Monthly Archives: October 2011

I am the one hiding under your stairs, fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

I’m fairly practical. I’m not scared of much. I know I’ve mentioned this. Sure, those stupid children’s haunted houses scare the crap out of me, but that’s mostly because I’m scared of the unknown, i.e. people jumping out at me, not so much the noises and the fake blood and the people dressed as emo mummies and what have you. I’m not scared of creepy-crawlies and I’m not scared of heights (well, I mean, I’m not saying I want to jump off of high things, that’s just stupid, but I wouldn’t be the person weeping and wailing on The Amazing Race too scared to go on the gondola over the mountains, if you know what I mean) and I’m not scared of horror movies (well, mostly, I mean, you’d have to be an idiot not to be a little creeped out by The Exorcist, right? I mean, that’s the DEVIL. Who’s not creeped out a little by the DEVIL? Weirdos, that’s who.)

I’m scared of things like not having enough money and losing my job and people I love dying and getting maimed in a fiery car crash and people touching me in crowds. You know, normal things like that. What, normal people aren’t scared of people touching them in crowds? FINE. That one’s a me-thing. LET ME HAVE IT.

However.  It’s Halloween. And, in honor of Halloween, which is actually, contrary popular belief, NOT “dress up like a skank ho” day and more “the wall between the worlds is thin” day, here are my somewhat otherworldly experiences, for you to take as you will.

I’ve been in two places where I had a weird feeling. No, not a “probably I shouldn’t be here, Fratboy Joe is really getting grabby hands after his fifth Jaeger shot,” but a “there’s something here that doesn’t want me here.” One was in a House of History/museum where I’d gone for a lecture about the history of the town where I lived. Halfway through the talk (which wasn’t even about ghosts or anything spooky), I started getting a very, very bad feeling. It wasn’t due to the audience, which was mostly me and then a ladies’ book club with a lot of red hats and blue hair; it was something in the room and something in the air. I can’t explain it. The house seemed negatively charged. The person giving the lecture had started by briefly saying it was one of the oldest houses in town, nothing more than that, so nothing that could have preyed on my subconscious. I stayed for the lecture, but can’t remember much of it. I was fighting with my flight response the entire time. After it was done, a guide appeared and asked if we’d like a tour of the house. I’d been planning on staying for the tour – as mentioned, nothing I like more than history – but I ran out like I’d forgotten the iron on and my house was on fire. I wish I could tell you I found out a triple homicide happened there or something, but I don’t know. Just one of those things, I guess.

Same thing happened, but on smaller scale, when my friend Mer and I went to visit the Winchester Mystery House in California about ten years ago. Loved the place – you just don’t get something creepier and more steeped in history than that house, plus it’s just utterly gorgeous (and there is TOTALLY a Big-style Zoltar machine in the lobby) – but we entered one room that the guide told us had been used for séances and I was immediately on alert, with everything in me screaming to get out. Nothing struck me as weird about the rest of the house. Do I think something bad happened in there? Do I think there were malevolent spirits? I don’t know. It’s pretty arrogant of me to think I know everything there is to know about the world, isn’t it? So I just don’t know.

I’ve also has had two occurrences happen to me that I can’t explain. One of which science seems to want to explain away for me; one of which I never got an explanation for.

The first was in my very first bachelorette apartment in graduate school. It was a tiny place – just a wee little studio, with the most adorable Murphy bed you’ve ever seen – and also, probably just about the least-likely place for anything strange to happen, because where would the ghost HIDE? The OVEN? There weren’t even any SHADOWS. It was like a walk-in CLOSET, it was so small.

One night, I woke up from a sound sleep and someone was standing over my bed.

I couldn’t see him clearly, just his shape. It was very dark in the apartment, and since I wear glasses, I’m pretty much blind without them when I wake up. He was standing to the left of me bed, watching me sleep. I could tell it was a male – the outline was too large and blocky to be female.

I couldn’t figure out how anyone got in. I’d locked and chained the door. I wasn’t sure if I should move, or stay very still and pretend to be still sleeping. I decided that was stupid, and opened my mouth to scream. I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Not a muscle. I was completely frozen in my bed. My cat, sleeping next to me, woke up, arched her back, hissed at the man and ran under the bed. I just stayed there, frozen, watching him. He didn’t move. I got very, very cold. I could see his eyes, just a glitter from them from the moonlight from the window.

When I woke up the next morning, of course there was no one there. The chain was still on the door. There wasn’t even any proof that it wasn’t a dream, so I suppose it could have been. But I don’t dream. Not really. I mean, sometimes I have very stupid dreams where I’m making out with my high school crush or something and just when it gets good the alarm goes off, but nothing like that. I’m still convinced, years later, something was there. It was too real to have been a dream. I don’t imagine things – contrary to popular belief, I’m just not that creative.

Apparently, this is a thing. It’s a syndrome, Sleep Paralysis. But I’ve read up on it and it doesn’t say anywhere that it happens to you once and never happens again. So sure, maybe it was a one-time occurrence of sleep paralysis. I mean, anything’s possible, right? But I think there was something in my apartment that night. I really do. I don’t know what it was, and I feel kind of stupid even saying it, but it was too real to have been out of my head. The things in my head are a lot more entertaining than a shadow with shiny eyes, I mean, seriously.

Second, and much less explained-away-by-science: I used to work at a theater that had a long history and was in a very old building. (I still do, just a different one in a different town, but unfortunately, no ghosties have popped up to say hi yet. And I’ve even encouraged them by walking around in the dark. I guess I need to yell “COME AT ME BRO!” and see what happens? No. No, I don’t think I will. That is actually the opposite of what I think I will do.)

One night, after our evening performance, the cast was going out to a party and I had to work early in the morning so I volunteered to stay and lock up so they could leave and get ready. I was alone in the building for a while, cleaning up, getting things set for the show the next day, puttering around in the theater, where I felt very comfortable.

I set the alarm, locked up, ran to my car, then realized I’d forgotten something (no idea what, it was a while ago) in the basement (where the dressing rooms and costume area were.) Cursing my idiocy, I ran back in, unlocked, unset the alarm, locked the door after me so no one would creep in while I was in the basement, and went downstairs. I only turned on a couple of lights because I knew exactly where what I needed was and I knew the place backward and forward. I didn’t need lights to find my way around.

I was halfway back from grabbing whatever it was and on my way back up when the noise started. It was coming from directly overhead – so the stage, which was what I was underneath at that point – and it was loud. The ceiling was shaking, it was so loud. I let out a little scream, because that’s the last thing you’re expecting when you’re alone in the half-dark, some sort of loud thundering noise.

It was horses. Horse hoofbeats. And what sounded like wheels. And it went on for a few minutes. I stood, frozen, listening, watching the fluorescents on the ceiling jiggle, wondering if the theater director, known for his pranks, could possibly have set up something this elaborate, with the sound AND the special effects AND the not-laughing (he was known for giggling halfway through his pranks and ruining them, and this was going on for a while.) I couldn’t think of any way anyone could do all of that, even with the theater’s sound system and technology to work with.

It stopped abruptly, like a cord had been yanked out. Everything was silent. I stood there for a few more minutes, then quickly ran upstairs, shutting off lights as I went, set the alarm pad, locked the door, and ran to my car.

No one ever mentioned it to me, so if it was a prank, they didn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how it affected me, if at all. I didn’t mention it to anyone because if it WAS somehow a prank, I didn’t want them to know it had unnerved me.

I read a few years later the theater used to be a saloon, and saw a photo of it in the 1800’s, with a horse and carriage pulled up in front. Could be coincidence. I didn’t know it at the time I heard the noise.

I still don’t have an explanation for it. I know it’s not scary, like a possible dream-man or maybe a killer WHO KNOWS standing over your bed. But it’s kind of cool. I probably should have gone upstairs and seen if there was a ghost cowboy who wanted me to be his ghost schoolmarm, because that might have been totally a romance novel waiting to happen, right? And – BONUS – it was kind of a night “mare.”GET IT BECAUSE HORSES. Ha!

Happy Halloween, everyone! May your evening be filled with fun-sized Snickers and kiddos dressed up like little hoboes and bobbing for apples and crunchy leaves and pumpkins glowing from porches. Just trust me on this – just say no to the sexy _______ (serial killer/baby doll/paparazzi/cow/etc.) costumes, ok? IT’S TOO COLD TO HAVE YOUR BUSINESS ALL HANGING OUT THERE LIKE THAT FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.

My Mother, She Killed Me; My Father, He Ate Me: Or, Why I am A Weirdo Crazyperson

Now, listen. I know you are wondering: Amy, what exactly is wrong with you? Why are you such a weirdo? How does someone turn into you, exactly? I mean, with the weird obsession with serial killers and horror movies and death and legend and fantasy and a love of theater and story and words and also totally warped and twisted senses of what’s right and wrong?

I can only assume you’re asking because you’d like your children to turn out JUST LIKE ME. And to that I say, YOU ARE WELCOME. And also THAT IS AN ADMIRABLE GOAL.

The answer is a simple one.

Fairy tales.

Not the stupid, squeaky-clean Disney-fied versions, you heathens. GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES. The dark, creepy, woodcut versions. Where they didn’t end well.

I grew up on a very steady diet of very, very dark fairy tales. And look at me now! You couldn’t ASK for someone more twisty.

What’s that? You want EXAMPLES? Are you implying you don’t BELIEVE me that fairy tales are the most dark and twisty? WELL. Isn’t this just your LUCKY DAY. SIT RIGHT DOWN THERE CHUCKLES.

Now, you’re going to read these and say, “This isn’t what I remember!” Nope. These are the ORIGINAL versions of these fairy tales. Or, in other words, WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. Not all cleaned up shiny pretty for popular consumption. I hate cleaned up shiny pretty. I like the dark places.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

This is a story about how a town full of skinflints thought they could rip off a skeevy itinerant exterminator with pedophiliac tendencies. So to repay them, he kidnaps their children by hypnotizing them with music and then drowns them by forcing them to walk into a pond, except for a handicapped one, who couldn’t keep up. And the poor lame kid is the only kid left in the village and is so sad because he wasn’t part of the group AGAIN. Left behind AGAIN, you guys. Nice! This is a nice story.

Moral: The Lannisters have a point. PAY YOUR DEBTS YOU FRIGGIN’ DEADBEAT.

Little Red Riding Hood

Listen, I don’t know if you’re aware? But there’s no woodsman all “here I come to save the DAYYYYY” in the original. Everything else stays the same. But the story ends as Little Red gets gulped. End of story. A wolf eats a little girl and her grandmother. That is all. A TALKING WOLF WHO IS CRAFTY ENOUGH TO WEAR CLOTHING AND APPARENTLY HAS OPPOSABLE THUMBS.

Moral: Why the hell are you talking to strangers. STRANGER EFFING DANGER YOU JACKASS.

The Little Mermaid

Hans Christian Anderson KILLED me as a kid. This guy was ONE SICK MAMMAJAMMA.

A beautiful mermaid falls in love with a human prince. For love (obsession, really, she doesn’t know him enough to love him), she sells her soul to become a normal human. Here’s the rub, you sickos – “every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives.” Also later she says it feels like she’s walking on sharp needles. And also she can’t talk. Part of the bargain is her voice is also gone. So NOT ONLY is she in excruciating pain with every single step for this stupid son of a bitch, she’s completely mute. Every man’s dream girl, right? Because she can shut up and rattle the pots and pans. Yippee!

(Sorry. This story always pissed me right the hell off.)

And I know. I KNOW. You’re all, “But it ends well!” Nope. Not in good old Hans’s version. In the original? THE PRINCE MARRIES SOMEONE ELSE ANYWAY. And it WAS ALL FOR NOTHING. And the little mermaid turns into air and disappears.

Moral: No man is worth giving up your essential essence for. Because when he’s gone, you’ve lost everything. (What? That’s not the moral? Bite me, that’s what I took from it.)

Snow White

A girl’s stepmother has one of her employees take her stepdaughter into the woods to bloodily murder her for being more beautiful than she is. Let that sink in. You know that chick at work you have a secret hatred toward because she’s so pretty? Think about GETTING YOUR HUNTER FRIEND TO CUT OUT HER HEART. Yeah, I know. WHO DOES THIS. Then when he can’t complete the deed, the stepmother poisons her. A necrophiliac prince (no, seriously, think about this, he didn’t know the kiss was going to wake her up. Chick was IN HER COFFIN. He was MACKING ON A DEAD GIRL. Yep. That’s a keeper, Snow!) makes out with her seemingly dead body and it wakes her up. As revenge, the queen is forced to dance to death in red-hot-right-out-of-the-fire shoes as everyone watches, laughs, and cheers. Huzzah!

Moral: I don’t even KNOW. Don’t get a case of the green-eyed monster toward your stepdaughter, you big fat weirdy weirdo?

Hansel and Gretel

Come on, are you even kidding me? This is about a cannibal person who lives in the woods in a house designed to lure children in so she can FATTEN THEM UP AND EAT THEM. This is just about THE WORST THING. This is the story where a million Hummel figurines go to die I can’t even. Also, let’s not even MENTION the REASON the kids were in the forest IN THE FIRST PLACE which is their PARENTS were GROSSLY NEGLIGENT and didn’t take care of them so they were out looking for food. I mean, seriously. This is like a nightmare wrapped in a torture chamber surrounded with pinatas filled with spiders. IT IS THE BEST. I LOVE IT.

Moral: Um. Don’t eat people’s houses even if they look totally delicious and you’re starving or they’ll get revenge by eating you and your sister? I’m not really sure.


OK, so most of this is pretty standard, until the end, where the prince comes looking for Cinderella, and the first evil stepsister, when the prince comes calling, can’t get her fat old mega-foot to fit in the slipper, so her mom forces her to cut off part of her heel. CUT OFF PART OF HER HEEL YOU GUYS. Then she CRAMS HER BLOODY FOOT into the shoe, but the prince notices the blood and is all no no no, lies, who else is here who wants to try. Then the stepmother forces the OTHER sister to cut off her big toe because she ALSO has feet that are too big, with the same result. WTF, stepmother. W. T. F.

Also, once Cinderella claims her rightful place on the throne, she sends her faithful bird friends to peck out her stepfamily’s eyes. You know. As you do.

Moral: STOP TREATING YOUR STEPCHILDREN LIKE THEY ARE SERVANTS. This is worrisome, fairy tales. Also, it bears mention that glass is a silly thing to make shoes out of. If that breaks you’re totally going to cause some serious damage to your tootsies.



You know this one, right? I think I quote this one once a MONTH. This is my favorite thing since CHARLES MANSON.

Bluebeard marries this little chica and he leaves a lot doing manly things like probably pillaging, I don’t know. He gives her the run of his big old castle except one room. He tells her, THAT IS THE ONLY ROOM THAT IS OFF LIMITS. But he gives her a key to it because he is one twisted old bastard. So of COURSE she’s all “I MUST KNOW.” SO, you ask. WHAT IS IN THE ROOM.


Best. Fairy tale ending. Ever.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end the way I wanted it to, with her also being murdered for nosiness. She ends up luring him to his death or something redeeming. I didn’t care much for that. I like things DARK I TELL YOU. Listen, HE TOLD YOU DON’T GO IN THERE.

Moral – Don’t be a nosy parker. Also, probably don’t marry people who dye their facial hair weird colors. That’s usually an indication of deep psychological issues.

The Juniper Tree

A stepmother (Again! With! This!) kills her stepson, frames her own daughter for the murder, and cooks the dead body into a stew (please note the TOTALLY DISGUSTED ITALICS) which she feeds to her husband. The daughter, who is sad and sweet (aren’t they all, these fairy tale chicks? None of them have many facets. I want a multi-faceted fairy-tale chick) buries his bones under a juniper tree, and then somehow his spirit gets into a bird, who kills the stepmother by dropping a stone on her head (that is totally the strongest bird ever, yo.)

My favorite part of this is when the father is chomping down on Dead Son Stew he’s all, “THIS IS THE BEST STEW YOU’VE EVER EVER MADE MY STARS AND LAND SAKES!” Hee. You’re totally eating your own son, dude. Hope you enjoy your Mad Cow Disease.

Moral: stop being an evil stepmother. Also, know what you’re eating, because gross.

The Robber Bridegroom

I don’t even know what even. A father is all greedypants and when a rich man shows up and says “Can I marry your daughter?”, says “Sure!” Probably with dollar signs in his eyes like an old-timey cash register. And then she goes off to visit the fiance in the woods, and then ALL THE ROBBERS show up (her fiance being the lead robber, apparently? Odd) and she hides behind something while they chop up a woman they’ve brought to their house, and one of the DEAD WOMAN’S FINGERS FALLS IN HER CLEAVAGE, and she escapes once they pass out from drinking too much, and then on their wedding day (what the hell? She went through with the wedding? That seems unlikely) she tells the story as if it’s a dream she had and the robber’s all “ha ha my little buttercup YOU SO CRAZY” and then she’s all “BAM HERE IS THE FINGER YOU MURDERER!” (SHE KEPT THE DEAD ROTTING FINGER? Girl has ISSUES) and then he is killed. WHAT. THE. HELL.

Moral: I guess…um…hold onto evidence because someday you might need it? I don’t know. What would be the moral of this thing? Don’t marry robbers? Don’t betrothe your daughter to some rich dude you know nothing about? Don’t go off into the woods alone to visit your fiance you know nothing about? CONFUSING. Also? I love the word robber. It is one of my favorites.

The Goose Girl

A princess and her talking horse (AWE! SOME!) and her bitch of a social climber maid go to the princess’s fiance’s palace (this ALSO seems to be a thing, the princess travelling to the fiance. Why can’t the PRINCE come to HER?), but on the way the starfucker maid decides SHE WANTS TO BE THE PRINCESS so she apparently overpowers the princess (I’m not really sure what the hell, here, the princess seems pretty weak to me) and puts on all her finery and says “I am the princess!” when they get to the castle and then HAS THE TALKING HORSE BUTCHERED which is totally the worst thing because who loves horses? Me. Talking ones would be even better. Unless it’s like Mr. Ed. Then screw it, I hated that weird thing with its fake-ass mouth and someone told me to get it to do that they put peanut butter in its mouth and that’s pretty mean. Anyway, the princess has to be the goose girl which I assume means take care of geese and geese are the meanest things EVER and that’s the worst fate. And for some reason the people who work in the castle hang her horse’s head on the castle walls? What is this, Westeros and he’s a traitor? And the HEAD KEEPS TALKING. Because it is the MOST MAGICAL CREEPY DEAD HORSE EVER OMG. And then somehow the trick is discovered and the prince asks the starfucker, “Hey, let’s say a starfucker maid were to take the place of the rightful princess and kill her horse and make her take care of geese all day long, what should be the punishment for that starfucker?” and the starfucker maid is all “Put her in a barrel studded with nails and push it down a big hill.” THAT IS THE STUPIDEST ANSWER I HAVE EVER HEARD. Who would SAY that. You KNOW it’s about you and you’ve been FOUND OUT. Did playing princess take away ANY BRAINS YOU MIGHT ONCE HAVE HAD? Anyway, as you might guess, that’s what happens to the starfucker. I’m not really sure what happens to the talking butchered horse head. I assume it rotted. I mean, that’s what happens to dead things. Even magical ones.

Moral: be content with your lot in life, even if that means you have to take care of disgusting mean hissing geese. Also don’t kill animals, and if someone asks you how you would kill someone else, say “I wouldn’t! I’d let them live FOREVER and give them A MILLION DOLLARS OMG.”

So! As you can see, THIS is what’s wrong with me. THIS is why I am the way I am. Fairy tales! So read some to your kids today, and YOU, TOO, could have a little me in the wings, waiting to DAZZLE THE WORLD with their CHARM and SOCIAL INCOMPETENCE in ONLY 30 YEARS TIME. Good luck!

“Eddie, did I leave my training manual in there? MY EYES! AH! NO! MY EYES!!!”

Saturday night! Important things to talk about, people. IMPORTANT THINGS.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you: SNOWPOCALYPSE.


OK, maybe not really snowpocalypse. Maybe it’s just snowing some and then it will be done snowing and is it a pain in the ass? YES it is a pain in the ass. Because it isn’t even HALLOWEEN yet. And that’s nice. Isn’t that nice? That our fall was totally cut short by some sort of nor’easter?

Also, we COULD call it Snowmageddon but let’s not shoot our wad yet, people. It’s only October. Save something for February. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING.

Also, until I moved here, I didn’t know that anyone said nor’easter unless they were in a Stephen King novel? So I like to say it a lot. NOR’EASTER!!!!

So, if you’re not from New York or the east coast, right now, AT THIS VERY MOMENT, it is SNOWING. In OCTOBER. Sometimes? That happens. This is not without precedent. It has happened before. And! Guess what? It will totally happen again. SNOW SOMETIMES HAPPENS WHEN YOU LIVE HERE.

Also, whenever I think of bad weather, I think of Chris Farley’s El Nino sketch. “I am El Nino! That is Spanish for…THE NINO!”

Here are some totally helpful things you can and should do when it snows:

  1. Make sure your heat works
  2. Make sure you are prepared (shovel, winter clothing, ice scraper, a normal amount of food)
  3. Bundle up nice and cozy, preferably with someone you want touching you, and watch something awesome (I recommend, since it is a Halloween snowpocalyse, horror movies) and then maybe take a hot shower, with or without the loved one, your choice

Here are some things I would please ask that you STOP DOING when it snows, please, for the love of Pete:

  1. Driving like the roads are a sheet of ice when they’re not; taking up two lanes for no reason I can ascertain; driving 10 miles an hour on the highway when there’s really no reason for that; not cleaning all the snow off your car and then driving really, really fast past people so they get all of your snow in their face because that’s totally not an asshole move
  2. Calling every single office of every single doctor, lawyer, heating and cooling place, etc. that I answer for at the answering service and SCREAMING at the operator, “I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW BECAUSE IT’S ABOUT TO SNOWWWWWW” as if you’ve never, ever, in your entire life, seen a single flake, or maybe snow is actually acid or hot lava
  3. This is related to number 2, but also, if a business closes early because of an impending SNOWPOCALYPSE? Don’t act like a jerkoff to the answering service about it. “They closed EARLY? Must be NICE,” you sneer. Well. Where are YOU right now, Chumley? At home, you say? Oh, well, then, I guess you have no room to talk, now do you, because YOU are not risking YOUR neck driving home on roads that have been marked as state of emergency just to be there for asshats like you that want to talk to someone for non-emergent reasons like “In three weeks I have an appointment and I’m wondering if you could tell me if there will be plenty of open parking in the lot that day? YES, I have to know today. IT IS TOTALLY AN EMERGENCY.”
  4. Going to the grocery store and stocking up on 47 carts of staples as if you are never, ever going to get to the store again (sidebar: one year, I saw a woman with two carts full of bread. TWO CARTS. A couple of hours before another SNOWPOCALYPSE.  I can’t even imagine. HOW COULD YOU EVER USE THAT MUCH BREAD. Was she going to lay it out on her driveway to shield it from the snow? Was she going to make a little fort out of it? Was she going to cover herself in it in lieu of winter clothing? IT BOGGLED THE MIND.) You don’t need ALL the bread, milk, and peanut butter. Do you need maybe one of each? Sure. Sure you do. But you know what? I bet the day after SNOWPOCALYPSE you will be able to get back to the store for more supplies. It is a safe bet you will.

Nothing gets me hotter than motivational posters and a speakerphone

All Over Albany pointed me toward this news story this week. In case you are TOO LAZY TO CLICK (and if you are, seriously, you really need to take some iron supplements, or something, what is wrong with you) here are some highlights:

A former NYS Department of Environmental Conservation employee was arraigned in court recently for racking up over $20,000 in phone-sex-line fees that he charged to his office, over 500 work hours, in four different work conference rooms in the office in the hopes that the calls wouldn’t be tracked back to him. He called a plethora of juicily-named phone sex lines (and it’s worth clicking on that first link just to see how that totally official NYS PDF is all listing phone sex lines like “VIP Sensual Chat” and “Secret Encounters.”) I especially like this quote from the second article: “The latter five charges say that Reilly knowingly filed false time sheets saying he was working when he was spending hours talking dirty on the phone.” Heh. “Talking dirty.” Awesome. WE ARE FIVE YEARS OLD.

OK, I know, I’m totally naive, here, but here are some questions I have.

  1. How the hell big is the NYS DEC office that it has at least 4 conference rooms? My office has, TOTAL, four conference rooms. And I can tell you, if I was “talking dirty” in one of them, my co-workers would know. Those walls are paper-thin. I think the NYC DEC office is like a gigantic cavern. Which is awesome, but also kind of makes me jealous.
  2. Who thinks talking dirty at work is a good idea? I mean, does your office have a conference room? THEY ARE NOT SEXY. They’re all bland, bland, bland. Bland wall treatments, a bland picture of something bland, and in my office, at least, most of them are stuffed with outdated tax manuals. WHAT WOULD GET YOUR MOTOR RUNNING ABOUT THIS.
  3. $20,000? Really? That is INSANE. 500 hours? $20,000? So, let’s do some math, even though we know math = totally the hardest, right, Barbie? 500 hours, $20,000. That means the phone sex lines cost $40 an hour? OK, I know that seems awesome? But think about this with your thinker. I get my eyebrows done, because otherwise I totally am a yeti? And that takes her 10 minutes. For this service, I pay her $10, with a $5 tip. (She DESERVES it. She is KILLER with my brows. I mean it. YETI, you guys. Not even kidding.) So she makes $15 for 10 minutes. Which means my awesome, kickass stylist makes $90 an hour. And listen, I love her to PIECES (I have followed her to three salons, so deep is my love) but phone sex seems TOTALLY THE HARDEST. How would you not LAUGH? You deserve extra money for not laughing. I mean, the minute some sad sack asked me, “So what are you wearing?” in a pervy voice I’d be in utter and complete cliche-driven giggles. $90 > $40, in case you’re keeping track. PHONE SEX OPERATORS YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.
  4. I feel SO BAD for his coworkers I can’t even. You KNOW they knew what was going on. He’d probably get all excited, and all, “Have to make a call,” and walking all stiff, and they’d roll their eyes and be all “Oh, for the love of…Eddie’s going back to his wank-a-thon again, better tell the cleaning crew to bring extra Lysol tonight,” and they’d do whatever possible, including TALKING REALLY LOUD ABOUT NONSENSE, to drown out good old pervy Eddie’s jack-o-rama in Conference Room B.


“…uh…yeah…that’s it…talk about that…what are you doing right now…”


“…you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you, Shana…yeah, that’s it, baby…”


“uh…you know I like that, baby…oh, yes…oh, YES…”


“oh…Shana…you’re the best, baby…almost there now…yeah…”




“YES! SHANA! YES YES YES! I mean…um…thank you, Mr. Thompson. That’s all the information I’ll need for my investor’s report today. Ahem.”


Shh…We’re Hunting Wabbits

Today, I got a text from a friend.

“You have a blog! Busted.”

Which is kind of funny? Because strangers read this daily, but the fact that REAL LIFE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE WHO ARE REALLLLL might read it kind of both scares the shit out of and exhilarates the pants off me in equal measure.

I don’t tell people I know in real life about this. I mean, I don’t hide it, either. It’s on my Facebook page and my Google+ page, both of which are pretty easy for people who know me to find if they feel like Sherlocking it up, I suppose. I just don’t post links to what I write on there. I don’t think most people I know in real life would care that much what I ramble on about and what a complete and total dork I am.

That goddamned Facebook ticker bullshit thing outed me. What the hell, Facebook ticker? I thought I set that thing so nothing I posted ended up on there? I mean, I disabled that bullshit the minute it came out because I have Google Chrome and there’s an app you can add on that makes it DIS-A-FRIGGIN’-PEAR, but apparently things I say ARE ENDING UP ON STALKER TICKER. Total flying below the radar fail. Thanks a lot, Zuckerberg.

I’m totally a shy violet. Don’t tell a soul. Or I’ll chop you up with a chainsaw and feed you to my pet piranha, Fluffy McWigglepants.

Anyway, say hello to N., who may or may not be reading this and be A REAL PERSON I KNOW. N. has the distinction of being one of my favorite actors AND a real-life person that I stalked one time because I saw him in a play and liked his performance SO MUCH that I was BOUND AND DETERMINED to get him to audition for my theater and that didn’t work out at all because my entire plan involved me seeing him one time on the street and was going to talk to him until I realized that made me a cray-cray so I was too scared to and then I thought I would do some investigative work and find out what mutual friends we had and make THEM introduce us, wasn’t that totally underhanded, then I got distracted by something that I’ve forgotten because that was totally like five whole YEARS ago, what do I LOOK like, an ELEPHANT, come ON, people, until he auditioned even without my meddling schemes. Also, he has good hair. How can that be wrong? WELCOME TO N.! CALLOOH CALLAY.

So now we’re up to FOUR WHOLE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE that know I have a blog. I know, right? TOTALLY THE BIG TIME. I’d break out the champagne flutes if I hadn’t broken them all pretty much immediately after getting them. THOSE THINGS ARE TOTALLY FRA-GEE-LAY.

Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say “Yes!”

So it’s almost Halloween, and I wanted to do something Halloween-y. No kids ever come to my house for trick or treating, so that’s out. I hate stupid haunted houses, we’ve discussed that, and I’m pretty sure one of these years I’m going to be arrested for punching the entertainers for jumping out at me. I don’t do Halloween parties (yes, yes, I skipped the Lady Gaga-themed Halloween party, sorry to the people who were so encouraging about me going, I just did not have the courage to attend, and listen, I’ve seen some pictures, that place was PACKED with people, I would have had to hyperventilate into a paper BAG, it would NOT have been a good time, it is a good idea I stayed home.) So what to do to stay in the spirit, other than eat my weight in Reese’s Peanut Butter Pumpkins and watch horror movies?


OK, I live in the Capitol District of New York. I have for almost ten years now, but have never entered the Capitol Building itself, despite going by it a number of times. And listen, I LOVE HISTORY. It is INSANE how jazzed I get by cool historical things. I’m pretty sure I missed my calling and should have been an archaeologist because that would have been the coolest thing EVER, right? But not dinosaur bones. I mean, I don’t HATE dinosaur bones. The dinosaurs are cool with me. But I like old human things. Like old pottery and old buildings and old artifacts and talking to old people about old memories and old photos and old documents and researching old things. I loved that show Who Do You Think You Are even though it was kind of the cheesiest because those people got to go into old libraries and TOUCH OLD DOCUMENTS OMGWTFBBQ WANT WANT WANT. I also love old cemeteries and touching super-old gravestones and making up stories about the dead people. This makes my mother kind of insane and she thinks it’s sacrilegious but I think it’s totally respectful because otherwise those people would be FORGOTTEN. I think they LIKE that I’m making up stories about them. It makes them RELEVANT again. (I’m pretty sure the part my mother objected to was that I was accusing one dead person of having murdered another dead person so he could hump his dead wife but that’s really beside the point THE DEAD PEOPLE PROBABLY THOUGHT IT WAS ENJOYABLE.) Also old gravestones are the coolest, all worn and secretive.

ANYWAY. That was totally a tangent to rival all others. So this time of year, the Office of General Services does a series of tours of the Capitol Building where they show you the places where people are reported to have seen ghosts. GHOSTS! And OLD ARCHITECTURE! I’ve been meaning to do this for a couple of years but for one reason or another every year something has come up. NOT THIS YEAR BABY!

Since it's daylight in this photo, obviously the ghosts are ASLEEP.

Well, something did come up but I totally overcame it. Hello, FIRST FRIGGING SNOWFALL OF THE SEASON. In OCTOBER. We got a little over an inch, probably, I don’t know, it’s not like I researched it. This weather caused accidents and everyone to forget how to drive. The roads aren’t even frozen yet. It’s just white rain at this point. DRIVE NORMAL YOU WEIRDOS. SNOW IS NOT KEEPING ME FROM SEEING ARCHITECTURE AND GHOSTS.

Here’s a little about our awesome state capitol because I love shit like this. Sorry. Skip ahead to the ghosts if you must. It was completed in 1899. It’s built to mimic Romanesque and neo-Renaissance architecture and also so it looks like a castle. A CASTLE OMG HOW MUCH DO I LOVE CASTLES.  It cost a lot of money. Probably because it’s awesome. It’s also really a working building. I mean, you probably all knew that, but I don’t know, I don’t realize things sometimes. This is where the state assembly meets. And state senators’ offices are in there. It’s all very impressive and my head almost exploded 47 times. But I am jumping ahead of myself.

So I showed up and I brought my camera in case they let us take photos because I didn’t know what the protocol was. Was it all state secrets and they might think I was a bomber, or were they cool with it? And then our tour guide showed up and he was just adorable, you guys. He was all into it! In a little old-timey costume! With a coat with tails and little old-fashioned glasses and a watch with a chain and an ascot! Aw! He looked like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland if he somehow became human.

Our tour group was largely unremarkable and very nice. There was a toddler who was into everything and I was pretty sure she was going to fall down a number of flights of stairs but her father stopped her so all was well.

The White Rabbit (I have no idea what his name was. He didn’t tell us. Or he might have. I don’t pay close attention to things) told us to take a LOT of photos. Well! I WILL THANK YOU.

First, we had the spooky “going through the metal detectors” step of our tour. I always feel like I’m a terrorist when I’m doing this. I mean, I’m not, or anything, and I even left most of my things in the car so I didn’t have to carry them around the tour, but I always feel like the people manning the metal detector know something about me I don’t even know about myself. I went through and the man behind the detector stopped me on the other side.

“For future reference, we DON’T keep our hands in our pockets in a METAL DETECTOR,” he said.

Um. We don’t? I didn’t…shouldn’t that be spelled out if it’s a totally serious rule? Also, if I’m hiding something metal in my hand in my pocket wouldn’t the metal detector pick that up even through my pocket AND my hand?

Also, I hate when people say “we” like that. It’s condescending. My grandmother and mother’s response, when someone says that, is to reply “We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?” That is nonsensical and my favorite response. However, I didn’t think it would go over well with Officer Crankypants.


The White Rabbit led us up an escalator (That kid! Is on the escalator again! Sorry, sometimes Mallrats slips in) and then we started our tour.


Now listen! I am pretty well schooled in the ways of ghost hunting? Because you KNOW how close Zak Bagans and I am. I mean, I am the GO-TO person when someone is searching for Zak Bagans online, according to my search results. So I know about EVP and orbs and (heh) Melmeters.

The White Rabbit brought us to three spots where ghosts have been seen, then a few spots where there were cool things to see, and encouraged us, if we were interested in further history of the building, to come back for the actual Capitol tour, which I didn’t know was a thing but now I am OBSESSED with doing because you guys, YOU GUYS, the Capitol is the MOST AWESOME THING EVER.

Also I totally think I captured a shot of a ghost on my camera. Like, I have more evidence of a ghost than Zak has in all his years of dude-ing and bro-ing.


Here are some things we saw on our tour:

The Million Dollar Steps! Sorry, it was kind of dark on them because it was almost nighttime and my flash doesn’t permeate the gloom like I’d like it to. They are all made of carved sandstone and are awesome. There are a ton of things carved into them and things to look at everywhere you look. It is the coolest. HOWEVER! This was the scariest part of the tour? I HAD TO WALK DOWN THEM. And listen, I am totally clumsy when it comes to steps. And these steps were a., very smooth and slippy, b., all the same color so very hard to see where the next one started, and c., didn’t have any handrails because I guess back in the day they wanted people to die. And there were a million things to look at. So for three flights, I pretty much risked my neck almost dying and was the last one to come down the stairs because I was going really slow like I had a broken hip and children on our tour were flitting up and down them and that was distressing because DEATH, kids, DEATH if you fall down these stairs and then YOU will be one of the ghosts on the tour.

Here are some things we saw on the steps:

A random dog/gryphon thingy! I liked him.

A scary woman! I don't know who this was but she seemed ghostly.

John Brown! His body has a hole upon its chest! Also? He looks PISSED about it.

Scary twins! I like to imagine they're the twins from "The Shining."

A weird old man with his mouth hanging open!

Also I saw a super-awesome snake but the White Rabbit was all “gather ’round people!” at that point so I couldn’t take a photo of it.


New York State Assembly Chamber baby! BIG TIME RIGHT HERE!!!

Now I know what you’re thinking. “Um, but I thought this was the ghost tour? I’m not seeing much in the way of ghosts, here.”


There weren’t many ghosts. I mean, he told us about places where ghosts were seen. The three biggest places were right in the Assembly Chamber above, where the ghost of the artist who painted the murals for the chamber (which have been since lost when the new ceiling was put in, and how sad is that? They’re above the new ceiling, slowly deteriorating with water damage. If I was a ghost I’d haunt the place, too) is supposed to be; on the stairs, where a despondent fruit vendor committed suicide (OR SLIPPED, those stairs were totally treacherous, how about some effing HANDRAILS for the love of Pete!); and in the HALLWAY OF DOOM.

I made that name up. I have no idea what it was really called.

In the HALLWAY OF DOOM (which totally just looked like a hallway in the state college I attended, it was very nondescript) a night watchman died in the great Capitol fire of 1911. His ghost is said to haunt the hallway TO THIS DAY. Well, that’s totally interesting, but the minute I entered the hallway, I almost DIED because every door in it said “DO NOT ENTER SENATOR’S OFFICE” and that was SO EXCITING I COULDN’T EVEN. Those doors belonged to the offices of OUR ELECTED OFFICIALS. I honestly was just about having a fit of excitement and it had nothing to do with poor burned to a crisp Samuel Abbott. I LOVE DEMOCRACY AND HISTORY.

So while the White Rabbit was talking about Samuel Abbott I pretended I was taking a photo of the historic site of his death but really I wanted a photo of what the hallway looked like because I wanted to remember what it was like to be in a hallway where THE SENATORS I VOTED FOR WORKED. (Yes, yes, I realize that this makes me sound like a country mouse who doesn’t understand that democracy is kind of a sham. I DON’T CARE I THINK DEMOCRACY IS THE MOST AWESOME AND I LOVE VOTING SO LET ME HAVE MY HAPPY.)

Well, joke was on me. Samuel Abbott was PISSED I wasn’t paying attention to his story, apparently.

This is the hallway and it’s not even easy to see the doorway but in my head it was more awesome than it ended up, photographically. But savvy ghost-hunter types, do you see the GHOST?

Here. I enhanced it for you like Zak does.


So orbs are either the flash reflecting off dust (unlikely, in this case, as I was completely far down the hallway and zoomed up close to get this shot so how could the flash have reflected off something that far down the hall?) or flaws on the camera or lens (nope, again, none of my other shots have the same flaw) or A GHOST MANIFESTING ITSELF. Well! I think we all know what it was. A GHOST, BABY.

Yep, so I’m pretty sure that on top of my next career as a wedding advice giver and an archaeologist and a very famous blogger I’m going to be the best ghost hunter ever. LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT ORB. I mean, seriously, Zak has never had an orb that awesome, EVER. He WISHES he had an orb like that.

Finally, the White Rabbit brought us to the Capitol Demon, which is a little carving that some people think is cursed. Here:

Aw! Cutest evil carving EVER.

I liked the Capitol Demon and did not think it was cursed mostly because I feel like I was being protected by my ORB OF RIGHTEOUSNESS and also I had survived THE MILLION DOLLAR STEPS OF CERTAIN DOOM so I was feeling pretty invincible at that moment.

In summation: I live in the best state ever with the best Capitol ever; I am the best ghost hunter ever; I did not fall to my death and die on the steps of death; and HISTORY ROCKS MY FACE OFF.

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.

You say that we’ve got nothing in common; no common ground to start from

I think I’m broken.

I realize that everyone has their individual taste in what’s good and what’s not, etc., etc., ad infinitum, blah blah, vomit. Whatever. But this weekend, I watched Blue Valentine. Which has very good ratings, overall. Like, Rotten Tomatoes gave it an 88%. That’s pretty good, right? And Michelle Williams was nominated for an Academy Award for her performance. And Ryan Gosling! RYAN GOSLING, you guys. Whose adorable mug makes me smile DAILY on both Feminist Ryan Gosling and Typographer Ryan Gosling.

I hated the shit out of this movie.

The problem was, I guess (and I will try not to completely spoil you but there will be spoilers here, sorry, can’t be helped), that both of the characters were kind of annoying. Plot in a nutshell: two hipsters meet, fall in love, marry, and their marriage implodes. Fine. And I guess it gets points for being very real. And very gritty. I remember reading that the director had Williams and Gosling improvise most of the dialogue and live together for a while as if they were their characters. Well, that was obvious. The dialogue came across as VERY improv night at a community theater. I went to a lot of improv nights in college, because I knew people in the troupe, and when the actors didn’t know what was coming next, they’d repeat what was just said to them in the hopes someone would save them. This happened a lot in this movie.

Sample dialogue from Blue Valentine (not real dialogue):

Gosling: I am angry.

Williams: You are angry?

Gosling: Yes. Yes, I am angry.

Williams: You are angry.

Gosling: Dammit. Yes. Yes, I am angry.

Williams: I, too, am angry.

Gosling: You are also angry?

Williams: Yes.

Gosling: Well. In that case, we are both angry.


It was true, I guess. I mean, I don’t need every movie to have a happy ending, or to be tied up in a little bow and be presented to be on a silver platter for me to like it. And listen, I love to cry. I actually was looking forward to a good cry when I put the DVD in. But I did not cry. These two people just totally frustrated the hell out of me. I just wanted to shake them and ask them what the hell did they EXPECT to happen, what kind of world did they LIVE IN where they thought everything turned out happy happy joy joy all the time and that people change once you marry them and that good things happen to people that deserve it?

It was so bleakly depressing that I wanted to take up cutting or start pulling out my eyelashes or something. Gah.

So maybe I’m broken and can’t appreciate the art of fine cinema, I don’t know.

Then my friend R. emailed me the other day and asked if we’d watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s together once, because she vaguely remembered we had, and she and her husband A. watched it together this past weekend and he hated it so much just a little bit in he left the room. And I thought about it, and I realized that YES, we DID watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which, again, high ratings (also 88% on Rotten Tomatoes – what’s with this trend?) and was nominated for, and won, multiple Academy Awards, and people just lurrrrve this movie, and you know what? HATED IT. I totally HATED IT.

Reasons I hated Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

  1. Holly Golightly was such a friggin’ flake that I wanted something really bad to happen to her so she would just come right the hell down to earth and stop being so flighty and annoying and “I’m ETHEREAL! Nothing MATTERS! Aren’t I just so CUTE!”
  2. She would not name her cat. Then she releases her cat into the rain because it needed to be free or some such nonsense, I don’t know. Because you know there’s nothing than housecats like better than being alley cats. Then she’s all, “Oh now I WANT THE CAT BACK.” Shut up, you stupid fruit fly. You’re an animal abuser.
  3. What the hell was going on with Mickey Rooney and his totally racist Asian impersonation I could have died. Here is a photo. 

Every time he came on the screen I wanted to find him and throw Pocky at him to make him stop. Who thought this was a good idea? Were there no Asian actors in 1961? I bet there were. There really was no excuse for this.

Good thing about Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Young George Peppard.

I have a thing for old-time hunks. My top two are:

Marlon Brando before he got weird. Possibly the hottest man who ever lived.


James Garner, "The Great Escape"-era. He used to be so handsome you would totally just die.

Everything looks better in black and white. Everything.

Anyway, my thoughts about Breakfast at Tiffany’s are best summed up, Mary-Katherine Gallagher-style, in these lines from the song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something:

“And I said, what about Breakfast at Tiffany’s?
She said, ‘I think I remember the film, and
as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it.’
And I said, ‘Well, that’s the one thing we got.’”

This is the SADDEST and MOST PATHETIC REASON to stay together EVER EVER EVER. OK, so you’re about to break up. And the guy’s last-ditch effort to keep you together is, “Hey! Remember that time we watched that movie? THAT MOVIE REMEMBER?” And you respond, “Yes, I kind of recall…um, we both sort of liked it? I guess? Kind of?” And he replies with “WE’VE GOT THIS BABE WE’RE MEANT TO BE THEN.”

Also, the name of your band is Deep Blue Something. It’s like you’re not even trying. “Deep Blue…oh, I don’t know.” “Well, we have to put SOMETHING.” “That’s it.” *DEEP SIGH* “Deep Blue SOMETHING.” “Please leave me alone with my ennui.”

So then after realizing I apparently hate all things that people love, I looked into it and realized that YES I am totally BROKEN because here, here are the other things I hate. Some of which you might be like, ok, whatever, I can deal with that. But the last two will probably send you screaming for the hills. Especially the last one. You’re going to hate me. And take away my geek membership card. Sorry in advance.

Jerry Macguire (85% on Rotten Tomatoes)

The reason I hate this is Tom Cruise. Also, I think the whole “you had me at hello” thing is TOTAL BULLSHIT. She was so selling herself short. He was such an asshole! And he only really liked her because she was useful to him, and also he liked her kid (who I wanted to bop in the head, he was so weird and annoying.) And so he shows up after pretty much dumping her flat, and gives her this pathetic speech about how she completes him, and she stops him and tells him “You had me at hello.” And all the girls are all “SQUEE SQUEE.”

Well, here. Let’s put aside my Cruise hatred for a minute. Also, I think Zellweger looks like a squinty duck. But first? I don’t want a guy who says I complete him. Because that means he isn’t whole to begin with. Who wants some half-man? I want a WHOLE man. Because I’m whole. And together, we make TWO COMPLETE PEOPLE. We’d totally be a force to be reckoned with, these two people. Not two people who weren’t whole to begin with and rely upon one another to fill in each other’s gaping holes and are all codependently propping one another up.

Second, “you had me at hello?” Do you know what that means? “Just by showing up at my door you’ve won.” That means “don’t bother trying too hard because I’m pretty easy.” I can’t even imagine having self-esteem so low that a guy just SHOWING UP makes you capitulate. I mean, my self-esteem’s in the basement, but I’d still have closed the door in that bastard’s face. See how complete he felt standing out in the cold with his big old gaping hole of emptiness all filled with wind and outdoor things like leaves and shit.

Everything Woody Allen has ever done, ever, but especially Annie Hall

I think Woody Allen is the whiniest thing in the planet. I know! To most people, he is like unto a God. And that’s nice. That’s so nice! I don’t care. People just ADORE Annie Hall. I saw this when a guy I wanted to bone brought it to my apartment in college for me to watch with him. He was so into it and by the time it was done I no longer wanted to bone him because how could you be sexually attracted to someone who thought that was a good idea? I’d go more into detail but I don’t remember enough about it to and I don’t care to research it because of the whininess. I also find Jerry Seinfeld to be akin to Woody Allen and also hate Jerry Seinfeld and hated his show. I KNOW YOU TOTALLY WANT TO BRAIN ME WITH A HAMMER RIGHT NOW.

The Sound of Music

This is the one I’m pretty sure you’re all screaming “blasphemy” about and getting very up-in-arms. I hate this movie. I won’t even watch it. Those kids creep me the hell OUT. With the singing and whatnot. And the father was so mean and what the hell with the seducing of a nun. And also it’s about Nazis or something and what’s so cheerful about Nazis. And her favorite things were stupid. And that puppet show made me want to impale myself on a cast-iron fence. I HATE THIS MOVIE SO SO HARD. And I KNOW no one else in the WORLD hates this movie. I told you, I am BROKEN.

And now…ready? Ready to take away my official geek membership card? I mean, I debated holding this one back, but no. IT IS TIME I COME CLEAN.


The Star Wars Trilogy

I know.


OK, if you can stop screaming “what the HELLLLL” for a minute, please listen.

If the entire movie was just Han Solo being young Harrison Ford in tight, tight pants, then I wouldn’t have this problem. But it wasn’t.

I could not stand Mark Hamill. He annoyed me so much. I WANTED him to be killed. This was probably not what you were supposed to want to happen. (I have an irrational dislike of blonde, blue-eyed men. I’m pretty sure in a past life I was harassed by one of the Aryan brotherhood.) Princess Leia was also not my favorite thing, although she did not annoy me as much as Luke did. I thought Han Solo could do better.

I didn’t watch these movies all the way through until college when a boy I dug (different one than the Annie Hall boy SHUT UP IT WAS COLLEGE THERE WERE A PLETHORA OF BOYS) thought it was blasphemous that I had not seen them so he made me watch all three back-to-back and I kept falling asleep and he kept making me wake up so I wouldn’t miss things and I just wanted it to STOP ALREADY.

I don’t know why. Don’t ask, because I don’t know. I realize they were a huge step for the geek community and appreciate that. I understand that they were impressive, special-effects-wise. I GET ALL THAT. I do not like them.

I thought for a while it was an outer-space thing, until I watched Firefly and totally dug that so that theory went out the window.

Do I watch them again without the distraction of the boy? Do I let it go? I’m leaning toward letting it go. I really don’t want to watch them again. Oh, and Yoda freaked me OUT. I don’t like puppets. Especially puppets with syntax issues.

So, yes. I’m broken. I’m totally, completely broken. I cannot appreciate good cinema when it reveals itself to me. SORRY WORLD I AM NOT PERFECT.

Pass the popcorn, I’m going to watch Billy Madison for the 40 millionth time. It’s too damn hot for a penguin to be just walking around here. CINEMATIC GENIUS I CAN’T EVEN.

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