(Parenthesis)
{Dream-logic rarely succeeds.}Archive for June, 2007
Rude Awakening.
http://bookshop.livejournal.com/834653.html
Nothing like reading about a hate crime to get you riled up at 1:45 am.
fuckers.
Strange Things Happen At Night
Want to see something scary? Of course you do. It’s nearly proven fact that a large percentage of the human race thrives on a sort of “social fear” for entertainment purposes (the sort of fear brought on by campy horror movies, etc.)
Anyway. Now for a glance into the live of Moriarty.
This is my kitchen right now. (click to enlarge)
Terrifying, isn’t it? This is what happens when I spend and entire day cooking and completely fail to do the dishes. Ha. Ha. I won’t even show you my sink right now…
Also. French Dragess are officially the new crack. For me, anyway.
Interestingly enought, the sale of these lovely little edible ball bearings is illegal in the state of California. It even says so on the bottle “for decoration only”. It took me absolutely forever to find these damn things, and I’m bloody well going to eat them (on a cake that is, not straight. That’s disgusting). I refuse to give up my poison of choice. I’m too much of a Doctor Who dork for that (someone remind me to find the picture of the soysauce dispenser that looks like a Dalek…)
Stream of Conciousness
Firstly, on the subject of biscuits: even though the Betty Crocker recipe says to knead the dough 20-25 times… don’t. She lies. The things taste lovely but aren’t nearly as light and fluffy and they’re probably supposed to be.
Secondly, I need another hair cut. What the heck, hair, what the heck? This will be the second one in only a couple of months. Not that I don’t like it as long as it currently is, you must understand, but it’s starting to get unruly again.
Thirdly, I think the people in my neighborhood are beginning to cultivate some serious entitlement complexes. The streets where I live are two lane, which is to say that two cars can pass eachother on a good day with no obstructions on the side. But, of course, my next door neighbor doesn’t seem to get that concept. The woman has an amazing garden, but that isn’t enough to excuse the fact that barely a week goes by that she doesn’t have some company parking it’s trailers in front of my house and taking up half the street. I’m pretty sure she has more parties than everyone else (including the college students) combined. And every time she does, her guests park at least two feet away from the edge of the road and talk on her back porch as loud as they possibly can.
Honestly. Drunk people are a pain.
Fourthly (I’ve never used that word before) I’m actually writing again. Huzzah!
Watch this spot, audience of mine, for there is more to come.
welcome to the real world
I must admit, I made this account a very long time ago, fully intending to actually put something here, but never really getting around to it. But now that it is summer and I have more time on my hands than I really know what to do with, I’ve decided that it’s high time I buckled down and started recording my life either for posterity, future amusement, future reference, or a combination of the three.
In the 8th grade my entire english class was forced to read the diary of Anne Frank for what seemed like no particular reason. I’ll be frank with you: I hated it. There is really nothing I dislike reading more than historical accounts, even historical fiction when it’s that depressing. At least in true (or true enough) fiction you know by the end of the book that nothing you’ve just read really happened. Or, at least it didn’t happen that way.
I did come away with one fairly valuable idea, however, and that was the idea of addressing one’s journal as a sort of friend. Not that I am going to start off each of these entries with “Dear Kitty” or something of the sort, but I do like to think of this space as a sort of friend, even if it is nothing more than a terribly abstract concept. Like a volley ball with a face drawn on it in premanent marker.
And so, if this journal (and perhaps even those who read it) are to be my friend, then I would do well to introduce myself.
You may call me Moriarty.
And so, farewell my audience, I hope you enjoy the show.
(Parenthesis) 