magicalmartha: (Citiscape)
I am a complete failure at internetting this year - after the decent success I had last year of keeping up with my book and movie blogs, and setting and keeping the goals I had, I started in January with such lofty resolutions.  I would see two movies a month in the theater, and write about them.  I would read more nonfiction and historical fiction (I'm most mad at myself about that one, because I should know by now that what I read next is largely driven by what's handy, and if I plan ahead enough to go to the library then I can keep on track like that - but usually it's just "this exists on my shelf and I haven't read it, guess what's coming on the train with me."  So.)  I would write other posts about movies and books in general.  I would be prolific and attract readers and continue strengthening my web presence.


I don't even KNOW how long it's been since I wrote in my livejournal, which I guess is one of the reasons I'm writing this on DreamWidth and crossposting to LJ.  I WANT to be journaling, but for some reason I have found it incredibly difficult to find the motivation to do so.

Gotta start somewhere, I guess.


Comix Chat )

It's amazing that my dreams haven't been more fucked up, I guess is what I'm saying.

I have additional thoughts on NBC's new (awesome) (fabulous) (amazing) show Hannibal, and also on some movies I've seen recently, but I think I'll leave this here for now.  Breaking the blogging ice, as it were.
magicalmartha: (Dogbert smacks a bitch)
I am literally so appalled I can't vocally articulate it.  Instead, I'm going to do it with evocative prose.

So Squatter Roommate got a week's extension on moving out, because my landlord is a more decent human being than I am.  His deadline was yesterday, so you'd expect that he'd spend the extra week packing, preparing, maybe moving some boxes out as a prelim.  Because that would be sensible thing, right?

But no, because it's the sensible and socially responsible thing to do, and Squatter Roommate has proven to be neither of those things.  My landlord came up to check on things around one yesterday afternoon, when SR had not only failed to pack up any of his shit, but completely disappeared.  He didn't packing up until 2 a.m. THIS MORNING.  While I was SLEEPING.  He and his shady friend were banging around moving the goddamn tv in the middle of the fucking night.


Apparently, he asked Billy if he could leave one or two things on the porch until he could come back for them, by Wednesday at the latest.  "One or two things" apparently means A HUGE FUCKING PILE OF CRAP, because SERIOUSLY, there were six coats, about eight hundred pairs of shoes (I know women who own fewer shoes than this asshole), like three boxes of books, his fucking guitar amp, and a small end table. ARE YOU KIDDING ME.  SR has a very different definition of "moving out" than I do, and he's really lucky that Billy didn't let me throw all his shit out into the alley.  Because I REALLY wanted to.

He was a filthy, filthy man, and when he left the room he left a residue of grime on the walls and an atmosphere of STINK.  A whole day of scrubbing with various cleaning products only got the worst of the grime off the walls, and I can still SMELL him under the Pine-Sol.  I sound like a fucking crazy person, but I really can't stress enough how thoroughly disgusted with this whole situation I am.

The crowning glory on this whole situation is that when I asked him for his share of the bill money for September and October, months he definitely lived here, he blew me off with a "fuckin' bitch" comment.  EXCUSE ME.  I KNOW YOU ARE PISSED BECAUSE YOU GOT EVICTED, BUT GROW THE HELL UP.  
magicalmartha: (Coraline says WHOA THERE)
I had a funk-ass horror dream last night... I don't remember everything, but the general gist was that there was a Prince, and his birthday was coming up, and I was some kind of minor hanger-on to his entourage.  At one point we (the Prince and six or so of his buddies, and myself) killed a really massive squid/octopus/thing, and cut off all of its tentacles.  I pushed the now-legless body stump back into the ocean, and then we retired to some pub to tell the Prince how awesome he was.

The next day, or at some point in the undefinable future of dreams, we go swimming or something, and what should come rising out of the depths but THE RAVAGED TENTACLES OF THE OCTOPUS.  This is one of two scenes I remember very well, because frankly ocean where I can't see the bottom scares the bejeezus out of me.  So the angry octopus comes rising out of the deep dark ocean, wraps what's left of his stumps around the Prince and drags him off to who knows where.  There is much thrashing and shrieking from the entourage, but the Prince is totally drowned and dead.

A little later again, we're walking across some rampart dressed all in mourning, and I turn to look over the edge of the stone wall out into some kind of bay, and I see three really, really awful things:

1. A really, really big, chained outline of Cthulhu under the surface of the water (even in the dream, at this point I was like, well, never watching THAT movie again....) which is really evil and scary and people either don't notice it or don't care; I get the impression that it's a fact of this town's life because of the two other things I see;

2. A retainer poking a bobbing lump that looks like the Prince's head suffused onto the octopus' body out into the bay toward the Cthulhu shadow;

3. A tradesmen of some kind (I want to say a baker, but I don't know for sure) accidentally slip and fall into the water, and emerge with a literal target branded on his face.  While we watch, he turns into a raving madman who, after people try and restrain him, rips off his own arms.

On waking, I realized that I can never watch that Cthulhu movie ever again, and that I probably shouldn't play the RPG even though I kinda want to. 

September 2013

29 30     


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags