2004-09-23

I'm not going to go through the I'm so busy and haven't updated and blahddy blah-except how I just did. I'm just going to blather whatever's in my head as I (like usual) can't sleep. Been going through a week of renting things I should be ashamed of renting. Things like season 2 of The Osbournes. And worse, things like Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. It's just that both Glenne Headley and Carol Kane are in it. How can I resist the pull of those gals even if it does mean the ultimate in cheese. It gets worse. I rented The Prince and Me. It was on account of Princey Boy looking kind of like Prince William, who I am strangely attracted to even if I don't usually go for blonde, boyish guys.If you think it's a slow movie, try getting a bad copy that burps and pauses constantly. I never wanted a movie to be over so much in my life. But it gets even worse...I have made peace with the fact that I watched Dirty Dancing upwards of a hundred times when I was ten. It does not, however, justify my renting its sequel. Which, by the way, just takes itself way too seriously. It's all, "Let me educate you about Cuba in the sixties." And I'm all, "You're just supposed to have pretty dancing and sexual tension, only leaving a possible five minutes for the Social Studies." But no. I think what bothered me most was I couldn't get over the feeling that our leading man looked about twelve, lending a creepy pedophilia to all the sexy dancing. Okay, then. I'm tired. Nighty night. I never posted the rest of creepy IM convo 2.0. Will do it tomorrow. I need to get up early (and by early I mean 11:30) for mass with the grandfather. One quick thing- said grandfather pulled a dirty trick on me the other night. See, the doorbell rang and there was no one there. That was frustrating, especially when it happened every time I walked away from the damn door. I thought it may be my younger cousin, Patrick, pulling a little joke. Except how it was 11:30 and eleven-year-olds aren't usually traipsing over to Grandpa's that time of night. There was an old woman bludgeoned to death by a teenaged robber in our neighborhood. I thought it could be starting an epidemic. Gangs of roving teens would follow his example, taunting their victims with silly pranks before pillaging their houses. Grandpop was telling me that strange things sometimes happen in the house (there is the phantom fan... another time, maybe) and laughing at me, brandishing his cane as I tiptoed outside and scurried back in several times. The damn bell kept ringing erratically. Grandpop seemed to be suspiciously out of earshot whenever it happened. I almost thought he was punking me. But Granpop? If you knew the man, you'd never figure him as a prank-puller. It got to the point where I called my Uncle Mike, asking him if he'd heard of humidity making a doorbell ring erratically and repeatedly. Then I saw Grandpop had something white in his hands as he stood in his doorway. It was a mechanical bell remote that rang from the same place the doorbell did. It had been in the house for my grandmom when she was sick. Man. outwitted by a man going on eighty-four... for about a half-hour. I must have revenge.