Saw American Graffiti for the first time. Decided it was OPEC propaganda. There are far too many movies about cars. Also, it was sort of boring.
Tomorrow I am trying out for the Vagina Monologues, which, as a seasoned and cynical feminist, I will admit I am beginning to find somewhat rhetorical, but ultimately, I am excited because good cause (awareness of and support against violence against women) + I get to perform in something, which I haven't done in years + my good friend will be directing. I want the one about the word cunt. Because I like saying cunt, and I want to do so in front of a large crowd.
In other news, I recently learned to knit, and made a big fluffy scarf for doba21, my adorable, sweet boyfriend. Seriously, the thing is like heaven topped with whipped cream sprinkled in magical fairy dust and then drizzled with hugs. I'm so talented.
In other, other news, I get a domain sometime soon. I am thinking digitaladrianne.com. I will use it to display my portfolio, advertise for my photography services, and put some of my "avant garde digital art" shit for the world to see. And lots of my opinions about super awesome things.
In other, other, other news, I get my radio show back this January. It's called The Bubblegum Stick, and I play adorable, upbeat indie pop, New Wave, and any genre that makes me giddy (like surfabilly).
In other*** news, I hope I don't have to live with some 18 year old freshman. They'll want me to buy them beer, and will be like "No!" and they will be like "Please?" and I will punch them in the face. I would rather avoid it, really.
In other news, I recently learned to knit, and made a big fluffy scarf for doba21, my adorable, sweet boyfriend. Seriously, the thing is like heaven topped with whipped cream sprinkled in magical fairy dust and then drizzled with hugs. I'm so talented.
In other, other news, I get a domain sometime soon. I am thinking digitaladrianne.com. I will use it to display my portfolio, advertise for my photography services, and put some of my "avant garde digital art" shit for the world to see. And lots of my opinions about super awesome things.
In other, other, other news, I get my radio show back this January. It's called The Bubblegum Stick, and I play adorable, upbeat indie pop, New Wave, and any genre that makes me giddy (like surfabilly).
In other*** news, I hope I don't have to live with some 18 year old freshman. They'll want me to buy them beer, and will be like "No!" and they will be like "Please?" and I will punch them in the face. I would rather avoid it, really.
Today goes down in my biography as the day that I got fired by a woman who bobbles her head all the time due to icky down east office politics. I called her a cunt, to her face, which might have felt too wonderful to even describe.
I make a mean sweet potato vegeterian chili.
I am getting a sexy, gym buffed body.
I sort of hate my job.
I have to pee.
I am getting a sexy, gym buffed body.
I sort of hate my job.
I have to pee.
Holloween is totally my favorite. 5 parties in 2 days. I think I can do it.
I need a costume, though.
To remind myself why I go to college, and to make some money to buy a new camera (my old one was stolen in September when some maniac broke into my bedroom, threatened to kill me, tried unsuccessfully to muffle my screams, and bolted with my purse- which didn't contain credit cards, or any identification, but a Canon Rebel) I am doing the wreath season thing. Cust service one place, decoration at the other.
I used to do the decoration thing in high school, to buy x-mas presents for my family and friends. There isn't much for work, in Machias, Maine, and if you want anything, if just to survive, you swing with the seasons. That's blue-collar. There's pride in it. It smells of balsam, blueberries, and fish.
The women in those shops will say some of the most disgusting things you've ever heard... that is if you've never heard the dock boys in a blueberry factory.
It's good because it will be mindless. It's bad because it's boring, time consuming, and will prevent me from kissing doba21 as much as I would like to. But... there are busses. Maybe he can come to me once or twice.
I need a costume, though.
To remind myself why I go to college, and to make some money to buy a new camera (my old one was stolen in September when some maniac broke into my bedroom, threatened to kill me, tried unsuccessfully to muffle my screams, and bolted with my purse- which didn't contain credit cards, or any identification, but a Canon Rebel) I am doing the wreath season thing. Cust service one place, decoration at the other.
I used to do the decoration thing in high school, to buy x-mas presents for my family and friends. There isn't much for work, in Machias, Maine, and if you want anything, if just to survive, you swing with the seasons. That's blue-collar. There's pride in it. It smells of balsam, blueberries, and fish.
The women in those shops will say some of the most disgusting things you've ever heard... that is if you've never heard the dock boys in a blueberry factory.
It's good because it will be mindless. It's bad because it's boring, time consuming, and will prevent me from kissing doba21 as much as I would like to. But... there are busses. Maybe he can come to me once or twice.
Here's why I dislike karaoke and generally avoid it:
The people at karaoke are always assholes, the music always sucks, and I always have to remain sober enough to drive myself home, and if for some reason, I am drunk enough to enjoy karaoke, I am also probably drunk enough to the point where I probably wouldn't mind chinese torture, another delight to come from the east.
The people who go to karaoke can be divided into three groups: the people who think they can sing. Consider the Steiners. They are always obnoxious, egomaniacal douchebags who are way overeager to show off their 5 octave range. They beatbox to themselves, and make that squinty "I'm trying to fellate the mic" face. They live for karaoke. They are even willing to do it sober.
The sadists, who, most often know they can't sing and want to torture you anyhow, while at the same time expressing their latent homosexuality. Look for the frat guys who write eachother's names in for Britney tunes and then, after 15 minutes of being all "fuck you! I'm not doing it!" they finally perfom, purposely off tune, and add some hot disco move, usually involving slapping their own asses, and they think they are HILARIOUS. And the audience usually loves them.
And then, there are the people who go there solely to heckle the singers. They usually can't even see straight. That would probably be me, if I were drunk enough to be there and content with the situation. There is nothing good about being so drunk that I am abusive. Trust me, it's not charming. It's not attractive on them, either.
The people at karaoke are always assholes, the music always sucks, and I always have to remain sober enough to drive myself home, and if for some reason, I am drunk enough to enjoy karaoke, I am also probably drunk enough to the point where I probably wouldn't mind chinese torture, another delight to come from the east.
The people who go to karaoke can be divided into three groups: the people who think they can sing. Consider the Steiners. They are always obnoxious, egomaniacal douchebags who are way overeager to show off their 5 octave range. They beatbox to themselves, and make that squinty "I'm trying to fellate the mic" face. They live for karaoke. They are even willing to do it sober.
The sadists, who, most often know they can't sing and want to torture you anyhow, while at the same time expressing their latent homosexuality. Look for the frat guys who write eachother's names in for Britney tunes and then, after 15 minutes of being all "fuck you! I'm not doing it!" they finally perfom, purposely off tune, and add some hot disco move, usually involving slapping their own asses, and they think they are HILARIOUS. And the audience usually loves them.
And then, there are the people who go there solely to heckle the singers. They usually can't even see straight. That would probably be me, if I were drunk enough to be there and content with the situation. There is nothing good about being so drunk that I am abusive. Trust me, it's not charming. It's not attractive on them, either.
Hello out there in T.V. Land!
I just want to say that I am a fabulous cook. For dinner I made fettuccini with shrimp and veggies in a creamy dill white wine sauce. And homemade apple pie. Just because I can. Also, recipes are for pussies.
Last weekend, I took the porn store tour of Portland. There was definitely gay sex occuring in one of the sketchy ones with the booths. It was pretty special.
After that, there was nothing to do but see Man of the Year which had funny moments and the occasional good point, but in general wasn't that great. I would place it on a shelf next to Patch Adams, if, for some reason I owned Patch Adams.
To be fair to poor Robin WIlliams, the last movie I saw before that was The Science of Sleep which is pretty fucking hard to beat. I wonder if they printed my review...
I could to to A.J.s- the one bar in a 50 mile radius, but it's kareoke night. Kareoke is the worst invention of the 20th century... aside from the atom bomb-- which may have been developed solely to prevent the inevitable invention of the kareoke machine.
OK, now that I have been whoa offensive and committed horrible historical innaccuracies.... I guess I should call it a journal entry and go to bed.
I just want to say that I am a fabulous cook. For dinner I made fettuccini with shrimp and veggies in a creamy dill white wine sauce. And homemade apple pie. Just because I can. Also, recipes are for pussies.
Last weekend, I took the porn store tour of Portland. There was definitely gay sex occuring in one of the sketchy ones with the booths. It was pretty special.
After that, there was nothing to do but see Man of the Year which had funny moments and the occasional good point, but in general wasn't that great. I would place it on a shelf next to Patch Adams, if, for some reason I owned Patch Adams.
To be fair to poor Robin WIlliams, the last movie I saw before that was The Science of Sleep which is pretty fucking hard to beat. I wonder if they printed my review...
I could to to A.J.s- the one bar in a 50 mile radius, but it's kareoke night. Kareoke is the worst invention of the 20th century... aside from the atom bomb-- which may have been developed solely to prevent the inevitable invention of the kareoke machine.
OK, now that I have been whoa offensive and committed horrible historical innaccuracies.... I guess I should call it a journal entry and go to bed.
Hello out there in T.V. Land!
I am a fabulous cook. For dinner I made fettuccini with shrimp and veggies in a creamy dill white wine sauce. And homemade apple pie. Just because I can. Also, recipes are for pussies.
Last weekend, I took the porn store tour of Portland. There was definitely gay sex occuring in one of the sketchy ones with the booths. It was pretty special.
After that, there was nothing to do but see Man of the Year which had funny moments and the occasional good point, but in general wasn't that great. I would place it on a shelf next to Patch Adams, if, for some reason I owned Patch Adams.
To be fair to poor Robin WIlliams, the last movie I saw before that was The Science of Sleep which is pretty fucking hard to beat. I wonder if they printed my review...
I could to to A.J.s- the one bar in a 50 mile radius, but it's kareoke night. Kareoke is the worst invention of the 20th century... aside from the atom bomb-- which may have been developed solely to prevent the inevitable invention of the kareoke machine.
OK, now that I have been whoa offensive and committed horrible historical innaccuracies.... I guess I should call it a journal entry and go to bed.
I am a fabulous cook. For dinner I made fettuccini with shrimp and veggies in a creamy dill white wine sauce. And homemade apple pie. Just because I can. Also, recipes are for pussies.
Last weekend, I took the porn store tour of Portland. There was definitely gay sex occuring in one of the sketchy ones with the booths. It was pretty special.
After that, there was nothing to do but see Man of the Year which had funny moments and the occasional good point, but in general wasn't that great. I would place it on a shelf next to Patch Adams, if, for some reason I owned Patch Adams.
To be fair to poor Robin WIlliams, the last movie I saw before that was The Science of Sleep which is pretty fucking hard to beat. I wonder if they printed my review...
I could to to A.J.s- the one bar in a 50 mile radius, but it's kareoke night. Kareoke is the worst invention of the 20th century... aside from the atom bomb-- which may have been developed solely to prevent the inevitable invention of the kareoke machine.
OK, now that I have been whoa offensive and committed horrible historical innaccuracies.... I guess I should call it a journal entry and go to bed.
MAY 2007
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APRIL 2007
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MARCH 2007
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FEBRUARY 2007