Earth is a sham

Dear Disney-

Fuck you.

You know what you did.

The polar bear dad?

Really?

WHY DID THE BABY ELEPHANT HAVE TO FOLLOW HIS MOTHER'S TRACKS THE WRONG WAY?

WHY ARE YOU DEAD INSIDE?

Why couldn't the cameraman throw that bear some fish? DON'T PULL THAT CIRCLE OF LIFE CRAP ON ME.

Disney, what is wrong with you?

Dumbo wasn't bad enough?

You had to go and make this documentary? This depress-umentary?

YOU CAN SUCK IT DISNEY.

Love,

Lisa

I jogged

The Drive-In is the greatest place on earth.

Two movies for six dollars?

Popcorn and a drink for less than three dollars?

SIGN ME THE HELL UP.

Why have Drive-Ins become so endangered? Who decided that they should become obsolete? Because that person is the devil. Honestly, if you don't love the Drive-In you are probably a terrorist.

DO YOU HATE AMERICA TOO!?!?

But if you are going to do the Drive-In, you really have to do it in style. And in style, I mean a tricked out, 1970's giant van with track lighting and no backseats.

Big Momma is her name. Being awesome is her game.

Why can't I live at the Drive-In? I could live in Big Momma. Fo' sho'.

I should write a love missive to the Drive-In, it would go something like this:

Dearest Drive In- You make my soul happy. I love your Luma Loons, and your dollar popcorn. I love your gravel lots, and the way that the stones crunch under my feet when I am jogging to the bathroom. When I am not with you, I feel like crying all the time. I LOVE YOU DRIVE IN. PLEASE DO NOT STAY AWAY FOR TOO LONG. Love, Lisa.


Amazing.

Drive-In, I miss you already.


P.S. Meghan Sauce. My cup runneth over.

I put a spell on you

Things that I love today:

1. The stop sign at the bottom of the hill near my house now has a sign that says, "Opposing traffic does not stop." I've only been waiting for this for like fifteen and a half years. (Lies. Probably like five and a half. Since the time an old nun flipped my mother the bird because she didn't realize we didn't have a stop sign. But semantics, you know?)

2. Potential thunderstorms. I will quickly add this to the list of things that I do not love if it does not happen. Come on Tropical Storm Danny. Bring it, bitch. Unleash some fury!

3. Clean, new rooms. Furniture is in the right rooms, boxes are unpacked. I have all my books on one set of bookshelves now and it's so full that I actually heard it groan yesterday when I mentioned the Half Price bookstore. Ye of little faith, Bookshelves, we can still cram more on.

4. The Exchange. Movies for a $2.50. Amazing. If only they had Speed 2 my life would be complete.


Things I do not love today:

1. Potential thunderstorms not reaching their potential. If you can't make it seem like the apocalypse is approaching you can suck it.

2. John Krasinksi is engaged. Sad. He's super cute. And I guess it's better than him marrying someone like Scarlett Johansson (WTF Ryan Reynolds?!?! She did a cover of Tom Waits songs. TOM WAITS! There is not a single person on God's green earth that should cover Tom Waits songs, and certainly not SCARLETT JOHANSSON. I've said it once, I'll say it again. Only very few people should be allowed to sing and act. David Bowie. Bette Midler- due to one of my all-time faves Hocus Pocus- but until Scarlett Johansson can prove she's more than just a mediocre actress who has had the luck of picking some pretty awesome roles, I will NOT allow her to sing/act. PICK ONE OR THE OTHER SCARLETT).

Emily Blunt, I swear to God, if you record an album of Tom Waits covers I WILL FREAK MY SHIT.

But as Michael Scott once said, "BFD, engaged ain't married." So there's that.

3. Bruises. Man, I have bruises like all over me. Not cool, skin, not cool. Also, colds. Colds are the worst thing since non-sliced bread.


Eh. Probably more things should go on my things I do not like list. War. Famine. Paying bills. Car insurance. Interviews. But I'm le tired.

Seriously though. Hocus Pocus is a good flick.

Home improvement is whack

There are some things that are only fun in theory.

Like painting.

Painting is fun for about thirty seven seconds. That is not an approximation. That is a scientific fact.

Then?

Not so much fun. But there's paint on the walls and you have to finish and PAINTING IS SO LAME.

HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS FOR A LIVING!?!

I suppose it helps if the room is empty. Which it was not. And I guess it helps to use a ladder instead of a chair. And maybe it helps to NOT BE PAINTING OVER BRIGHT PURPLE. AND NOT BE SIMULTANEOUSLY DYING OF THE BUBONIC PLAGUE.

The Bubonic Plague is also something that is only fun in theory. Or...you know, not fun.

I have paint in my hair.

I DO NOT CARE FOR THIS.

I'm going to go have a Capri Sun and calm the fuck down.

Painting is for lame-o's.

Oh Rexy, you're so sexy!

Maybe it's because I am no longer a thirteen year old girl, but I am so sick of the Twilight garbage.

Sammi was watching "The Teen Choice Awards" and that stupid movie and Miley Stupid Cyrus won like fifteen awards each. And yeah, okay, the TCA's, as I will now refer to them, are no Academy Awards. And yeah, okay, it's probably the only awards either the cast of Twilight or Miley Cyrus will ever win, and so yeah, okay, let them have their one ounce of success in the cruel world of Hollywood, but give me a break.

I like that people have taken to calling them Twitards. Or Twitwits. Or any version of that. I read the series. But really, really those books suck. SUCK. The main character is whiny, and one-dimensional, and the books basically go like this: tripping, having Edward catch her, thinking Edward is so dreamy, oh no bad vamps want to kills us, repeat.

I read an article comparing it to Harry Potter. COMPARING IT TO HARRY POTTER. That's like comparing the debating skills of a first grader against Obama. Or a three year old playing a toy piano against Bach. FOR REALS?!

How many movies do you think they're going to be able to churn out before people get bored? Because I'm bored already.

HP fo' life, fools.

(And if you can't name the movie that the title of this post came from, you and I are no longer friends...)

"I will pay you a dollar NOT to eat that."

I'm sure you have heard of "Stuff on my cat."

Mary and I thought of something even BETTER.

Granted, what seems better at five in the morning on five hours of sleep does tend to not seem as great a few hours and a nap later, but still, this idea is going to catch on.

Stuff...wait for it...ON A LID.

Done.

Amazing.

So far we have "toppings on a lid." A magnificent work of modern art so tastefully (and I mean tastefully, I helped myself to some of Mary's creation once she was done and we had admired it for a few minutes) arranged out of Snickers pieces, Andies candies, mini-marshmallows, and cookies crumbs, using caramel drizzle as glue.

Some of our other genuis ideas included "tip jar on a lid," "muffin pack on a lid," "receipt tape on a lid," and "lighter on a lid."

Very few ideas are so good that they will change the way that we see things and think about things. It's not a stretch to say that one day we will refer to time as pre-stuff on a lid and post-stuff on a lid. It's well within the realm of possibilities.

But then again, this idea came after several cups of coffee and Mary asking me how much I would pay her to eat a ball of receipt paper, so maybe it's not a guaranteed success....

DOOM

Some days it feels like the Universe has taken a giant crap on your head.

I call these "Cry over Chicken Days."

This is a reference to a day in which the Universe decided to make me the butt of it's joke. I stepped in a puddle, I missed the elevator in Benedum (which, Pitt students will know, means waiting FOREVER to get another one), I was late for class because of the elevator, I had a pop quiz which I failed, and I was about thisclose to breaking down. But I prevailed, and finally made it home to make myself something to eat. I decided on chicken.

Mistake number one.

As I was taking the defrosted chicken from the microwave to the stove, the Universe decided that it wasn't done with me yet. I imagine the conversation went something like this:

Universe: Lisa, you fail at life.
Lisa: I'm sorry Universe! Just let me eat my chicken and then I'll retire to my bedroom and crawl into bed.
Universe: False. You should have never gotten out of bed this morning. You will not eat that chicken. You do not deserve that chicken.
DOOOOOOM.

And the chicken slid off the plate and onto the floor.

And I slid onto the floor and cried.

I'm not sure how exactly long I sat on the floor and cried. I know that I did not eat the chicken. I know that I ate a pop-tart instead and crawled into bed and lamented my epic failure for the day.

But there are just some days when all you can do is cry over chicken.

It's all right. Cry over that chicken. Let the Universe crap all over you.

Tomorrow will be better.

But tomorrow, I'll stick to beef.