Moot Point

I am having one of those weeks when it’s really hard to convince myself to do anything, like get out of bed, eat, study, work, do laundry, or really do anything besides sit around playing Spider Solitaire and watching Buffy.

I’m not sure why it hit me this week. Probably it being the end of the schoolyear just wanting the bombardment of papers and tests to stop.

My birthday’s in eight days; I guess I should do something for it, because even though I don’t feel like planning something now, I’m sure I’ll want to do something by then. The thought of turning twenty-one makes me feel tired – it’ll make me “in my twenties.” There’s so much pressure in that. (I sound like TS Eliot or F. Scott Fitzgerald or someone – youth is so exhausting!)

I have an idea for a novella to write this summer – it’s about menstruation and not getting laid. It’s “semi-autobiographical.” Hah!

My Mom-weekend was awesome, weird dreams aside. We did a bunch of shopping, I got two new coats (one navy blue spring trenchcoat which replaces my beloved, near-trademark red trenchcoat, but with better quality, cuter lines, striped lining and soft soft fabric; one red wool and cashmere winter coat, regular $350, on sale for $50, zippered and hooded and so cute I almost wish it weren’t so springy), a bunch of new shirts, one white cable-knit cardigan sweater, and the most expensive underwear I have ever owned.
We ate good food, we went to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (amazing) and The Producers (good for what it was, glitzy, improved in the second act, still, we could’ve rented a Mel Brooks movie for a lot cheaper), I watched the last Sex and the City in bed (I cried more than at Eternal Sunshine, but I generally cry more over cheesy stuff than over actually good stuff). I got home and my computer stopped working and then mysteriously fixed itself.

In other news, everything sucks. No one loves me. I have no future. I don’t want to do anything.

So I was living in a residence, not unlike my own, only we had ponies.

I was doing some kind of work on the computer, before riding my pony, but it seemed to mainly involve moving around desktop icons.

Then, I got a call and I ran downstairs to my bosses, who sent me down to deal with a crisis. In my pyjamas.

I apparently worked at a big Paramount-style movie theatre as an assistant manager. It was a late show and there was something wrong with the movie, like a delay (maybe something with the power? I wasn’t sure), so I oversee things had to make sure everyone got in the right line, either for a refund or for their free coffee and cinnabon.

It was all going really smoothly.

So I was standing by a railing, overseeing, when I noticed three young boys sitting on the escalators, which weren’t actually escalating. So I called from across the way “Please don’t sit on the escalators!” And they just shrugged and looked at me sullenly.

Then the escalators started going down, and I kept yelling at them to please stand up because they were going to get hurt from sitting on the escalators. But they didn’t. When they got to the bottom, they stood up and did this little dance, to show they were fine. And everyone in the theatre was laughing, and I was still yelling at them to just please not sit the escalators, but they’d clearly won this battle, and I didn’t know what to do except keep saying it.

Then I woke up.

I had this dream that my mom was coming and I got to stay in a nice hotel with her for the weekend.

Then I woke up and remembered she is coming, and I do get to stay in a nice hotel with her.

Hurray, baths!

I was sitting at meal hall lunch with a girl friend and a boy acquaintance of mine and we were talking about his girl troubles.

Once we got the braod strokes of the story, he was bringing up all these little things that he felt were signals from this girl that she really liked him. Like some thing she’d said, or what her MSN name was and how it related to a conversation they’d had.

And I realized something: Boys are just like girls.

This doesn’t help me at all.

I guess the trouble is figuring out what kind of girl the boy is just like.

Seasons One and Two of Jem are coming out on DVD next week. A few days before my birthday.

Also, we watched Fire Walk With Me, the Twin Peaks prequel in class today. I think it broke my brain. I didn’t feel quite like myself until I ate some of my roommate’s leftover chocolate birthday cake, like, five hours later.

Tonight has been new The O.C. (killer episode: meta plot with Seth and Summer meeting this funny cute TV star who plays a character very much like Seth on TV and Seth is all jealous (it’s ironic because Adam Brody’s so much better looking than Colin Hanks), lots of scandal, funny Paris Hilton cameo), writing a review, The Daily Show, listening to “Maps,” the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on repeat

I read an article by Dave Grohl today that described that song as ” like the best cherry-lip-gloss kiss you never had.”

It makes me think of first kisses and slowdancing in the gym, and I didn’t do much slowdancing in the gym even when I was in high school.

I think I have ennui. Someone should take me to the prom.

I feel like I’ve been boring lately, mostly because nothing interesting is happening to me at all, at least not that I can write about to their fullest on a public forum like the internet.

But here are things going on in my life:

-sick of school
-happy being single but still thinking about boys all the time (to no avail!)
-downloading heaps of music
-enjoying the music-sharing feature of iTunes where you can listen to everyone’s playlists on the big residence network
-developing a crush on this one guy’s iTunes playlist (if not the actual guy, on whom the jury is still out)
-maintaining my crush on Jon Stewart (good traits: funny, smart, cute, impish grin, greying temples which he doesn’t dye; bad traits: old, lives in New York, has never actually met me)
-wishing Jon Stewart was younger and lived in Toronto so he could be my boyfriend (though who am I kidding, really would be happy with him living here)
-wondering why Joss Stone sounds so much better on my speakers than on my dad’s super-duper car stereo
-my strange new love of hip-hop; I used to actually actively dislike Jay-Z

See? Boring.

I watched The Women (George Cukor, 1939) last night. The cover of the box says “It’s all about men!” which wasn’t promising, but I rented it because George Cukor directed it, it’s got an amazing all-woman cast, and I was hoping for a sort of biting Dorothy Parker-esque thing, with smart women and biting wit.

Also, Rosalind Russell is in it.

I knew I was in trouble from the moment when the opening credits got all “clever” and visually compared all the characters to animals. (Norma Shearer is a doe, Russell’s a cat, Joan Crawford is a cougar, Paulette Godard is a fox, someone less famous is a cow, etc). It turned out to be a reallly well-acted movie about how society wives doing anything to hold onto their men. Joan Fontaine getting pregnant while she’s divorcing her husband is great because it saves her marriage; once they reunite over the phone, she says “Now I’ll do whatever Johnny says.”

It ends with the heroine responding to “Don’t you have any pride?” with “No pride at all. That’s a luxury a woman in love can’t afford.”

I’ve been watching old movies for a long time, I have a lot of patience for the getting-married-is-good,a-woman’s-place-is-in-the-home vibe but I literally cringed through the last half.

So someone tell me why my big iTunes songs right now are “Bootylicious” and “99 Problems” (Hook: “If you’re having girl problems I feel bad for you, son / I got 99 problems and a bitch ain’t one”)?

I just went to the liquor store with one earring in.

We’re talking prominent dangly earrings that come well below my jawlength hair. That I like to wear partially because they jingle on windy days. It’s a windy day. I have no idea how I didn’t notice the jingle was only coming from one ear.

I even checked myself out in one of the big mirrors on the wall on the way in. Someone looked at me funny, I thought because I was checking myself out in the mirror, or maybe because he thought I was cute.

I’m hoping they all just thought I was trying for some bizarre eighties revival thing.