The end.

When does the weekend come again?

Harry Potter: HBP – Seriously.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I was spending my last few minutes before crashing on my new couch-bed (you know, since there’s live construction going on in my house since my hot water heater busted and brand new carpet and walls are being replaced?)…

Uh, anyway, I’m flipping and I catch MJ’s name and something about how black people have their own movie list. What? There’s a blacks-only version of The Wizard of Oz? Is there a black Twilight, too? (Because if there is, I want to see it! It might make that movie worth seeing!) (Okay, so Edward makes that movie worth seeing, but whatever.)

I don’t know how I went 25 years without knowing this, especially since Michael Jackson is probably the only black man I’m remotely interested in (not that he counts seeing as I don’t think he’s black any more and I’m not entirely sure he counts as a man – or a human being?)…

(I love you Michael, whatever you are.)

So of course I bumped it to the top of my Netflix list.

It is amazing.

The costumes and makeup? What?!

In fact, this movie was so great, I see no reason my children should ever watch Judy Garland skip with her pigeon toes down the techni-color yellow brick road. Honestly, I could leave Dorothy out altogether as Diana Ross isn’t such a peach either. (Or a plum. Do I have to call her a plum because she’s black? Is that crossing the line? Or was it crossing the line when Rev. Lowery told me to step back?)

The only thing I don’t get is where was the wicked witch of the East? Evillene? Is that subway scene supposed to take the place of the East witch chasing Dorothy all around? I guess probably so.

I’m pretty sure I’m the worst person ever for writing this post. And that is why I give you my permission to use this post as evidence when I go abroad for schooling and am implicated in the murder of my Italian flatmate.

Let’s pretend I just didn’t write this post at all.

“I never do this, but… I mean, I really never do this.”

He didn’t even know my name.

I knew it was coming, and should have spared him. But I still had hope that I was just being vain and that it wasn’t intuition.

I’ve been driving to work this week instead of taking public transportation. Why? Well, because I feel like being alone in my care, that’s why. There’s only so much make believe staring a person with paranoia can take. That, and my office will either pay for the train or parking, so I’m trying to work out which is more profitable. (Considering how much my body convulsed out of cold as I walked out of that theater tonight, I may be driving through the winter.) I was actually on time Wednesday morning. Actually, early enough that I could stop and get an orange juice from the Indian man downstairs. I was actually going to stop at a donut place on the way, because that’s where I know orange juice to be… (regardless of the gluten temptation), but I didn’t see one even though I detoured down a road where one is known to be. Just as well. The Indian man and his family run the building cafe and serve authentic family recipes. I haven’t had any yet. I probably won’t. I like Kabab.

Tuesday night, I cried a lot. (I actually wrote this story down and decided not to post it. But, I cry, so I’m getting over it. In fact, references to crying are so prolific in this paragraph, you may want to skip over it altogether.) I mourned the absence of a potato peeler as I was boiling chicken and celery for the creamy shell soup (with potatoes). I cried for the blood leaking out of my thumb that I’d cut with a new knife while dicing onions. So not only was I bleeding, but the wound had onion remnants in it. It didn’t really hurt that badly, but I was already tearing due to the onion (which gets me every time). I mourned for the warm pot of chicken and celery as I put it in the fridge, because I would be eating cream cheese for dinner (by that time, at 9:30) and for lunch that on Wednesday. Then, I cried in frustration as I tried to put celery down the disposal only to discover it’s broken. After that, I cried some more when I threw toilet paper that I’d been using to blow my nose (I couldn’t locate a kleenex in time) in my toilet and remembered it’s been leaking, so I can’t flush it. Lastly, I cried because there was no one else in the house. I need a part-time roommate.

Tuesday, I made up for all the crying I hadn’t done in my life and probably should have.

Downtown smells like breakfast. I also ran two lights on Thursday. Downtown is hard to navigate.

I read an article Friday on CNN.com about an athiest group that put up a sign to celebrate Winter Solstice.

At this season of
the Winter Solstice
may reason prevail.

Religion is but
myth and superstition
that hardens hearts
and enslaves minds.

Dan Barker, a former evangelical preacher, who now heads Freedom From Religion Foundation, says that their message isn’t intended to be hateful or attacking. He claims that the Nativity scene itself is a “threat of internal violence if we don’t submit to that master.” “If there can be a Nativity scene saying that we are all going to hell if we don’t bow down to Jesus…” he continued, “Hate speech goes both ways.”

I wonder about this Dan Barker and what happened to him to turn from a Christian (loosely) preacher to an atheist. I also wonder what is making him think that his Solstice message isn’t attacking and how exactly a Nativity is.

I don’t like Nativity scenes. They bother me. I wonder, though, if I don’t feel attacked by them because I believe in Christ. And is it inherently attacking Mr. Barker because he does not?

Atheist Ron Phillips said, “They are shooting themselves in the foot. Everyone’s out there for the holidays, trying to represent their religion, their beliefs, and it’s a time to be positive.”

I agree. I don’t have a problem with Winter Solstice. I think it’s kind of cool. But no matter if I were an atheist or Christian, I would pass that Solstice sign and think, “Whoever wrote that is bitter.”

I would like to see a message for Winter Solstice that actually talked about the celebration, and not the condemning of another.

I’m actually a bit mystified at the message of that plaque: “…that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.” I feel more open minded now than I did ten years ago. (It’s gross that I can say “ten years ago” and have it be true.) Of course, Christ is still Lord, but I don’t rigidly accept things now.

I saw Twilight for the second time tonight. The first time, I was frustrated that the movie went by so quickly and skipped over what I thought were key points to understanding the movie. This time, I was frustrated that the film went by so painfully slow. The first time, I caught that Rob was losing grip on his American accent in the scene where Bella is washing her truck. I also caught that they gave oddly misplaced screen time to a dark haired woman eating salad in the diner; this time I caught that the woman is Stephenie Meyer. M. Night Shyamalan, anyone?

It was still just as awkward the second time around.

I mean, who pictured Edward in a hatchback? Whatev.

And who else thought Bella’s Lullaby should have been Coldplay’s Postcards From Far Away?

…did anyone happen to point their iPhone at the screen in that last scene where Victoria was shaking out her hair and walking down the stairs? It’s not on the soundtrack, and I’d like to know it.

I’m also in the process of watching Into the Wild. (I’ve acquired a small obsession with Kristen Stewart.) By “in the process,” I mean… I started it Tuesday, watched 5 minutes, watched another hour and a half on Wednesday, thought it would be over after an hour on Thursday… and then I came out to the farm, so, maybe I’ll finish it Sunday. When you work so stinking long, there’s not time to finish a movie.

Anyway, it’s good. Really good. I would actually like a chance to experience what “Alex Supertramp” did. Of course, I would need a space heater and a take-out menu. And I couldn’t rip apart an elk. But his thought process is intriguing. And I think I agree with him.

I may have been a hippie in the 60s.

Tonight as I unpacked, I listened to a pack of coyotes singing somewhere nearby. It was eerie and despite my knowledge that coyotes are afraid of me, it still sent a shiver of fear through me. A pack of coyotes might be different than just one.

It made me think of Alice and Jasper in the barn. My babies. It did not make me think of Jacob, because I loathe him.

I ate five bites of bad popcorn for dinner and now I’m starving.

I want a car that runs on hydrogen. I wonder if Mercedes will pick that up by the time I need to replace Lexi. I’m ready for something very fast. I just assume Mercedes will be fast. I only picked them because, out of all the fancy cars, I named my first dog Mersades (I couldn’t spell).

Of course, that will be well after I’m working on my own at quiltmaking and multi-media painting. That is, if I don’t fall in love with this lawyering job and decide to be really progressive and learn in the field.

Yeah right.

It just occurred to me yesterday that I should have gone to school to learn how to produce music. I was thinking, If there’s one thing I really love that takes little effort, it’s searching for awesome music. I’m a moron. Why didn’t I think about that, like, seven years ago?

I wonder what my dad will think about that.

co-worker: “Um, that’s your dad, right?”
me: “Yeah.”
co-worker: “It’s just that you sounded so serious when you transfered his call.”
me: “Yeah well, he wasn’t interested in chatting with me.”

Tomorrow (well today), I’m going to drive around until I find a place that will change my oil. I love small towns. I love small town teenagers. They’re just so… towny.

I found a cute shirt online that said, “I like my men Cold, Dead, and Sparkly.”

I was actually shaking so much with frigid coldness while writing this post that I had to edit it like 20 million times. I’m probably still editing it.

Circus by Britney Spears

I tried to teach some people how to play Star Munchkin tonight. It was bad. I was glad for the relief, and glad at least someone else knows how to play now. Though, since the entire game is a colossal waste of time, perhaps I should not be so glad.

Three days til a brunette Dakota Fanning! She finally saw the light! Bless her young age.

Why does that amuse me so much?

All the little kiddies are getting ready for camp! I miss it. This is my second year to not go. To be honest, I would be a JC and do dishes ALL DAY if the director were a different person. Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have put that out for display and I may live to regret it. It’s the truth (own it).

I seriously have one of the cutest dogs in the world. On a non-connected note, Paden bought Absolution by Muse the other day and I’m wondering why I didn’t hear about this group years ago.