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
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
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