Week 3 Of Unemployment: Time Flies When It's Awesome

Yes, I have been waiting to swipe the title line from a Natalie Dee comic since my internship ended.

My life has been incomplete until recently. Why did none of you tell me how amazing Dexter is? Is there a conspiracy against me?! What else are you guys keeping from me?! WHAT ELSE?!

Seriously, great show. Great, great show. Funniest fucking serial killer ever. I also love the allusion to American Psycho. But this is better. Much better.

I think we all relate to Dexter in some way. There are moments when we have no idea how to act in a social situation. There are moments when we don't react the way everyone else does, and we feel like a freak. There are moments when we fake emotions. And we all have weird little habits we don't want others to know about. Hopefully most of them are less homicidal than Dexter's inclinations, but hey - no judgement.

Have a temporary job for Tuesday helping my dad's friend at her theater company. I'm just happy for the work. And they're nice people. Won't keep me afloat for more than a day or so, but hey, money is money. And I am adept at many menial and useless activities.

That's all for now. Dexter is great. All hail Dexter. I want to be his friend. Until I do something bad. Then not so much.
- LV

moreless

Day 19 Of Unemployment: Job Interviews, Friends, & Serial Killers

Wow. My job interview went badly. Like, really badly. The cops may be busting in here at any moment, since that woman probably thought I was stoned/tired from a night of slaughtering in the innocent.

Actually, I was tired because I had a brief bout of insomnia, and was up until around two in the morning watching House and worrying about roaches. So by the time I had my interview, I was a wreck. A twitchy, cranky, inarguably unbalanced wreck.

It also didn't help that I didn't want the job. And referred to it as 'menial.' I also may have snorted when she said I had to stay for two years. I think we're just going to pretend this didn't happen. OK, to be honest, I wasn't terrible. I definitely came across as hostile, but I was spot-on with all my answers. I have all the necessary experience, and I'm totally qualified. I was just blatantly bored. Which, for those of you not yet in the job-hunting world, is a bad attitude to adopt in the presence of a potential future employer.

Fuck it. Roommate (or Former Roomate, as I suppose she should now be called) is coming by to pick up some of her stuff that my mom accidentally packed because she hates me and wants to force me to interact with a would-be serial killer.

Speaking of serial killers, I rented Dexter from Netflix. I've been watching for maybe five minutes, and I am completely hooked. The lead guy, whose name I can't remember at the moment, was always brilliant on Six Feet Under. Plus, he's cute in an awkward sort of way. I can't say if this will become a House/V For Vendetta/Doctor Who-level obsession, but I can enjoy a ahow without being insane about it. After all, I like Ugly Betty, and you don't see me blathering for hours about how amazing that show is. It is - you should watch it - but I'm not crazed about it.

I'm going to make a TV show list now. And watch Dexter. Fuck - Roommate's here. I'll keep the TV off - don't want her getting any ideas.
- LV

moreless

Day 18 Of Unemployment: Movies, TV, & Errands

Uneventful day. Got a lot done.

Due to the efforts of my lovely friend Jay, I have a job interview tomorrow for a big evil corporation doing stupid, menial shit. That makes me sound ungrateful, and I guess I am. I need a job - let's be clear on that, at least. I would be totally content to spend my days relaxing, reading, watching movies, and psychotically looking around for roaches, but eventually the money would go away, and I'm not charming enough to beg for money. So to the job hunt we go.

Speaking of roaches, we're still at two. Of course, now I've jinxed it, so a small army will overrun my tiny apartment and eat me alive. If I stop posting updates, assume that. It will be funny for all. Except me, of course, but I'll be in no position to complain.

Watched The Singing Detective last night. Weird, weird movie. I spent roughly two hours watching Robert Downey, Jr. scream obscenities from a hospital bed and have strange hallucinations. But it was fun - fun in the sense that I have no real idea what the fuck the movie was about, beyond a few basics. Here's what I can tell you: Downey is a crime novelist with some weird hideous disease that makes him look like paper mache, or however the hell it's spelled. He's cranky and yells a lot, and hallucinates shit from his childhood, and scenes from his books. Oh, and there's singing. Or rather, lip synching. Which was the one issue I had with the whole movie: Downey has a beautiful, sexy voice, and except for a song playing over the credits, he never sings once.

Oh, and Mel Gibson is in it, and has the weirdest fucking cameo ever. I could not identify him for the first half of the movie. It was only during a close-up, and my reaction was, 'Holy shit, that's Mel Gibson!' Robin Wright Penn is in it, and so is Adrien Brody. It's fun if you accept the fact that it doesn't make much sense. And Robert Downey, Jr. gives a brilliant, wonderful performance. He's always great. One of the few actors I like, regardless of his character.

Watching House right now and drinking Bass Ale. Life is good. Incidentally, this episode 'Acceptance' features a terrifying performance by Jay-Z. It always surprises me when singers/rappers can actually act. They're like a subspecies of performers when it comes to the visual media. When they're doing their own thing, they can be fantastic. But they have trouble when it comes to other people's materials. Anyway. In this episode, House gets drunk and giggles like a little girl. Reason enough to see it.

May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your home. Unoriginal, I know. If you don't like it, may the forces of evil race to your home with the vengeance of a crack head in withdrawal.

Love,
- LV

moreless

Day 17 Of Unemployment: Strange Rumblings At The End Of August

Random thoughts and traumatizing incidents.

* I have seen two roaches in three days. I have sprayed with Raid and set traps, and I saw one AFTER that. And I can't caulk the entire fucking apartment. Can I? How does one caulk? I just want them to leave me alone! I don't want them to die. Just to be far, far away from me and my hysterical screaming. Any advice?

* Last night, after walking home from a movie (more on it below), a very drunk Irish guy threw a paper Heineken coaster at me. He missed, laughed, and hugged me. Then he asked me where I was going. He was very drunk, I was very hot and tired, and overall it wasn't what I needed.

* Today, reading in the park, minding my OWN fucking business. Some random homeless guy came over, sat down beside me, and ran his hand up my thigh. I beat a hasty retreat.

* Saw The 11th Hour last night. It was OK. Main problem is that Leonardo DiCaprio is too attractive to be taken seriously. He's not on my list of crushes or anything. He's just very pretty. And it's hard to take him seriously, although I'm sure he's very smart and cares a lot about the environment. He's just pretty. And unexpected. But any movie with Stephen Hawking AND Gore Vidal is worth seeing, right?

* I'm watching The 40-Year-Old-Virgin for the second time today - first time with the commentary, now without. It's a funny fucking movie. And surprisingly sweet. Which is why everything Judd Apatow does is awesome. Let's all be friends with him.

* I went to McSorley's today. It was fucking incredible. After reading about it for years, I finally got to go with Esse and her family. We drank ale and ate the most awe-inspiring meal ever - a sliced hunk of cheddar cheese, a sliced onion, and a packet of saltine crackers. And they make you pay for this. It was really good. I love it. I want to live there. The big tough men would protect me from the fucking roaches.

* DEAR GOD THE FUCKING ROACHES I HATE BUGS SO MUCH WHY CAN'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE I JUST WANT THEM TO BE ELSEWHERE THEY ARE HUGE AND TERRIFYING AND EVIL AND WHAT IF THEY CRAWL UP YOUR UNMENTIONABLES WHILE YOU'RE SLEEPING YOU WOULD NEVER GET OVER THAT SHIT EVER MAN GUYS DON'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT VERY REAL FEAR ROACHES ARE GROSS AND EVIL AND SCARY OH GOD MAKE THEM GO MAKE THE BAD MEN STOP I NEED AN ADULT!

So that's it for now. I have a bad headache from the fucking Raid. And I'm going to go spray more now. Also I need to buy bay leaves. Roaches dislike bay leaves. Roaches have taken over my life pretty quickly and easily. We should respect and fear them. I just fear them.

Seriously, may the roaches go to your home. No offense, but I cannot deal with them. May they go to your home, and may you get them exterminated. Because I am a howling nervous wreck when it comes to anything with more than four legs, and you should deal with them instead of me.
- LV

moreless

Day 15 Of Unemployment: Moving, Screaming, & The TARDIS

So. I'm in my new place. And I love it. I really, really do. It's small and cozy and old and entirely mine. I'm genuinely happy here.

The move was hellacious. Just hours and hours of unpacking and rearranging and moving and stress. I've decided that Hell, is in fact not a place; it is simply the constant act of moving. Packing and unpacking, never stationary. That's Hell.

And roaches.

Yes, I, ElleVee, finally saw a New York roach.

I mean, I've seen them before. Never when I lived in the dorms in Chelsea. Which, considering the level of decay and refuse, is pretty remarkable. When I was in the dorms in the Financial District, we had a few. But I had a clever solution. I would kill them with my roommates' shoes, control my gag reflex, then cover them with a piece of paper towel. My roommate would thank me by waking me up with her screams.

As for the most recent place, Roommate probably ate all the roaches that dared enter our home. But I'm terrified of bugs. Absolutely. I don't mind rats, or snakes, or closed spaces, or heights. I hate planes, and bugs. Roaches on a plane is like my ultimate horror movie. That's what would sell the fucking tickets for me. Of course, I could never leave the house, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway. My first roach. My first unassisted, New York roach. And believe me, that fucker was BIG. I measured it from a safe distance as I cowered, shrieking in the corner. It was around two inches. so tomorrow I'm going to K-Mart, and I'm going to buy out the collection of bug sprays and traps. I don't care if the chemicals make me grow another fucking head. Both heads will be bug-free.

Moving on to less crawly matters, I finally swallowed my crazy anal behavior (can you even do that? I mean, it's a play on the phrase, 'swallow your pride,' but can you do THAT either? I always imagines pride to be located in the stomach.), and watched series two of Doctor Who. After the regeneration of Nine, I was understandably devastated. Then again, I have cried - really cried - at each of the Doctor's regenerations. Because I have serious problems. It's the same mood that sometimes strikes me and makes me sob because House has a limp, or because some fictional character has a terminal disease or emotional problem. And even though I heard the Tenth Doctor was/is brilliant, I wasn't quite ready.

But today, I was. And I'm happy I did. Ten, while he will never be my favorite, has performed brilliantly so far. He has even managed to make me cry. Non-Doctor Who fans will have no idea what the fuck I am talking about here. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Doctor Who is on the list of TV shows that must be watched. Must.

The episode that made me cry, if anyone cares, is the one where Sarah Jane Smith returns. It's devastating on about ten (haha!) levels. Their final goodbye - particularly his last line - broke my heart more than a fictional character should be able to.

David Tennant is perfect. I hate to admit it, but he is. He's not the pretty-boy dork I feared he would be. He really does channel some of the Fourth Doctor, who was the most popular one ever. But he inarguably has caught some of Nine's crazy. And he references his previous incarnation often. And he has to act like a total dick a lot of the time, yet still be endearing and lonely and tortured. And, you know, an alien. Which is much harder than one might imagine. So I'm happy.

I mean, Nine got the shaft in a big way - he was a one-season Doctor, and had to basically be a severely damaged alien alone in the universe. But Ten is dealing with his own pile of shit. And angst. I really need series three to come out.

I will say, though, this incarnation of the Doctor gets some serious ASS. Well, as much ass as the Doctor ever gets. You can't really show alien sex. More like this Doctor has gotten kissed more than any other. Actually, if the Doctor DID have sex, I would probably need serious therapy, along with a large portion of England. And the BBC wouldn't want to spend that sort of money. I maintain that Nine was hotter, though. Then again, I found the Second Doctor attractive in a geeky way, so maybe I'm an unreliable source.

I'm watching the show as I type, and this season has some beautiful moments. And I doubt you all want me to narrate a show none of you are currently watching, and many of you have never even seen. Assholes. You guys fail at life. F minus. Now leave me to my alien. The Doctor and I are in love. After all, he's in the top five. And that is a hard list to break into.

May you go out and watch Doctor Who. And if you don't, may all the roaches in the universe go to your home, and STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME.
- LV

moreless

Day 12 Of Unemployment: Rainy Days & Moving Always Piss Me The Fuck Off

So, I'm moving on Thursday. I will no longer live with a lunatic. To commemorate this auspicious event, we here at FEAR AND LOATHING IN NEW YORK are going to hold a two-part celebration. Today, I will be presenting you with some quotes said about and by my roommate. Tomorrow, I shall regale you with stories about her. After that, I will be accepting funding for my therapy bills.

Actually, I'm partly doing this because I'm busy packing and don't have my notebook with all the clever shit I wanted to say. The quotes below are real, Unfortunately. The names have been changed to protect my from the wrath of the deeply disturbed, because I do NOT need that shit.

Quotes About My Roommate
Me: My roommate broke her bed.
Kay: How?
Me: I really don't want to think about it.

Me: Dad, Roommate is still upset about the time she asked for a cheeseburger at our house, and you acted surprised.
Dad: I was SURPRISED because she made YOU drive her to the grocery store at ten-thirty at NIGHT! I don't give a shit if she eats a whole cow LIVE.

Me: My roommate was up at one in the morning sobbing for an hour because the grocery store was out of hamburger patties.
Dad: Well, you decided to live with her. It's like you're stuck in a bad marriage. But instead of infidelity, this will end in homicide. Have fun!

Arre: Oh my GOD! You live with Single White Female! She's going to blow your boyfriend!
Me: I don't have a boyfriend.
Arre: OH MY GOD! She's going to blow YOU!
Me: I don't have a penis, either.

Kay: Your roommate is like a sad crying clown doll.
Me: I'm afraid of clowns.
Kay: You're afraid of your roommate!

Me: She hates people with accents.
Esse: Why does she live in New York, then?
Me: To point out their heinous mistake.

Me: If I kill my roommate, I go to jail. And if I'm in jail, I can't be expected to finish my finals. Brilliant!
Esse: They'll send them to you by mail, and expect you to write a paper on how prison makes you feel.
Me: Damn it!

Esse: Where's your roommate?
Me: Don't know.
Esse: When is she coming back?
Me: Don't care.
Esse: She's getting in the way of your work, isn't she?
Me: If she is the reason I get bad grades, instead of my own legendary laziness, I swear to God I will END her.

Quotes From My Roomate
Roommate: I like this pillow.
Me: And it likes you.
Roommate: It matches my outfit.

Kay: We won the House! We won the Senate!
Roommate: I don't follow politics. I'm playing Tetris. Is Bush still president?
Kay: You are the reason I drink.

Roommate: I have a pink pillow Mohawk.

Roommate: My eyeball smells.

Roommate: The only thing more pathetic than a guy who masturbates is a girl who owns a vibrator.

Roommate: Hey, Elle. Is it OK if I eat one of your ice cream bars?
Me: Roommate, it's 2:30 in the morning. I was asleep.
Roommate: Why?

Roommate: Hey Elle, will you listen to this voicemail that Emme left and tell me what you think it means?
Me: Who's Emme?
Roommate: The girl Wye is seeing.
Me: I thought Wye was seeing you.
Roommate: We're in an open relationship.
Me: Then why did this girl call you?
Roommate: Oh, she called him.
Me: Then how did you get the message?
Roommate: I didn't.
Me: OK...
Roommate: I figured out his Myspace password, then used THAT to figure out his E-Mail password, then used THAT to guess what his voicemail password would be. Will you listen to the message and she if she likes him?

That's all for now. Just letting you all know I'm still alive, and your assassins have failed. Fools! Bwahahahahahaha!
- LV

moreless

Week One Of Unemployment: Nightmares, Apartments, & Serial Killers

Just think: this time last week I was a productive member of society, a part of the Great Machine that sucks the marrow from our bones and the light from our eyes until we are hollow shells of the human condition. Now I'm just unemployed.

I am, however, no longer homeless. Yes, I found an apartment. A very tiny studio apartment in the East Village. I have no dishwasher, laundry facilities, or microwave. Oddly enough, I have a small walk-in closet. It will be fine. I am a small girl, and except for my frightening collection of books and DVDs, I'll be able to squeeze in no problem.

So that's done. On the downside, the job hunt is growing a bit desperate. Nobody wants to hire someone with no qualifications besides a liberal arts degree, and no skills save the ability to read fast and make snarky comments.

It's weird to realize that the scariest movie I have ever seen will probably never be viewed by the general public. I saw it at the Tribeca Film Festival with my friend Enne - The Poughkeepsie Tapes.

Now, I could describe the movie to you. But it doesn't really sound scary if I do that. It sounds like a clever, forgettable film. You really had to be sitting in the theater, watching grown men running up the aisles, and women covering their faces and sobbing, and me and Enne sitting in our seats, literally shaking with fear. If you get a chance to see this film, I beg you to take it. It is the scariest film I have ever seen.

Why am I talking about it? Not because the filmmakers have paid me to, although they really fucking should, simply because of how much this movie has damaged me. The therapy bills alone are astronomical. I get freaked out at GAS STATIONS, for fuck's sake. Due to this movie, I'm also afraid of
* Video cameras
* Cars
* Basements
* Amputees
* Saran Wrap
* Masks
* Poughkeepsie, New York

The reason I'm harping on this film is because last night I was unable to sleep at all due to it. I am aware of how fucking ridiculous this statement is. A scary movie kept me up all night.

I mean, I'm 21. And I like horror movies. A lot. I am prepared for the zombie apocalypse. I've already got a list of people to use as human shields if need be (my roommate is at the top of the last. OK, she IS the list). But this movie scared the ever-loving shit out of me. And, all these months later, it continues to genuinely frighten me.

And last night, the movie kept playing on loop in my head, probably as punishment for something awful I did. For whatever reason, I kept remembering scenes from the movie, and ended up lying curled up in bed all night, convinced a serial killer was going to come, kidnap me, and do horrible things to me in a basement.

When my brother got up around six and came into my room to watch TV, I screamed and threw a pillow at him, thinking he was the serial killer. I may need to increase my preparation for the zombie apocalypse. Pillows frighten no one. Unless you are allergic, in which case you probably aren't a serial killer.

Did Ted Bundy have allergies? Certainly some serial killers must have had them - they're quite common. But we never hear about that. Strange. I wonder if John Wayne Gacy forced his victims to remove all cat hair from their bodies. Or if Ed Gein had to use nose spray before dismembering people, depending on the season.

But I digress. The bottom line is, I am tired and paranoid and neurotic, and I blame it entirely on this scary fucking movie.

I just did a quick internet search, and the film will be released in February of 2008. I'm glad, for one. We need more fucking scary movies, as opposed to just gross one (like Saw). And I WILL go see it again, even if it will reduce me to a sobbing pile of grey matter. But this documentary is brilliant, and truly terrifying. If you like horror movies, or serial killers, or good filmmaking, go.

Yes, I will probably write more about this film as the release draws closer. Because I am that damaged. Also, the more people see it, the bigger my support group can eventually become!

May the serial killer not come to your home. If he does, may you not give him my address in exchange for your own life. That shit is not cool.
- LV

moreless

Day 6 Of Unemployment: Still In New Jersey, Where The Sun Never Shines

Yeah, I know, I suck.

I promised to record every nitty-gritty detail of unemployment, for your edification/education/sick pleasure. And I have no real excuse for failing to keep this simple vow. Rather, I have thousands, but none of them are particularly valid.

The truth is, I have not felt particularly funny lately. Or clever. Or able to make witty observations about life and the culture in which I exist. I have felt stressed, worried, anxious, and other words that describe not-goodness.

I have been apartment-hunting which, as I have stated, really sucks. I may have something good somewhere. It looks optimistic. But I am not optimistic. At all. Optimism withers and dies in my presence, leaving the black ashes of misery and sullen sarcasm in its wake.

Job-hunting is going even worse, as you may have suspected from the title of this entry. Apparently nobody wants to hire a journalist with no experience. I could always go the way of Hunter S. Thompson, and join the Army and write on their paper, but me in the army would probably be something like Catch-22, only tragic instead of funny. Also, everyone dies horribly. And the pages would be wet toilet paper.

Another thing. I am deeply, deeply paranoid. I understand and accept this flaw. I try to improve it (as much as I try to improve anything, which really isn't much). However, it still is a pretty big fucking flaw, and causes me enormous amounts of stress and anxiety. Some of which I am currently feeling. The cause of my stress? The usual culprit: text messaging.

I have sent texts to three different people, and NONE of them have responded. These people do not hang out. They do not know each other. And yet I am comvinced that they and their loved ones are sitting around saying vicious, shitty things about me RIGHT NOW. And I know my friends aren't like that. About people they like. But isn't it WEIRD that nobody is answering me? ISN'T IT?!

Also, I may have royally pissed off another friend of mine, who also has yet to answer my text message. She's driving through states, and was going to stop for a visit and coffee. But she missed the turn-off, got stuck in the vile New Jersey traffic, and now hasn't answered my phone calls or text messages. So she's either dead, or annoyed, in my mind. That's how things are in Elle's head. You either answer my texts before I fucking SEND them, or are pissed at me. Or you're dead. And that's probably my fault too.

So this is how things are in my head right now. The text messages are getting frantic, paranoid, needy, and vaguely hostile. And NO ONE is answering. Bad vibrations in my little, twisted brain.

At the rate I'm going, my friends are going to wake up with me leaning over them in the dark, a depraved look in my eyes as I hiss, "Your phone is working just fine."

This is one of those ideas that is funny until the cops show up.

And so much for that. This was meant to destress me and let me see how ridiculous and stupid I'm being. Instead, now I think I'm perceptive and intuitive. If nobody answers me soon, I'll probably convince myself I'm a psychic. I'll set up a franchise, trademark my anxiety, and end up with a cable TV show that will be badly received. You all should watch it.

May your text messages be answered promptly. If you are slow to answer text messages, may you have uncontrollable gas that will only cease if you answer your damn texts.
- LV

NOTE: Go to my friend Esse, otherwise known as Sa's blog. You will love it so much you will immediately stop reading my blog, and wonder why you settled so long for such trash. Wait...

moreless

Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End (Yeah)

Today is my last day as an intern. Tomorrow begins Elle's Unemployment Adventures!

I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I'm really bummed out that I will not be getting money on a weekly basis. Also, I'll miss the free books, and I really did like working here, in general. On the other hand, I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. I want to be a journalist. So while this job has been fun, and educational, it would be really freaking easy to sit in this cubicle for the next forty years.

I figured I could write some long, in-depth analysis of this job, but if you go through my previous work posts, there isn't anything really profound or final to say. Of course, I could just make the shit up, but I can't see the point in that at the moment.

Someone FINALLY picked the mean option on my quiz. I salute this person's honesty, and if you give me your name and address I will send you a bag of flaming shit delicious, delicious cookies.

The next entries in this blog of mine will be about one of two things: my life as an unemployed college graduate trying to find a job and an apartment, and cultural analysis. After all, I got a fucking degree for it - I should put it to work, right?

That's all for now. This is the last post I will ever type from this office. Ponder that. If anyone has any questions about ANYTHING, feel free to ask them here. At this point, I'll even tell you how to get your slush read by an editor. My little contribution to the decay of society.

May your drug shipments get to your house without issue, or if there is an issue, may someone you hate take all the heat.
- LV

Note 1: Over 100 people have viewed my profile (OK, about half of them are me).
Note 2: I'm debating having a second blog - one solely for cultural/media analysis - so this one can solely be devoted to stuff that goes on OUTSIDE my head. Any suggestions? Comments? Should I do this? Could you pretend to care? Will you hold me while I cry?

moreless

When You Really Think About It, Snot & Phlegm Are The Grossest Substances On The Planet

It is physically impossible to quit smoke and caffeine on the same day, especially when you don't want to and hadn't ever intended to do such a hideous, evil thing.

I have a migraine, and I'm still exhausted, so I'm going to plan my evening. And you're all going to listen and fucking pretend that the activities of a stranger matter to you.

But first: I overslept this morning, took a shower, and splurged on a cab (it's less than ten bucks to get to work, and since I can't have Starbucks, I'm probably saving on that end). On the way to work, I noticed a lot of people frantically waving for cabs. Thought that was funny. Got to work, and was informed that the New York City subway system had apparently committed suicide. It turns out I was the only person there. Until 10:30 AM. Sometimes I amaze even me. I celebrated by listening to my House, M.D. playlist on my iPod and playing around on LibraryThing.

When I get home, I am going to watch one of the following movies:
* Disturbia
* Perfume

I am going to finish The Guardians, then read one of the hundreds of books I still need to get through. Today, bookwise, I bought:
* Who's Afraid Of Virgina Woolf?
* Spook Country
* Song Of Susannah
* The Omnivore's Dilemma
* Disgrace
* Shadow of the Wind
All for $17.39.

I was PLANNING on going after work to the Strand and buying Forever Odd and/or (fuck it, and) The Eyre Affair, but now that seems wrong. I need an intervention for books.

My head just started throbbing. Begone with your words. AND GIVE ME A FUCKING CIGARETTE DIPPED IN COFFEE GROUNDS. I'LL SMOKE IT ALL, DAMN IT.
- LV

moreless

ElleVee's Awesome Hospital Adventure!

You are all so fucking lucky. I try out dangerous pills so YOU don't have to. Then you can laugha at me, secure in the knowledge that you are too smart to do anything that stupid.

I tried some diet pills, called The Burn, which should have been warning enough. I felt fine for two days. Last night - Lost. My. Shit.

My heart was racing, pounding in my chest. I was having trouble breathing. My stomach was cramping. I was so wired I couldn't even read, let alone sleep.

I took the pills in the early afternoon. At 6:00 AM, I was still in pain, and getting really scared. I called my parents, told them I was going to the ER.

TV lied to me. No, I didn't expect to see Dr. House, or Dr. Cox, or even those assholes from Grey's Anatomy. But anyone who ever entered this hospital never wanted to be a doctor. The nurse was pretty short with me, since she was convinced I was a moron. I spent about an hour repeating my name, date of birth, and complaint, and also being moved to specific locations throughout the ER.

Eventually I got my own room, and a robe. They gave me an EKG, and I got to have the fun experience of being topless in front of a total stranger. The man in the room next to me had a serious injury, and kept farting loudly. I don't believe the two were related. Someone fell out of their bed.

As I stated before, I did not expect Dr. House, and I did not get Dr. House, which is probably good because it confirms that I am an idiot, not a lunatic, and also because I was so humiliated by my own flaming douchery that if House HAD shown up, I would have rather committed hari kari than admit what I had done.

I've given it a lot of thought, and decided that my doctor was definitely a Wilson.

I was/am OK. The pills were made up of enormous quantitites of two types of caffeine. I already have an anxiety problem, and ingest ridiculous amounts of coffee and soda. He told me to go home, rest, and avoid caffeine or stress.

At this point I'd like to add that I'm at work.

My Dad drove in from Jersey to make sure I was OK. So he got to witness the Great Vomit Tour Of Downtown.

I was sick outside a car garage.
I was sick in my apartment.
I've been sick at the office - twice.

You name it, I'll stain it.

I still have my bracelet from the hospital, as proof I am not, in fact, hallucinating.

I've been falling asleep at my desk, fighting waves of nauseau I cannot describe. I've spent most of the day hunched low in my seat, clutching my belly and trying to find something to stare at that would not make me pass out.

Good News: Except for the ocassional flutter, my heart is back to 'normal,' and I can breathe with relative ease.

Bad News: My stomach is rebelling against the system, lobbying heavily for its independence. Which frankly it can fucking take, as far as I'm concerned; I'm really sick of sick. And excruciating stomach pains. And hospitals.

So, dearest readers, here is what Elle has learned for all of you today:
* Don't take diet pills. Be fat and happy, or work out and shut your fucking mouth.
* Stress is bad. Lots of stress is very bad, and makes your heart flutter in the non-romantic way.
* Hospitals are not cool in any way, shape, or form, and I am totally justified in hating all of the non-fictional hospitals in the known universe.
* Caffeine is a powerful, wonderful thing that has royally skull-fucked me, and which I no longer like. Until tomorrow.
* The internet is not a reliable source of medical information. Asking one of the guides from ChaCha will probably not increase your chances of survival.
* Getting sick outside a car garage is not serious enough to warrant missing work.
* I do generally the same amount of work whether or not I'm in excruciating, soul-stomping, mind-humping agony.
* I can make it from my desk to the toilets in under a minute.

What would you do without me?
Your fearless pioneer and explorer,
- LV

moreless

Frustration, Angst, & General Douchery

A lot of things suck right now. Actually, a lot of things suck all the time, but I have a highly trained ability to ignore anything that doesn't directly effect me. It's a gift.

But, to quote Arrested Development, I am learning life lessons all over the place. And I shall impart this steaming-fresh wisdom to all of you, so that perhaps the sucky things in your life will be marginally less sucky. Smell the wisdom.

* Even after you graduate from college, your parents can essentially control your life – Unless you are some amazing, magical person who immediately got a fantastic job out of college, in which case I hope you get crabs, you are going to have to rely on your parents to some extent in the post-college world. This sucks. A lot. In fact, this situation may bring about an entirely new level of suckiness in your life. Your parents can, for example, entirely dictate your future living situation, regardless of what you may actually want. If you don’t see how this can be a miserable situation, you are probably a parent, and I hate you.

To explain a bit: I was planning on living with two of my best friends. Because none of us have won the lottery, we were looking in Brooklyn. My parents did not like any of the neighborhoods we could afford. Cue two days of hysterical screaming into the phone, and very creative cursing. End result: I am going to have to live alone.
Now, I do understand my parent’s concerns. And I would like to not be dead, as it is no fun and necrophilia really frightens me. However, that does not make me any less annoyed, or any less inclined to abuse my ‘in case of emergencies’ credit card until they get the bill, and cancel it. Which leads me to my next earth-shattering life lesson:

* Apartment-hunting sucks – Especially in New York City. And especially when you have limited funds. And ultra-especially, when your parents have an unnerving amount of power in the whole situation because you are an intern getting paid jack-shit and can’t find a job that will give you the money to allow you to live where they want you to live. Brokers should be nice to me. They are sucking my will to live, and not in a fun or sexy way. New York is way too expensive, which is admittedly not an original complaint, but come ON. On the upside, since my parents effectively executed my previous living plans, they’ve told me I can get a cat. Because cats make everything better, and expertly assuage parental guilt.

* Job-hunting sucks – This alone is the perfect reason NOT to go to liberal arts college. While you will have a well-rounded education, and understand the complex inner workings of reality TV and youtube, you will have no chance in hell of finding a job. This is why most liberal arts students go to grad school, and have drinking problems, and cannot succeed in love, and cry themselves to sleep night after endless, lonely night. Take my advice – if your parents can afford grad school, take it. Don’t take time off. I am lucky enough that my parents could theoretically afford to send me to grad school, but now I feel like returning to the educational system would be like admitting defeat. I AM defeated, and royally fucked at the moment, but I won’t ADMIT it. Even though I just did.

* Work sucks – This may seem hypocritical considering my last complaint/piece of advice, and it is. That doesn’t make it any less true. I am stuck at this desk for another six hours, and have nothing to do. I will continue to have nothing to do. In the meantime, I cannot look for an apartment or a job, thus improving my situation. I can sit here and complain. Which I’m incredibly good at, but Monster.com does not have any job listings for people who can bitch their fucking heads off.
* Sinus infections suck – Anyone who has one knows what I mean.

And so much for that. My advice to anyone still in college? Stay in college. As long as physically possible. Consider medical school. I know I am – and by medical school, I mean fantasizing about House, M.D..

TV/Movie Things That Make Life Suck Less
• A Bit Of Fry & Laurie – Best skit show ever. Makes old SNL look like the new SNL, and the new SNL look like – I don’t know, MadTV or something equally repugnant. And I charged the boxed set to my parent’s credit card, because I am passive aggressive and petty. Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry should run their own country. I'd live there.
• Alan Rickman – My friend Esse can confirm this. You know it to be true. Embrace it.
• House, M.D. – Because I like mentioning it constantly, to annoy you all. And it’s still true. Even truer than the other stuff I have said, which is all gloriously truth.
• KNOCKED UP – Seth Rogen is the shit. And I liked him back in Freaks & Geeks, which would never have been cancelled if there was a God. Or a higher national IQ.

Oh, and am I the only one who found it really alarming that two of the most prolific directors of all time DIED within a few days of each other? What’s even more alarming is that, according to the surveys at IMDB.com, nobody has even seen any of their films. But EVERYONE ran out and saw Crash, which ranks with rectal warts in terms of quality and entertainment. You make me sick – almost as sick as that last comment.

That’s all I can say for the moment. Further bulletins as events warrant, or depending on how incredibly bored I am.
- LV

PS Who the fuck actually voted in my survey that they only read this when they're really, really bored? Come on, there are other websites far more entertaining than this one! Just look at my links. You should spend your days hysterically reloading this page, desperate for whatever nuggets of wisdom I deign to squeeze out. I just reread that last line, and officially admit that I am gross.

moreless

Since I Am Still Sick & Semi-Delerious, I Am Going To Post A Nice List, & You Are All Going To Love It

Fictional Characters I Would Drag Into A Dark Alley & Gleefully Violate, Were They Not Fictional
In A Sort Of Order, Meaning Whatever Came Into My Diseased Little Mind First
1. V - V For Vendetta (Do I even need to explain this one? Comic and movie, although for drastically different reasons. Comic version would probably kill me. Movie version might cry if I tried to touch his dangly bits.)
2. Spider Jerusalem - Transmetropolitan (Because I can't put real people on this list, and he's like Hunter S. Thompson, and he uses awesome curses and eats weird things and yells a lot.)
3. The Doctor - Doctor Who (The Ninth being my favorite, although I've been genuinely attracted to each one - go figure.)
4. Allen Francis Doyle - Angel (The cause of some very embarrassing behavior during my early teen years, and the sole reason I love Irish accents.)
5. Dr. Gregory House - House, M.D. (And yes, I am going to make a list of reasons why House and I are meant to be. In my mind - I think my geekiness is a bit out of control at the moment. Suffice it to say, he's from NEW JERSEY.)
6. Phineas Poe - KISS ME JUDAS, PENNY DREADFUL, HELL'S HALF ACRE (He's fucking awesome. Although he has very bad luck with women. Or rather, the women around him have really bad luck.)
7. Severus Snape - The Harry Potter Series (Movies, books, whatever - blame Esse for this one.)
8. Brooklyn - Gargoyles (Can we please not delve into the fact that he's not human? And doesn't even look human? And is a cartoon? Please?)
9. Rorschach - Watchmen (Winner of Ugliest Fictional Character I Find Sexy Award.)
10. GOB - Arrested Development (So, so damaged - he'd cry before, during, and after.)
11. Agent Sands - Once Upon A Time In Mexico (Can't really explain this one, except that good looking lunatics with an extra arm are appealing.)
12. Captain Jack Sparrow - Pirates Of The Caribbean (I have a theory - go watch the first POTC movie. Remember Jack's first appearance? Yeah. A million teenage girls hit puberty right then.)
13. Dr. Perry Cox - Scrubs (Used to be higher up the list, but House is angrier and more damaged, which makes me like him more. So sad. Will Cox fall from The List?)
14. Hoban 'Wash' Washbourne - Firefly, Serenity (Of course I love him. And those of you who know my theory on fictional characters I love, and the end of Serenity, know how appropriate this is.)
15. Lloyd Dobbler - Say Anything... (Because I am a heterosexual female.)
16. Data - Star Trek: The Next Generation (I once told my friend he's like a vibrator that can snuggle you afterwards. She made me promise never to say that again.)
17. Brody - Mallrats (Probably a version of the man I will marry.)
18. Hellboy - Hellboy (Comics & movie. Bite me, you know he's hot. Haha, a PUN!)
19. John Constantine - Hellblazer (NOT Keanu Reeves in freaking Constantive. JUST the comics. I can't even talk about that movie. It makes me twitch.)
20. Raoul Duke - Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas (Does this count? He's an alter-ego of a real person. But he's fictional. Fuck it, he counts.)
21. Adrian Monk - Monk (He could clean for me. And I don't like touching people either! We could be crazy together.)
22. Tim Canterbury - The Office (The British version is still better.)
23. Josh Lyman - The West Wing (This show made me want to go to law school for a few weeks, so I could meet Josh and have him ruin my life.)
24. Zaphod Beeblebrox - The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (I could make a dirty joke here about two heads and three arms, but you know what? I'm too fucking mature.)
25. Woodrow Call - Lonesome Dove (Book and movie, although NOT the TV series - was he even in that? I read the book so many times it fell apart.)
26. Holden Caulfield - The Catcher In The Rye (I was an angsty teenager.)
27. Lucas Corso - The Club Dumas (NOT the film version The Ninth Gate, even if it did have Johnny Depp as Corso. Only the book version. More book-love in the book version.)
28. Odd Thomas - Odd Thomas (He's a dork! Who sees dead people! And Elvis likes him! Exclamation point!)
29. Mark Cohen - Rent (I forced my friend Kay to go see this. In Theaters. In New York City. She made me promise not to tell anyone ever, but I forgot, and told quite a few of our friends.)
30. Mike McGill - Crooked Little Vein (I wrote a freaking fan letter to Warren Ellis in an earlier post - you doubted he'd be on the list?)

That's enough. I'm going to go vomit now. And sleep. If the virus in me wins, please exterminate me. Maybe I'll become a zombie. That would be AWESOME!

If I do become a zombie, may you be able to avoid me and continue with your puny little lives. Unless you are cool, and decide to become a zombie like me. Poser.
- LV

NOTE: Blogger needs to get its shit together and let me add more labels. PLEASE, Blogger Gods? Make the limit like, 300 or 400.

NOTE: I PROMISE, as soon as I'm better I'll get back to less insane (or equally insane in a different way) topics. I just feel vile and want to write silly shit.

NOTE: If it turns out I am dying, but not turning into a zombie, call the Make A Wish Foundation and tell them I want Hugh Laurie to pretend to be House for me. He can just hobble around avoiding me. They wouldn't even have to bother him; just have young, attractive people come into my room and tell me he's busy. Wait, what?

moreless

This Post Is Brought To You By Elle's Germs, Cough Syrup, & David Fincher

Downside: I am sick. Genuinely sick, not 'I kind of feel shitty so I'll milk it until everyone despises me for being so damn whiny.' I am truly sick. And not mentally either (OK, that may not be entirely true, but for the sake of this we're ignoring any issues going on INSIDE my head).

Everything hurts. Even my teeth. My snot is making me heavy. I have chills, and I may be slightly delerious due to masive amounts of cough syrup.

I'm even too dizzy to read. I need to take a break between writing each line.

Upside: New York City is the best place in the world to be sick. I have soup, juice, medicine, and tissues on the way. I have many DVDs to watch.

AND I dragged my TV into my bedroom so I can watch it without interacting with the Great Blonde Menace. Funny story: I took the TV into my room while she was sleeping (since it's MY TV, bought with my hard-earned video store money all those years ago), and my roommate freaked and thought it was stolen. She then wanted me to let her take it out so she could watch TV in the common area, despite the fact that she has a TV in her room AND a mini DVD player.

So today: Zodiac (Dear FUCK Robert Downey, Jr. is GORGEOUS. And a JOURNALIST! AND HE SMOKES! WE COULD SMOKE AT WORK AND WRITE AT THE SAME TIME! CAPS LOCKS!), Hot Fuzz, and HOUSE, M.D.: Season Two. Don't tell my roommate about the last one; she'll hijack the DVDs again, and weak as I am I WILL find a way to kill her.

I watched season one of HOUSE all day yesterday after they sent me home. It was glorious. Oh, and I am now officially broke. Like, not even ironically broke. Just very, very broke.

Either later today or tomorrow, I intend on discussing the amazingness of Dr. House, and why we are meant to be. And you will all tolerate this, because I am sick, and you will be bad people if you ignore my rantings. BAD.

In the meantime, I have a date with Robert Downey, Jr. and a serial killer. And sleep. And cough syrup. Lots of cough syrup.

moreless