Dream Until Your Dreams Come True….?

As you know, I am living outside of the United States. I’m…upstairs, in Montreal. And I’m pretty sure that if I had a car, it’d take me about an hour to get “home”. As in to the US. But I don’t have a car, people. And the closest Chipotle isn’t in Plattsburgh. It’s two hours past that in Saratoga Springs, NY. And so it was in my dream. When me, Ana and AuntieMom arrived at the Chipotle – I guess after they came to visit and we rented a car in Montreal – I was horribly excited. Well, so excited, I guess that I got some water and then got on the phone for a minute.

With Paul Rudd. I can’t remember how the conversation started but it basically devolved into me telling him how I used to love him in Clueless when I was a kid and how even though I loved Role Models, I thought it was kinda sad that that was who he really is. (Dear Paul Rudd, I have never met you. I apologize for our dream argument. I’m sure you’re …. no, I kinda think you probably are like that.)

Anyway, once Paul ended the conversation with “this is why I hate the telephone”, I went up to the counter to order. Suddenly, I realize it’s pretty close to closing. Actually, the girl behind the counter points to the clock and says it’s one minute past closing. To which I answer – I’ve been inside the restaurant for some time and all the food is still out and the doors aren’t locked AND feed me. So she asks the guy standing next to her, he nods. (She starts making something from a burrito bowl container that is premade with rice and beans in it – and it’s not the plain white rice. Whatever. I just want some dang Chipotle.) So anyway, halfway through finishing my order, the guy comes back, hands me a stack of napkins and an empty container and says he’s done for the day, too bad. At this point, my eyes flash and little mushroom clouds take the place of my pupils. There’s a gaggle of people who appeared and have been served in the time it took them to jerk me around. I demand to see the manager. So, this chic comes out and I tell her the whole runaround story about “yes, we will – no, we won’t” and she listens sympathetically. Then, as though quite proud of herself and what she’s about to do, she comes around the counter, reaches past me and grabs what turn out to be promotional coupons. She crosses out the percentage discount and increases it by some measure and smiles at me like she’s King Freakin’ Solomon. O_O Um. How does that help me with getting Chipotle in my stomach? She tells me, come back tomorrow and enjoy! I yell at her that I don’t live anywhere near here and I drove for hours to get here. She’s still smugly satisfied with herself and eventually, we leave and get Carl’s Jr. Which makes me barf.

Then in the parking lot, we’re climbing into a hatchback something or other – Yeah, you wanna field that one, Ana? – and I’m trying to get situated with my long legs in the absence of space when she sees this professor in the parking lot and asks him to take a look at her calculator. She pulls out a baby thermometer (at least that’s what it looked like) and he said he’d get it back to her, asap. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out if I should call Paul Rudd back or wait for him to cool down.

O_O

So. That was one of my dreams.

 

Rings and Things and Finery

HEIN?! No. I can’t. I won’t.

Which led me to the wonderful site Tackyweddings. She’ll see your “grandma passed out at my reception” and raise you a “Lavish Irish Traveler Wedding Between Cousins“.

Whoops.

Yup. That looks about right.

And I just want you to know – that Hello Kitty makes wedding gowns now. Does each and every one have a hello kitty head somewhere on the front? Yup.

And then: how come I never get to go to this America?! Where are you hiding, elusive shamelessly illiterate and trashy hillbilly land?! And I don’t mean where can I find one of you. I mean, where is this magical land where the droves are hiding!

And in case you’re wondering, no. None of this takes the place of the pictures for which I was originally searching. Lord Jesus, how do I even begin… imagine…a skinny and visibly retarded product of inbreeding. And I do mean that literally, not in a funny way. He was clearly lacking the wisdom of a three year old. And by his side? A 600 pound sloptastic bride who was clearly gettin’ while the gettin’ was GOOD. She took him home and deSTROYed him. Promise. Man. I leaked from every possible orifice. Crying alone took years off of my life. Man, I can hardly get my breath just thinking about it. Jesu. FRABjous day. WHEW.

Man.

Just...cleansing the palate...

Okay, but I never noticed how I’ve got my bouquet in a serious chokehold. Dang.

 

And We Like The Boom.

So, this is kinda about links. Because…yep.

Judge refuses to marry interracial couple. Yes, you’ve probably heard about this Louisiana judge who doesn’t marry interracial couples because he believes mixed kids are brought into a cruel world in which they will have an unfair existence. To which, I can only say:

Whoops.

Who wouldn’t pity that kid? For more people being like, what the drizzle, see Cafferty Files. In which someone reminds us that yeah, one guy did this. It’s not a statement on the country or even his state. It’s just – duh, racism needs no multiplicity of supporters to remain alive and continue ruining people’s day. Me, personally? This sort of thing makes me happy. Hear me out! It’s kinda like schadenfreude. Like. I get satisfaction from someone making a fool of themselves. I honestly don’t understand why this would upset people. It’s just something you relay at the water hole and then spend about two or so minutes going, “Wow. He’s sad. OMG, these strawberries are diVINE.” Which reminds me. Dang, Jaffa (ie the produce store on Chemin Queen Mary) – those strawberries were diVINE. DIvine. DIVINE.

Balloon Boy Family – rest assured these people do not actually exist. They are imaginary. No one is really like this. Shame still exists. Take heart.

My new best friend – And yours, as well. So aside from the recoil factor of like eleven in that photo, I am posting this for a study on how we have – as a society – adopted the concept of speaking in gamer lingo and programming jargon. I couldn’t be prouder.

 

Latifah’s Had It Up To Here

And I may well have used that title before, people, because – let’s be real – Latifah has been pissed off more than a few times in the four years I’ve been blogging here or on Myspace. (We’re clear on me referring to myself as Latifah, no?) So, first things first, before I get to the “anger” – no one wanted to help me but I found a way anyway! HAH! I can now force you to listen to the songs I like. Which is to say that instead of asking you to go somewhere and find it yourself, I will just put it here, right there in the corner… and you can be a buttface and not turn it on or you can be an American hero – assuming you’re in America because why else would you be reading this oh-so-American brand of retardation, which isn’t to call America retarded but rather to say that I am most definitely a product of America and am retarded. …Ahem. It’s easier if you just turn on the song now.

So Latifah’s short list of unacceptable offenses: (a) since leaving the United States – and I’ve really only gone up to the attic – I’ve gotten some pretty strange banner ads. Such as the one saying I can “win” a green card and go to the US. … Is there … some sort of raffle. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure a few Americans would be pretty pissed off if that’s the way immigration really works. I mean, Canada let me drive in with a packed U-haul and a dog but … that’s just because my whole family’s hot. Mostly Ezra. Anyway, I’m gonna need somebody to get on that whole disabling of said banners, kthanxby.

(B) The point at which I start having dreams in which Jon Gosselin appears, it’s getting a little crazy. Okay, maybe it was my fault for reading about how my girl, Nancy Grace, chomped on his manhood but seriously, when Dream Jon starts attacking my parenting by asking who’s with my son when he’s at school – which…is just retarded. And hurtful, because the administration has already made perfectly clear that I am not allowed to even hang around the entrance for six hours. But on the real, I did think it was pretty lametastic how he NOW seems to be able to open his mouth and defend his estranged wife, after letting her be raked over the coals when he was originally photographed with another woman. Because (a) you truly know their marriage because they’re on TV and (b) what sick woman ever accuses another of “deserving” her husband’s alleged infidelity? Right. Welcome to morality. And said defense was really just to draw comparisons with how “and now I’m being made to look bad by only showing one side”. Yeah. Now you get it. GET OUT OF MY DREAMS. And stay outta my car, too.

And just so you can end your day feeling good about your life. Please try to wrap your head around this. And know that death is the only real option here.

 

A Big Bag Of Whatthedoodle.

Right, so that needs no explanation. But, you know what does? An ABC Family Movie called “Legally Blondes” in which the train wreck that began as a campy, tolerable movie with that Moon character from old-school McDonalds commercials culminates in a movie with TWO bottle blonds holding tiny chihuahuas going straight to TV (after a stint on BROADWAY with such timeless songs as “Blood In The Water” and … Legally Blonde ON STAGE, as if that’s not enough). Explain that. If you’re still here and have understood the previous sentence. In the immortal words of Matheson: “Getcho hands off me!”

Just tears.

There may be more later. Right now, I need to soak my brain.

 

A PC a day keeps the Apple away.

HOMG. So let’s skip the pleasantries and just get into it, shall we? Seeing as sweat is truly glistenin’ all ovah mah bahdy. O_O

Today, Joshua decided to come over to Daddy’s house and clean The Garage. I say The Garage because. It is an entity all its own. Throughout my life, it has been clean three times if we can count the state we’re leaving in tonight. Once Ana had to clean it out to store her things while she went to Sicily and once Dad cleaned it. Now, I haven’t lived her for over nine years so maybe perchance there were more instances. But I’d bet my writing hand there aren’t. That’s. How certain I am. So aside from the fact that Josh’s powers of persuasion must have hit Pusher-style levels (um, did anyone else see that movie “Push” with Dakota Fanning?) – as in he said, “I’m going to clean Daddy’s garage” and somehow…Ana and I ended up sweating to moldies right there with him all day – how about. The man. Across the street – on the street perpendicular and on the left … cuz you care – who mowed his lawn. All. DAY. KWAT?! He actually came back outside a moment ago and started again. O_O We officially have a situation, frere.

So, I never told you about that time I ventured to the Apple store, did I? Sit. Do. So one day I foolishly walked into the Apple store to let them know that the iPod Touch I got for my birthday last year has on several occasions abandoned its function and decided rather to entertain me with colorful lines against a stark white background. I’ve rebooted it to default settings a few times (and also went five months with it on my dresser because, come on, I don’t really need it) and am now tired of that. So in I went! Forward! To progress! Except not. First of all: WHO IS TOO GOOD FOR REGISTERS?! @#$%! Come. On. So I’m idling around like a tool – which is what they want you to look like, btw – until some overzealous person who – woohoo. – has a job comes over to me and directs me to the receptionist. I go, but wonder, “Why don’t I just go to the register and return it?” Right. So once there, he nods and goes, “Right, well, actually, you can’t do that. You actually have to see a Genius and they’ll make sure it’s under warranty and replace it or fix it.” Oh. Okay. Unnecessary. Where’s the Genius. *snort* “Well, actually, you need to make an appointment to see them.” Right. So I’ll just return it. Where’s the register. “Actually a Genius has to handle the return. So I can get you in tomorrow at 1?” *Eyes half-mast* We book the meeting with the GENIUS BECAUSE MAC NEEDS TO CALL THEIR CUSTOMER SERVICE SLAVES GENIUSES BECAUSE THEY GOT A TOUCH OF TRAINING HIP HIP HAZZAH. EXTRA. Anyway, so on the day of my meeting with the GENIUS. I get there a tad after. Nine minutes is how long they hold the appointment. Now, I have no problem with the fact that I was late and they went on to the next person. The part where I started yanking arrows from my quiver came when the girl tried to reschedule me for another day.

Did you TRULY think I was going to spend a THIRD day’s gas money to drive back to the store to RETURN A BROKEN ITEM? Coonery.

So, after raising my eyebrow and speaking really clearly or whatever, I got her to understand that wasn’t an option. After about thirty minutes of someone telling me they were right on it, the guy just opens another one, hands it to me and has me sign something. Wow. Glad I made an appointment and junk. GENIUS. I coulda done that, were it not for laws against shoplifting. But no, thank you for that.

Oh, did I mention he didn’t replace the film thingies I’d gotten to preserve the touch pad/screen? Yeah, he didn’t.

 

Time The *$%^ OUT!

What Andy did to the donkeys, I had to do to the duck-lipped, flesh rail of VD. I can’t even say her name lest the vultures return. And I won’t even disgust you with the latest search engine terms that have been apparently bringing people here. Like, are you not embarrassed that – though I may not know who got here by searching for “p*ssing, sh*tting, sc*t, p**p” – you do?! Seriously. How do you live with yourselves?

 

The Matrix, How I Love Thee.

So, despite the fact that I never used to write about this, here is yet another entry about my actual writing/career progress. (As soon as Wonder Pets stops stealing my attention.) Didja… didja see how my title was misleading, there? Catch that, didja?! *chucklesnort*

Well, Andy, no I did not buy Writer’s Marketplace or subscribe online. Neither did I try to figure out Toni Morrison’s  agent – though another author told me they share an editor.  And on both counts, I feel I should stay as far away from both individuals as possible. While my work may still have thematic or sociological relevance/purpose, I don’t see how her people work with anyone else’s literature! You’ve just read Toni Morrison’s genius, what’s gonna sound good after that? Is this idol worship? If you know me, you know I’m an unapologetically confident person who knows I am talented and where that falls on the general scale of other people. But you also know that I’m a realist. I have no problem with the fact that Toni Morrison is separate from every other literary artist of her time, to be generous to everyone born before her. O_o Seriously. Here’s the other thing, it’s of the utmost importance to know thyself, in my opinion – which is something that’s supposed to make things sound more gracious, I think? (If this Wonder Pets episode doesn’t stop centering around a parrot who keeps cry/singing, “Polly Misses Her Pirate” on a minor scale, I swear to the heavens above, children will weep for what I’ve done to her.)

Anyway, I know this is about writing but social observation is on the same page: as I was saying how important it is to know one’s self, to know where you are special and what is not your forte or gift, I got to thinking about those people who have no basis or interest in reality for making that determination. These are the people who feign introspection but give themselves away with such phrases as, “[Describe a ridiculous situation into which they've gotten themselves or some ridiculous desire they have for which they are unqualified or done nothing],…but I know it’ll work out.” See that word there? “Know”? Just sprinkling it throughout any conversation makes the subject real and plausible, apparently. It’s what makes real people with genuine self-confidence (backed up by preparation and consistent effort) – you know, the kind that doesn’t dissipate when the sun goes down – too irritated by “surface  similarities” to talk about their lives and aspirations in mixed company. Especially since a big part of my preparation and learning about myself is prayer, and not the kind that requires beads or “openmindedness”. I am a strong individual but I know the necessity of submission when it comes to a relationship with the God who made me and that’s where I go to inspect myself. I highly recommend it. I find my faith encourages me to tell it like it is, hard to believe as that may seem to people used to glass-eyed believers who think the sun is always shining. No use living in Fictitia (a magical land wherein everything is as you say it is) if I know God won’t buy it. What good will it ultimately do me?

And that, my friends, is how you take a detour. So, Andy, to actually answer your question. I started out on Poets & Writers (the same place I went to begin researching literary journals) and then, sort of as a double check, I used Agent Query – pretty much to see if I’d missed anyone in whom I’d be interested. So, after that – on both counts (journals/agents) – I made a matrix.

And I am made happy by this. I cannot helpt it. Anywho: after finding the agents I think would be interested in my work, I visit their blogs or websites and find out information particular to them that interests me, which I also add to the matrix so that I can personalize my query letter to them. One of the agents, for example, is an alumna not only of my Alma Mater but also of my particular college – which makes sense if you know how UC Santa Cruz is set up. (Porter, whatwhat!) Others were interested in work with social relevance, character-driven work, etc. There were plenty of people who might be right as far as the type of book I’m querying but who didn’t jump out at me, so I didn’t add them in the first pass. Aaand I could write about this all day since… I write all day. Oh and query. But instead I will get back to Margaret who has been sitting in that bathtub for several days now. Pruney goodness. That or get back to widdling away the wordiness elsewhere. Or just go over to Andy’s blog. Whatever.

 

Retro Review Le Deux

So, here’s the other worst movie ever review. As you recall, I was quite taken with Catwoman. Which TCM is continuously playing because they hate Jesus?! I dunno but her little head-cock thing she does or squaring her shoulders and thrusting her head forward in a sideways frame while squatting like Encino Man and pretending she actually just did physical damage to someone…it makes me pretty sure that hell is real. WTF, PEOPLE?! Anyway, let me never forget to include THIS rancidity. Keira Knightly. Who was … nominated…for an Oscar…for a role that dozens of women have well-played before, followed up that “powerhouse performance” with Domino. Domino. …. Domino.

Subject: Worst. I mean it this time. WORST. Movie. Ever.
Posted Date: Tuesday, December 26, 2006 – 5:37 PM

For those of you who doubt the existence of Satan and his minions, I ask you: how else came the movie Domino to be? If ever I have expressed the sentiment: WORST. MOVIE. EVER. Tis now, my friends. Tis now. The director and editor are the first to be blamed, of course. The cinematography that is just the height of just-too-muchery is so over the top and so film-school-graduate meets gritty-means-cursing-jarring-movement-and-nudity that it actually made me and Ana gasp and laugh with bewilderment. The imagery involving the goldfish was so excruciating that my description as merely “heavy-handed” doesn’t suffice. I’ll instead explain that it became the monstrous fist of a radioactive ape, pounding away at our sensibilities. Treating us as though the depth of the recurring dead/dying goldfish was just too much for us, too complex, too existential.

I almost refuse to discuss the attempt at “fragmentation” that translated to “disjointed and irrelevant”. It was alllll over the place and largely unnecessary. Finally, I doubt even a semi-retarded ape would have needed all of the icons and visual aids.

It wasn’t that kind of deep.

It wasn’t any kind of deep that isn’t associated with a wading pool.

She was too badass, too badgirl, too…who-does-she-think-she-is and who are we suspected to be that such a stereotype would arouse us? Is this a serious attempt?? Are we supposed to buy that eyes eternally at half-mast as seductive or confident? And let’s not begin to talk about how putting one’s life on the line usually doesn’t end up translating to everyone’s life BUT one’s own.

The Venezualan bounty hunter who is entirely underdeveloped, not withstanding the liberal use of his silken curls and their liberation from a ponytail as a sign of aggression and preparation for some heinous act. He was also entirely sexy and I believe – aside from shooting people’s arms off simply because someone tells him to over the phone – we would make beautiful music together. As soon as he washes the Keira off of himself.

And in the end, she loves her mother. Because for someone who is bent on being so typically anti-Hollywood. (and being completely oblivious to just how trendy that really is, especially when it’s liberally applied….I mean, no grace in the illustration whatsoever)…it IS all about her. The sentiment… is worth everyone’s pain and suffering.

The moral of the movie: She’s a spoiled brat who didn’t get enough of Daddy’s attention. And she’s white. So several people had to die to right that wrong. HAH!

 

Right In The Kisser

So, we are gearing up to get the hell out of Santa Cruz for Joshua’s graduation next month and had begun toying with the idea of actually moving out of our on-campus townhouse by the 1st of June. Josh was sure it wouldn’t bother him to commute for his finals and grad ceremony (which btw is June 13th!!!) but then the buttholes good people at the office say, while they typically try to work with people in getting the release date they want, since technically our lease stipulates a 42 day intent form to be completed….that’s what they’re gonna insist we do. Because they’re all about the letter of the law. Which is why – despite having a stipulation that Family Student Housing is considered “affordable” living – we’re paying $500 above the cost of upkeep, with a scheduled rent increase in July. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhweet.

Other than that, I’m working on a short story, which – funny story; true story – is a novel project that I’ve already mentally composed but I am enjoying the altered storyline for its shorter version. Aside from which, this shorter exploration only has one of the two paramount characters. Therefore her motivations are entirely different. This seemed like it would transfer better here, lol. Somehow not describing the original or altered story, this seems pretty confusing or at least entirely uninteresting. Funny, that.

Ezra read the words “stripe”, “stray” and “struck” today in record time. I try to compose three words a day on his chalkboard that include phonics rules from the three A Beka charts we’ve studied (6, 7 and 8). I was ridiculously taken aback today when he didn’t even have to recite the “two vowels” rule before correctly reading the first word, meaning he’s doing it in his head. Blossom.

What else is in the news… Mother’s Day approaches.

Meh. Still kinda pissed about the 42 days thing.