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

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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.

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So Much For Productivity

There is nothing quite like sitting around with a few friends while stoned/drunk/both, and laughing hysterically at something none of you can remember.

There is also nothing like sitting on a roof in New York City in the morning, drinking coffee and beer and smoking cigarettes with aforementioned friends. Or maybe there is. Either way, if you don't do it often enough where you require an intervention, it can be quite a fun experience.

The next few days should be intriguing, if not downright pleasant. Tomorrow I'm going to see Pink Floyd with my father, who has an insane gift when it comes to getting tickets for anything you might want. The next day, my friend and I are going to see Paprika, which is some anime film that is apparently fantastic and life-changing, etc.

Tomorrow I also have to have lunch with one of those people who would call you a friend, but you would call, 'a guilty annoyance that I cannot cut out from my life because it would be too much of a hassle, but who I avoid as much as possible.' Should I feel bad about that?

Anyway. I'm reading The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs, which I highly reccommend if you are partial to useless trivia [as I most certainly am]. I have a soft spot for anyone with obsessive tendencies.

My roommate is gone for the moment, and I am enjoying the silence.

So far, I am torn between two martial arts school. One seems easier and has more classes, but is more expensive. The other is cheaper, and they teach you to use weapons, but it sounds like I will die during the first class when some muscle-bound ninja drop-kicks me out of a third-story window. And I'm not sure I should be trusted with sharp objects.

Pirates Of The Caribbean: At World's End comes out on Friday. I do want to see it [I've liked Johnny Depp since 21 Jump Street, so fuck everyone], but I don't know if I want to put up with the screaming hysteria that is opening weekend for a major film. When the second one came out, for some reason I insisted on seeing it opening night. I ended up screaming at several people, and having a temper tantrum on the way home that was only partly due to the film I had just seen. In my defense, listening to a drunken moron offer running commentary on the 'fags' in the film would stretch anyone's nerves.

And so much for that. I'm relaxing, which I haven't done in a long while. College sort of makes you feel guilty for having free time; I keep looking around, expecting one of my professors to leap out of the college and screech at me for not finishing my paper on sexual minorities in the news media.

I really need to get used to being a college graduate. Maybe I should go mock some freshmen. But that would require getting off the couch.

'If I was a religious person, I'd be Roman Catholic, because if there is a god he MUST be Italian.'
- Douglas Adams

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A Momentous Moment

Welcome to my blog. Please don't leave until I've had a chance to mock you.

I'm Elle. I'm a twenty-one year old recent college graduate living in New York City [center of the universe]. I'm trying to be a journalist.

Here, you will find random notes on my life, movies, books, comics, drugs, TV show, dating, roomates, New York, politics, and whatever else crosses my path.

This blog will chronicle my life post-college. I know. I'm scared too.

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