Then you haven't seen enough movies...

I first watched this like a week ago, and now the free viewings are gone, so sorry I didn't say anything sooner --

But have the rest of you seen Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog?? Joss Whedon and family's response to boredom during the writer's strike?? It's BRILLIANT. Hilarious and sad and the music is top notch, and my love of Neil Patrick Harris has grown even more (I didn't think it could!!) WATCH IT!

Here's the trailer, but you're gonna have to find the 3 acts on iTunes yourself:


Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.


Like I said, the free viewings are over, but you can still download all 3 acts on iTunes. Don't pirate it. Whedon's trying to make money independently of major production companies, he's proving an excellent point, so I think pirating it would be really lame.

I played this with my sisters and Eric for the first time in a long time on the drive up to Chicago on Friday. Funny you guys should post it now.
Here's my future. Not too shabby, I reckon. Although Warrenton?....

		I will marry Joey.
		After a wild honeymoon, We will settle down in Warrenton in our fabulous Mansion.
		We will have 1 kid(s) together.
		Our family will zoom around in a Orange Mini Cooper.
		I will spend my days as a Filmmaker, and live happily ever after.

Dear Future Liz,

Today is June 4. June 4th is yours and Joey's anniversary, the day you made things official.

I know how you are with memory and all, so I thought I'd let you know.


I hope you're very happy, like how I feel right now.

Love,
Past Liz

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I'm 20 now.

Crazy.

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I'm so happy right now. And I know it's because of a man, and I don't even care, I'm sure some independent feminist part of me is punching the walls right now but I don't care because I think we're finally realizing how happy we really make each other.

"You're wonderful to me. You're the girl everyone wants. You're hot, smart, amazing, and beautiful--- hot, sexy, and gorgeous-- a fine ass piece of life that exists without the revolving planet. You're the queen of any species."
"I love you."
"Hey. Love you too."

It's cold, but I don't mind. The air has more of a brisk, cleanly cold feeling than just straight-up frigid. I'm wearing my "burglar cap", a hat I impulsively bought sometime ago and never wear because it's unflattering and makes me look like (go figure) a burglar. I sit down on the steps outside my apartment and light up a cigarette. I'm not really sure why I felt the urge to smoke; I only ever really smoke at work (I challenge you to work customer service, in a position of supposed authority no less, and not rely on nicotine to get you through the day in one mental piece). I only step outside at home when I'm feeling particularly shitty. I had been doing this fairly regularly for a couple weeks - I haven't been sleeping which has fucked with my emotional equilibrium, was in a fight with a good friend (which has been resolved, thank goodness), and generally had been letting things get to me even more so than I usually do by nature. But at this very moment I feel good.

It's the first time in a long time that I feel content and at ease. I still have my share of problems, my life still has a tendency to run on the weird and unexpected side of the spectrum, but I'm doing alright for myself. Lately, all in all, I enjoy work and have lightened up on my more workaholic tendencies, which in turn has relieved my usual tension. I'm financially comfortable for, uh, the first time ever. I feel good about myself more often than not despite my usual insecurities. I'm finally feeling more like the apartment is "home" to me. And most importantly, I know some amazing people; I love my friends and am loved by them in return. Things could be much worse and I'm actually well aware of that for once.
Wow. Is this perspective I'm feeling? I'll be damned. I'm usually shit with perspective.

Across the street, an older woman comes out of her apartment building and lights up a cigarette herself. It seems on the few occasions I have smoked while at home, this lady has come out at the same time. In an attempt to have a "moment", I nod my head in acknowledgment at her. But from the distance I am from her, she either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Oh well, cest la vie. I'm getting better at remembering my life isn't the movie it likes to think it is, despite the inner monologue running through my head, along with dramatic delusions of grandeur. I get back to my solitariness and musings. After a few moments, a younger woman and an even younger than that guy come out as well and talk to her. The guy walks towards his car while the older woman calls out to him, probably something along the lines of "Don't be out too late!" or "Call if you need to!" He seems attractive enough from a distance, but he is wearing a white visor. I don't go for dudes with visors. I finish my cigarette, flick it aside, and go back in. I take a nice, long, scalding hot shower and feel my whole body relax. I needed to feel like this, physically and emotionally, for awhile. I'm grateful for the feeling.

I'm not where I thought I'd be. I know I could be doing a lot of other things that would make me happier. Things haven't worked out necessarily the way I'd hoped. But for what I've got and for where I am, I'm ok. That's all a person can ask for, right?

I'm sorry, I know this is completely uncouth and blatantly, obnoxiously cocky, but I could never say this to anyone's face but I'm really stoked about it....

HOLY SHIT I'VE NEVER SEEN SO MUCH MONEY IN MY ACCOUNT BEFORE!! YAY TAX RETURN!! YAY BIG PAY CHECK!!! HOOOORAAAAAY!!!
Into savings with you! But not yet, cuz I just want to see that big ol' number for a few days...
It's about time I felt thoroughly compensated for how much I work my ass off.

OMIGOD YAY!



Ok. I'm done. Sorry.

I'll take you to Vegas as my way of apologizing. Hells yes.



In other news, I'm fucking exhausted; work today kicked me in my rear end. It's good to be home.

After receiving a spastic phone call from Rachel, "Heath Ledger's dead, Heath Ledger's dead, he's fucking dead!", I checked AOL to confirm, and sure enough.

That is surprisingly depressing. I mean, it's not like I'm some die hard fan or anything, but he was a good actor, not some scuzzy good-for-nothing constantly in the tabloids. He was only 28, and he has a little girl.
It's very sad.

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86 words

Learn Touchtyping

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For the record, I am one Bad Ass Mother Fucker. No joke, I'm a pimped out rockstar, and it's decided that if I don't get the training supervisor position, something is seriously wrong with the world.

Also, the people I work with are the coolest, craziest bitches on the planet.


Now omigod I need to rest because I cannot work anymore!!!
Too bad we have a quadrabajillion laydowns to do this week and I don't have another day off until FRIDAY. A quadrabajillion laydowns. Literally. I counted them. One quadrabajillion.
DAY-AMN! THEM'S A LOT OF LAYDOWNS!!

I've lost my mind. But I feel pretty fuckin good right now, which is a pleasant change.

Now I's gonna take a shower, and most likely bed down with a lovely boy (via telephone, but what can ya do?)


This is my life. I do with it what I can and sometimes that works out alright.

Quick question before I get to my point: why do bottles of Midol use the standard line "Adults and children 12 years of age and older: take 2 tablets....." Doesn't that seem unnecessary for a drug like Midol? After I raised the query this morning, my dad countered that maybe it was for liability purposes. But I think, if anything, that makes even less sense because if anyone besides a woman were going to take it, wouldn't seeing that confirm that it was ok for them? Some stupid shit-for-brains reads that and thinks "Well, must not be just for women or it would say so, I can have some!"
It just doesn't make sense to me.
Maybe I'm someone who just shouldn't read labels.


I wrote a short story last night. It's hardly a story, really - Joey and I were having a small philosophical disucssion, mostly about solipsism and nihilism, that sort of thing. I've been feeling dark and twisty lately anyway, but after he had to go to bed (work early this morning for him) I felt like writing. And this came out. I'm still not sure it makes much sense; he said it does after he read it this morning, but I was tired when I spewed it out and he might've just been being nice. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.


THE JOB INTERVIEW

“Why do you think you’d be good for the job?”
The Manager stares expectantly at me. He’s not extraordinary looking, rather, he’s any man you’d see on the street. Blonde, brunette, skinny, fat; he encompasses all of these traits and none of them at the same time. It’s hard to understand, I know, but it’s like that in this place. I could try to explain it, but there’s no use. Details don’t matter. All that matters here is Time. You learn to ignore anything else.
I have no idea what to say to him as none of the usual lines seem to apply here. I want to make a positive difference would probably come off sounding snide. They probably couldn’t care less how personable I am. And if I cared about people, I wouldn’t have applied for this job in the first place.
The room is hot, of course, but even after years of acclimating myself to this climate, under the pressure of the interview it seems to be weighing me down thickly. It’s a blank, small, windowless, gray-walled office, with only the desk the Manager sits at and the hard, uncomfortable chairs we both occupy. He has nothing but a pad of paper on the desk, which makes me question the necessity of the desk at all. But how authoritative would he look lounging in a chair merely facing me? The desk establishes the power divide. It’s subtle, but it is necessary. It’s with thoughts like these taking up space in my head that keep me from forming any helpful answers. Time is passing and tension is building.
Do I even want this job? Sure, it’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Have I sold out to this extent? I suppose there’s no hope of redemption for me anymore, having even applied for the job is probably unforgivable in the Scheme of Things. It seems I’m doomed. I might as well make the most of it.
But am I… well, am I evil enough for a corporate gig like this? It seems melodramatic to put it like that and I cringe a little even considering it, but it’s really the question to ask myself. This job would obviously destroy any of my remaining goodness. I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.
Then again, I’m fairly certain I have no remaining goodness. So it’s probably a moot point.
“Well?” he raises an eyebrow at me impatiently. I’m sure hesitancy is viewed as a weakness in this scenario. I try to gather my thoughts and finally form the most coherent response I can muster.
“I have no idea what you’re looking for. Obviously, I’m flattered to even be considered. Well… flattered isn’t the right word, but something like that. I’m sure you understand. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m approaching this all wrong. But the fact is, if I get the job, I’ll do it right. That’s what I’ve always been good for. When I was with… your competitor, He relied on me often in very serious situations, it’s why I was punished so severely for choosing the, excuse me, ‘wrong’ side for the Second Uprising. I was trusted, valued. But I’ve done well for myself here, worked my way slowly and torturously up the chain of command, proven myself time and again, and I can confidently say that if anyone deserves and could do the job well, it’s me. I have tackled every despicable task given to me over the long course I’ve been here with a clear head and I’ve never made a wrong move. I’ve steeled myself and emotions will never again cloud my judgment, I promise you that. I’ve asked myself whether I can honestly say that I’m willing to give up the chance of trying to ever Return, if I‘m secure with never having a soul again. And I can tell you that at this point, I don’t think that Returning is an option, but even if it were, what’s the point? I’ve seen things that can never be forgotten but by all means should be. I’m…” I falter for a brief moment, but force myself to continue, “I’m ruined. From what I understand, this job has a benefit that would finally give me peace. I know the supposed ’award’ wasn’t publicized as a benefit when the job was posted, but word gets around. And that word is tempting, to say the least. I wish I could say I want the job, but anyone who tells you that would probably be lying. I know it won’t be easy, but I guess what I’m saying is I’m in it for the reward, there’s no point in lying about that, and the best I can tell you is I’ll do the job well. You won’t be disappointed.”
That was probably entirely wrong to say, it felt like gibberish coming out. The Manager looks skeptical. He taps his fingertips several times on the desk, reestablishing my earlier thought of the desk being a symbol of his power, because the fingertip tapping is definitely intimidating. Simple, but terribly unnerving under the circumstances. After saying all I’d said, I know now that every bit of it was true.
He pulls a file sitting at the edge of the desk towards him and opens it. Huh. Was that there the whole time? I hadn’t thought so.
“You’re right, you've done well for a Fallen”, he says. “You took to your position surprisingly well, there is no denying it. Still, this job has never been given to a Fallen before. After the Second Uprising, the reward was established so nothing like that would happen again - so that the job would be served, rewarded, and then passed to another. In, out, done.“ His frankness takes me off guard, but I suppose he’s been doing this job for a long time. “But a Fallen… it might not be so simple for you”, he said matter-of-factly, skimming the file as he spoke before raising his eyes to me again in skepticism.
“I understand that. But before the Second Uprising, wasn‘t the position first occupied by a Fallen, technically? The first of us ever to Fall? It's more like you haven't hired a Fallen since the Second Uprising, am I right?" I ask as confidently as I can. "It's time to try again." This can’t be going well. I hope he doesn’t take my comeback as disrespectful. I can’t imagine things would be good for me if he did.
He nods contemplatively, places the file back down on the desk, and folds his hands under that indescribable chin of his. He seems to think for a moment, comes to a conclusion, and sets his hands, fingers interlaced, down on the table.
“You’re promising, I‘ll give you that”, he begins, “Training will be difficult for you, I won’t sugar coat it. Nothing will be easy or sugar coated for you anymore if you get this job. You think you had it hard before, think again. But you’re right, the benefit after serving your time is more than worth it. After your term, you would be rewarded with the Immortal Death, only attainable by those who serve this position, rarely spoken of. All you have witnessed and all you have done will no longer matter. Any level of consciousness will cease forever. The Immortal Death would be your dark freedom. Everyone here desires it, and if you serve well, you would have it. But believe me, such a prize must be earned, and during the millennia in which you serve, you will earn it. It won’t be easy.” He pauses, sizing me up. “Do you still want the job?”
I look him squarely in the eyes, certain of my answer. “Yes.”
He smiles a mirthless smile and stands up. I follow suit and accept the handshake he extends toward me over the table. “Well, it’s not final yet, of course, I don’t make the final decision. But I’ll talk to the big guy and I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t get the job. Congratulations, the position’s as good as yours.” He folds his arms across his chest and cocks his head inquisitively. “Well, it seems for the next millennium, you’re our new Satan. How does it feel?”
I don’t know how I feel in this moment, but I have a sense of relief in the idea of the Immortal Death that is only one-thousand years in my future. Relief… have I ever felt relief? “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”

A guy here at Panera whom I've seen several times solely because he WORKS here just asked for a cigarette. After obliging, he asked if I remember him. I politely said no, and asked if he knew me. He said that two years ago, he told me I look like his friend James and had wondered if I was his sister. After the typical back and forth of where this might've happened ("Did you work at the Bead Shop?" "No... did you go to FHS?" "No... do you go to concerts around here?" "No... hmm.") I came to the conclusion that I have no idea who this guy is, and it's not due to my premature Alzheimer's like it usually is.
How very strange. He's a perfectly cool guy, we chatted for a few minutes. But apparently he has a memory set in stone. And I look like his buddy James.


The stresses are starting to pile up again. But y'know, I feel pretty good right now. I hope I can hold onto it and not get depressed again. It's hard to say. Here's hopin'.

I'm sick; completely alone in this big, deathly silent house (I had music playing for awhile, but anything that fit with the ambiance of the book I'm immersed in [which is important] was too spooky to keep playing); still stressed about everything; and the internet's still down on my laptop... this compy has no IM, which I never thought I'd miss as much as I do right now, just knowing that friends are merely a few keystrokes away..
I do think I'd be best suited to live alone, but NOT in a big house that's not mine and I am still mostly unaccustomed to, in a dark, unfamiliar neighborhood, no less. A little apartment would be great, y'know? But this? I feel very, very cut off from everything and I'm starting to freak out a little because of it.
By a little, I kind of mean a lot.

I don't think it helps that I've been reading New Moon (a vampire book) for the past 4 hours. Something was scratching at her window when I stopped reading a moment ago. Very suspenseful, which is great, but considering I thought I heard something downstairs a mere 10 minutes ago... well. I'm somewhat jumpy, to say the least.

I'm going to go put my clothes in the dryer, then hopefully work out a reading-location that is less unsettling then my quiet, dim bedroom. *Gulp*

God, it's been a stressful few weeks. I've been working far too hard at work, which is one of the many reasons I FINALLY QUIT* last week. I paid far too much for a tail light lens because I need to get my car inspected, and now it seems I won't have it in time and will probably fail my inspection (my mom says I then get a 2 week rejection sticker, so I hopefully can bounce back, but only if I get that goddamn overpriced lens). I pulled my knee pretty bad, and nearly all my friends have left for college, although I was too busy working to say goodbye to most of them. I'm abandoned for another year. And the last of my friends that are leaving still have yet to leave. So I have that weighing me down.
Plus, I'm DREADING September and the changes it will bring. In all honesty, I hope I don't fall into a depression. The events I'm anticipating are very capable of doing that to me. It's scary.
And I actually had a pretty good day today. Fucking hell.


Needless to say, I'm wearing thin. I'd go into more detail, but the internet at Gelly's is down and since her folks are out of town it probably will be all week. So I'm at Panera right now, but am tired and it's cold in here, so this quick update will have to suffice for now.


*I decided ultimately that it's too early in my life to be a corporate sell-out, and that I wouldn't be happy as cafe supervisor, nor would I be making enough money for the amount of work I'd be doing. I still question my decision far more often than I should, but I think it was right. Then, several days later, I realized that I needed to get out entirely. There's a promising job at the FBI that I'm trying to nail down and will go into more detail about later when I'm more able. I'm relieved that I quit, but at the same time I really love all the people I work with, am realizing that more and more as my last 2 weeks are counting down, and it makes me very sad sometimes.
I feel heavy thinking about it right now. S'matter of fact, I'm starting to feel a warm burning sensation behind my eyes and a tightening in my throat that I think means it's time to bolt outta here.
I dunno. I guess I'm just not doing so well lately.

I am so fucking sore and tired. I don't move around at all when I sleep with someone, especially in a bed that's not mine, so the sleepover night before last got me stiff... but THEN yesterday at work David starts puking (he gets sick a questionable amount of the time...) and so I said just go the fuck home, I'll stay late and close in his place. So after not getting much sleep the night before, in a bed that's not mine, no less, I then work an 11 hour Friday night closing shift.
I also work the Saturday night closing shift today, and I open tomorrow. Weekends are the pits. I'm going to be sore as fuck on Monday.
Work wasn't bad yesterday, though. On the contrary, I don't know if it was happy residue from the night before, but I was in a good mood. TIRED, but ok. Hopefully I can work through my excruciatingly stiff muscles tonight and retain some of that.



Anyway. My cafe supervisor is stepping down, he finally turned in his letter of resignation. I've basically been told that if I want it, the position's mine. It's not a HUGE pay-raise (about $10 an hour, but Jessie said she's so desperate for me to take it, she might be able to kick it up a bit), but I'd be probably the youngest supervisor/service manager Borders has ever had. That would look amazing on a resume. My qualms with taking this job are:

1. The two supervisors I've worked under have cracked under the pressure of the job. Jessie pointed out that she thinks I'm more up to the challenge than they are and she thinks I'd do better. But still, it's hard work. And I've already worked really hard for a year now. But I guess, if anything, that just makes me more qualified and deserving of the job.

2. I don't want the whole age thing to be a barrier with people that would be my subordinates. Again, it's been pointed out to me that most of the supervisors in the store are in their early twenties, and people I work with (people older than myself and who I would be in charge of [I am the youngest in the store, after all]) have told me they think I'm cut out for the job. So I suppose that's not a huge deal, but it still makes me nervous.

3. This is not what I want to do with my life. I've got cafe burn-out, which Jessie says is understandable, but cafe sup is only required 8 hours a week actually in cafe. Most of it is paperwork and people management, which I'm actually good at, I think. But still, I don't want to wear myself thin in this job... or WORSE, get comfortable. I cannot get comfortable in this place.

4. A girlier, COMPLETELY STUPID reason I'm not even going to give the grace of listing. Because it's moronic and not worth the thought. But just know I do have another qualm on my mind.

I think I'm going to do it. Jessie's so adamant about it, wants me to so bad, and I can't deny that the idea of being in charge after only a year and only being 19 is very tempting. I'm pretty damn sure I would be good at the job. I'm just.... conflicted. It's a big decision. Not life-altering, but big.
I should point out that I do have to do a phone interview with the regional manager (I guess that's her title), and there are other applicants. But Jessie makes the final decision. So unless I completely botch my phone interview with Caroline or do something royally stupid, it's mostly a done deal.
I'll tell Jessie today. I sincerely hope it's the right move.


And now if I don't shower and start getting ready I'm gonna be late for work today. That probably would be listed under the "Stupid Moves" category.
If you have any support or advice, I'd love to hear it. Just some reassurance, or a kick in the head if you think I'm making the wrong decision. Please. I'm deciding this all on my own and it's rough as hell. But that's life for you. Not sure when we became in charge of our own lives, but goddamn, that sneaked up on me.

There are few people in this world who can really make me laugh. I’m not saying when I laugh at your jokes, I’m not amused. I probably am. But I mean the deep, guttural laugh that comes from the bottom of my stomach and rumbles up through my chest, exploding out of my mouth, my smile not only hurting my cheeks but lengthening the corners of my mouth so as to press up against the bottom of my eyes, gushing out tears that delightfully distort my vision as I double over, every bit of me trembling with blissful release.

My sisters have always been able to do this.

Madeline has what I call “PCPD”, or “Pop-Culture Personality Disorder”. Sometimes it’s hard to discern where the movie and television quotes end and she begins. You might be in the middle of a conversation with her, it could be entirely serious or completely silly, but in any case you can count on her to spew a random quote from something, usually in an outrageous voice, and then maniacally laugh her demented head off. Sometimes her quote will actually fit into the conversation, but she will inevitably belt out that laugh, eyes bugged, and you’ll know a screw is loose in her head somewhere. But the thing is she’s actually a shy person. She only behaves in this way around family and her closest friends. There’s a security in knowing that. Something about her bending her index finger into a hook, squinting one eye, and deepening her voice to exclaim “Meeooooooow!” for the sake of her “Pirate Cat” impression is comforting; she trusts you, even in her dementia.

Joanna, on the other hand, is more subtle in her hilarity. She has an uncanny ability to keep her face straight in even the most hysterical situations. She might let rip a ghastly fart and then gawk at you, dead pan, and say, “My god. Did you just crap a skunk??” Or she’ll knock on your bedroom door and whether you grant her entry or not, she’ll come in. She’ll stare at you in complete seriousness and utter something like, “The rooster flies at dawn”, bug her eyes in sincerest urgency, and then back out of your room slowly, keeping eye contact with you until she finally flings her body dramatically from sight, maybe even shout with finality, “You have been warned!” You could be in a bad mood, something melodramatic and angst-ridden plaguing you, looking to her to comfort your wounded, self-pitied nonsense. And she’ll give you that stare, eyes dead, eyebrows flat, and say “This story doesn’t involve me and it doesn’t involve puppies. Do I look like I care?” And something about it sets you off, gets you laughing, makes you forget your nothing troubles.

When I lived in the house down 211 and I’d shut myself up in my room in my oh-so troubled seclusion, Jo and Mads rarely let me get away with it. I’d be slumped on my bed, eyes glazed as I tried to immerse myself in whatever happened to be on my television, and I’d hear a small fwip as a note was shoved under my door. I’d have to get up, which was a huge step in and of itself. And upon reading the note, a smile would almost always crack my surly demeanor… though I’d never confess it to them. “You stink!! Seriously, we can smell you from out here!” “The Wells-Fargo wagon is a’COMIN’ down the street, oh please let it be for ME!” “Dear Liz, those pants make your butt look big. Sincerely, Jo.” “Pirate Cat says MREOOOW!” Any number of completely ludicrous notes were slipped under my door in an attempt to get me to come out. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But it always, always made me smile. And when it did work, when I’d emerge from my room like a 5-year old who realized that the bully at school who took her crayons really didn’t matter and hiding in her room wasn’t going to solve anything, they’d inevitably wrench that deep laugh out of me as if the only thing that mattered at all was our silly insanity that we alone could appreciate.

I realize now, as these shared moments with them become fewer and farther between, that instances like that, people like that, really are all that matters in life. That in gloomy moments of personal strife I just need a note slipped under my door that may, to the untrained eye, tell me I smell funny, but to me obviously says that someone cares and that I’m not by myself in the world despite whatever I may think.