the sweet hereafter
so, last night, i had a sit down with my spiritual adviser, his wife and their disenfranchised teenaged daughter about things. we hit up the e meters and you know, just really talked things through. my guru said that quite possibly that i'm spreading myself too thin and maybe i should ease up on things for a bit. his wife said that i should've used those vip cards for the spearmint rhino i got outside the staples center the other night cause she said that i could really go for a lap dance. my guru also said that this wacky, high starvation, high fiber, low anything fun to eat diet isn't doing anything for me; his exact words were, 'people who just had gastric bypass surgery eat more than you do.' but, chantal, like she always does and very much like dj justice cuts things to size and said, "fuck the bullshit and you just said that you're thinking of quiting cause you wanted some comments." so in other words, i think that i'm going to slugging it out for a while. its like everybody else said haters are going to hate and you know, there's always going to be haters out there for anything that's done. i mean, for a brief period of time, i was a hater on the show, "extreme makeover: home edition" because it made me feel bad that i haven't and most likely won't do anything that will be beneficial to society as a whole. i'll write about eva longoria isn't that much of a stunner in a person and how there's a girl in a class of mine thats hot than she is and somebody may dig on that, but you know, its not on par with building a house for a guy whose lost his legs, who has a better attitude than myself.
also, chantal said that i was acting like jake gyllenhaal's mustache, whatever that means. my guru agree, but his wife didn't cause she didn't see the movie yet, but it's in her netflix queue though.
i tell that i'm feeling extremely exhausted when it comes to writing as of late. last week, i threw myself into this script i'm writing for school. i cranked out an insane amount of pages or at least an insane amount of pages for me and my theme for that period of time was n.w.a.'s classic, "100 miles and running". i have until may to finish the thing, but i want to finish it before spring break, so i can spend the rest of time rewriting and working on other stuff for school. so i've sent my pages off to my professor and i've been playing this insanely nerve racking waiting game. basically, i've become sal the stockbroker and i need validation for what i've written. i apperciate the feedback i got from mark of hella awful, but when he's reading my stuff, i'm sending him text messages every 5 minutes for feedback. did that joke work? what if i do this? will that freak out a guy who worked with david lynch? etc. and its very pesky and annoying and i'm sure that mark has his own shit to deal with, although, to me and my little fucked up world, me getting notes on my pages is the most important thing that could happen, even more important than dick chaney shooting george bush; well, take that back, finding the number of the girl that cut my hair a month or two ago ranks higher than a potential chaney/bush ass capping cause my hair is getting rather unruly julie status. but any ways, i'm just playing this weird little waiting game where i think, maybe if i don't sit in front of my computer talking about how i haven't watched the finale of "project runway" yet and how i nearly bowled into the triple figures for the first time without the aid of bumpers, notes will magically appear in my inbox and i can breathe this gigantic sigh of relief. instead, i just check my mail every couple of hours and just keep on adding films to my netflix queue.
if anything, i think i want this little blog thing to be a shinning example that i should probably seek out psychiatric treatment within the next couple of years. we've all been wanting to say it, its just a been a matter of somebody finally stepping to the plate.
i feel like its such old news to still talk about how much bullshit the oscars were since crash won best picture, but what's even more of a slap in the face, is the win for its editing. if it was actually a well editied film, it would've been only 10 minutes long and it would've been about the guy who gives his daughter the invisable bullet proof vest cause that scene has impact, but you know, its surrounded by a bunch of bullshit that's more just about as interesting as watching people ordering at mcdonalds.
i understand that terri hatcher went through a very fucked up and extremely traumatic event, but doesn't it somewhat cheapen the story when she's on vanity fair in her undies? [via defamer couldn't they have put more clothes on her if they're place quotes where she talks about how she has thought about suicide? when did vanity fair get all fhmaximstuff'd out?