I just sat through 2 hours of watching brain-draining, super-sized, alien bugs (no – I’m not still in meetings at work). The movie is “Starship Troopers” (which I’ve seen before so that tells you a lot about me – the fact that I’ve watched it again), and if you have a desire to see humans open cans of whoop-ass on a mess-load of insects, this is the movie for you. Brain Bug is pretty cool – he looks like a giant, rippling kidney bean with about 10 eyes and a brain-sucking device. Hmmm…makes you wonder if about 90% of the human race hasn’t fallen prey to his suction.
***Look forward to what I’m sure will be a humorously, thought-provoking and intriguing article on this whole 90% theory on the blog of one of the most intelligent people I know – who also happens to be one of the greatest friends a person could ever hope to meet. So when that article is written, I will certainly link you to it.
Chris – Now that I’ve built this up…and it’s not that I’m trying to put any undo pressure on you but…is it done yet? Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Here’s a little inspirational quote to get you started:
J: "Why the big secret? People are smart, they can handle it."
K: "A *person* is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it."
(Men In Black)
Speaking of bugs (or maybe speaking of dangerous animals), my husband and I have become the pests of Don Pablos. First of all, the bartender commented, “You two are becoming regulars,” and I’m thinking, “BECOMING? This is our second home! I DREAM about this place!” But you know you’ve gone over the edge when the manager travels from table to table to see how everyone’s doing, and when he gets to your table, he stops, lets out a startled, “Oh!” and then says, “This is pretty scary. You look more familiar to me than my own wife does.” I’m officially afraid…of what I’ve become.
Well, I intended to rant and rave about how much I hate rude people tonight (I don’t just hate them tonight – I hate them all the time…I was just planning to spew off at the mouth tonight about how much I hate rude people because rude people really piss me off and make me want to use everyday household items as weapons), but due to the pleasantries of my evening (brain-draining bugs, the love from Don Pablos, thoughts of building a house made of chocolate – a house in which I would be VERY handy because I could do things like gnaw out a spiral staircase, or eat my way through the roof if I want a skylight - I will postpone my Rude-People Rage for a future entry).
I haven’t listened to Howard Stern in awhile, so it was funny in a weird and coincidental way that he and the gang were talking about Eminem this morning. They were reviewing segments of the VMA show, and they played a tape of Eminem giving his acceptance speech: “I don’t know what to say when I be winning these awards.” (At least he uses a form of the “to be” verb – please refer to my entry from yesterday). Robin Quivers said, “I really wanna see someone jump on that stage and beat the crap outta him.” So there you have it. I’m not the only one who thinks that dude’s messed up.
In addition, another moment that made me chuckle was when Howard started ragging on Justin Timberlake (Nsync for the small percent of the population who possibly have never heard of Brillo Head). Howard said that he thinks the song “I’m Not A Girl (Not Yet A Woman)” was really written for Justin Timberlake and Brittany Spears just stole it from him. Howard goes, “He (Justin) might as well go all the way and get breast implants.”
And speaking of (no – not breast implants) Nsync, another member – Lance Bass, who’s trying to get into outerspace – was told by the Russians not to quit his day job. Apparently his backers can’t pay the gazillion dollars to send him. (Maybe we should send Justin instead. Contributions anyone? Anyone?)
And speaking of outerspace, I haven’t had any cool and exciting dreams about traveling through space or about aliens coming down to earth lately. I’ve had versions of that dream a few times, and for some reason the alien spacecrafts are always surrounded by bright and colorful fireworks. Instead, my dreams have been quite mundane. For example, I dreamt one night last week that my husband and I were at Don Pablos (a local Mexican restaurant that I’ve grown to call ‘my kitchen’ since we’re there practically every freakin’ night), and while we were there, the waiter kept asking us if we wanted more nacho chips…and we kept saying yes…and we kept eating them. How dull is that!
No dreams of espionage, action, adventure, sex…just nacho nibbling at Don Pablos. I did have a dream a few days later that someone was trying to frame me for murder, and I was lying in bed with 2 dead bodies (Freudians – please calm your twisted and disturbed minds), and there was blood all over my bedroom wall. In retrospect, I believe it was the waiter from Don Pablos trying to frame me so I couldn’t keep coming back. Bastard!
Another reoccurring dream I have is that of a huge tidal wave heading my way, but I always manage to be up high enough in some hotel room so it won’t kill me. And I’ve also dreamt a few times that I could breathe under water (maybe that’s why I’m not afraid of the tidal wave – I’m part mermaid), and, yes, even float through the air – but nothing as high-tech as what you see in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” (which is a goal of mine to learn how to move like that – would save me a lot of money on gas to get to work).
A really bizarre dream I had when I was about five years old – and it’s stayed with me ever since. I dreamt that my mom had a bunch of tiny bandaids on her face, and when she peeled them away, beneath each bandaid was an eye, so she had like 50 eyes all over her face. I’ve never looked at my mom the same again…or maybe SHE’S never looked at me the same, what with all those eyes.
Morpheus: Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world? (The Matrix)
Another bizarre dream I’ve had was about these women who were pregnant, but you could see baby aliens inside their bellies, since their bellies were made up of some clear, see-through-type skin. (I swear I don’t sniff glue or inhale paint fumes...much).
So in conclusion (BIG FLAG TO THE READER THAT THIS IS MY LAST PARAGRAPH IN CASE YOU DIDN’T CATCH ON), since I often dream of aliens and flying through outer space, and since it’s evident that my mother is an alien (just ask my husband and my brother-in-law), and since I’ve been drawn to the “X-Files” since day one, I must accept the fact that I am a martian. So I will no longer fret about my freakish ways which I now understand to be normal. Instead, I will continue to observe this race you call Human and attempt to understand its idiosyncracies.
Morpheus:
What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. (The Matrix)
"Mama....I never meant to hurt you...I never meant to make you cry but I'm...just cleanin' out my closet." (Eminem)
"Mama...I never meant to hurt you...and now you just cry and cry cuz I...refuse to clean my closet." (Me - the teenage years)
Eminem is one angry dude (unlike Ferris Bueller who's one righteous dude). You know what makes me angry? (See, I had to come up with some sort of segue into this so I figure who better to open the Angry Doors than Eminem?) I'll tell you what makes me angry (and I have to get this off my chest since I've heard this a few times in the last few days). Folks, when Hamlet said, "To be or not to be," he was not giving you a choice whether 'tis nobler to use the "to be" verb family or not. Please do not butcher the English language and say that your broken refrigerator "needs fixed" or your ketchup-stained, white shirt "needs washed." (And Eminem thinks he has problems!) In the immortal words of MacCauley Caulkin in "Home Alone" after he slaps aftershave onto his freshly shaven 8 year old face, "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Something else that makes me go "AAAAAAAHHHH" (again...needed the transition):
"I have been a slut many times but never a whore." - Ginger Lynn, E True Hollywood Stories
Ginger, a rose by any other name...
And that's about all I have in me for tonight.
Serendipity: Can you believe it? Me -- a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. I can't even write a grocery list.
Bethany: What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them.
Serendipity: That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself.
(
Dogma
... on my list of movies to definitely see.)
Not that I'm a muse by no means - amusing, maybe, a muse - no...but that's how I feel sometimes (not like a muse, just idea-less). And when I attempt to write down my ideas into a format that would enthrall, intrigue, and entertain an audience...nothing...nada...blankity blank. And that's exactly how my brain feels tonight - empty. So I'll write about my soon-to-be-two-year-old nephew instead who is very entertaining, especially during the final musical numbers in "Shrek". He practically sings every word with his 'big' brother Dominic (who is all of 5 years old), and when the song "I Like Big Butts" comes on, he manages to squat all the way down to the floor (which isn't very far since he's only a tad taller than my knees...and that's not saying much since my knees aren't all that far off the ground), and without touching his butt to the ground, he bounces up and down in perfect rhythm. And to the song "Who Let the Dogs Out", he responds perfectly with "woof...woof"... When you ask him if he's smart, he replies with, "No. I cute." When you tell him he's in trouble, he shouts, "I NOT trouble!" (Or maybe that was me responding to my husband :-)
It's amazing to see how fast kids grow up. Dominic starts kindergarten next week. I can still remember parts of my first day of kindergarten. I remember marching around with some silly paper hat on my head to some silly song (not just me alone, the whole class...else I would've been really traumatized). And speaking of silly, I'm sure my outfit was just that; or if not, then as time progressed. There are pictures hidden deep within caverns and catacombs underneath my dad's house that display mixtures of vertical and horizontal stripes all on one body...well, two, since my sister dressed the same way. We resembled exploded boxes of crayola crayons, but according to my mom, we "looked beautiful."
Happy Gilmore: "If I ever caught myself dressed like that, I'd have to kick my own ass!"
My brother-in-law said my sister will NOT be dressing Dominic for school; that's what garanimals are for. I told him that we weren't allowed any kind of animals when we were little. Mom, was it too much to allow us to have a pet giraffe or a pet elephant or something to assist us with our sense (or rather lack of sense...in which case it was NONsense) of style?
