Cloudy Nights and Champagne

25 05 2013

This is how I first pronounced the word champagne: SHAM-pag-neh. I had only ever seen it written and I was probably about twelve at the time. Funny.

In case it comes across later, I have imbibed a small bottle of champagne and I have the alcohol tolerance of a weasel.

If I ever go to China, all I will be able to say in Chinese is ‘Hello’ (nihao) ‘moon’ (yue) and TV (dian shi). Two of those words I learned from fortune cookies and the other I learned from Cardcaptor Sakura. Awesome. Aces. Whatever.

Pretty Woman is a stupid movie. I love it.

I hate Facebook. Everyone uses it to communicate and it makes me feel socially awkward and superior because 96% of Facebook is INANE BULLSHIT.

You know what else is bullshit? That there are SIX Fast and Furious movies. SIX. All of which consist of half naked women and vehicles exploding. I tried watching Tokyo Drift once and there was so little plot I decided to watch Teen Mom instead!

Yet when I want to watch a movie, I get overruled in favor of one of those movies? American cinema depresses me.

I know nothing about Star Trek except Patrick Stewart says ‘make it so’. I want to see Into Darkness because Benedict Cumberbatch is in it and because he’s the new Sherlock Holmes that rocks my socks off. Is it weird that my ideal man is a fictional arrogant dysfunctional  borderline sociopathic asexual who shoots holes in the wall when he’s  bored? I mean, I doubt he would make a good husband or father, but good god if I met a man like that I just might follow him to the ends of the earth.


Ooh, new topic. I have a few neuroses. One of these is that I am very unnerved by anyone entering my space. If I come back to my room and anything is disturbed, it freaks me out. Even if it’s been cleaned. I’m still like ‘OMG SPACE INVADED ARGH’. Thanks for violating my spirit and body further, abuser! /sarcasm

My family is aware of this. However, it seems my idiot brother doesn’t get it. I came home today, and my bed was remade incorrectly. Boom, alarm bells. I pull the sheet back, and my fitted sheet is gone, replaced by some other one. And he admits he was in my bed. I want to smack him in the mouth. He has no reason to be in my bed, and I can’t handle having my bed touched, I don’t like anyone sleeping in my bed unless I’m sleeping with them. Period. And I’ve told him this.

It’s disrespectful, and he doesn’t care. Should my mother not set him straight, I’m going to say, to his face, ‘Your daddy liked to come into my room at night and creep into my bed, so now I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN OTHER PEOPLE DO THAT.’ Maybe that will get his attention. Good god.

Another new topic!

My godmother’s daughter (who I think of as a younger cousin) had her bridal shower today. It was lovely. We got her a cocktail shaker and a bottle opener, both shaped like sperm whales. She loved them. Which was good, because someone else got her the same thing. She and her husband-to-be like their drinks, so they’ll get use out of them, at least. Bridal showers are fun. It was a little sad because my godmother really should have been there, but she’s been dead for almost a year, so instead we all got to tear up when one of the gifts was a drawing in a glass frame of the bride and her mother. My mother cried. Then we had cake.

…and that’s about it, and my buzz is pretty much worn off, so now I can sleep. I hope everyone is having a good weekend. And I’m back again!

Sincerely yours,