Lateshoes

It’s true that a yellow room is like prozac without the pesky sexual side effects. Lars and I have been in such good moods we’ve actually done things with our post-work, evening lives. We started hanging pictures and making some plans for painting the rest of the house. Then we lazed about watching Sopranos until the power went out because some ijiot drove his car straight into a power line.
This morning I woke up to a frozen, icy walk to the bus….and now my thighs are totally sore from doing the Richard Clifford walk. (*Richard Clifford is this guy Tawnya and I knew from Ricks who walked in short, slightly bouncy, Japanese animation steps whenever it was icy. We made fun of him, but later realized such ridiculous hoofing can prevent you from some major ass busting).
So, yeah…and while I’m on the subject of folks that Tawnya and I knew at Ricks 13 years ago, did I mention that my new neighbor (the guy and his neglected dogs with pretentious names moved out) is my arch nemesis from my formative college years? We were roomies. She was a major shit talker and stuff stealer. It didn’t end well. Now we’re neighbors. Charming.
The dogs were barking at her kid in the back yard, so I came out to scold them and sneak a peak at the folks moving in. We both, started doing the overly smiley, “heeeey” when suddenly, recognition hit and both of our faces fell. “Tracy?…. so, you own this house?” She said, pointing at my vinyl siding. “Yeah. So, uh…you’re moving in here?” I said, hoping that she was just helping out a pal. “Uh huh. Yeah, this is my son, *****.” Then she turned her back and continued to unload her incredibly noisy diesel truck. I took the dogs inside and hyperventilated to Tawnya, who also couldn’t believe this shit.
That was on Friday…we haven’t seen each other since. If we can keep it that way, things should be swell.

The new yellow living room
Originally uploaded by lateshoes.

We painted and painted and painted and painted yesterday. It’s so damn cheery, I just might not kill myself this winter.
Although, it’s managed to bring out just how disgusting our carpet is, which kind of makes me feel suicidal.
Oh well. I can hang pictures on the wall at least.

I plan on gorging myself until I puke tomorrow.
The plumber came and fixed our leaky drain problem and the furnace-fixer guy is supposedly coming this afternoon.
What will life be life without having to wear three pairs of socks in my own house?

I might just die.

Happy Thanksgiving. I was going to post a “What I’m thankful for” list, but that’s just going to have to wait.

Dammit. I’ve spent most of the day looking for a ringtone of the Dandy Warhol’s “We used to be friends” that is compatible with my wack ass Sprint phone. I’ll give you a dollar if you can find one that sounds good and works on my phone.

This douchebag walked steadily behind me, no matter that I kept varying my pace, all the way from the busstop to the library door. I don’t know if he’s wrong for doing it or I’m wrong for wanting to crack his skull for doing it.
Fucking close-walkers.
Lars and I watched the Ashton Kutcher classic, The Butterfly Effect last night. WTF? LMFAO. LOL. IMHO Ashton Kutcher is the best. actor. ever.
So, the movie’s plot is innocent enough. Kid blacks out a lot. Crappy shit always happens when he blacks out. When he grows up he figures out that if he stares blankly enough at his childhood journals that everything will get blurry and that he can time travel and make different decisions and thus change the course of his life and the life of his friends. Of course…he totally fucks shit up. See the scene where he wakes up as a frat boy.
I liked this movie when I saw it the first time and it was called Donnie Darko.

In an effort to force myself out of this winter depression, I have changed the look of this blog once again. I apologize for the overt Springy/ ice creamy tones. I realize that pink and green pastels can make it harder to digest words like “fuck” and “motherfuckers” and “cocksuckers.”
However, don’t let the new design fool you, I’m just as foul mouthed and malcontented as ever. (*Seeing the new Harry Potter movie aside, of course).
Winter has been totally thrust upon us here in the Great Salt Lake valley. I’m trying to defy it by wearing my converse, but the frostbite on my big toe is telling me that it’s not worth it.
Now, let me get to what you’ve all been wondering about… Harry Potter.
The theatre was, much to my and Lars’ dismay, filled…fucking absolutely brimming with small children. We thought we were lucky and safe when we scored seats in the exact center of the theatre, in front of an elderly couple. What we couldn’t have known at the time was that those motherfuckers were saving most of the entire row behind us for their demon spawned grand-children. When the demon spawn arrived, all hell broke loose. The two tiniest devils (around 4 or 5 years old) were seated directly behind me and Lars. They bounced in their chairs, squealed, picked their noses, kicked our chairs, dumped popcorn all over us and proceeded to walk back and forth, grabbing the backs of our chairs every time they passed….and the movie was still 45 minutes away. Tawnya, wisely sensing that her best friend and best friend’s husband were about to commit murder against two small children and their grandparents, suggested that we move before the movie began. As sad as it was to leave our “perfect” seats, we relented. So, we nestled ourselves a few rows up on the far left side. There were some kids in front of us, who seemed behaved enough and there were little angel boys sitting next to Lars who were so well behaved I wondered if they weren’t drugged. Behind us was another family with a very tiny, little girl seated directly behind me, who during the scene where the merpeople have stolen Hermione, Ron, Cho and that other ho’s little sister kept asking her mom, “Are they dead?” “Are they dead?” “Are they dead?” over and over and over and over. (I really have to wonder about parents. This girl couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 and this movie, yes, it’s a “kid’s” movie, but it was rated PG-13 and there’s a fucking blood sacrifice for christ’s sake).
Anyway, I really enjoyed the movie itself. Yes, there were 10 billion things left out from the book, but quite honestly, the fucking house elf plot can go fuck itself anyway. There! I’ve said it.
I laughed. I cried. All of the typical movie-going cliches.
My Harry Potter movie/ book ratings are as follows:

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Bone – Book: 7 / Film: 6
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Penis – Book: 7/ Film: 7
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of AssCramLand – Book: 10/ Film: 7 1/2
Harry Potter and the Crotch Gobbler on Fire – Book: 8/ Film: 8

Yeah, call me if you ever see anything cuter in your whole pathetic life.

I’m at work by myself, so quite frankly the whole “working” thing can suck it.

Don’t tell anyone, but I’m taking tomorrow off to see a children’s movie and don’t tease me cos I already feel like a bit of a perve….a giddy, giddy perve. I was talking to Lars about how I don’t think that Joseph and Ralph Feinnes look related at all…and then I burst into squeels and said, “YA KNOW WHO HE DOES LOOK LIKE?…..VOLDEMORT!!!!!! SQUEEEEEEE!”

Speaking of sqeeing…Veronica Mars was awesome last night and if you’re still not watching this show, I’m not sure if we can be friends. I’ve fully indoctrinated Tawnya with the 1st season dvd’s and you’re totally next, bitches.

Along with all the joys of homeowning come certain Sophie’s choice type scenarios.
We’re in one now.
Our furnace won’t turn on, so we have no heat. With Salt Lake’s weather take a turn into the 20′s you can imaging what our house feels like. Last night I wore sweatpants, two shirts, socks, a sweater and a sweatshirt to bed.
Over the weekend Lars discovered that our entire basement was flooded in about 2 iches of dirty dish water.
Now, we have $38.63 in the bank and the choice is before us.

Allison looked at the ring one last time before tossing it in the toilet of a public restroom near Main Street. Where had she gotten the ring? Who had given it to her? She hardly remembered now.
Of course she remembered.
Those were good times, she thought. She laughed at the possibility he might still be lingering the halls of her old apartment building. Still drunk. Still passed out on her welcome mat. Still sexually addicted to the sound of her voice saying dirty words. But, he was gone.
“Allison! What the fuck dude?”
“Sorry, I spaced out.”
“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been in here for over half an hour. It’s fucking freezing outside.”
“Eh, I feel kind of sick.”
“Are you binging and purging again?”
“Shut up, asshole.”
“Seriously, are you really sick? Can I get you something? There’s that drugstore right up the street.”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
She flushed to toilet and opened the stall door where her best friend was waiting, looking flushed from the cold and slightly concerned.
“Valerie, I’m fine. Stop looking at me like that.”
She washed her hands. Her left hand seemed enormous to her. She stared at it’s vast open space.

Look, if I’m walking up the stairs on the left side and you’re walking down the stairs in the middle, the burden is on you to move aside as we pass. On. YOU. Biatch.
Oh and another thing, high heeled, Wonder Woman boots on the outside of your pants are fucking ugly. Fucking. ugly.