"My conquistador, always conquering."
"Don't worry. We're almost there."
"You pulled me through time..."
"There is a disease... there is a cure... and I will find it."
____
In other news, it's been an odd couple of days. Friday I went to the theater to see if the poster for The Fountain had come in. It hadn't. I was sad. (I'm stealing one of those motherfucking things, so it better arrive before I leave!) I also went to see Lady In The Water with Josh (verdict? Not Shayamalan's worst, not his best. It's definitely better than Signs, The Sixth Sense, and The Village, though). In the meantime, his battery ran low on his DS, so he apparently hopped out of the theater at some point to go to Wal-Mart. So in the meantime, I spent time with Kayla (the girlfriend of one of the members of Josh's band, Lord Bacon vs. The Waffle Machine), who's a hyperactive 17-year-old. The night before, she watched Superman Returns and V For Vendetta from my laptop, and for some reason, she took it upon herself to spend most of Friday kicking around with me. We walked to McDonald's, walked back, played some Geometry Wars, talked, caught four-fifths of Monster House (verdict? Really good, considering the comparison is the creepy/heartless Polar Express), and eventually DID settle down into Lady In The Water at the end of the night. From there, we ended up at Jim's house -- ganja was passed, beers were sipped, and Mario Party 7 was played. I then took her back to her house. She let me crash in her bed, but thanks to the pot, her body was still pumped up whereas her mind was asleep. So we shot the shit for an hour.
Then she hit me with a pillow.
So I hit her back.
And she fired her own shot back.
And onward. Eventually, we managed to knock the pillows off the bed, and she went straight at me with her hands bared like claws. I pinned her down. This would continue for two hours straight, with me having to put her in incredibly uncomfortable positions in order to prevent her from tearing my hair out or biting my shoulder or chaining me to something in her room and pouring drops of water on me in regular intervals, thus driving me insane. From that (with it now being 7 AM) we went to sleep. We woke up at 2 on Saturday. We watched Blow, she showed me a shitload of her medals and ribbons and stuff from when she actually competed and gave a crap about winning, an insane-hair yearbook picture (let me grab the closest thing I've seen to it before:
Just not as intricate, and in black-and-white. Note her hair doesn't look anything like this anymore (nor ever seemed to look like that before -- she's now got dark red highlights, if anything, and before all of this, she had blonder color).
We also read from Marilyn Manson's autobiography, because she showed me some traces she did way back in a notebook. Like, out loud. Speaking of which, he probably should write a follow-up volume to that, seeing as it ends just towards the release of Antichrist Superstar. Therefore, the decimation of his relationship with Trent Reznor, the recording of Mechanical Animals, the Columbine shootings and his response to it, his courting and marriage to Dita Von Teese, all this stuff, hasn't been touched upon.
She also continued to pounce on me and try to tear my hair out some more.
I think after that we went to the theater again. Hung around with Ian as he popped popcorn on his second-to-last day. Sat outside. Did the generally stupid boring things that young adults and teenagers do in a generally stupid and boring resort town. Finally, after... let's see... 31 hours around Kayla, we finally parted ways, as she headed with Ian towards Jim's house.
So, yeah. Spending that much time around a kicking, scratching, biting, trash-talking, tomboy crazywoman who decided I was her new best friend pretty much tired me out this weekend.
But, hey, it beats sitting inside.
And just to make this perfectly clear: There was nothing sexual about any of this. Except for conversations. For some reason, she decided to be very inquirous of my sex life and my preferences. But, since she's still a minor, still technically with someone else (they're on a "space" moment right now, so they're basically fuck buddies who aren't seeing anyone else, but not spending huge amounts of time with each other whatsoever), and we don't find each other attractive.
... I don't think, at least.
"Don't worry. We're almost there."
"You pulled me through time..."
"There is a disease... there is a cure... and I will find it."
____
In other news, it's been an odd couple of days. Friday I went to the theater to see if the poster for The Fountain had come in. It hadn't. I was sad. (I'm stealing one of those motherfucking things, so it better arrive before I leave!) I also went to see Lady In The Water with Josh (verdict? Not Shayamalan's worst, not his best. It's definitely better than Signs, The Sixth Sense, and The Village, though). In the meantime, his battery ran low on his DS, so he apparently hopped out of the theater at some point to go to Wal-Mart. So in the meantime, I spent time with Kayla (the girlfriend of one of the members of Josh's band, Lord Bacon vs. The Waffle Machine), who's a hyperactive 17-year-old. The night before, she watched Superman Returns and V For Vendetta from my laptop, and for some reason, she took it upon herself to spend most of Friday kicking around with me. We walked to McDonald's, walked back, played some Geometry Wars, talked, caught four-fifths of Monster House (verdict? Really good, considering the comparison is the creepy/heartless Polar Express), and eventually DID settle down into Lady In The Water at the end of the night. From there, we ended up at Jim's house -- ganja was passed, beers were sipped, and Mario Party 7 was played. I then took her back to her house. She let me crash in her bed, but thanks to the pot, her body was still pumped up whereas her mind was asleep. So we shot the shit for an hour.
Then she hit me with a pillow.
So I hit her back.
And she fired her own shot back.
And onward. Eventually, we managed to knock the pillows off the bed, and she went straight at me with her hands bared like claws. I pinned her down. This would continue for two hours straight, with me having to put her in incredibly uncomfortable positions in order to prevent her from tearing my hair out or biting my shoulder or chaining me to something in her room and pouring drops of water on me in regular intervals, thus driving me insane. From that (with it now being 7 AM) we went to sleep. We woke up at 2 on Saturday. We watched Blow, she showed me a shitload of her medals and ribbons and stuff from when she actually competed and gave a crap about winning, an insane-hair yearbook picture (let me grab the closest thing I've seen to it before:
Just not as intricate, and in black-and-white. Note her hair doesn't look anything like this anymore (nor ever seemed to look like that before -- she's now got dark red highlights, if anything, and before all of this, she had blonder color).
We also read from Marilyn Manson's autobiography, because she showed me some traces she did way back in a notebook. Like, out loud. Speaking of which, he probably should write a follow-up volume to that, seeing as it ends just towards the release of Antichrist Superstar. Therefore, the decimation of his relationship with Trent Reznor, the recording of Mechanical Animals, the Columbine shootings and his response to it, his courting and marriage to Dita Von Teese, all this stuff, hasn't been touched upon.
She also continued to pounce on me and try to tear my hair out some more.
I think after that we went to the theater again. Hung around with Ian as he popped popcorn on his second-to-last day. Sat outside. Did the generally stupid boring things that young adults and teenagers do in a generally stupid and boring resort town. Finally, after... let's see... 31 hours around Kayla, we finally parted ways, as she headed with Ian towards Jim's house.
So, yeah. Spending that much time around a kicking, scratching, biting, trash-talking, tomboy crazywoman who decided I was her new best friend pretty much tired me out this weekend.
But, hey, it beats sitting inside.
And just to make this perfectly clear: There was nothing sexual about any of this. Except for conversations. For some reason, she decided to be very inquirous of my sex life and my preferences. But, since she's still a minor, still technically with someone else (they're on a "space" moment right now, so they're basically fuck buddies who aren't seeing anyone else, but not spending huge amounts of time with each other whatsoever), and we don't find each other attractive.
... I don't think, at least.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
you must be the most magnetic person on the planet.