Thursday, September 27, 2007

Movies for a laugh and a cry

I'm catching up on some movies and here are two I recently watched...Pan's Labyrinth and Knocked Up. Two very different different films, but I loved both of them.

Pan's Labyrinth unfolds in Franco's Spain and depicts the life of a dreamy little girl, Ofelia. Her mother has recently remarried a captain in the army and relocated them to an isolated mountain fort. Ofelia encounters a wealth of frightening characters in her gothic fairy tale world and her unfortunate reality. Like previous fantasy political stories, i.e. Alice in Wonderland, Pan's Labyrinth offers a critique of humanity through a child's eye. Ofelia retreats to her fantasy world to cope with the horror of her reality. I love this movie. Caution: the film is grotesque and cruel at times

On the lighter side

I think I wrote some of the scenes in Knocked Up. Tina, Will, and Scarlett were all in this film. One scene has the two female leads, Allison (preggers) and her sister going out to a club.

Tina...this ones for you.... As the ladies strike up a conversation with some fellas, Allison quickly points out that her sister is married and has two kids. It's funny if you cruised on the fun ship., well. Excuse me if I want to protect our child from pedophiles and ... mercury. Does that make me a bitch?

Will... I know it's not you saying all this crazy shit, I know it's your hormones. So I just want to say, "fuck you hormones, fuck you".

The movie is so're not god, you're just a doorman, doorman. With the follow up of "Don't get me wrong, I would tap that fine ass. I would bust it up, but you're old as shit and she's pregnant. I can't go around letting old bitches and pregnant women into the club."

I love this movie. I laughed through the beginning and cried at the end. Funny.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Are you there God? It's me, Anna.

Dear Diary-


Today I
made an ass of myself, every 15 minutes.



-took me 15
minutes to figure out with 6 year old shirt to wear…only to end up looking like
a 1978 Denny’s server

-left too
late to serve myself coffee

my boundaries at a conference with some students (note to self: don’t
contradict the professor)

to my car make strange noises and called to get an appointment at the dealer

through stats with a blank look and sweated through my Denny’s uniform

-found out
I did the first question of the homework incorrectly, yet another reason not to
hand it in



-ordered a
beautiful bowl of soup (height of my day, really)

reprimanded for ordering office furniture…furniture that I listed and approved
to my coordinator prior to ordering…go figure, perhaps its nothing but sticker

-met with
reading group and fumbled my way through a big steaming pile of crap

-I’m sorry
if I was a little too frazzled to recount Hall’s definition of articulation,
seriously sir



sat through class disgusted by my muffin top… Will calls it a pizza crust

through Grossberg’s three hour lecture and cursed the lack of a toilet on the 3rd

-decided my
demeanor and physical being were not ready to Stone’s class and emailed her to
let her know I would be heading home early

to car…started car…no air conditioning

-turned by
AC on and of, on and of, until  it
finally started to blow cold

-drove to
one stoplight away from Scarlett’s school and my car stopped working (really,
it just woudn’t go, still ran, air blowing HOT, gas pedal doing nothing)

-sat there
in amazement…called VW and Will

passes, car starts and make it to the school parking lot and dies again



-watched my
beautiful car get towed

dropped me off by the mailbox at the bottom of the driveway

around the truck and got run over (ok, so he only bumped me with the SUV)


I laughed
halfway up the driveway and then busted up.  Tears and big ugly cry for all the neighbors to"mso-spacerun: yes"> 
What a strange day!style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 


To make it
up for me my hubby pulled out my yoga pants (for the pizza crust), a beer, and
shoulder rub.  Perhaps I can get a
pedicure out of it too.


Sunday, September 23, 2007

Halloween costume countdown...

Scarlett and I are debating halloween costumes. She wants me to be a kitty cat and she wants to be a Tinkerbell. Here's a review of her past two years.

Monday, September 17, 2007


makes me want to be a bartender. I spend my mornings with Dr. W reinforcing that there's pure truth out there and my afternoons with the exceptionally brilliant Dr. G announcing that post modernism allows no purity. Yikes.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

MoBo fun

This is interesting. I stumbled upon a beefcake calendar full of Mormon Boys. You can also buy tshirts...with your favorite Mormon logos.

Friday, September 7, 2007

The terror of tiny town

Aunt Marjorie passed away this week. I miss her wit...and her cackle. I'll never forget the Terror of Tiny Town (age 9), the rumble seat story (age 13), and the time she took me to a bar (age 16).

Make them laugh lady, make them laugh.

**Oh...don't smoke!

free chicken sandwich

and a coke

oh, Monster coming!

View...thanks Amy

Stealing an idea from my fellow mafia member Amy, here's the view from my office.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

Regina Spektor

I feel better, bettah, beddah, bettah, betah, beddaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.


Does Tom Cruise sell vitamins?

Today is not a good day.

It’s sunny and warm, but I have to admit, I yearn for rain. Even better would a nice thick rolling layer of fog. I can’t shake this funk, but let’s face it, I’m not trying to, either. Scarlett is in school, an expensive daily retreat, and she’s doing fine. Perhaps this is my way of not worrying about her. I don’t know, I’m indecisive and I hate it. Sometimes I wonder if these short moments of clarity, moments when I realize how much I suck, present themselves because the cloud of medication thins. I don’t want this…I don’t want to take medication to only sometimes feel worthy of natural resources. What’s the point? Dulling my wits doesn’t do much except piss me off and make me feel dumb. Perhaps it’s graduate school. I’m not sure I could have more to do in a week. Of the 500 pages I’m supposed to read for ONE of my classes, I currently on page 10. I could vomit thinking about my shortcomings in academia. I’m a phony, I can’t produce, I’m not a capable writer. I know why Hemingway drinks. I don’t compare mine to his salty text. I’m eating sushi with my fingers because I forgot a fork or chopsticks, of which I probably couldn’t decide. I hate myself for not flying. My doctor prescribes meds, again, to ease the anxiety produced by that thin metal tube of death, but I probably still won’t fly. I can’t be medicated for a month until the trip. I want to tell you not to read this, but who am I kidding? I’m disgusted with myself and my inadequacies so why shouldn’t you know? You hate me because I seem so cynical, sarcastic, snobby, and whatever else, but who are you kidding? You don’t really know me, how I feel, what I do, how my daughter looks at me. I wonder if she thinks I’m a phony? I hate that I obsess. I’m sick of critiquing my choices, second guessing myself. I spent thirty minutes today wandering the aisles of the bookstore choosing between two different calendars that I don’t really need because I have a pda. I have to see my schedule, write it, list my to-dos and obsess. There is no possible way I can spend the rest of my life like this. At some point this relentless list of what I NEED to do has got to stop. I’m tired of it. I just want to be able to go out and work and learn and play and be without all of this garbage that continually pops up in my head. I am so tired of NEEDING to get things done. I write this with the full realization that I have the inability to have nothing to do. Perhaps I’m destined to be unhappy…except where Scarlett is concerned. She makes me happy. She is my sanity, but that’s too much to ask from a child. She needs to be able to live her life for herself and not because I need her to be happy. If that makes sense. You’re judging me, I know you are. Is that what I have to look forward to the rest of my life? Being judged? I know people don’t care whether I buy the weekly planner or the monthly planner, but I know there is a tally. Someone sees the chipped nail polish, the roots. Someone reads the weak writing, hears the mispronunciation. Why can’t I just let this shit go? Now you’re lost in the rambling. The punctuation cluster fuck that is this writing. You’re going to hold me to this. Look at me with those eyes that read my pain and see me as a forlorn self-obsessed loon. When I’m happy tomorrow, you won’t understand.