatch the source of the monstrous noise. We fought forward into the room. Random junk went skittering across the floor as we whirled on, back to back, slashing at the monsters who attacked us. One victorious kill followed upon another. Dusty boxes, parasols, piles of books, old board games, nothing in this attic/basement was innocuous; each pile hid another vile attack. But none was a match for our deadly skill.
At last we reached the back of the room, and The Shroud. I was instantly rendered powerless as it erupted from the floor, but ranor turned upon it and ran it through, punctuating the kill with two slashes to its blackened hide.

We had won. We stumbled back into the busy streets of Montreal, with its merry people completely unaware of the battle we'd just fought. I knew that I should suggest that we visit our beloved friend J, since she lived in Montreal. (Montreal also happened to look a lot like Boston, where she actually lives.) I think both of us knew that I should suggest we visit her. But for some reason I suggested that we find a pair of good warm soft pretzels to eat instead. So off we went, arm and arm, eating pretzels and exploring Montreal.

I mean, after all that, was I wrong to want ranor all to myself, just for a little while?

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As he sat, he absent-mindedly crushed the wasps as they emerged from the gap in the boards. Their nest lay within, who knows how many there were. At first he had left their bodies at the entrance, intent more on exterminating then eliminating. Their bodies would be swarmed with other wasps for a time and if left the spot would eventually clear with no trace of the deceased save a pale stain upon the wood. Now he planned a little better. He scraped the dead off the ledge into a rough pile. This way they would not know their fate.

He wondered, suddenly, about this catastrophe visited upon the wasps' nest. He imagined killing every wasp in the colony like this, one by one, sitting here for hours until none were left. How long would that take? He felt up to the challenge. And what then? When would the Queen, sitting pampered in her inner sanctum, come out to see where her generals had gone? Would she notice as fewer and fewer wasps crawled in her corridors? Would she hear and feel the death in the new silence? Would she wait until all the food was gone and her belly ached before venturing out into the empty corridors, shouting "Where is everyone?" Asking herself, "Where have they all gone?" Searching with increasing terror....

Would she stay within her dark and silent stucco'd catacombs, like a captain with his sinking ship, until starvation and desperation had its way at last? Or would she finally come out, squinting into the sunlight, her royal stature reduced to tentative creeping, alone to meet the reckoning that his boot would deliver?

Mwahaha. Crush, crush. As long as they came out one by one he could get them all without fear of being stung. Crunch, crunch, now he would be able to enjoy his porch in peace. The wasps should have stayed in the fields and meadows, if they valued their lives. Obviously they didn't. So he didn't, either.

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I thought I would give a statement to be read to my spokesperson about the "situation" between Dilated and me. But I don't have a spokesperson. Then I thought that I'd just post a little press release on my MySpace page like all the other celebrities without spokespersons do. But I don't have a MySpace page because MySpace is so crappy (or so it seems nutang is always insinuating). So I guess here is as good as anywhere.

Dilated has recently said that our relationship is "over". This is because he is not supportive of my crazy schedule of clubbing, partying, and reading the final Harry Potter book [which was *~FANTASTICO~*].

In addition, I am sure that he doesn't approve of my brash and open discussions about s-x and 20th century British literature, both of which, as he well knows, I know pretty much absolutely nothing about.

But in answer to that I say this: If I stayed away from subjects about which I know nothing, I dare say I wouldn't have a journal at all. I dare say, that I wouldn't speak another word, excepting of course concerning the lives and careers of certain members of boybands of the late 1990s and from time to time the names of various features of the moon.

Also I deny any wrongdoing in the matter of Dilated's heart, most of the damage found done to said heart having been done by other parties at a previous time. May I make further clear my non-intention to move to Spain, Puerto Rico, or anywhere else that could not be reached by a car driving overland.

However, I shall make it equally clear that, having named a pokemon in my honor, should Dilated remove said mantle of honor from said Pokemon, our engagement will be thereby terminated without notice. I shall also make every effort to understand his Texaninity, which shall mostly include not "messing with" said state of domicile.


In the name of the United States of America, Law and Order, and the Geological Record, with the honorable Justice Helena Kristination and Sir Elessar the Tiger-Hearted bearing witness.

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"There's lots of good fish in the sea... maybe.. but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you're not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea."

--Lady Chatterlet's Lover

So my friend lent me the book that was the inspiration for that movie I saw (from the last entry). The book, so far, is MUCH better than the movie. British writing>french film. Usually I would have to say resoundingly yes. But we'll see.

"Both Hilda and Constance had had their tentative love-affairs by the time they were eighteen. The young men with whom they talked so passionately and sang so lustily and camped under the trees in such freedom wanted, of course, the love connexion. The girls were doubtful, but then the thing was so much talked about, it was supposed to be so important. And the men were so humble and craving. Why couldn't a girl be queenly, and give the gift of herself?
So they had given the gift of themselves, each to the youth with whom she had the most subtle and intimate arguments. The arguments, the discussions were the great thing: the love-making a bit of an anti-climax. One was less in love with the boy afterwards, and a little inclined to hate him, as if he had trespassed on one's privacy and inner freedom. "

And with that I'll be going to the beach. I may or may not be around until August 4th. And you also know that on Saturday I shall not be disturbed because I will definitely be with Harry.

ciao bellos.

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