Yeah, I'm excited about X3. I'm not happy about the fact that after nearly three years of exhasting patience and biting of my nails, watching fearfully as Springer left it, saw it sitting and growing dust, sent prayers that all the cast would sign back on and spasming after following ever article and commercial with dedicated fan/otaku spirit, I have to wait another night to see it. Damn, damn, damn it all.

 

I don't get to go to the midnight showing. I don't know if I'm angry or sad or a mix of both. I do feel sick to my stomache, however.

 

To not be able to go see this...at this point in my life, I could only compare this to not being present for my brother's birth. Except that I've known about the film longer. And it won't be quite as gross.

 

*cue hair standing on end.*

 

Okay. So supposedly the rule is that women are always right, right?

 

Okay. So explain how the fuck any relationship of mine is going to get anywhere!

 

Me: Hey, wanna B;ah, blah, blah?

Her: Mmm, no, because blah blah blah.

Me: What? No, that's not right.

Her: No, I'm right. You're wrong. I'm a woman.

Me: WTF? I'm a woman too!

Well, I'm seriously considering tattoos. Which is huge, because it's permenent. Technically. If you're willing to break your budget and get top notch laser skin surgery, or chop off the offending limb that contains the tattoo....

Anyways, It's a bit of a situation. I want it to be meaningful. Personal. Creative. Nothin over the counter, something that everyone else wants, or a pop culture icon. How ridiculous. Who's seriously going to remember Bender in 5 years? who knows who he is now?

The "pain" associated with it doesn't bother me. Nor the the thought of infection. Not if I have it done in a legal place.

It all comes back to what do I want.

Picture your body as a large, brand new canvas. And you have all the paints in the world, any brush you want, and this canvas is just beckoning at you "Paint me, make me something unique!" And you're shouting back "But people will love you like this! You're so pure! and besides, I don't know what I want to paint!"

Tribal arm bands? Too cliche. Hand tats? Too "obvious." Apparently tattoos affect your job prospects. I thought I knew what I wanted. It'd be perfect, personal and meaningful.

I'd get the numbers 148764 on my arm. (The number of a Jewish gay man who was killed in Auchswitz.)

It'd be a tribute. A reminder to never forget the past, or what humans can be capable of. 

Yet... So many people think it's grotesque. that it's somehow mocking those who died, a empty guesture, to say, "big deal."  So far from the truth. I think that the Holocaust has changed my way of thinking. It heavies my heart everyday.

And then, if I could decide of a tat (other than the number) the next question is Where? Arm? Bicept? Back, stomach, lower back, buttock (god forbid) leg, ankle?

Hoo Boy.

So, am I ready to be inked? Hardly. I don't even have peirced ears. Hopefully that'll change.  But I want to be marked. I think tattooing is an art form. Underappreaciated, and spit on uneccesarily. The problem comes with people who stupidly brand themselves. because they're going through a "punk" phase in their life. Of whatever.

I don't think this is a phase for me. More of a transition. Or Passage.

So, Now that I haven't posted in forever and that everyone has considered me either deceased or..inprisoned (or should I say comitted..?) I post, to no one of course, but babble is still babble.

 

X-Men 3 is coming out. While I strive to contain my excitement, I have my moments of squealing and rabid fangirling happiness. Yes, the cast is back on whole. Along with Sentinals, Danger Room, Beast (Dr. Hank McCoy) Warren Worthington (Angel) Cain Xavier (Juggernaut. Charles half brother. Evil.) It looks so damn cool. Except, you know, Beast. Um, yeah. Did the make-up department ever look at an X-Men comic book before?

 

Also, DaVinci Code comes out within the same month as X-men (May, 2006)   Again, I'm really happy about the casting for this one. Any grudges I may have had for Tom Hanks playing the Professor have dissolved after watching the trailer. And even though the contrast between the description of Brown's Teabing is a portly red haired, ruddy faced, short man and the casting of Sir Ian Mckellen (Who falls under none of these physical descriptions, except for the fact that both are British) is okay, because aside from being a devoted follower movie goer of his movies, he does, in an odd way, fit the part.

 

In Seasonal news, my Nano which has been christened "Caboose" in honor of Red Vs. Blue is doing well, with a whole 200 songs under his wee aluminum cover. I celebrate this with Pocky.

signing off

-Fan

Will everyone just leave me alone? Hmmm? Thank you, that wasn't difficult, was it? Why is it everyone believes that they can help you, and that one should share their problems? Why can one figure out one's problems for one's self? is that too hard of a concept to grasp? is it, really?

People are so goddamn annoying, they way they all act like they've got a degree in human psychology, the eay the analyze you, break you down into different compartments, how they seperate the "logical" from those who don't think in a straight line. Like it's a bad thing. Einstien didn't talk until he was four. Beethoven was deaf. I bet Einstein would have threatened his parents with the Manhatten project had he known about it.
"You know what mom, if you don't leave me alone, guess what? I'm going to create an A-Bomb, and you'd best just pack up and move, because I'm not *going* to want to talk to someone who wants me to repeat idiotic phrases."

I. Hate. School.

I hate almost every aspect of it. Except art and scaring my teachers.Yeah, I did that again. My poor math teacher.

See, I drew a swastika and a reverse swastika on a paper that happened to have a math assignment on it. I drew the signs to help illustrate the story of the rune, why the swasitka was used and the significance behind why it was actually a reverse of the real swastika, which is good luck to a student.

Unfortunently,my teacher was unaware of the lesson I had taught, and in a moment of dislexyia, I'd labeled the bad one as good and vice versa. So all my teacher saw was a drawing of a swastika labeled good, which is really bad.

He asked me If I was a supporter of the Nazi party. >_<

To top things off, I'd also written on the back of another assignment I'd handed in the same day a list of my syptoms from about a week ago. (A week ago I was on a deathbed. Well, not literally, but I was in a great amount of pain) And for some reason I can't even remember I'd listed all the different meds I had been taking to see what was for what and all that jazz.

My poor, poor Math teacher.

He asked me if I took drugs.

I told him only the ones my docter prescribes for me.

So I become social, and what do I get? A huge fucking rusty nail in my foot. Damnit.

My friend celebrates her birthday, (rah, Rah) and it was pretty cool to begin with. Cranked up Arabian Techno, Muddin' in the orchards, bonfire, ect.

So we're destroying a mobile home, with crowbars, bats and other varios tools of destruction (per orders of the owner of mobile home, not illegally) and having a blast. What a way to pass the time, taking off sideing, ramming the stove, busting the mirrors, shattering glass, ripping insulation and wrenching off boards. We should have know that Stupid things were going to happen. First, I step on the nail. And ignore it. Hey, it didn't go through, and I'm having fun, it's not hurting that much, whatever. I go to smash a backlight. Jesse sees me limp a bit. I tell him, he makes me sit, take off my shoe and look at it. Someone else sees this, freaks out and starts asking me if I'm okay. I assure her I'm fine and that everyone is making a big deal out of nothing. She goes to get a bowl of water, antibiotica and a band-aid. I sit on the ground, watching in amazment as everyone gets concerned. I had no idea they cared so much about my physical wellbeing. After telling everyone that I haven't contracted cancer, I just stepped on a nail, for God's sake, Jesse and Craig go into the house and drag out an old recliner from the basement. Why they didn't make me just go into the house is beyond me. Anyways they set that up next to the fire and make me sit while I apply the provided band-aid. After putting my shoe back on and getting ready to stand, Craig pushes me back on the chair, tells me to take it easy and then starts to question me about tetnus shots. I roll my eyes.

I leave the party early, go home and deal with this scenario with my mother again. I soak my foot, put a band-aid on (again) and go to bed.

Waking the next morning to excruciating pain wasn't fun. My toes were swollen and my dog was licking them, which hurt. I stuffed my foot into my sock, shoe and prepare to go to work. Coming upstairs, I realize that the was no point in putting my shoes on, because my mom makes me take them off again to look. No warning signs of Blood Poisoning, So I head to work. And Limp. In pain.

Home again I eat pain killers, try to nap, while twitching thinking everyone is going to hit my foot.  next came another inspection followed by another soaking to "cleanse" my foot. And now it sits like pain weight, not quite dead weight, but about as useless.


So what have I learned?
1. Converses will not protect your feet from nails.
2. Um, my friends are crazy, but they do care.
3. don' go to a job where there is not sitting if you have to hop around

Meh. I dunno what to write. Creative juice drainage problems. Am waiting for it to unclog. Any minute now.

Watch the movie. It's only a minute out of your day.

 

Have you ever felt alone?
Just a tiny spot.
It can be so scary
knowing your only a dot
showing up on a screen