Praises & Bitchings: New Album Reviews-ish

September is a cornucopia of eargasms with the upcoming release of Opeth's new album, Heritage, and Tori Amos's Night of Hunters. Or is it?

I listened to both back-to-back last night, making mental notes and losing sleep from the thoughts I was attempting to gather. If you didn't already know, Opeth is one of my favorite bands of all time. And Tori is my wife. Sort of. She doesn't know. And I don't stalk her or anything, so she will never know. Wow, what a shitty marriage. Plus, she's married to someone else and we don't belong to that Mormon sect that still loves polygamy or whatever.

Anyway, let's get on with it.

(Disclaimer: I may sound harsh or entitled or something in some parts, but don't take it too seriously. I don't expect anyone to do what I say, ever, especially my favorite musicians.)

Dear Tori,

Please refrain from using your child's singing on anything else ever again. It ruined the album. I do not like the sound of children's voices, with the possible exception of young Michael Jackson. And even then I greatly prefer his adult voice, shamoning all over the place. To me, this screams self-indulgence or stage-mom-nepotism weirdness (for lack of better words). The album had the potential to be so amazing. Your voice is beautiful, the music is stunning and soothing, and I do love the songs that feature just you, doing what you do. So I'm not like, "Y U NO MAKE BOYS FOR PELE PT. 2?!?!" or anything like that. I noticed on another track, there was another voice. Didn't like that either. Just please, for the love of cheese, stop it. If you're going to have a guest vocalist, bring back Trent Reznor. I'm not even sure if you talk to him anymore, but do it anyway. His collaborations with his wife are irritating as well. And I'm not just saying that because I had a major crush on him and still think that you and he should have married. Bah.

Love,
Probably in the doghouse


Dear Mikael Åkerfeldt/Opeth,

Y U NO MAKE BLACKWATER PARK 2?!?!
Nah, I'm kidding, even though Blackwater Park is one of the best albums ever made.
Thank you for not having your children featured as guest vocalists. Also, you pretty much admitted that this album would be self-indulgent, so I appreciate that. We knew about your passion for prog. It was only a matter of time that you'd do this. I can say that I liked the album upon first listen. I will come to love it in time, I'm sure. It lacked growls but was not a Damnation clone. Your singing continues to improve. I can only hope my voice will do that too someday. I didn't miss the growls, but that's probably because I was listening with a splitting headache at the time, possibly caused by kids singing where they shouldn't. The music was comforting to me. Y'all are doing a great job. Objectively, Heritage is not my favorite Opeth album. You don't care. I don't expect you to care. Still rocks, though. And you still look like Jesus, Mike. I cannot wait to see Opeth and Katatonia live next month!

Love,
Trying not to have a one-person Wayne's World moment

P.S. When is Katatonia releasing a new album? I need it. Badly.

Being Too Close To Nature, Plasma Facilities, and Hungry People

WARNING: This post might be a bit lengthy. I probably deserve every tl;dr that I might get. Read on, if you dare.

Well, hello again. Since my last update I've been pretty busy with various things. They range from the mundane (eating, toileting, sleeping, marathoning Dragonball and Dragonball Z, etc.) to I-can't-believe-this-is-happening (read on for that stuff).

Firstly, last weekend was spent "donating" plasma and then drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling like death. Was it worth the $85 (Zach made $50; I made $35)? Damn straight. The more excruciating part was the many hours in the waiting room and various testing rooms, where they made us repeat our names, addresses, and social security numbers as if we were some kind of amnesiacs. Then we had to prove we were literate a couple times, followed by a bunch of health questions and physical examinations. The bright side? After some typical Hugh Grant movie finally decided to get off the screen, they showed MRS. DOUBTFIRE!!! One of my favorite movies of all time. Too bad I missed most of it because of the various exams and interrogations. :(

While we were in the donating stage, Major Payne came on, which royally pissed me off. The movie, in case you aren't familiar with it, begins with George Thorogoods' "Bad to the Bone." There is a certain other fabulous piece of cinematic genius that also begins with that song. It's about this adopted redheaded boy who gets in a lot of trouble and causes all kinds of problems for the kind, loving, and handsome man who just wanted to be a great dad, but gets shit on by everyone he knows, because apparently that town is full of asshats. Problem Child. I was really, really hoping that I was about to have the presence of John Ritter soothing me in a time of extreme anxiety. But noooooo. Damon Wayans had to ruin everything. If they had to show a movie starring him, why wasn't it Earth Girls Are Easy? Then I could have been comforted by Jeff Goldblum's presence, at least. Bah.

I decided on listening to Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds instead, which helped for awhile...until the numbness spread throughout my body. I begun to panic, nearing hyperventilation. My brain stopped functioning temporarily; I still don't recall turning off my iPod. By the time the phlebotomist came to help me, I had lost my hearing. Apparently we had not eaten enough beforehand, which can cause some nasty side effects such as this. I thought I was okay after a few minutes of rest. But then I collapsed outside the clinic, alone and starring in a one-man slapstick show. We haven't gone back since then, but hopefully it will be better next time.

Thursday held a trip to downtown for Pig Out in the Park. I love food, and I love downtown. Unfortunately...waaaaaay too crowded for my liking. I expected it, but I deal with it much better when I'm not actually experiencing it. Crowds make me claustrophobic.

Zach & I had some yummy Chinese food. My one complaint is that their egg rolls were called "The best egg rolls ever." Now, when somebody makes a claim like that, it had better be true. They were quite good, but I've had better. The ones my mom & I used to make were honestly the best ones I've had so far (and I've consumed soooo many egg rolls in my lifetime). That's not being conceited or anything. Just my opinion.

Also, we've decided that once we can afford an apartment, we're going to try to move downtown. It's surprisingly cheaper than I thought.

So then we decided to go camping for the weekend with Zach's parents, his sister, and her boyfriend. I've realized that I'm more of a nature lover in theory than in practice, for one reason. Just one. INSECTS. They were horrible.

There were some good times: S'mores, taking photographs, seeing all the cute squirrels run around, getting drunk and playing a rousing game of Balderdash...

And then there were bad times.

Bees. Mosquitoes. Flying ants. EVERYWHERE. All over me, all over the food, all over everyone else...if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is insects on food. If I've seen something land on it, I will not eat it. It's just gross. Not to mention my severe phobia of bees/wasps/hornets/bumblebees/yellow jackets/etc. If they are near me long enough, I have panic attacks.

By the time we got home, I felt dirty and like I'd never be the same again. One shower later and I still feel them crawling on me. Maybe I need therapy...again.

In Pursuit of Sustenance

As I type this, sweat is still clinging to my back. My hair is damp, and the exhaustion is creeping up on me like a thief in the night. A perfect testimony to my lack of physical shape, it feels as if I've just reached the summit of a tall mountain and gone back down again. In reality we only walked a few miles and back. The heat was scorching, the sun sending its bright light right (try saying that 10 times fast) into our faces. I had considered doing a rain dance in the middle of the street. Even some cloud cover would have been acceptable. Maybe some wind. How much is that to ask? In the almost three months that I've been here, I can count on one hand how many times it's rained.

Anyway, enough about the weather. The question is: why? Why did we do this? The exercise? Sort of. Lack of transportation? Yeah, that's part of it. I've given the most important reason away in the title, of course. We were hungry.

The chosen restaurant: Five Guys Burgers and Fries.

Zach went there for his birthday last year and told me about it since I was over 2000 miles away at the time. Today was my first time there, after bugging him to go for the last couple weeks. I'd read all kinds of great things about it, mostly on The Consumerist, and read some not-so-great things. Those mostly came from the Californians spoiled by In-N-Out Burger. I've been to California twice, and still haven't tried it. Maybe someday...but I digress.

When we finally reached the place, we were drenched in sweat and ready to kiss the inventors of deodorant and air conditioning.

The interior at this location looked very clean, which was immediately a plus. It was semi-crowded, but I'd expected more people at dinner time on a Friday evening. Also a plus, since I was starving and too many people make me feel claustrophobic.

The inside is decorated in a red and white color scheme, with praises from a variety of sources plastered on the walls. Okay, so you've shown me several reasons to have high expectations before I even have the food in my hands. Now prove them right.

The prices are fairly high, which is a minus. For two "little" bacon burgers (one patty instead of two), two drinks, and one regular order of Cajun fries, it set me back over $17. The bright side is that there's a big list of toppings that one can choose from, all free, and free refills on the drinks. If I hadn't consumed a few cups of pop, then I doubt the meal would have been filling enough for me. Then again, I have a voracious appetite. The regular fries were said to feed two people; I definitely felt like I needed my own. Most people probably would be satisfied, though. But, considering the price, it should be enough for anyone. Next time I hope I can afford one with two patties.

My burger was essentially like a steak on a bun.

Toppings: onions, grilled mushrooms, lettuce, green peppers, A1 steak sauce, and hot sauce.

For the most part, it was delicious. The Cajun fries were even better than I expected. The main problem was with the bun. It fell apart. I've seen other complaints about that, so I know it's not just one bad bun. Zach's was doing the same thing.

Pros: Lots of free toppings, free refills, friendly staff, clean interior, yummy fries

Cons: A little expensive for those with limited budgets (like yours truly), buns that fall apart, extensive use of peanut oil. The last isn't actually a con for me, but would be for those with peanut allergies. There are also peanuts sitting out for people to snack on while they wait or with their food. Definitely an allergy danger zone. I can relate. I almost died at Red Lobster once.

Overall, I would recommend it if you're tired of run of the mill fast food burgers and fries, like to get creative with your food, and have a little extra money to spend. They also serve hot dogs and vegetarian options. I will definitely be going there again sometime.

(Also, I didn't notice, but Zach told me that some creeper was staring at my ass while I was there. I NEVER notice things like that. Most of the time I'm completely oblivious to my surroundings. Oops.)

Oh, and my 'R' key isn't sticking anymore.

That Cupcake Tastes Like Shame

Warning:
This entry may or may not discuss diets, exercise, fatness, and all that other crap that everyone else seems to be preoccupied with these days. I will not blame you if you deliberately yawn and get as far away from here as possible.

Before I begin, please allow me to establish some facts about myself.

A.) While I am not technically overweight now, I have been in the past and am pretty much teetering on the edge again. It might have been my potato and chicken wings diet that I had going on for awhile this year, or...

2.) Portion control my arse! Super size it? Yes, please! In fact, gimme two of 'em! I've always been a big eater. For a long time I used food as comfort to help cope with my depression. I don't eat as much as I used to, but I would if I actually could.

D.) Exercise? Is that the thing where the priest goes all, "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!" with the holy water and tries to get demons out of girls with a proclivity for projectile vomiting? Oh, wait...that's an exorcism. Then what the bloody hell is exercise?

The hilarious thing about this is that I happened to be an athletic child. I loved sports, basketball in particular. I collected cards with my favorite players on them, practically worshipped Michael Jordan as my own personal deity, took the opportunity to shoot some hoops whenever I had the chance, and could own the much taller adults in HORSE or PIG (assuming they didn't let me win, the scoundrels). Back then I was on a ramen and Dorito diet (mostly by choice), so that probably explains why I didn't contribute to childhood obesity statistics.

Once I hit puberty that athleticism disappeared like it had never been there in the first place. I decided to focus on my burgeoning "talents" on the artistic side of things and didn't look back.

Anyway, the point is, I'm not really one to take enjoyment in physical activities these days. I've tried several times and have given up because it bores me and hey, it's been two months and WHY DO I LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME?!?! Screw this, I'm going out for a Whopper (they're better than Big Macs). Then, I'm gonna eat an entire cake by myself. Huzzah.

It's not pretty. Not at all.

Which brings me to the next topic of discussion. Healthy eating. It hurts. Big, juicy steak, or salad? I can only have one. Get the salad away from me, ASAP, or I'm throwing it at the wall. This would be every day with me. I'm a meat and potatoes girl. Always have been. Occasionally I'll have vegetables, but only if I'm getting everything else I want too.

However, since I've moved in with my boyfriend and his family, I'm doing a bit better since I'm not the one doing the cooking most of the time. His mom cooks healthier meals than what I'm used to.

I'm also doing better with the exercise. Zach (boyfriend) is fairly in shape already and likes to work out. Last week I started doing it with him. My first day on the exercise bike, I couldn't even burn 50 calories before I felt like dying. I think I only made it to 35. Yikes. Last night I made it to 130. That was a huge struggle, especially toward the end. I was panting, sweating everywhere, and gritting my teeth while Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It" blasted into my ears.

Tonight I did a total of 150, with other exercises in between. According to the scale I've dropped 2 pounds already. Probably water weight, BUT IT'S PROGRESS!!!

I'm also trying to do it for health reasons, as my health isn't the best to begin with and Zach gets upset when I joke about dying from a massive heart attack at the age of thirty.

We shall see if it sticks. I am a notorious flake about, well, everything. My bad.

Stephen King Must Not Be Human. Period.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Throb. Throb. Throb. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

A drum circle of pain used my head as a rehearsal space, a constant beat imprinting itself into the inside of my skull. All was black. What had happened?

I refrained from opening my eyes, attempting to gather my thoughts. Blurry images floated around. None came into focus. Something wasn’t right here. I had a feeling that this was not the result of a night of binge drinking or simply falling and hitting my head. Why couldn’t I remember anything?

I realized that I was moving. I was in someone’s car. Every bump that the tires hit caused my head to feel like it would burst open. My forehead was resting against the dashboard, adding insult to injury. By approximately the fifth large bump, a soft cry of pain spilled from my lips.

Voices. I heard voices. More than one.

This is a story that I started about five months ago. This is all I've written so far. I haven't necessarily been working on it the whole time, but therein lies the problem. It is/was based on a disturbing dream I'd had. As long as I could remember everything I'd dreamt and could make necessary changes, how hard could it be? If I'd started this story several years ago, I would have at least forty pages by the five-month mark. What changed? I'm trying very hard to figure it out. Sometimes I feel like the real me has been replaced by a less efficient me. A me that can't do anything at all.

I never thought I was a particularly good writer; it was always other people telling me that while I usually flat out disagreed or privately wondered what they saw that I did not. All I could see were the flaws. The plot holes, the cheesy dialogue, the poor attempts at humor, the overall amateur vibe...or in poetry, the cringe-worthy figurative language that cried "TEENAGE ANGST!!" Well, they say we're our own worst critics.

Perhaps that's why the inspiration dried up and I gave up, even extending to this blog.

I thought I was a failure when I was writing things that weren't up to my extremely high standards. Turns out I feel like a bigger failure when I'm sitting around waiting for ideas that won't materialize, or the lack of discipline that causes me to abandon ones that do. No one wins here.

Also, the 'R' key keeps sticking, which disturbs me.

Things Have Happened.

Since it's been an eternity since my last update, of course there would be at least SOMETHING different going on at some point. Otherwise I'd be even more boring (and depressed about it) than I am now. Anywho...since then, I've moved a lot of times. I had my first job, quit my first job (because I moved), got my driver's license, traveled to a few places, and ended up breaking my "no boyfriend ever again" rule. So far that's been going pretty spiffy, if I do say so myself. We've been together for a year-and-a-half and I live with him, thus making my dreams of leaving the Midwest come true. We met through our mutual love of Opeth, which is also pretty damn spiffy. And in another exciting turn of events, we're seeing them (and Katatonia, my favorite band!) together in October. Ah, romance.

So, enough of that gooey sh-show of emotion. Hopefully I won't disappear again for another 2 years. I need the writing practice. Badly.

Day Numero Uno, Continued: Trying New Things! *spazzes*

Friday, July 17th

So we departed from the airport. I saw no celebrities while I was at the airport, which leads me to believe that I have some kind of curse placed on my head. When I was in California in October, I saw no one (if you don't count the actors from Wicked; the guy that played Steve on Married With Children was in it). I was there for 9 days. WTF?! They are all hiding. They must know I'm crazy. They've probably actually got Danny locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere in Europe until they know I'll be millions of miles away from Cali. *sadface*

While we were on the road, talking ensued. Lots of talking. I normally am not that talkative, unless I'm with my mom or something. I just like to annoy her. But as I said before, it was like I'd known May for ages. Speaking of good ol' mom, I had to call her to tell her that I hadn't been abducted by rapist werewolves or something.

We passed two notable things that I can remember: The Staples Center, which is where MJ's memorial service was held. It was crazy because not even 2 weeks before that I was watching that from my tiny laptop screen in the cluttered abyss that is my bedroom. And then we passed this HUGE Harry Potter ad on a building. Snape was on it. He was bringing the sexy like a mofo. I love that he looks like an older version of Trent Reznor. Alan Rickman is another man in my exclusive "Age 50+ Men That I'd Have 'Relations' With Every Day and Twice on Sunday!" I kind of sacrificed my Harry Potter viewing to go to Cali (which was worth it!). I hope to see it soon. Sometimes it sucks to only have friends that live 3753277 hours away. Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

I got to see May's office and meet her dad. Her parents are very awesome and adorable. Her dad makes some seriously amazing jewelry, which I need to tell my aunt about soon. She's been working in the JC Penney jewelry department for...a very long time. I assume she'd be interested.
After taking a quick pee break (unnecessary detail?), we set off to explore! I should have been tired at this point, but I was full of piss and vinegar (well, technically just vinegar, since the piss had just been expelled) and ready to PAR-TAYYY!
I'd never seen more jewelry stores in my life. Also, for the first time in my life, I ate at El Pollo Loco. Which, of course, translates to "The Crazy Chicken." That's my kind of place right there! The chicken burrito I ordered was ginormous and delicious. I'm rather sad that we don't have that here. One more reason for me to GTFO and go live there.

You know what else I did? Rode the freaking subway! Yeah, yeah, big deal. But it was to me! I'd only seen them in the movies! I live such a sheltered life, and that was made about as obvious as a giant wart on someone's face, but my sheltered, easily amused self enjoyed it immensely. I saved my tickets.

Wandering around Hollywood Blvd was quite an adventure. I spent much time looking at the ground, but not for the same reasons I usually do. I was looking at the stars, trying to find names of people I adore or people I could directly relate to Danny in some way. Yes, I am a nerd. I saw Pee-Wee Herman's star. The picture is regrettably still on my phone. Same with Ozzy Osbourne's. Ozzy's been an idol of mine since I was a young metalhead fresh out of seventh grade. *nostalgia*

I took this picture especially for my mom. She's the biggest Fleetwood Mac fan that I know, even going as far as to name her only child after Stevie Nicks. I figured said only child should do that. Mom was pleased.

Apparently some guys were checking me out at one point. That never happens, so I'm reluctant to believe that it's any different in another part of the country. I told May I was going to look up the phrase that was used, but I don't remember what it was. Goldfish memory, of course. I also don't remember what they looked like. I'm surprised I even remember enough to write these blogs! I'm the world's youngest Alzheimer's sufferer, I swear.

May took me to this awesome bar called the Velvet Margarita. And when I say awesome, it's an understatement. The decor was GORGEOUS. I was looking up reviews last night and someone said it was like being in a Tim Burton movie. My kind of place indeed, heh heh heh. I met a couple of her friends who worked there. May, if you're reading this, you seriously do have cute friends.

If I may digress for a second: THERE ARE QUITE A FEW CUTE GUYS IN LA!!! ARGH!! This is extremely frustrating when you live in a shithole filled with redneck, conservative types whom you'd never get along with in a million years. The most attractive person is the one with all their hair and teeth who DOESN'T listen to country music and watch NASCAR. I'm not even sure if such a person exists, unless you count the emos and wannabe gangstas that are around my age. Which I don't, because I tend to gravitate toward older men. Much older...*cough* Yes, Freud would have a field day with me, I know. Anyway, enough ranting.

While checking out other various, cool-as-hell buildings, we noticed a big group of people standing around something. *GASP* I couldn't believe it. It was Michael Jackson's star. I wasn't sure if I'd get to see it or not. Seeing it up close with the many tributes to him laid around it was very emotional. I wanted to leave him something too, but I had nothing. More on that later.

Eventually we (and by that I mean us and her parents) went back to May's house. I don't mean to be mean with this, but she had a sick turtle that looked straight out of Star Wars. It was cool, but sad.
While we waited for dinner and for Cathy to show up, we watched some special features on the Edward Scissorhands DVD which showed Danny looking like the cutest nerd of all time and *gag* his ex-girlfriend. One day, when I get a time machine...oh, don't get me started on that speech again. That digression might take about 10 different blog posts.
We watched a Jeff Goldblum movie that I'd been dying to see, and I was not disappointed. Another one of May's friends came over. She, naturally, was cool. We talked a bit and watched Ah-nold make an ass of himself in Rio. Funniest shit I'd ever seen, and I actually like Ah-nold. Maybe I wouldn't if I lived in Cali, but..."It's not a toomah!" That's all I'm saying.

Cathy showed up and it was good times. Dinner was authentic Spanish food, which I'd never had in my life. LOVED IT. I miss it, actually. Again, I'm back to my lack of food diet, which is doing my head in as far as brain power is concerned. My writing is going to suffer. I think it is already. Damn.

More talking ensued until late that night. It was kind of funny because my jetlagged self was slowly falling asleep as the conversation went on...until the subject switched to Danny. Suddenly I was awake, alert, and contributing animatedly to the convo. That tends to happen quite a bit, seeing as he is my favorite subject. I'm majoring in Elfmanology. I'm trying for my Master's degree in it! Huzzah!

Seriously, though. Look at him. He should be everyone's favorite subject. Period. Exclamation point. Whatever.

We discussed many things, from the fact that Danny has been Elton John-ing recently and...Geisha-ing?! You had to be there. A week later and that still cracks me up. And training he may or may not have had. Oh, and his hair. Yeah, all kinds of good stuff. I love him.

Fastforward to bedtime. I was crashing at Cathy's mom's place and got a delightful surprise. A beautiful picture of Danny in a frame in ze guest room. The fun didn't stop there. Cathy showed me a couple posters she'd brought. One specific picture almost gave me a heart attack. Yeah, that one. I mean, really, does the man even REALIZE what he does to poor young women such as myself? I used to make fun of people in suspenders a couple years ago. Now I look at them and go, "SHAZAAAAAAAAAAM! HOLY MOTHER OF BOB SAGET! HOTHOTHOT!!! I'm on FIYAH!!! YOWZA! WOOOOOOOO!" You get the idea. You know how awkward that is? Hittin' up a Chinese buffet and seeing some overweight, elderly man sporting those things and suddenly having a craving for something that is NOT Chinese food?!?! What the hell have you done to me, Danny? I'm a monster. A fiend. A twelve-year-old girl.

Let's hope he never reads this. The last thing he needs is to know that a certain creepy redheaded girl is madly in love with him. Ignorance is bliss indeed.

So, I digress again.
We went to sleep, because the next day was going to be EPIC. The end.

Hopefully the next part is coming tomorrow. I've noticed that the 'A' is fading from my keyboard and that disturbs me.

Adventures In My Personal Heaven, Day Numero Uno: The Arrival.

Friday, July 17th:

My plane was set to fly out of Columbus at approximately 6:16 AM. I'd spent the hours leading up to the event nervous as hell. A series of paranoid "What if?" scenarios ran through my mind as I packed the remainder of my things. What if I missed the plane? What if security thought I was a terrorist because I'd packed something questionable? What if I got to Houston and missed THAT plane? What if I got to California and annoyed the shit out of my friends? After all, we'd only met on a Danny Elfman forum. I felt like we all knew each other fairly well, but I was concerned that some of my more irritating quirks could only be seen in person, therefore causing them to rethink their opinion of me.

So with my hands sweaty and trembling with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, I set off for the airport. The hour drive involved lots of staring out the window with a lot on my mind. When we made it there, my friend dropped me off at the door and was gone. I was alone. At an airport. For the first time in my life. Panic attack? Luckily, I just kept trembling and that was it. I'd rather be seen as somebody with Parkinson's Disease for the time being than have a full-blown panic attack. Those are as much fun as being locked in a room for hours with Paris Hilton.

I'd managed to get through security without a hitch. There was one less thing to worry about. I found the gate very quickly. Another worry obliterated. I made it onto the plane. Huzzah! I had an aisle seat. NOOOOOOO! I despise aisle seats. Why? Because you always get those irritating fuckers by the window having to get up for whatever reason and disturbing my peace. I have NEVER gotten up from my seat while on an airplane. Ever. And that's who the window seats should be reserved for. I know it cannot necessarily be guaranteed that one will not get up during a flight, but in my case it can. If I have to pee, I hold it. I'm not leaving my stuff unattended, and I am not interested in trying to use a toilet in a cramped space. I'd be having a Tommy Boy moment while trying to get my pants up or something. It doesn't help that I am horribly clumsy. And of course, the person by the window DID get up. I was sleeping AND rocking out. Ugh.

We made it to Houston and I couldn't get off that plane fast enough. In my urgency to GTFO, I hit my thigh on part of the armrest and I knew it would bruise. I was right. Looks rather nasty too. See? Me = klutz.
At the Houston airport, I had a bit of a Home Alone moment. The flight into there was late, I saw a commemorative Michael Jackson magazine that I HAD to have, and the line was freaking Great Wall of China long. After I got it, I made a mad dash for the gate, fearing that I'd miss the plane and be stranded in the airport while everyone else was having fun watching Forbidden Zone the next day. Making a mad dash for a gate that seems to be miles away with like 25 lbs. of crap on your back has 'chiropractor' written all over it. But, I made it, with several minutes to spare. I sat there panting and sweaty, receiving weird looks from the surrounding people.

On this next plane, I was in the middle seat. The window guy here was also annoying, but for a different reason. Dude was hogging the armrest! If I wasn't sleeping most of the time, I'd have started something. Maybe he figured that I didn't need as much arm room because I'm kind of small and female. Well, guess again. I'm a gorilla in most senses of the word. Bah. Again, I was more than happy to GTFO. And now, we'd arrived at LAX. w00t! I'd reached my final destination (and the plane scene from that movie pops into my head every time they use that phrase and I can't suppress a shudder).

I called my friend, May. She and her mom were going to pick me up. I was informed that I'd have to take a shuttle to Lot C. Shuttle? Lot C? Oh, shit! This was not in the plans! Commence the freak out! Taking a deep breath, gathering up every ounce of courage I could find, I held my head up and followed the signs out of there. A cute black guy greeted me at the exit and asked me if I needed help, so I asked him where the shuttles were and what not. A huge misunderstanding later, he showed me where I needed to go. He asked me if I would donate to starving children in Africa or something, and once it had been confirmed that he was legit, I did. Not much, because I'm broke as shit, but still. Africa reminded me of Danny, starving children reminded me of Michael, the guy was cute, and I try not to be TOO selfish.
I made my way over to the shuttle stop. It took a million years for it to get there. When I made it to Lot C, there was a bit of a struggle to find me. Everything turned out okay in the end, though, and I finally got to see/hug May in person. It was such a crazy feeling. I'd never met any friends from a forum before, and it was surprisingly not awkward at all. I automatically felt like I'd known her for years. I knew that this was going to be a trip I'd be telling my grandchildren about if I ever decide that I don't highly dislike kids, haha.

To find out what we did later that day, check back soon. I gotta take a break, man. My fingers are falling off and I need some food.

There will be several blog posts documenting my trip. O_O

Noodles For Fatso

The role of "Fatso" will be played by myself in this production. "Noodles" will be played by the delicious egg noodles that are now being eroded by my stomach acid.

I cooked tonight. There was no fire. Nothing was even burnt. Culinary brilliance has been achieved once again. We've got the tools, we've got the talent! It's Miller time! HUZZAH!

Although...part of the chicken did look questionable...but we'll pretend that didn't happen.

I'm dead tired right now, to the point where I could start hallucinating at any time. I have such a big mess to clean up, so while I'm doing that there will be a purple rabbit in a top hat reading the newspaper and conversing with me about the weather. Good times.

Meanwhile, writer's block still sucks worse than a two-dollar hooker with herpes and OCD strikes my blog once again.
I'm also saddened to know that I won't be seeing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince until next week because I suck at life and can't drive myself to the theater. Happiness denied. Until Friday.

Peace, love, and bacon grease. I'm getting some damn sleep and hoping that the massive zit on my face (it knows where it is) will GTFO by tomorrow because it looks diseased. Stupid, stupid skin. No wonder I was invited to join the nearest leper colony. I'd fit right in.

Artsy Haircuts, J-Rock Obsessions & Pre-trip Pantswetting

Today, I did something drastic. Something never heard of before, at least as far as my body is concerned. I went into it with my nerves running high, the adrenaline rushing through me as I contemplated the possible outcomes. The cynical part of myself that everyone knows and loves (HA-HA!) had me convinced that I'd live to regret it. I'd leave feeling ugly, begging to turn back time to rectify the damages that had occurred. Looking like a dirty hippie appeared to be not so bad after all! The trust issues would be justified. My world successfully reduced to rubble around me.

I'm talking, of course, about my haircut. My hair used to be on the longer side, thick, bushy, and horrid. I've despised it for months now, wishing the haircut fairy would come during the night and take away my misery. To my great dismay, the chance of that happening is about as slim as Danny showing up to my house and declaring that one wife isn't enough and proposing to me on the spot. Yeah, ain't gonna happen. Sadness.

The results were surprising. Very surprising. I hadn't counted on the shortness. Well, I had, but not THIS short. At first I was like, "OMGWTF?! What happened to me?! I'm looking in the mirror and not seeing what I've been accustomed to seeing!" And then, upon further review, I realized...OMG, THIS IS ME!!! The me on the inside, finally showing through. I struggle with my identity constantly, so this is reassuring.

So aside from feeling totally badass, I've got a raging obsession with J-Rock right now. Mainly Dir en grey, X Japan, The Pillows, and Gackt. I
loved it before, as I think Japanese is the most beautiful language ever and those singers have gorgeous voices, but the passion has really been kicked into overdrive. Also, I'm very fascinated with the visual kei movement. Japanese men are brilliant at being pretty fo' sho! I have a feeling I'll be using a lot of J-Rock as the soundtrack for my trip, along with some serious amounts of Michael Jackson and Oingo Boingo. Excellent stuff.

Speaking of my trip, I'm wetting 'em right now. And by that I mean pissing my pants. Just a few more days now, and I'm flying out to California. Alone, with the exception of my mental illness as a travel companion. Holy spaz attack, Batman! LAWDY HELP MEH! I feel like I've got millions of things to do. So goes the life of a procrastinator...

PS: Bachelor Party is one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. Tom Hanks + Oingo Boingo + total chaos = classic 80's goodness. Why did I miss it?! Somebody bulid me a time machine. Seriously. I'll love you forever. I'll sacrifice my first born. I'll wear a pink leotard! *shudders* Never mind. No one wants to see that. If you do, I question your mental stability. Insanity is a great thing, but NOT when it involves pink leotards and me in them. It's wrong. WRONG.