"I have a lot of things to talk to you about," said my roommate as I came out of my room. "First of all, where were you for the past three weeks? I thought you got in an accident or something, I thought you were only going to be gone for two weeks!"

Me: I was only gone for two weeks.

Him: Oh..... Huhn.

So apparently while I was gone my landlord asked him if he would move out a month early. It might be because the kid that wants the room needs to move in at the beginning of August. Or, suggests Chris, since the landlord asked both of us to consider moving out early, he just knows that he's charging the new tenants $200 more dollars a month for Chris' room and $100 a month more for mine and charging both $50 extra for parking and $10 extra for internet and he wants to start making that kind of skrilla as soon as possible. "Well... he is Jewish...."

Apparently my landlord said of me to Chris: "Hey, will you make her move out a month early?" to which Chris replied, "Why, yes, seeing as she's under my magic spell, she will do anything I command."

In other news, our house was ROBBED. And when I say robbed, I mean that Patrick, the medical student from downstairs, is also a stripper at a (gay?) club in downtown Providence and he had a huge drawer in his room filled with $1600 in ONES and someone came into his room, bypassing his laptop, mp3 player, and other valuable items and went straight for the drawer, emtpying it of its contents. Patrick was so angry at the theft that he punched two holes right through the wall, meaning that Pedro, (an immigrant from Western Africa who later converted to be an Orthodox Jew as well as our creepy handy-man (once I woke up from a nap and he was in my room, just standing there-- "looking for Chris", he said; once Sarah woke from a nap to see him looking in through her window)) had to come and fix the holes in the wall on the first floor and then come up to the third floor for no reason at all.

Meanwhile, Chris moved out on my landlord's orders, but as it turns out the kid moving in can't come yet anyway. Oops. Then my landlord asked Chris if he would sell his bed to the new kid because the last time they had to get a bed into his room they had to put it in through the window. Chris can't say no to anyone, so he's selling his $800 mattress to the kid for a somewhat unfairly reduced price. My landlord furthermore asked Chris to do a little carpentry work in the basement, which isn't very convenient because he just moved out.

So now Chris is sleeping in his own room again (unbeknownced to our landlord) with nothing in it but his mattress and box-springs and his computer on the floor and fixing up the basement (I haven't noticed a difference, besides the fact that someone apparently removed all of Chris' clothes from the washer down there and threw them on the incredibly, incredibly (like the dust and dirt from several construction projects and like 100 years) dirty floor.

Then Chris noticed that his fan was missing from his room. He had seen Sarah up here stealing random dishes from our kitchen (she's taken whole rolls of our paper towels before, too), and decided that she was the only one who could have taken it. So he calls her and he's like, "Sarah, did you take my fan?" And she's like, "Yeah." and he's like, "WHY did TAKE my FAN?!?!?!?!" And she says sorry and that she'll bring it back. She didn't say why she was in his room, of course, which is two floors above hers with the door firmly shut. And people wonder why I lock my door.

So... the police say that they think someone in the house stole Patrick's thousands of dollar bills from the drawer. Patrick thinks it must have been one of the many little skanky girls (Chris' description: "For a gay guy, it's amazing how many little skanks he has parading through that room. But I guess that's what gay guys do") that Patrick always seems to have over, since they know where he keeps his stash of ones. Everyone else in the house was out of town except for Sarah and the incredibly nice girl on the second floor. Hmm... need a little extra money for your many drug habits/art projects, Sarah dearest? Maybe you had to buy a new fan? Some paper towels? A large glass mixing bowl, perhaps?

Chris: Ones, huhn? You're a stripper, aren't you?
Patrick, smiling guiltily: Well I'm trying to be a model.
Chris: But you're a stripper, aren't you. I saw your furry handcuffs.

Patrick says that he really wants his modeling career to take off because he's tired of going to medical school at Brown University.

Chris: I don't mean to be catty... I mean, I'm not a catty guy or anything, I don't do that... but, I mean... his body isn't that good. I mean, it's ok, but those stripper guys have to have really good bodies, and his... ehn.

Me: Maybe the whole "medical school" thing has been getting in the way of his workouts.

MEANWHILE meanwhile, this company that Chris might work for has offered to pay for the rest of the medical school stuff that stands between him and his MD. In return, they want him to move to a small Caribbean Island in the Dutch Antilles off the coast of Venezuela and tutor kids at the med school there and work in an AIDS clinic, all while preparing for his boards. They're going to pay him, too, in return for agreeing to work for their company for five years afterwards. They don't always do this, he says, but "apparently it's because of [his] transcipts... straight As all the way though, you know, [he's] not bragging, that's just the truth... apparently that like NEVER happens, so you know."

But that causes a problem because he just signed a year's lease for this other house, and he already moved in because my landlord kicked him out (if he hadn't, he would have been able to move directly from our house to the Dutch Antilles). So now he has to find a way to get out of his lease, find a replacement, or sublet it. The problem is magnified because he does need a place to stay when he comes home for the month of December.

He says I can come down and visit him and we can go snorkeling in the crystal clear waters.

So between that and someone having a medical emergency on the plane on the way home from Baltimore and getting sick AGAIN, I'd have to say that my life is almost as interesting as Southern's! Hoo-RAH!

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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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Ok, that's not fair. I've never actually watched any porn. But I did see Lady Chatterley's Lover tonight (the new, french adaptation), and that was probably close enough.

Is it the French? Is that it--- that's just the way they make movies? I remember watching (being subjected to?) this french movie one time- "Hiroshima, mon amour" it was called, perhaps you have heard of it. The frame story was just that this married French woman (why do they always have to be married?) is having sex with this Japanese guy.
Yeah, they spend a large part of the movie on that.

It's just after the war and she's come to Hiroshima to make a film about peace.
While this is taking place, she starts remembering her first love, a German soldier she fell in the sack love with during the occupation. Needless to say, this wasn't really good for her "La Resistance" street cred. There are a lot of wheat fields and some snow and quite a lot of bad editing. Yet another thing that that film had in common with this one, as it happens.

But the whole time we're looking at snow on poor quality film and wondering why we should sympathize with some woman sleeping with The Enemy (I bet she can't even speak German!), these two are having teh sex, very SLOOOOWLY, and man is it BORING. For the life of me I have no memory of how it ends. The movie, I mean.


During the fine film I just finished watching, they don't even have an intervening German. It's just "look at all the plants" and then SEX! and then "regard, the leaves on the trees" and then SEX!!! and then "behold, she walks through a field of flowers", etc, etc. If the plants were supposed to be some sort of innuendo or euphemism, I think they forgot they were supposed to *substitute* them rather than juxtapose them. Ok, so it got a little more interesting around the end when they finally fell in love. (Isn't that supposed to go the other way around?)

Anyway, my two friends and I spent the whole movie snickering.

Mostly because of the extremely awkward editing. I swear.

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