only women bleed
sunday, december 30, 2001
"and you there
down on your knees
begging me "please come
watch me bleed" ..
only women bleed"
--(tori covers alice cooper)
another day, another song stuck in my head. really, it's mostly the one line, only women bleed, but it looked too stupid written down repeatedly. if you want to hear tori covering it, or find other yummie b-sides and live goodies, go to collectingbees.com.. hee.
yes. survived my first night at the office surprisingly well. i removed the framed awards and other stuff that usually hang directly above the couch--i don't need to wake up in the middle of the night from accidentally smacking one down onto my head. i'm busy with my funny, odd dreams. last night, i accused an acquaintance of being a murderer. then i found out i was wrong, and spent the rest of the dream with blushing cheeks, feeling awful for having doubted him.
i've got plenty of diversions and snacks (whoever thought to put jelly and peanut butter into one jar gets a squishy hug from me), and a fresh bathroom next door. all i'm really lacking is, well, a shower. we'll see what i can facilitate by way of cleansing by utilizing a bathroom sink, plastic mug and shampoo. i forgot to bring a towel, so hrm. we'll see.
due to a lack of watch (my necklace watch from wal-mart ran out of juice! boo!) i sort of ambled to the bus stop outside and patiently prepared to wait 5-55 minutes, depending on if the bus was just about to come, or had just passed. i was on a journey to see, y'know.. that movie.. with the pointy hat and ears based upon books i stubbornly refuse to read, ever, for really lame reasons.
after half an hour or so, a van with the bus logo on it pulled up, and a man in his fifties walked up to me. "i couldn't help but see you standing here when i passed 20 minutes ago, and you are still here. i assume you waiting for one of our buses?" .. i nodded. he chuckled. uh-oh.
"well, hrm, you might have to wait quite a bit longer. hmm. where are you going?" i told him the name of the movie theater. "hrm. well. do you have $0.75 for bus fare?" .. i nodded. "okay, i'll give you a ride. it's too cold for me to just drive off."
so, um, i accepted the ride. shrug. he talked to the bus people on a walkie-talkie thing, moved some machinery out of the passenger seat. i put my 75 cents on the dashboard and off we went. he told me he had been to germany with the army long ago, and asked me what there was to see in sweden. i told him about the woods, and stockholm, and my little hometown with its 12th century church and history that includes a gruesome bloodbath.
and i made it to the noon showing of that movie. and it was wonderful. and scary. and well cast. and the elvish language sounded so fetching. and i want to be aragorn. or a hobbit girl so i can snag pippin of whimsy, twinkly eyes and crooked smile. and i want swords; lots of swords. but i will still not read the books. shrug.
sean bean as boromir (i'm not even bothering to check the spelling, so i'm calling him boromir) was an interesting character to me. i'm not sure if it's because of the actual character, though, or simply because i've always found sean bean interesting, with his squintish eyes and grey pale skin.
i want pointy ears. unfortunately, i have (not hairy) mini-hobbit feet, instead. that's not fair, but whatever. so. it was good. hooray. and all is well. woohoo! and i'm going to be--i mean, couch, to try and finish reading my book: me talk pretty one day, by dan sedaris. it's very, very funny, and oddly enough has ties to north carolina, and the triangle specifically. imagine that. i'm glad i bought it on a whim (as a frequent fucker-upper of the english language, i simply liked the title, and knew dan sedaris' sister amy was real, real funny on talkshows.)
"My brother's voice, like my own, is high-pitched and girlish. Telephone solicitors frequently ask to speak to our husbands or request that we put our mommies on the line. The Raleigh accent is soft and beautifully cadenced, but my brother's is a more complex hybrid, informed by his professional relationships with marble-mouthed, deep-country crews and his abiding love of hard-core rap music. He talks so fast that even his friends have a hard time understanding him. It's like listening to a foreigner and deciphering only shit, motherfucker, bitch, and the single phrase You can't kill the Rooster.
'The Rooster' is what Paul calls himself when he's feeling threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only, "Certain motherfuckers think they can fuck with my shit, but you can't kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but, bitch, nobody kills the motherfucking Rooster. You know what I'm saying?"
--You Can't Kill the Rooster, from me talk pretty one day, by dan sedaris.
heh. so. cin cin! �� 11:15 p.m.
