How many days of rain is a body expected to take without breaking out the Uzi?

Over the last few posts, very little “hair and movies” has been discussed, and we must remedy this. Our first topic of shallowness shall be my upstairs neighbor, Laura, who from this point forward shall be referred to as Laura Upstairs. She’s been home from work this week, and my dear god/dess in heaven, she’s driving me insane. For one thing, she seems fundamentally unable to flush the toilet without first banging the lid down with the force of a sonic boom. I wonder how many toilet lids she goes through of a week? It’s possible I should reserve judgment, however: maybe she doesn’t have opposable thumbs and thus has to kind of slap at the lid, like a seal, until it falls. Must check up on this. She was seated on the third-from-the-bottom stair the other morning, reading her bible, but that doesn’t necessarily take thumbs… Which, by the way, frosts me, too. Who sits outside in a heavy traffic area reading her bible? Proselytizers, that’s who. I know because I used to be one. Well, you won’t get me joining your merry band of Jehovah’s Witnesses, missy. Especially when you’re upstairs moving furniture at one in the morning. It’s impossible to hear my Ghost Hunters program when you do that, and I have to keep turning it up! Have some consideration!

I woke up feeling kind of blue this morning, but then some switch went off inside me, and I suddenly felt sunny yellow! Ta-da! One reason might be that I knew I was coming to the end of May Sarton’s final journal, the one that was published posthumously, and it really was a downer. She had a hard time as an older person, most likely because she had gotten very sick. There’s just no telling, is there? Yesterday I saw a photo of Betty White, who’s something like 89, in one of the online magazines… E!, or something… and she looked marvelous. Also, she was in that Superbowl commercial, pretending to play football, seriously. I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind so much being very old if I could avoid being sick, but I act like I’m old now so there’s probably no hope. My life line only goes to around 55 anyway, unless I squint very hard to notice a faint, extremely faint, trail down to my wrist. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in palmistry. Another good thing is that my heart and head lines are very, very strong.

Notice arrow. Notice faint line proceeding from arrow point down to wrist. You DO notice that, don't you? DON'T YOU? Also, why did no one inform me that my wrists had gotten wrinkly? I thought you were my friends.

I currently despise my hair with a venom generally reserved for Nazis so Torie’s going to straighten it for me sometime, just to see. The last movie I watched was, uh, Constantine with Jesse last night, only I just kind of watched it while I was reading my book, and whenever Rachel Weisz was onscreen. I’ve been wanting to see Wolfman but have noticed tepid reviews, so bummer. The movie I’m really super looking forward to is Shutter Island, however, even though I really do. not. like. Leonardo DiCaprio.

Precious.

The last time I liked that perpetual manboy was in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, when he was beheading grasshoppers with a mailbox, though that isn’t the reason I liked him. That’s just the scene that immediately pops to mind. He also repeatedly climbed a water tower and drooled a lot, or no wait, that was Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot. Okay. Which reminds me that I read Christy Brown’s autobiography after seeing the movie and discovered what a horrible, vile person he was in real life and lost all sympathy for him.

Aahh. Love to hate.

The last time I liked Daniel Day-Lewis was in The Gangs of New York. You know that scene where the Dead Rabbits and a bunch of other gangs come out to fight Bill the Butcher and his “Natives,” and the music is very slow and the action very surreal at first, but then incrementally picks up until Hellcat Maggie is biting off ears and Monk is bashing in brains with his cudgel and limbs are flying everywhere and it’s a veritable bloodbath of horror set to the background of wailing guitars and deep, primal drumbeats? And then Father Vallon is killed by Bill, THAT MURDERING BASTARD!!!??? I swear to you, I find that the the single most thrilling scene in any movie ever, and I inevitably cry from the sheer beauty of it, every time.

I don’t mind being a big fat weirdo. Have a great weekend, all! Love! xo

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5 Comments

Filed under Punch you in the tooth, Rant, Small blue box, Upstairs neighbors, Woo-woo

5 responses to “How many days of rain is a body expected to take without breaking out the Uzi?

  1. Harlequin

    I love stepping into your magnificent brain. You’re wonderful. XO

  2. H, thank you. That TOTALLY cheered me up and made my evening. xoxo

  3. Christine

    I would’ve TOLD you about the wrinkly wrists, but it had been raining for so long, and you kept polishing that uzi….

    My life line goes down a little farther towards my (sorta wrinkly~ I’m getting there) wrist, and then meets a deep, angled crease (for convenience, see your photo~ see how you have those diagonal creases right under the pad of your palm, right where it meets the wrinkly wrist? yeah, there.
    Drop that uzi NOW).

    In my prosyletizing days, I woulda SWORN to you it was, like, a sign from God that I’m going to be taken away in the rapture (see how the crease is kind of swoopy? like winds coming down to grab..oh, never mind).

    But since I’m all enlightened now and free from the shackles of righteous religion, I don’t think that~ I think it’s GODDESS coming to sweep me up to the great hair salon in the sky, where they’ll inject eternal youth cream into my wrists.
    You’ll be in the seat next to me, with smooth wrists and straightened hair.

    • Maybe my wrists got wrinkly from hefting that uzi everywhere during all that rain. I wish you’d told me that could happen, Chrissy! Sheez! Let down at every turn.

      You funny. Maybe our funky life lines ARE the promise that Goddess is going to swoop down and scoop us up, which would be fine with me. Or maybe she’ll kick us down a slide (see: deep angled crease) to you-know-where-else, or maybe we’ll be suddenly sidetracked into somebody else’s life, though we should probably work harder on our astral projection-combination-soul possession skills. Maybe you and I will end up trading lives (poor you). Maybe it’s all bunkum. Maybe it means we’ll fade off into oblivion in old age. Maybe this is all a dream, but if so, could you please dream a little more chocolate into it? And Sun Chips. Also, dream that we can eat as much as we want without gaining weight. Thank you.

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