This weekend I watched a couple of movies:

1.) No Country For Old Men, which reinforced my belief that Javier Bardem is nothing but fucking scary. I've believed that for some time now. He's the scariest man in film at this point - the sound of his voice creeps me out until I want to cry like a little girl who just fell down the stairs and broke two ribs and an ankle. He has de-throned Ted Levine (of Silence of the Lambs and Joy Ride) from his previous standing as the most fucked up serial killer voices in the history of serial killers. "Candy Cane, come on!" and "I would fuck me...I would fuck me so hard" have been replaced by "What business is it of yours, friendo?" And the repeating, always the repeating...

2.) My Man Godfrey. Carole Lombard and William Powell, HAWT and hilarious. I rank this one up there with It Happened One Night, Bringing Up Baby, and The Philadelphia Story. Can't rank them against each other. They're all too fabulous.

I've been thinking and reading and researching about grad school endlessly. I discovered a program today in an in-state school that sounds like it suits my needs and requirements just about perfectly. More on this later. Must call schools and investigate.

Pass the time with this:



Nothin' like some mad squirrel action.

I'm on the couch with wicked stomach pain, so here are a few random thoughts and tidbits that have been flashing through my mind repeatedly.

Read this, not just because it's funny. Not just because it reminds me of the Elle MacPherson incident. And not just because the Fug Girls RAWK. Read it because, frankly, I don't think Biel is all that fantastic to look at.

The little voice in my head keeps coming home drenched in men's cologne. It happens to be Curve, which I happen to like, but a.) cologne is hard on my eyes and b.) it's disconcerting to have a scent that makes my thighs twitch emanating from my daughter. Really. Very. Wrong. Plus, it gives off the impression that there's a man wandering around my house and I don't know where he's hiding. Also disconcerting.

Top Three Tarantino Movies (in my opinion) and Why I Like Them So:

Kill Bill Volume 2: The pregnancy test scene and the convo with Kiddo's would-be assassin that ends with the would-be assassin backing away and offering her congratulations.

Pulp Fiction: The Wolf raises his mug in praise of Jimmy's coffee, and Jimmy's tirade about why he doesn't want to help them clean up the mess in the car.

Death Proof: Zoe Bell and Kim's argument about playing Ship's Mast and Kim's response to Zoe Bell's offer of best-friendship.

I have been thinking a lot about what I'm doing to hold myself back in life, both personally and professionally, and I've pinpointed a couple of things. I make these declarations now, out loud and publicly in order to make a contract with myself to change stuff that needs to be changed.

1.) I have been prideful about celibacy and singlehood. The truth is, those things are a backlash of my childhood and a refusal to make the same mistakes and take the same safety risks as my mother. I will no longer make decisions or refuse to take action based on those fears. I will move forward with the flow of things and open myself up to every opportunity presented to me. I will play more.

2.) I will no longer hide myself behind my responsibilities as a mother. I need to take care of myself too - I deserve to love and be loved. I deserve to let myself do those things. I thought I was good at doing that, but I've been holding back, or getting involved in circumstances that did not allow for me to move forward.

3.) I will trust my instincts.

4.) I will trust my abilities.

5.) I will focus on right now. No more holding onto the past and kicking myself for mistakes. I will think positively about the future without waiting around for it and missing or forgetting what I'm doing. I will be grateful for the past and work for a good future, but live right now.

6.) I will slow down. Listen. And breathe.

7.) I will wear sunblock and sunglasses every day.

No more excuses, or anxiety, or guilt, or indecision. No more holding back because I don't know what's coming.

Our host for the Saturday night out also ended up being very hungry at the end of the night, but when we refused him fast food due to time issues, he promised himself a Hot Pocket when he got home and started riffing on this:



I thought the SSLP was going to choke on herself she was laughing so hard.

There are some leftovers that I need to throw out there from the last post.

More about the night of dancing and pseudo-debauchery:

1.) Our host for the night (he deejays for the new club and we're close personal friends with his wife) swaggered out with the three of us on his arms yelling about going home with his "hot Asian bitches." It took me a moment to realize he was talking about us because between me, his wife, and the SSLP we embody all the characteristics in this world that are NOT Asian. He was pretty drunk and it was pretty hilarious, even when we were walking behind actual Asians. Plus, you'd just have to know this deejay to understand how much he is not a pimp.

2.) I happen to be the owner of the camera that took all the blackmail pictures. RELENTLESSLY CAUTIOUS.

More about dating:

I talked about how I don't know how to date "the right, fun way," so I guess I should add here my definition of the right, fun way: flitting lightheartedly from person to person, taking nothing at all seriously and not getting attached in any profound way to the potentials while doing so. Like a queen bee and her drones sort of deal. I either hang out, or I'm a girlfriend. I'm not so good at the in-between, I guess. As well, I don't have the energy or the attention span to date more than one person at a time - too visually confusing, and I know I'd mix up names and call them all the name of the one I was most interested in. Pretty sure that's breaking at least two rules regarding masculine pride.

More about Death Proof:

Foot fetishes and lap dances, my friends. Not to mention the best turnabout I've seen on film in years. It will be mine - oh yes.

I watched Death Proof for the first time. It has to be the best porn I've ever seen. It's fanboy porn, T&A porn, Kurt Russell porn, horror movie porn - it's fantastic.

So, I've been thinking about dating a lot lately. More as an abstract than of me actually engaging in the act of...It's not a fun thing to me, really. Never really has been. Mainly because I think you either know how to do it the right way, the fun way, or you don't. And I don't. Back to the concept. I've been specifically thinking about the climate of dating in this day and age, and specifically in my town.

Frankly, my city sucks for dating. It's too jaded. Too quick and slick to be anything but people looking mainly for immediate gratification. There are times when it works for people here, no doubt - relationships can be developed and succeed (you know who I'm talking about, you). My opinion is definitely a generalization, and there are exceptions to every perception.

Here's a story about some people I know who will remain nameless, though, that I heard, that left me feeling incredibly disappointed and disgusted . They get introduced, they start texting and emailing back and forth (ahhhh, the digital age - intimacy without the necessity of ACTUAL intimacy)and he says to her, Okay, let's do this. I want to get together with you - but here's how it's gonna work. I'm gonna come over, we're gonna fuck, but you're not allowed to talk. Not hello, goodbye, nothing. No talking.

And she agrees to it. And it happened.

This is just amazing to me, and not just because the male individual involved in the transaction is unbelievably not sexy. I have literally thought of him as asexual since the day I met him. I just don't understand how this is it - this is the dating pool that I would be diving into should I choose to do so. People do this.

But there are nice moments sometimes, even when you land directly in the middle of the bullshit that swirls around this town. I was at a new club last night, and it was horrendous, and me and the SSLP were so over it. We walked outside to a poolside area that was actually a breath of fresh air. It was huge and considerately furnished with large round poolside lounge seats. I sat down on one and apologized to a fella laying there. He was awake, not intoxicated, just looking at the sky waiting for his dumb drunk buddy to wander back around from wherever he disappeared to. My feet hurt (the first time back in real shoes since surgery) and he looked quiet and uninvested in all the madness, so I laid down with him. Didn't ask. Just spooned up to him, and he put his arm around me - and we talked. Talked about nursing as a very practical career choice (his) and the massive uselessness of an English degree in this economy (mine) and France and the beach and tattoos, and it was just...nice.

It was random, and surprisingly not skeevy, considering our surroundings and the fact that I laid down with a complete stranger. It kind of reminded me of the plot for this movie coming out called The Girlfriend Experience. The main difference being that we both got an interesting sort of momentary companionship at no cost to either of us. (And two side notes: a.) I was almost completely sobered up from the horror show of trying to get into the place so my actions could not be blamed on alcohol, nor would I want them to be, and b.) it shocked the hell out of my friends who were with me, who bounced over as my committee to grill him for information and also to take pictures to prove that, yes, I co-mingle with boys every once in a while.)

That's it really. I was still relentlessly cautious, didn't give or get a number. And I don't have any deep thoughts about it, other than I don't want to get all jaded too - I don't want to begin believing that everyone's got an angle, that every person I meet is just handing me some sort of line. I want to believe that people mean what they say.

The other day I realized, not for the first time, how sadly deficient I am in Russian and French lit. So measures are being taken (but I won't say by whom - maybe I'm getting spankins from some hot Russian lit professor!). In real life, no spankins. Just my library card and some late nights with a couple of fellas named Tolstoy and Dostoevsky (is that how you spell it?). I still have a bad taste in my mouth from Madame Bovary, so the French will have to just wait for my good opinion. Plus I have to do some research to uncover which novels are considered the greats in the French canon of literature.

This is a glamorous life, but hey! It all starts when I shake up my reading list! I'm proud of myself for trying new (to-me) writers instead of reading the same books over and over again. Maybe I used to do that...

Oh, also, fuck medical advice! I'm doin' the yoga! I figure since they didn't find a hiatal hernia with the barium swallow, then I don't have one (several medical articles advised that that is the only way to find a hiatal hernia). So there's no reason to continue abstaining. I'm stretching and posing, my friends. The stress relief will only do my alleged ulcers good!