Where to start. I guess I’ll start with how classy I am. I went to supper with Melanie and one of her friends on Thursday night, had a nice roast beef sandwich, and evidently drank too much beer because I, being the classiest broad on the planet, proceeded to throw up in the bathroom at the pub. I have never done that before – thrown up in public. Um, besides the Prince Edward Island National Park. And that hotel room that time. And at Danny Ledwell’s that time. And in the Park again. But that’s it. The rest have been at home. Never in a pub. Why? Because I… am a Lady.
In my drunken state, all I could think of was science. I wanted the barf to non-barf ratio in my stomach to be non-threatening. These ratios were swirling in my head. I was obsessing over it. I kept trying to drink water once I realised I was too far gone, but then I was afraid I was just turning innocuous water into barf just by ingesting it.
Droppin’ science like Galileo dropped the orange!
On to the next point. (I think I have to post more often so my posts aren’t so multi-faceted.) My Mum and Dad are here! Zippity! I’m storing up on Mum hugs to do me for the next couple of months before Christmas. Dad actually left last night for Toronto because he’s got a week of meetings, but he’s back on Friday. Marilyn wants to go to a gallery or a museum or some place. Happily, I’m unemployed, idle, and very interested in both galleries and museums!
Yesterday was a rainy boring day. Mum and Aunt Signe went to the ‘States, and Aunt Jacky is uptight because she and Uncle Wendell are going to England on Thursday (she gets overwhelmed easily, but she’ll be just fine). Dad and I decided to go to a movie. I haven’t been to a movie since I saw Broken Flowers with Marianne in the single digit days of September. Everyone knows how much I lurve going to the movies, but I’ve not been able to go to one since I got here.
We went to see Stay, with my boys Ewan McGregor and Ryan Gosling and that chick Naomi Watts, who is sometimes so pretty it hurts (her cover of InStyle was so poorly lit, I hope someone was fired – she looked like the living dead). Please, please, please, do not see this movie. It was so shit. Dad thought I could understand everything that was going on. I could not. I actually had a headache when I left the theatre from trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Sometimes, it was beautiful. Honest. Most times, it seemed like the director was looking over his notes from film school and trying to integrate every technique he ever learned. Oh, I don’t know where to start. All the acting was fine, whatever. I’ll go back to Shallow Grave for Ewan, The Notebook for Ryan, and I’ll look forward to Naomi and Jack Black in King Kong.
Last thought: I love Jackie Chan so much.