Random Notes

* I am seriously considering getting a tattoo. Then again, I also went through a phase where I was considering being a lawyer, so this may come to nothing. But I really want one.

* Of all my weird, embarrassing, or just plain inexplicable crushes (Hunter S. Thompson, Quentin Tarantino, & Ron Perlman, to name a few), the weirdest (and oldest) has once again reared its ugly head: Corey Feldman. Yes, that Corey Feldman. Yes. That one. We all know who I'm talking about. The eighties child star from The Goonies, Lost Boys, and Stand By Me. Well, I saw Lost Boys: The Tribe, and he was in it. And the Crush came back in a big, big way. Yes, he's very weird and creepy. But I love him, and have had Lost Boys 1 and 2 on repeat for like, the past few days, trying to exorcise this desire. It' ain't working.

But be honest: who doesn't love Edgar Frog? WHO?!

* I have nothing to say. I miss my friends who are out of state.

* Nobody answers my E-Mails.

* I'd say something angsty now, and then I'd quote (since we've established I'm hopelessly lame) that line from the Buffy musical episode that gets me every time, "These endless days are finally ending in a blaze," but that would be too much, even for me.

* I need to stop biting my nails.
- LV

PS It's FELDMAN, not HAIM. Not THAT Corey. Just need you all to know that. Haim is beyond even me. Plus, he's no Edgar Frog.

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To Make Up For My Earlier Madness...

I have accepted my role in life, and recovered some modicum of sanity. Or enough to post on the internet without hysteria.

Websites I Read All The Time
* Ctrl+Alt+Del - Still my favoritest webcomic, and it's getting better again, after being well-written but making me very sad all the time. Back to the humor!

* Holy Moly's The Corner - Consistently entertaining while simultaneously satisfying my near-pathological need for all things English. The Corner is especially hilarious, as is The Rules Of Modern Life.

* Go Fug Yourself - Where I satisfy my not-so-secret celebrity fashion obsession, in particular bad fashion. Also, the writing is kind of brilliant. I want Heather & Jessica to be my best friends, and explain the ways of the world, and maybe take me shopping.

* The Soundtrack INFO Project - Have you ever wondered what song was playing at the key moment in season five of Charmed? I haven't, but I have used this website to find every single song played in Wanted. Because Wanted rocked out loud, and if you don't agree with that, you make me sad. Very sad. Anyway, this website has every song from pretty much every movie/TV show you can think of. Whoever does this is awesome.

* Cracked - You explained why Roseanne Barr is the craziest person on the internet, secret Scientologists, and more movie lists than I could ever dream of. I love you. Will you marry me, and make me the luckiest gal on Earth?

* Yes But No But Yes - Another blog I wish I had thought up first. Damn all the smart people. I should eats your brains. Eats them all and absorb your powers!

* eLuxury - Where I pretend to be a wealthy baroness with oodles of cash to spare named Baroness Delilah Holmes-Thompson Van Snickerdoodle McSkippy who spends all day shopping while being fed caramel drops by Edward Norton and having Hugh Laurie brush her hair... Look, I haven't had a cigarette in fifteen hours. My brain is crawling out my ear in an attempt to get near some nicotine Leave me alone.

OK, maybe this was a premature return to the internet.
- LV

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Learning Is Fun

A brief search of Wikipedia, which is on the internet, and therefore always right, informs me that while there are words for killing your mother (matricide), your father (patricide), brother (fratricide), sister (sororicide), husband (mariticide), wife (uxoricide, which I hope will one day be the name of a band, or edgy art film), aunt , uncle (avunculicide, which is a word that really should be used more often), offspring (filicide), and of course self (suicide), there is no term I could find for someone killing a grandparent.

Interesting. That's all I'm saying.

Actually, there are lots of nifty words about killing. This may be morbid, but I just love that language can be so wonderfully specific as to have, for example, a word that's definition is "the killing of your older, geriatric relatives for being close-minded, manipulative control freaks who seem to think you're still an infant who needs accompaniment to the toilet and yell at you and your younger brother constantly, and nothing you do is right, but if you can just get on tape some of the insane bullshit she spouts, you could probably get by on an insanity plea, and the jury might give you a cookie for your pain."

OK, not that specific. And no, I will not commit a murder of any sort, because I am a wuss, and don't want anyone dead so much as to go away and leave me alone and stop screaming at me.

Here are a few cool words about killing:
* Vulpicide: The killing of a fox by means other than hunting with hounds. (Why is this word needed? How AWESOME is it that this word exists?!)
* Vaticide: The killing of a prophet. (Probably by throwing them into big vats of boiling green acid, like the Joker. And wouldn't a great headline be: Vaticide at the Vatican?)
* Tomecide: The killing of books (That's just sick.)
* Lampricide: a substance that kills lampreys (parasitic fish). (Actually mildly disappointing, as for one brief shining moment I was absolutely certain someone out that had invented a word about killing lamps, and somehow managed to make it part of the accepted vernacular.)
* Tyrannicide: The killing of tyrants. (Another misnomer, and DON'T tell me you didn't think for one second it was about dinosaur murders. Don't lie to me like that.)

Further research uncovers this little word:
Senicide: Putting of the elderly to death. Not quite what I was going for. Forget it. The jail time would make me stressed out and cranky, and they probably wouldn't let me bring my laptop. Plus, I usually like my grandparents. They're entertaining, in that insane-old-person way, and they make amazing food like homemade pasta and this meat sauce that can cause orgasms. It's just that they've been given power, and it's corrupting them. In the way I kind of believe that Alexander the Great and Napoleon were probably decent guys until everyone started fawning over them, and they realized they could kill and conquer without anyone yelling at them.

So instead of any actions that could result in jail time and a made-for-TV-movie titled, Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead, Because Our Grandparents Were Babysitting Us, And This Qualifies As Homicide, And Anyway Mom Might Be Disturbed That Her Daughter Offed Her Parents In A Fit Of Justified But Still Illegal Rage, I will settle for making a list of what I've had to deal with since my parents went AWOL in California oh, six hours ago:
* Being screamed at because I have never watched Army Wives, meaning I don't really understand the war, and am not a patriot.
* Being lectured because my brother wasn't hungry, and didn't want to eat breakfast. How this was my fault is beyond me.
* Being told I'm not very smart because, while I agree my brother is often insane, usually annoying, and occasionally evil, I do not agree with my grandmother's statement that he is a sick, demented creature who will bite the heads off puppies the moment I give him the chance.
* Having to deal with my grandmother telling me, at least seven times since she came here yesterday, that I am far too thin and must be dying or have a crippling eating disorder. This would be less upsetting if she hadn't spent the years I was much heavier calling me fat and taking food away from me.
* Getting told, in minute detail, all the reasons I'm single. Again. Twice this morning. With more to come.
* My grandparents threatening to leave three times so far, because my brother cursed, refused to eat breakfast, and couldn't find his bathing suit. Made worse because I'd love for them to get the fuck out and leave me alone.

And let me just say, I am deeply offended that at twenty-two years of age, and living on my own in New York for four years, my parents don't think I am capable of taking care of a dog and a ten year old kid, who's going to be in school most of the time, for one fucking week. I know shiny objects distract me, and I get way too excited about Doctor Who trivia, and can spend hours staring lustfully at the sheer erotic glory of Edward Norton, but come on. Nobody would DIE under my care. Probably.

I need coffee. And to sneak off for a cigarette. Add into all this a crippling stomachache.

Life is good!
- LV

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Strange Rumblings In The Desert

Notes

* Last night's House was very upsetting, for me. Plus it made my mom cry. Never a good thing. I think it says something about my mental state when, watching the episode, I completely agree with everything House does. Including almost killing a patient to prove his friendship to Wilson. Hey, at least you don't doubt his conviction. Friends consider this very unhealthy, and pray I am never put in a position of power over another human life.

* Still writing my book (actually, typing it up). I'm starting to think it really, really sucks. This could be paranoia, or it could be common sense.

* Figs and prosciutto is the best lunch ever.

* When someone is in the midst of a separation that will probably end in divorce, and they tearfully ask you if you think they'll make it, these are the wrong things to say:
- Your husband is hot. Can I have his number?
- Hahahahahaha. Are you serious?! I'm surprised it lasted this long!
- Not unless you stop talking in that shrill, whiny voice.
- No. No I don't.
(I said none of these things. What I said was, "Uh, I don't know," which resulted in a fresh burst of tears, leading me to believe that I might as well have picked one of the other options.)

* September is my favorite month in the Northeast. It's brisk, not cold, and the sun is shining golden on the leaves as they darken and turn brown, red, orange, and the air smells clean, and it's warm if you lay in the sun, and when it does rain it's always soft, mellow rain, and makes you want to curl up with a good horror novel and a hot cup of tea, and watch the skies open up. Today it's warm, and the sky is a clear blue with tufts of soft, innocent-looking clouds, and the grass is remarkably green, and if you find a nice place in the sun, you can curl up and take a nap and have only pleasant dreams.

Unfortunately, I'm working, so I really hope someone else is enjoying the weather and taking a nap on the warm, soft grass, letting the breeze tickle their face. Because I'm inside looking for places to sell my writing.

* I finished my article, which is a yay. But I can't reach the two people I need to interview to finish said article, which is a big boo. Even though I've been there, and really love it, Pittsburgh is rapidly becoming my Lost World: the place where you lose all contact with people, where you wonder if they ever even existed, or if it was all a really vivid daydream. The first time I went to Pittsburgh, Kurt Vonnegut died while I was sitting in the airport. The second time, George Carlin died the day I was leaving. Do you think the universe is trying to tell me something, or do I feel a sudden desire to travel there because my animal instincts tell me someone awesome is going to kick the bucket? Riddle me this.

* Holy Moly! is the funniest website ever (this week). My amazing uncle introduced me to it. Read "The Corner," & "The Rules" - I stayed up mortifyingly late last night, reading them and snickering helplessly, while my sleepy dog eyed me, grumpy I'd woken him up.

* The power cord to my computer just turned off. For no reason. My computer is no longer charging. It's just... the battery is draining. And not stopping. This could become a serious, serious problem.

* I think that The Sims and The Sims 2 are the reasons why we do not yet have flying cars, world peace, or an earlier release date for the Watchmen movie. How many hours, days, lives have been lost playing this game? How many works of art have rotted and turned to dust, waiting for their creators to lose interest in the tiny, computerized world they've created? And meanwhile, the creators, their energy and imagination devoted solely to the society they've been working on, triumphantly cries out, "Look! My Sims have GREAT-grandchildren now! I can make the cousins marry each other! Let's see if I can master the ancient art of Sim Incest! Simcest, I'll call it (patent pending)! Brilliant!"

This has nothing to do with me, of course, or the decreasing number of hours I spend asleep. Nothing at all, and frankly I resent the implications.

* David Foster Wallace hung himself. I'm going to reread Infinite Jest. That's really all I can do.

* You think there's any way we could somehow replace Sarah Palin with Tina Fey, secret-like, so that in case McCain DOES win the election, she can do secret good from inside enemy lines? She'd be like Jason Bourne, or a ninja! Tina Fey is pretty much a ninja all the time, but she'd be a real ninja! And then, maybe, one day she'd be president! Tina Fey as President would make me very happy. You know what? Whenever I see Sarah Palin from now on, I'm going to pretend she's Tina Fey doing another skit. Then I will be happy, instead of depressed, worried, and a little nauseous.

This election is giving me heartburn. If I thought more people read this, I'd actually post a real political entry. But nobody does, so I'll settle for snarkiness instead of real, intellectual analysis.

OK. I really need to deal with this power cord dilemma, and work.
- LV

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Stupid Technology

Why does the internet ONLY crash when I have work windows open that took me quite a while to research, while I'm actually working on an article? HOW DOES IT KNOW?

Also on my list of people who need a good hard kick in the crotch with a steel-pointed boot, or at least to have their neither regions set on fire:
* Those who fail to return my phone calls, because I need them to so I can write.

* Those who fail to return my E-Mails, even though I have such trouble writing them myself.

* Those who fail to pick up the phone when I call, because I didn't have an answering machine message planned out.

* Answering machines, for making me sound like a total moron incapable of structuring simple sentences.

* Google (I understand that Google is not a person, and would be amenable to substituting a high-powered member of the Google team, or perhaps a mascot dressed up as Google.)

* Whoever is doing construction outside while I'm trying to write, and feels the need to shout obscenities at anyone walking by.

* My mother for believing that writing doesn't count as 'real work' and asking me to run fucking errands for her every five minutes, and generally being a miserable, whiny wench. I love my mother, but seriously.

* Sarah Palin, for a plethora of reasons, the most obvious being that she exists at all. Although she also deserves the blame for my mother screaming like a cat on crack whenever she comes on the television.

* Myself, for compulsively editing the article I'm working on because I can't get the tone right, which is ridiculous as I am not writing a hard-hitting expose on Enron, but a pleasant and enjoyable article about a charity. Yet I have an insane urge to call people up and demand the fucking money, Lebowski.

* The Big Lebowski, for being on TV every night this week and filling me with the false hope that, perhaps, today will be kooky and entertaining, and filled with delightful and colorful characters, and that Sam Elliot will narrate my life with his mellow Southern twang.

* Safari, for crashing, and asking if I want to report it. No, I do not want to report your sudden closing. I want you to stop fucking closing, and let me do my work, and get on with my fucking life. This is a curse-heavy post. Shield your children's eyes.

* Indian food, because I am not eating any, and I have been craving it all week. Ditto good sushi.

* Everyone who reads my blog and doesn't post comments.

* Everyone who doesn't read my blog, because the numbers are down this month and I've actually been updating frequently, and I don't know how to get more people to read it.

* Kellog's. For those Pop-Tart commercials.

* Whoever made that popcorn video I posted, because it isn't true, and that made me sad, even if on the plus side my brain will no longer be slow-roasted to perfection whenever I get a phone call.

* Jennifer Anniston. She knows what she did.

OK, that served no purpose and didn't even make me feel any better, but I cleared out my skull and can now get back to work.
- LV

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These Really Disturb Me

This is my long-planned hate-post against the Poptart commercials.

This one features two happy pop-tarts enjoying their day, who are BURNED ALIVE.


This commercial is about a brave pop-tart who cleverly escapes death by toaster, only to be stuck upside-down, freezing in a fridge to wait with his fellow pop-tarts for their inevitable demise. And that smug little ice-pop; what, you don't think this will happen to you too?! If you listen, at the end of the commercial you can hear the pop-tarts screaming.


In this one, a foreign pop-tart is tackled on the streets by a psychotic person. Is the dog smoking a cigarette at the end?


In this one, the terrified pop-tart cowers before a fire-breathing dragon. It's SCARED.


This one is really sick. The little pop-tart is performing for his pop-tart friends. Some kids sneak onto the set, and peck him to death BEFORE THE AUDIENCE. THEY WATCH THEIR SCREAMING FRIEND GET EATEN ALIVE!


In this one, the pop-tart, mad with fear, hides in a fridge, and speaks with the man who will murder him, shaking with fear. Cold, cold fear.


And my favorite. One pop-tart mourns the death (by eating) of his love. Wracked with grief, he expresses his pain through the majesty of song. And some smug, soulless little bastard of a kid smugly replies, "She WAS hot."


It's not cannibalism, because we are clearly not Pop-Tarts. But according to these commercials, these are sentient beings capable of falling in love, mourning the loss of friends and family, and creating a complex society not unlike our own. So when does it get funny when another species, albeit our own, comes in and eats them as they scream and cry and beg for mercy? Should we encourage our children to feast on the flesh of a creature who is pleading with us to spare them?

I know I'm totally overanalyzing this, but come on - am I really the only person who finds these commercials sick and wrong?

Now when I see Pop-Tarts in the grocery store, I shudder, knowing the thin line between me and utter depravity.

This useless post brought to you by ElleVee, to letters not found in Pop-Tarts.
- LV

PS You totally can't tell from the rest of this post, but I am extremely upset at the moment, and actually kind of loathe my parents. I am a sneaky monkey.

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I Wonder What It Tastes Like...

A video my wonderful aunt Tee sent me, determined to ruin both cell phones and popcorn for me for at least a month.

Pop Corn téléphone portable micro-ondes
Uploaded by sassiere

Busy busy busy. Will update later, maybe.

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Fuck This, I'm Going To Medical School

The last line of my book is essentially the same as the last line in Will Christopher Baer's Phineas Poe trilogy. I did not realize this. Likewise, the character is somewhat similar, in mental deficiencies, at least.

My beautiful, perfect last line that I was so proud of, is a total rip-off. God fucking damn it all to hell.

Yeah, yeah, article is going great, and I'm really pleased with it. But everything else I write is shit. Shit I tell you.

I'm very unhappy right now. I need a hug. And some of Hunter S. Thompson's alcohol. HE would have understood. And then he would have mocked me until I cried, and probably punched me. Hunter was a complicated man.

Going to go sulk, and try to write something that doesn't SUCK.
- LV

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This Is Really Unacceptable

I am home, trying to write the rough draft of my article. That is all I wanted to do today. That's it! Nothing else.

Hunter The Idiot Dog chewed up his back foot the other day, and is heavily medicated. I agreed to watch him, since all he does is sleep and hop around on his uninjured legs in a humorous but pathetic manner.

My parents went to some fucking art show thing with their friends. They left me to babysit my little brother. They told me I should take him somewhere, DESPITE the article, and the book, and several other projects I'm in the middle of, most of which I didn't get done because yesterday I had to run errands with my father, and babysit once again.

I tell my brother: "OK, we can either go to Burger King for lunch, or I'll take you to the game store."
Him: "Why can't we do both?"
LV: "Because they are in entirely different directions, and I don't really have the time to drive all over the place. But you get to go to one fun place!"

He is now in the garage, screaming and throwing things, and sobbing like a prison bitch.

Guess who has to stop working now, and go cater to his every whim?

Also, the basement stinks of dog piss.

Also, I hope they spit on his goddamn burger.

Not really. Well, maybe a little.
- LV

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WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS?!

There is a BEER created in honor of my late husband, Hunter S. Thompson, and you didn't think to tell me?!

It's OK, I mean, I discovered it myself, and procured a six-pack which I will drink only on great occasions, and which I will claim to love even if the beer sucks [but of course it won't, because NOTHING with Hunter's name on it could ever be bad. NOTHING.] But I scared the poor guy at Whole Foods with my cries of ecstasy and delight.

WHAT ELSE AREN'T YOU PEOPLE TELLING ME?!
- LV

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Poor Life Choices

"Oh," I said, "it's 11:00 P.M. And I have to get up very early tomorrow to do big important things. So I'll smoke my last cigarette of the day, write for a few more minutes, and be in bed my 11:30 P.M., 12:00 A.M. at the very latest. Smart!"

Fast forward.

It's 12:45 A.M.

I am totally wired from writing.

"Oh shit," says I. "I am a goddamn moron. I have to be up in seven hours and go to my dad's work, where he is storing most of my DVDs, and decide which of them I'm going to sell, before he up and sells all of them. And yes, my hair is indeed fabulous, but how will that help me when I'm trying to make important decisions about life, and which DVDs to sell for money? How, I ask? And why do I continue to write my internal monologue on my blog [that RHYMES] when I should be sleeping? These are terrible, terrible life choices, LV. I'm disappointed in you."

Also, my main character speaks with a southern accent, which I'm writing out. As a result, I have to keep reminding myself to add the 'g' to many of these words, otherwise you'd find yourself readin somethin that sounds lazy, but is in actuality just my tired brain workin overtime to seem pretentious and erudite.

I may have misused the word erudite.

Shit.

I'm goin to sleep.
- LV

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Second Draft

The second draft is kicking my ass so hard.

I'm so tired, and only on page 81 of the goddamn draft.

Plus, I'm working on articles and substitute teaching stuff.

If I owe you an E-Mail/Phone Call/Hour Of Sweet, Sweet Loving, I promise you'll get one by this weekend. Or I'll... I don't know. Something funny.

Something else funny,
- LV

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A Quick Update, In Which I Say Stuff That's Not That Interesting To Anyone But Me

Well, I finally got a haircut [loyal blog-readers know I vowed not to cut my hair until I had finished my novel]. My hair was totally inspired by Selma Blair's in Hellboy II: The Golden Army. I even brought in pictures to show the girl what I wanted. And at the risk of sounding like an awful egomaniac, I think it looks really great. I love my hair. I keep hugging it.

Here's a picture [of Selma Blair, although I may post a picture of myself once I take one] of my hair inspiration.



Back to less visual, hair-related information:
* I'm researching an article for my kick-ass friend Kay Jay's magazine, which is coming along nicely [the research bit; haven't started the actual writing yet]
* I'm typing up my novel/working on a second draft. The joke title is in serious danger of becoming the real title, simply because I can't think of anything better.
* I'm also working on ideas for another magazine, but I have to pitch them in a way that doesn't make me sound like a moron.
* I'm looking at grad school classes at NYU.
* I'm signing up to become a substitute teacher. Make whatever jokes you will - I think I'll actually be really good at it.
* Dunkin Donuts is totally better than Starbucks. I'm just saying.

That's really it. I love being busy. Look! I'm a productive member of society! Huzzah!
- LV

PS I love Sarah Palin. Because she is absolutely fucking batshit insane, and may in fact be Satan in the flesh, with a FARGO-accent and a gun fetish that lends itself to too many obvious jokes, and goes against everything I believe in and hold dear, and yet people still seem to love her. She may be the craziest person in politics today. And as I keep telling people, if she and John "I Have Strong Moral Values But Really Only Want A Nap And Possibly A Diaper Change" McCain win the election, we will get exactly the type of leaders we deserve.

/End Political Rant

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Announcement

On September 6th, 2008, at 1:17 AM, Miss Elle Vee finished her book.

551 handwritten pages. I'm typing it up now, working on the second draft.

Applaud, peons.

I may, in fact, kick ass.
- LV

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If I Die From Chicken, I Will Be Very Embarrassed

I think my tandoori chicken was undercooked. I ate two pieces before I noticed that it was a little less... finished than I would have liked. I really don't want to die from chicken. It's one of the most humiliating deaths I can imagine. The mango chutney was delicious, however, and as far as I know the innocent mango has never taken a human life, except in self-defense.

In other news, I'm waiting for my parents to get home while the dog shrieks and looks at me with wide, pathetic eyes, asking silently for something which he could not put into words even if he was capable of speech. Then he starts nipping me and trying to love my leg, even though he's been 'altered,' and all my sympathy goes right out the window.

At the moment he's pushing the computer away from me with his paws. It would be cute if I wasn't typing.

OK, I can take a hint. Time for a walk.

But first, and the real reason I posted this [not my chicken paranoia] is because I am on page 528 of my book, and hope to be finished sometime tomorrow. I think that's pretty damn awesome.

DAMN DOG!
- LV

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The Dog Is Sleeping. Quick, Let's Run.

The advantage to being alone is that I can blast my music as loudly as I want. So yay for that.

I love my daily coffee: a medium nonfat iced caramel swirl latte from Dunkin Donuts. The only problem with ordering a long-labeled drink is that more often then not I return home to realize my latte is lacking in caramel swirl, and then there is much sadness in the world of LV.

I'm trying to finish The Knife Thrower. I don't like it. At all. I'm struggling. I really just want to give up and admit failure, but I have a mental block against forsaking books - even bad ones. And it might not be bad. It might be wonderful. I just don't care, and want it to go away. Then again, I keep whipping through Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, so maybe my taste in literature is just diminishing as I get older.

No job joy, although I've spent the better part of the morning drafting a letter to a contact my goddess-like aunt gave me. The problem with these letters, as I think I've said before, is that just below the surface of any nice words I write, the real message is this:

'Listen, I am smart, funny, and talented, and I will work my ass off for you. So give me a goddamn job, because my parents are seriously beginning to see me as a liability, and I hate being broke and unemployed, and if you don't give me the job I'll fill your life with misery and woe. Resume is attached. Thanks for your time!"

It's just so frustrating; I know what I'm good at, and I should be able to get a job doing it. I don't even expect a decent paycheck at this point! A discount coffee card would make me extremely happy! Or a hug. OK, that's a lie; I do want a paycheck. I'm just realistic, and would be totally content with modest compensation for my work. And I have no patience for the ass-kissing bit. Now that I have confidence, I've lost that cringing sweetness that usually kept me from saying what I was thinking. This could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what's running through my twisted mind.

I sent my dad a draft of the E-Mail, as he is perhaps the expert on making nice with strangers [my dad has a fan club. I'm only half-kidding] and I'm waiting for him to reword it into something kind and polite and charming. He has powers.

Johnny Cash kicked ass.

OK, the dog is awake and barking now. Must go deal with him. He probably wants me to rub his belly. I spend more time catering to this dog than anything else in my life.
- LV

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The Suburbs Are Terrifying

I don't care what anyone says, the suburbs are far more frightening than the city. Come on, all the best horror movies take place in the quiet, idyllic land of suburbia. Halloween, Blue Velvet [not technically a horror movie, but I dare you to imagine a freakier film], The Poughkeepsie Tapes, Scream, It... OK, not all great horror movies, but still, the majority. I mean, what horror movies take place in cities? Cloverfield? [Waits patiently for someone to start lecturing her about the countless scary city-based movies out there].

I'm just saying: when your dog starts howling at nothing in the dark night, and you're all alone in a house, and you're a wussy girl who panics easily, it's a stressful experience.

I am running on a fantastically low level of sleep at the moment. Johnny Depp could show up asking for directions, and I'd probably mace him, lock myself in the closet, and cry like the lunatic I am.

That being said, I maintain that when the zombie apocalypse occurs, I am totally prepared. That's about the only time you want to be in the suburbs. After all, suburbs have malls.

OK, off to fortify myself, set every alarm in the house, and spend the next nine hours jumping at every noise, all while trying to write.

At this point, I'm pretty sure the dog barks just to fuck with me. He'll get his. Mark my words.
- LV

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This Is A Whiny Post. Consider Yourself Warned.

Below you will find a rundown of last night.

The Set-Up: I am housesitting by myself, with only my dog as company. I spent most of yesterday asleep with a killer sinus infection, and got nothing at all done, despite my grandiose plans for the day.

9:30 P.M.: Walk dog, going slowly because pulsing headache makes moving difficult. Dog goes on lawn of neighbor who hates us.

10:00 P.M.: Back in house, dog suddenly starts barking and growling at the door. Grab house phone and cell phone, ready to call 911 if need be. I pick up both phones, mind you, because horror-movie logic dictates that one of them probably will not work. I also have planned out escape routes, depending on where the attacker is coming from.

10:10 P.M.: Determine dog was growling at neighbor's stupid cat. Feel appropriately idiotic.

11:00 P.M.: Decide to go to bed, since I have to walk the dog at 7:00 A.M. This way I'll be able to get sufficient sleep, and maybe my hideous headache will abate a little. Set alarm, check all locks, and basically act like the zombie apocalypse has come and I am fortifying myself in for the long haul.

11:30 P.M.: Friend Emme calls. I forgot to call her yesterday, because I was busy being unconscious and dreaming of Edward Norton. So I pick up, figuring a few minutes of chatting will be good.

12:10 A.M.: Finally end phone conversation. Am now so tired I don't know my own name, but I do remember it's my amazing friend Kay Jay's birthday [HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!]. Send her a text and settle down for sleep.

12:30 A.M.: Hunter freaks out, starts growling and barking at the door to the bedroom [which is locked]. I freeze, listening for anything that might be upsetting him. Even me, paranoid as I am, cannot hear anything. He continues to bark for another half an hour at NOTHING. Headache grows worse.

1:00 A.M.: Hunter abruptly stops barking and collapses into a deep sleep. Jerk.

2:30 A.M.: Another barking fit.

3:48 A.M.: Another barking fit.

4:39 A.M.: A serious barking fit, complete with howling like he's auditioning to be the goddamn Hound of Baskerville in the new Sherlock Holmes movie. I'm near tears by this point. I just want SLEEP. DEAR GOD.

6:30 A.M.: Hunter wakes me up by nudging me with his nose, because he needs to go for his morning walk. I am sleep deprived, unable to even coherently speak, and got barely a few hours of sleep. I want my family to come back from California, not because I miss them [it's nice to have a little break from the nagging], but so that someone else can deal with the dog's severe and crippling emotional problems. I need SLEEP.

So yeah. And now I have to write all the E-Mails I would have written yesterday if I weren't in pain, and my sinus headache is barely reined in by a heavy dose of Tylenol, and I swore to myself I'd spend the day writing. Even though typing this blog post took a horrifyingly long time, and isn't exactly strenuous. Also need to look at NYU class book thing. Bleargh. Even words are failing me now!

Oh, and I need to read an essay my neighbor gave me yesterday. And call people. And do stuff. So I apologize in advance if anyone who interacts with me today finds me especially weird and twitchy. Blame it on my dog who, while adorable and very sweet, is the most annoying animal on the planet, and is currently nipping me because I'm not scratching him correctly. I mean come ON.

OK, time to do stuff.
- LV

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