grrgoyl

This entry is going to be nothing but non sequiturs, random thoughts and notes to myself. A massive brain dump, if you will. So I'll cut for your skipping pleasure.

( ::Dogs, dogs, dogs:: )

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( ::Will Ghost Hunters come to Colorado?:: )

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( ::Just doing the best I can with what I've got:: )

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( ::She COULD have been the next Anne Rice:: )

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( ::EA on MJ:: )

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( ::He's not the only one watching...:: )

*~*

( ::I'm a magnet for these types:: )

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( ::The Half-Blood Prince revisited:: )

This weekend was the judging of the Christmas lights in our complex. Tery went even more crazy than last year, but her secret weapon was something I bought for her -- one of those boxes you plug the lights into that makes them flash in time with musc. They were originally $100 and I said "Oh, HELL no," but then after Christmas when the markdowns start kicking in I bided my time and watched and waited, finally swooping in when they were 75% off. That was quite a coup.

(I was a little hesitant about buying something meant to be blared loudly into the neighborhood, but since most of our neighors are literally dead and gone it's not such a big deal anymore.)

Good thing, too, because she actually had some serious competition this year. The renters below Tracey FCW (and also evidently her friends -- she solved the problem of how to shovel dog shit off her porch without her neighbors complaining) had a really nice display up since last week. Tracey herself was out literally two hours before the judges came around, frantically hammering and drilling to get her stuff hung. Two problems -- they were the exact same decorations she had last year, and the eleventh hour installation kind of defeated the purpose of the contest to encourage people to get into the holiday spirit (if history repeats itself, she'll take them down again tomorrow).

Tery invited her bar friends and our neighbors Mike and Anna for an anticipatory victory celebration. Tery was pleased to see parents from the neighborhood bringing their young children to view her work. Anyway, she took first ($75). Second went to the renters ($50) and third to Tracey ($25). Justice was served, and I guess that isn't too shabby for an hour's work. We invited the judges in for some food which I was glad for, so they could see our spirit extends to every possible inch of our house, not just areas visible for judging purposes.



I think the only way Tery can top herself next year is to hire a chorus line of snowbunnies or something.

Tery also outdid herself for the party, making an enormous amount of hors d'ouvres for us. My favorite was a Martha Stewart idea, pea pods with Alouette cheese and tomatoes with pesto.



Christmas also came a little early in the form of someone finally closing our neighbor's door downstairs. Thank god.

~*~

Funny thing is, I was talking to neighbor Anna about how the only thing I really hate about working at the hospital is never knowing what I'm walking into. I had to leave Tery's party to go into work, where I discovered Dr. Norton still present; I hate finding anyone there when I arrive -- it typically means they had a last minute emergency come in that would be left with me. Not the case, however, she was staying with a seizure dog, Colby, who had been there a few days already who she was afraid to leave alone. Terrific.

It turns out this dog was on a continuous Valium drip, absolutely crucial fluid maintenance. We were also having a Valium shortage, never having to administer it in the massive doses this dog required. Dr. Norton hinted if we didn't control the seizures soon, we'd have to send him to an emergency 24-hour facility (so I spent the rest of the night praying for just that to happen).

In the ten minutes it took her to explain everything to me we started having pump difficulties. I was nervous, because in my experience once a pump starts giving me problems, it's nonstop all night long. We thought we had fixed it and she went on her way.

She hadn't been gone ten minutes when the pump started again. Normally I'd do everything I could to fix it myself, except liquid Valium can't be exposed to light or it loses potency, so the tubing and connections were wrapped up super tight, making my troubleshooting work twice as challenging. Rather than futz with it I decided to call her before she got too far away. She came back, fortunately.

Again we had it licked and she left, and again it started alarming on me. The second time she brought a pillow to stay overnight. I felt terrible, she'd already worked a full day, but she insisted.

The trouble with Colby was he was a 4-year-old lab, and when he wasn't seizing he was strong and willful and impossible for one person to do anything with without him fighting to get away. Dr. Norton eventually decided to re-lay the catheter, succeeding after two attempts. This made me feel much better, as I would never have been able to do this myself. The one she removed had a defect in the line that puzzled her.

But that wasn't half as puzzling as when we got him hooked up again and the pump STILL complained about an occlusion. There was no reason in the world for this that we could see and the doctor was stumped (again, making me feel better about keeping her there).

We finally got it going, though it was a tentative victory at best. She went upstairs to try to get some sleep, I tried to accomplish something else on my list of duties. The other trouble with Colby was he had occasional very violent sneezing episodes to boot, during which he would smack his head full force against whatever surface was nearby. The recurrent head trauma couldn't have been helping his condition, and from the next room sounded identical to a seizure, making me dash back into Recovery about every ten minutes.

He had his first seizure since my arrival at midnight. The head smashing with sneezing was nothing compared to what he did while in the throes of an epileptic fit. I fetched Dr. Norton and we sort of nursed him through it. He had a second one about fifteen minutes later. The good news was when he was post-ictal he immediately became sleepy and passed out, making him much more manageable. We pulled him out onto the floor where he seemed more comfortable and she again retreated to her office.

I gave up the idea of doing anything else that night and settled in beside him. The fluids would still inexplicably stop flowing occasionally and need some messing around to restart so I had to keep an eye on the drip. Let me tell you, if you ever suffer from insomnia, don't waste your time with pharmaceuticals -- try staring at an IV fluid drip for about 20 minutes (or perhaps a more practical substitute might be a steadily leaking sink faucet). I absolutely couldn't keep my eyes open, and settled instead for checking in every five minutes or so.

Also for obvious reasons, there would be no setting up my cot that night. By about 3:30 a.m. I was so exhausted it turned out the desk chair with my feet propped up felt just as good. All told I slept about a half hour that night, and I really felt it the next day. Hard. But these medical reports don't type themselves, you know?

Colby was okay the rest of the night (except for more of those alarming sneezing runs), and I was extremely happy when 5 a.m. finally arrived. I called Dr. Norton through the intercom and she sounded as cheerful and refreshed as if she'd slept a solid 8 hours. I asked how she did that, and she replied, "Many years of practice."

She still had to stay, as the next seizure was due in the next hour or so, judging by the previous trend. I felt just as bad leaving as I did making her stay, but she's not hourly so wouldn't impact Tery's payroll the way I would. It turned out the morning doctor let her go home and come back later in the afternoon rather than work through.

Reportedly the kid who owns Colby has no money, so it will be interesting to see what becomes of the bill resulting from essentially four days of intensive around-the-clock care for this dog. Also the kid was going to pick up the dog the next morning, but then leave town at 2 p.m., trusting his roommate to watch over him in his absence. The Valium was all used up at that point, so they sent him home with rectal suppositories to administer if (when) he seized again. I'm sure the roommate was thrilled.

My point is, the dog is only four years old and having these problems, with an owner who has no money. I think the kid is going to have to make some very difficult decisions very soon about what he plans to do with his pet.

Fortunately I only had two boarders that night, one of which looked like the American werewolf in London:



~*~

Finally, Tery is very interested in seeing the movie Slumdog Millionaire, but since she hates leaving the house on her day off and it wasn't available on Graboid, instead we watched Milk which WAS on Graboid.

I won't bother cutting, I don't have much in the way of spoilers or length. Sean Penn did a predictably outstanding job as Harvey Milk, first openly gay elected official. Well, he was a bit more buff than I'm sure Harvey was, but he had the voice, the accent, the hair, everything else down. Josh Brolin was also perfect as Dan White, the insecure, frustrated co-worker that ultimately assassinated him -- if anything, he was a little underused. I didn't really get any idea of why White was driven to commit murder. The scenes between him and Penn, with the knowledge of how their relationship ended, seemed very tense and charged to me.

I think hanging out in the boy_touching community has completely inured me, as I saw nothing at all titillating or unusual about watching Sean Penn and James Franco kiss. Perhaps if the rest of the world joined, two men together would no longer be such a controversial event.

My one complaint (apart from Penn's bordering-on-prizefighter physique) was the first scene of the movie; Penn passes Franco exiting the subway, and greets him warmly. At this point the viewer isn't sure if they are already together or not, and the rest of the scene really does nothing to clear it up. They talk like old friends, then they share a passionate kiss. It turns out that no, they were complete strangers and this is the first time they hooked up.

I didn't buy it, until coincidentally while browsing Netflix's "watch instantly" selections as our afternoon entertainment, Tery chose a documentary called Gay Sex in the 70's (making it quite the theme for the day). This is full of aging queens reminiscing about all the free gay love before AIDS hit the scene, when the community was pretty exclusively about random anonymous encounters, and hooking up really was as simple as walking down the street. So I'd like to think this quick scene in Milk was a brief nod to that time.

The end of Milk, obviously his assassination and the famous Candelight March, had me predictably crying like a baby. It was very understated and very well done, no over-the-top Hollywood dramatics. Tery, equally predictably, reacted not at all. She chastised me for crying so early in the day, as if crying was the same as drinking. As usual I did my best to ignore her.

The movie was very relevant to our time, portraying a major step in our as-yet unwon struggle for equal rights. In particular, I think about Obama's much-criticized choice of evangelical homophobe Rick Warren to perform the invocation at his inauguration. No, it doesn't make me happy, but this is how I see it: It's a two-minute prayer, not a cabinet position. Obama is trying to bring the two extremes of the political spectrum together, not an easy or enviable task, because right now our differences are what is tearing the country apart.

Milk operated the same way. In the film, he challenges one of the biggest anti-gay rights proponents of the time, John Briggs, to a public debate. But he does so with an extended handshake and a warm smile. Because screaming at each other is getting us nowhere. Because if you can't shake your enemy's hand and look him in the eye, how can there be any real communication?

~*~

Is this what it's like getting old? While flicking around, Tery stopped on something called "Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Tour." I watched this young, not particularly talented chick leaping all over the stage in front of thousands of squealing teenage girls and asked, "Now which one is she?" Tery rolled her eyes. "They're the same person, goofball."

Saturday morning on the way home from my shift at 5 a.m. I stopped at the store. As I paid for my groceries, the cashier asked if my day was starting or ending. Since the true answer, a little bit of both since I grab a 3-hour nap before returning to my day job, was more involved than she was looking for, I just smiled and said "Ending." Close by was a vaguely Eastern European-looking man who jumped in. "I always wonder the same thing too when I see people at this time of day. My day is also ending." I felt like I was part of some secret club: the in-between people. He walked me all the way out to the parking lot, expanding on the admittedly miniscule thread of what we had in common. Unnecessary, but sweet.

I think people look at me differently when I'm in scrubs, like I work with hospice patients or something. Once a Wendy's drive-thru cashier noticed the togs and smiled benevolently, murmuring, "God bless you." Again unnecessary (and a bit misplaced), but sweet.

And Sunday, my favorite day of the week basking in the relaxed afterglow after my 48-hour work weekend, Tery and I watched The Darjeeling Limited. She wasn't terribly impressed. I, on the other hand, ( ::was:: )

My only possible complaint was that Bill Murray was sadly under-utilized. He is to Wes what Johnny Depp is to Tim Burton, in my opinion.

I think I related to this more than Anderson's other movies thanks to the brothers' familiar picayune bickering and sniping. Sadly, I think it would take much more than a trip across a foreign country to repair our family.

Despite this, I absolutely loved it, and I don't think that's just the feel-good Sunday talking. Detractors call Wes a one-trick pony, but I can't get enough of his off-center cinematography, quirky quiet humor, dramatic slow-motion and obscure Rolling Stones soundtracks. An enthusiastic 4.5 out of 5.

Here's an update on Baby and his crazy mom, which I had really hoped wouldn't be necessary once the cat was laid to rest. She called me back last night around 8:00. I let it go to voicemail, and good thing. "Hi Elaine, this is Ellen. My cat is Baby, you took care of him this past weekend" she began, as if I need clarification of which crazy pet owner is calling me today. From there she became progressively weepier and more irrational, saying she was wracked with guilt because she had bought something called a "scat mat" designed to deliver a small electric shock to keep pets off the furniture. She was convinced this fried Baby's kidneys. I don't know anything about the medical consequences of shocking your pet, I just couldn't get past the fact that her beloved cat, her Baby who she swaddles and cuddles and treats exactly like "her baby," wasn't allowed on the sofa. As my sister said, Baby didn't die of kidney disease, he died of mixed messages.

I feel bad ignoring the woman in her pain, but I'm really not trained as a grief counselor. I think not answering the call was the best thing I could do for both of us, as I really wouldn't know what to say to make her feel any better. It's one thing if we had a longstanding relationship -- there are a lot of elderly clients who have been bringing their pets to the hospital for years and Tery has an established relationship with. She even sometimes picks up the pet for appointments because the owner isn't mobile enough. But I don't know this woman from Adam. If she wants some kind of reassurance that she didn't kill her cat, I really think that's a discussion for a doctor and not a weekend worker who sweeps kennels and occasionally gives injections. I'll gladly sign the condolence card, but these phone calls on my days off have got to stop.

Hopefully I'm done.


~*~

Tery's Christmas balcony display is complete (unless she comes home tonight with more stuff, which is entirely possible). You know that house on the block that sets their front yard ablaze every year with lights? The one that makes you slow down in utter disbelief? In our neighborhood, that house is OURS.





She's insane. Note the large disco ball thing smack in the center of the ceiling, the coup de grace in my opinion. She's especially fond of the huge bulbs near the bottom. Our balcony will be burned onto our neighbors' retinas for months to come.

In other Christmas photos, here is Kitten Mitten With Whom I'm Smitten (who, it should be noted, has free run of all our furniture) posing with the tree:



I tried a version with red eye removal, but I think you'll agree she looks ready to tear my throat out at any second:



~*~

Finally, going here will take you to an assortment of clips from Sweeney Todd (many thanks to kavieshana and minikitkatgirl!). "Behind the Scenes Footage Part 2" has the much anticipated Alan/Johnny duet. "You Gandered at my Ward" literally gave me shortness of breath (MyFriendDeb's reaction was similar: "I'd gander at his ward in a minute if he'd talk to me like that"). Once I finished hyperventilating I told Tery about them. Her response was "I don't think Alan Rickman is even good-looking, let alone hot." *cries* How cruel the Fates are to me. Her title as a joy-sucking robot still stands.

The Search for John Gissing: Arrived. It came via DHL which, you'll remember, isn't my first choice in a delivery agent but it wasn't up to me. After yesterday they're even less of a choice. I toodled on over to the tracking site to check its progress, and you can imagine my astonishment when I saw it was marked "Delivered" and "Signed for" already. WhatWhatWhat???!!?! I immediately headed to the mailbox only to discover it sitting on my doorstep. Which means someone climbed 3 flights of stairs and put it there (or tossed it over the railing from below) but couldn't be bothered to ring the doorbell and deliver it properly. What is wrong with them? This isn't brain surgery. "Abandoned" is not a synonym for "delivered." Thank god it wasn't something truly valuable like, say, a passport.

Passport: Arrived! Just when I was ready to lie and claim I was traveling sooner than I was. I can't help but think it's no coincidence that my earliest date of travel on the application was July 23, which if it were would be cutting it very close indeed. I had hoped its delivery would coincide serendipitously with a sudden drop in fares, but no dice. Amusingly, the passport was packaged with a pamphlet cheerfully proclaiming, "With a U.S. Passport, the world is yours!" because you're an AMERICAN and therefore foreigners must defer to YOU. Or so I preferred to interpret it in my current bitterly anti-American state of mind.

Creepy old neighbor Louis: Is still spending every day out on his balcony. Which I don't care about except every time I pass the window, he's looking straight up into our house. When it gets this hot, I don't much care to wear clothing, and I don't want to don a shirt just to walk around my living room. So he gets a little peepshow every now and then, which I guess is incentive enough to keep him staring hopefully. Ewww. But when it gets this hot, my comfort takes first priority, even if it's giving an old man his jollies.

Speaking of crazy neighbors, I got cornered into a conversation with The Alcoholic, who can't believe Tery and I don't use our air conditioning every single day (we don't break down until it tops 100 degrees). She uses hers at the first hint of mugginess, she told me proudly. A bigger sweatphobe I've never seen. I explained that we're New Englanders and used to 100 degrees plus 95% humidity, so it really doesn't bother us that much. I gave the excuse that we're nervous about running out of freon and needing it serviced. 5 minutes after we returned to our respective homes, she called me excitedly, telling me to check the user manual for our AC unit. Hers doesn't specifically mention freon servicing, so she reckons it doesn't use freon. Yes. She believes she has the world's first totally environmentally friendly air conditioner, that she bought 10 years ago. I didn't waste time trying to correct her, as it's not likely to change her usage anyway. But this didn't do much to raise her intelligence in my estimation.

Harry Potter: Finished "Half-Blood Prince" (again) and am more excited than ever for "Deathly Hallows." Meanwhile Tery is more stubbornly in denial than ever. We were talking about something and she made the comment, "Whatever, it's just Harry Potter." She HATES that Harry is so popular because she is, as my tag so aptly describes her, a joy-sucking robot. Which is perhaps for the best, so we aren't fighting over the book when it arrives. I'm holing up all day Sunday and Monday, NO INTERNET/NO SPOILERS whatsoever, then Monday night plan to see Order of the Phoenix in IMAX with my friend Rebecca. I also expect to gloat my face off to her silly sister-in-law, who refuses to believe that Snape is anything other than pure, unadulterated evil -- no complex motives, no hidden layers, just straight up exactly what Jo has made him seem to be. That will be fun.

Gideon: Has an adrenal tumor (common among ferrets). Unfortunately the gland in question is wrapped by the vena cava so it's a very complicated surgery. Tery brought him to the premier vet specialist in Colorado, Dr. Fitzgerald:



Some people might recognize him from an Animal Planet show called "Emergency Vets." He didn't want to do the operation at first, until he met Giddy and had to admit he was a great little guy and worth trying to save. He's still strong and healthy enough that he shouldn't have any complications. We'll see. Fortunately too Dr. Fitzgerald's hospital recently joined the VCA family so Tery can use her 70% employee discount.

That's all. Internet radio silence begins Friday evening just to make double sure to avoid spoilers. Will resume communication Tuesday morning. Over and out.

I don't know why I'm updating so much. Guess I'm tired of saving up material for one massive word vomit.

Anyway, it was completely by accident that I read this morning that Borders had worked out a deal with NECA and were carrying the figures early. WhatWhatWhat????

So Harry's not lonely anymore:



But he is a full inch shorter than Snape, which makes it look like total chan (under age 16, which I'm really not down with), necessitating the clever application of a twist-tie to bring him, er, up to snuff.

That picture was very difficult to get right. Snape, even in collectible form, is better suited to dimly-lit spaces. Direct sunlight is exceedingly unkind:



Were I a more avid collector, I wouldn't have been so surprised at the difference between the finely-detailed hero version they trot out at toy shows, and what actually ends up on the shelves:



Given this huge discrepancy, boy am I glad I didn't shell out $90 like some eBayer with more money than patience did the second the auction went up.

Tery's already got a headache from rolling her eyes over the phone. I told her to be thankful their clothes are painted on and it's impossible to form their arms into a proper hug. "What were they thinking?" I wailed to her. "Of 7-year-old boys" was her callous response. See if I let HER play with my dollies. *sniff*

As we speak I'm watching my new X3 DVD.  I thought it came out last week and I had missed it, that's how closely I had been monitoring the release date (in other words, not at all).    It's really just for completionism's sake that I got it.  I bought it at Walmart and, probably for the first time in recorded history, I didn't insist on getting the extra-special deluxe edition.  Even though the cover art is 10 times classier, ultimately it appears the only difference between the packages is an "exclusive" Stan Lee comic.  Feh.  I'm sorry, X3.  I'm just not THAT into you.

My Spaced series arrived in only 2 days, which simultaneously delighted and angered me; delighted because it deserves every word of praise that's been heaped upon it.  Angered because it reminded me of my South Park DVD, not here yet despite being ordered more than a week before Spaced and coming from inside the US.    Last night I returned to the site to see dchatonly's feedback has dropped to 90% negative.  Un-freaking-believable.  Why me?  In a fit of frustration I sent him this email, despite still being a week within the shipping window.

It's been well over two weeks now and no sign of my order. I received a DVD from
Spain within a week and one from the UK in 2 days, so I really can't imagine
what your excuse might be. Furthermore I'm pretty discouraged by your rapidly
plummeting feedback score on Amazon. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to
skip the BS and just file a claim against you at the end of the promised
shipping period (Oct 9, I believe). Let me know if this is a problem for you and
if you'd like to offer some explanation of when my order might arrive.

A bit pissy?  Perhaps.  But I consider that my prerogative as a customer, as much as I try to avoid being so in face-to-face encounters.  Not that I'm afraid of an angry response; half the complaints against him on Amazon say he ignores emails.    A fine policy to have as a seller.    Nor am I afraid because I'm the first person to admit when I'm wrong, and I'm that confident that I'm not wrong and that I've been ripped off.  And I am getting very, very sick and tired of being ripped off by online sellers.  But who knows?  Perhaps he'll be impressed by my pluck and deign to actually ship me what I paid for.

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We went to see Paula Poundstone this past weekend at Denver University.    I've loved her for ages, even saw her once in a tiny nightclub back in Mystic, CT when she was still mostly unknown.  I'm pleased that she's gotten some new material since then, including becoming more politically outspoken.  "I suffer from short-term memory loss, or as I like to call it, presidential eligibility."    She can afford to be an openly liberal Democrat:  her audience was a HUGE lesbo fest.  I haven't seen that many lesbians at an event since we saw David Sedaris live.    Of course it would be tedious for me to recount her entire act here, but suffice to say my abs were KILLING me by the end of her 2-hour set. 

I was laughing so constantly that, halfway through the show, I had the oddest thought pop into my head (as they sometimes do).  What if the woman directly in front of me thought my laugh was the most annoying thing she'd ever heard and she was silently cursing every explosive outburst?    I mentioned this to Tery later and she pooh-poohed me.  She said that comedians want an audience full of me's because my laugh is so "infectious and genuine."  Whereas an audience of Terys is their worst nightmare, because she laughs mostly "on the inside."  I only heard her audibly chuckle maybe 3 times the entire night.  I don't know how she does it.  She's a stone.

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Lastly, my weekend at the kennels was again uneventful, except for Lulu.  Lulu was a stray mutt with wiry hair and one brown eye, one Marilyn Manson blue.  She had had her throat all but ripped out by coyotes, and now was stitched up with a drain jutting out of two oozing holes.  Ew.    The first night she was a little wary of me, and struggled and twisted and writhed whenever I tried to carry her outside.  Suddenly the second night I was her BFF, including rolling onto her back for a tummy scratch at the slightest urging (which made it very easy to apply the warm compresses to her neck).    As I carried her in from the yard, her little body was wrapped around my torso lovingly and I was kissing the top of her head and telling her how pretty she was.  That is until I heard a loud, wet, squelching sound and I noticed a thick, brownish fluid virtually fountaining out of one of her gaping wounds.  Oh.  My god.  Apparently on the day shift when an animal is brought in with an enormous abscess or a similar pus-filled structure, the call goes over the intercom and the vet techs come running.  They LOVE shit like that.    I do not, least of all soaking through my clothing, and I spent the rest of the night professing my love from a safe distance (like all dogs, she was just happy that I was looking at her. And yes, I cleaned the poor girl up first).   

At last, it is mine. You know what I'm talking about.

A couple of days ago Tery, no doubt trying to be helpful, mentioned a promo at Best Buy: the new Harry Potter for $13.99 and a free lithograph with purchase. Sounded pretty sweet so I waited until yesterday to investigate at the website, but not a mention of it anywhere, which I thought odd. I called her to ask for more clues. "Maybe it was Circuit City," she said carelessly, completely oblivious to the importance of the issue. I surfed on over to CC's website but there was nothing there either (though both sites were shamelessly using images from the film to sell $300 plasma TVs, just to tease me). "I don't know, maybe it's a secret sale," she offered. I said, "I would think the point of the promo would be to motivate shoppers to buy the DVD from them. It would sort of defeat the purpose if no one knew about it." Realizing she was hopelessly outmaneuvered, her only response was, "I've got to get back to work now." That's it. Run and hide when faced with flawless logic. (Boring conclusion: I did eventually find the promo on page 19 of CC's online weekly specials flyer (pretty damn close to secret) except it was for the plain old, no-frills widescreen version, not the super sexy, super extras-packed deluxe version. People should know me well enough by now to deduce what my preference is).

I went to bed at 9:30, exhausted after a particularly grueling day at Sears, plus I reasoned that the sooner I went to sleep, the sooner it would be today. This however backfired on me when I awoke at 12:20 a.m. out of a dead sleep with butterflies in my stomach. I tried to go back to sleep, only to wake again at 12:40 with the same problem. I was, like the kid on the Disneyworld commercial, too excited to sleep. I lay there staring at the ceiling, imagining gleaming towering displays of Harry Potter DVDs, barely touched by human hands, just sitting there waiting for me. Damnit. I asked myself what I had to lose other than a little gasoline. At that time of the morning I could be there and back in 15 minutes and no one would even know. I figured if the DVDs weren't on the salesfloor yet I could just buy cat litter instead. We always need cat litter, and it's not at all unusual to buy it at 1 a.m. Right? After several more abortive attempts to resume unconsciousness, I gave in.

I went out to the living room and to my surprise Tery was still up. I told her where I was going. She sighed, not remotely surprised, and told me to be careful. Okay....?

I'm sure there's some snickering going on at the lengths my obsessions drive me to, but it's no easy thing to stroll into Walmart at that hour and affect any degree of nonchalance, just as if I HADN'T gotten up in the middle of the night for one purpose and one purpose only. To walk by the display of new releases and try to pull off a "Oh hey....the new Harry Potter. I had no idea it was out already. Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well pick up a copy...", then pretend to browse in the Men's Department while surreptitiously reading the back of the case to make sure it's the right edition. It only took me a few minutes to admit to myself that I didn't much care if I was fooling the other 5 people in the store (and that the other 5 people probably didn't much care themselves what I was up to) and went to check out. If the girl at the register thought me strange, she gave no sign (although she was clearly none too pleased about working the third shift and had her own problems).

I got home and walked in the front door with the DVD clutched possessively under one arm. Tery was in the kitchen and, seeing no shopping bag, asked gleefully, "Nothing?" Oh, she would like that, wouldn't she? Thanks for the support. As I drooled a little over the pictures on the cover and debated whether or not I wanted to sleep with it, she said, "If you were a NORMAL person you'd be getting out of a bar at this hour and THEN go shopping." It's really quite remarkable that we have anything to talk about at all together. Fortunately for me March Madness is starting so I will be a brackets widow, while Tery will be a Harry Potter widow (well actually, not much is changing from her perspective there). So it all works out okay in the end.

3 guesses what I'M doing tonight?

P.S.: I'd also personally like to thank Warner Bros. for not using a single exclamation point in the DVD plot synopsis. If there's anything I hate, it's DVD makers who pepper the summary with tons of exclamation points to try to drum up artificial excitement in their product.

( ::i ♥ huckabees:: )

Tery took away from the film only the message that our enemy is another side of us, so we should embrace rather than hate them. I took away an overriding urge to return it to the store before noon so I could get a dollar discount on my next rental. In a word, I for one do NOT ♥ huckabees (heh heh. Bet no other reviewer has used THAT line yet). 1/5

( ::Finding Neverland:: )

The DVD has tons of extras, none of which we watched because we both knew its purchase was inevitable. Johnny just gets better with age. Tery commented (100% accurately) that I would like nothing better than a Scottish!Johnny/Ewan sandwich. She also noted that both of them are married to gorgeous French women. On a more thoughtful and less lascivious note, she feels J.M. Barrie is the perfect prelude to Willy Wonka; the roles are actually very similar, as two men who love children but hate the loss of innocence. Wow, and I thought she was just counting the minutes before she could mindlessly channel-surf again. A resounding 4/5

At this point in the evening we ran out of things to watch, since she wasn't quite ready for more Johnny so soon (I can't explain it, don't ask me). I have been subtly pressuring her into Shaun of the Dead for weeks now, but I know how pointless it is to try to make someone enjoy something if they aren't watching it by choice. She kept insisting she didn't like zombie movies. I was equally insistent that it WASN'T a zombie movie. I even showed her the disc that states clearly "A Romantic Comedy. With Zombies." But I dropped it and we played a few rounds of "Whatcha wanna watch? I dunno, whatchoo wanna watch?" before we settled on some Season 5 South Park. I knew she couldn't tolerate an entire disc full of episodes like I do, but what I didn't expect was halfway through one ep ("The Entity," in which Mr. Garrison creates his exciting new "IT" mobile) when she turned to me suddenly, took a deep breath, and announced, "I'm ready to watch Shaun now."

Yes, our tastes are so disparate that she actually has to steel herself to watch one of the funniest movies ever made (no, she's not an alien, although some days the question is perfectly reasonable). And she claims to love British comedy! So it was especially satisfying when she laughed multiple times and claimed to have enjoyed it very much. She even enthusiastically offered suggestions for my new Shaun icon. I bit my tongue before saying "I told you so." Then the next night, over Easter dinner, it was on to:

( ::Secret Window:: )

What saddened me was how excited the Hollywood Video girl was about it, how many times she assured me what a good movie it was. Perhaps I should leave her a note suggesting instead you-know-what before she innocently misleads other movie renters. But Johnny was still dreamy. 2/5

Follow-up: well if anyone really wants to know, Tery came home last night and we had it out. She was predictably teary-eyed and repentant so I did most of the talking. I threw out some theories of Tabby's. See, whereas Tabby can 100% see my side of things, she has more often been in Tery's position. She tried to describe to me how drinking a certain amount of alcohol impairs your judgment so badly that part of you KNOWS you should go home, part of you KNOWS what the right thing to do is, but the alcohol insists more loudly that you are having a great time and you don't really want to leave and you shouldn't have to leave. Tery agreed that this was part of her problem, and I broke down and apologized that I wasn't as much fun as "a pitcher of beer and 6 of her closest friends." (Note: Massive guilt trip here.) We both cried and I asked what was going to happen now. She thought for a minute and said "I need to grow up and stop hurting you." I agreed. She also recognized that this only becomes a problem when she has no days off and she feels she has to make any free time she can get last. Between working two jobs, she never has a day off (the only reason she has been better lately is because for the month of July she had every Friday off, but now all the college kids are going back to school). I suggested she tell her boss at the bar that she needed Saturdays off; the bar might be going out of business soon and she doesn't make much money anyway on Saturdays, so I didn't think this would be too great a sacrifice. She agreed to talk to someone, but I know her very well. A.) she dreads confrontation and speaking up for herself with practically a phobia-like intensity, and B.) she hates letting people down (apart from me, apparently), and takes on too much responsibility and then feels stuck with it. So I will have to keep pushing her but hopefully we will resolve this.

In brighter news (?) rumor has it President Bush came to Denver yesterday. There was going to be a massive Democrat protest organizing to meet him and my friends were pushing me to go downtown. Probably the biggest thing stopping me was my aforementioned dislike of crowds (sad, huh?) I gloomily joked, "Oh, so if I wanted to assassinate him, this would be my chance?" They laughed but said I should be careful about saying such things. So I guess my belief that America was the land of Freedom of Speech was misguided. (note: if there are any Federal agents reading this, I was honestly joking and would never kill anyone. I believe murder is wrong. Although I won't deny there are certainly some people whose deaths would not be mourned by me. Like outspoken homophobic clergy members for instance.)

Wow, where did all this bitterness come from? sorry.......

-=Lainey=-