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emmanation

You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

let’s drink and watch …

September 12th, 2014 by biscuit

Watching: Filth.

Thirty seconds in and I’ve already lost track because of the accents.

This bodes well for the evening.

Watching: The Banshee Chapter

Drinking: NoCo

  • Starting with some MK Ultra trivia, I like it, I like it. Especially when it’s delivered by Bill Clinton and people in the dark or with their faces blurred out, old school 60 Minutes style or what have you.
  • Goddamn it the main female character has a British accent. Isn’t that why I turned off Filth? Her goofy face buddy is about to take whatever they gave people during the MK Ultra experiment. On purpose. I’m more likely to get all the way through this movie than this is to end well for him.
  • OH SHIT MAN. That went from eerie to jump scare to fuck me sideways in about eight seconds. If someone tripping on experimental government drugs ever whispers ‘it’s getting closer to the house’ to me, I am out like Neil Patrick Harris.
  • The drugs came from unnamed ‘friends in Colorado’. I’M in Colorado RIGHT NOW! I could be surrounded!
  • Now numbers stations. Does streaming this movie get you put on some kind of watch list? I already streamed it awhile ago but didn’t actually watch (writing? redditing? sleeping?) so I guess it’s too late to worry about that.
  • My general instinct regarding the question ‘did you used to work for the NSA’ is that you do not ask it of anyone ever. Particularly an old fellow who is about to give you directions regarding where to go in the middle of nowhere in the desert to listen to a radio broadcast. Of course, I would also never get out of the car and yell ‘is anyone here’ in the middle of said desert in the deepest dark of the night, so miss protagonist (Anne) and I are at odds about a lot of things.

Guys, I didn’t think this was going to be very scary but it is.

I have nothing but horror movies in my Netflix list.

What is wrong with me.

I mean I love scary movies but I’m alone and I have to take the girls out to pee in awhile and walk around a deserted parking lot and then come back to an empty apartment. THIS IS NO TIME FOR BANSHEE CHAPTER and the like.

I’m just going to watch Veronica Mars again. Have you seen it? You should. Since I already have my wine out, I’d drink and watch this for ya but it would look a lot like this:

  • She said marshmallow! (When we were in the theater watching this we all hollered when that happened, it was awesome.)
  • It’s Carrie Bishop!
  • MR MARS!
  • Oh my god Logan is the WORST.
  • “You should only wear that.”

Etc. Not even as mildly rewarding as my usual chatter.

Speaking of Kickstarter (which I was), I contributed to this and now I have some temporary literary-themed tattoos coming in the mail. Badass.

 

well fuck me with a chainsaw

September 9th, 2014 by biscuit

Here’s how this was supposed to work.

My lease on my apartment originally ended Oct 15th.

My house was supposed to be done Oct 30th.

I checked with my complex and sure enough, for about one million dollars, I could stay through Nov 15th instead. Perfect. Well, not perfect, but not the end of the world.

Now the house is going to be done ‘sometime in November’ but understandably (construction is a bitch apparently?) no one is comfortable promising me that it will on or before the 15th. That means:

  • extending my lease through Dec 15th (for a second one million dollars, of course) OR
  • hoping for the best and putting all of my shit into storage on Nov 15th and commencing the couch surfing if it doesn’t work out

Neither of those are good choices.

I knew this was a possible outcome, and this is not an impossible situation. If I commit to the second extra month of rent, though, and then the house is done in late Nov, that doubled up mortgage/rent combo money is money that would otherwise go towards a washing machine. Can I live without a washing machine in December? Of course. People make that shit work all the time. I don’t actually know where there’s a laundromat in the suburban Front Range, but they must exist.

I just kept thinking ‘it’s going to work out fine’ because I couldn’t see an alternative. I’m actually really tempted to continue doing so.

Either way, I have to let the complex know by Friday. Nov 15th? Dec 15th? Anyone wanna vote?

song & food

September 8th, 2014 by biscuit

You ever have a song that just …

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(That’s OBVIOUSLY me and OBVIOUSLY a big sword, right?)

I think Crockett tried to get me to go see the National once or twice, but I could be wrong about that. A lot of bands have names like that, kind of, ya know?

Speaking of names, what the ever loving fuck is going on with the ampersands in restaurant names? Allow me to present an incomplete roundup of new or relatively new restaurants in the Denver area:

  • Stoic & Genuine
  • Work & Class
  • Salt & Grinder
  • Beast + Bottle (counting it, pronounced the same)
  • Colt & Grey
  • Williams & Graham
  • Z Cuisine & A Cote
  • Mercantile Dining & Provision
  • Guard & Grace
  • Rooster & Moon
  • Olive & Finch

NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THOSE IS MADE UP. I left off some older ones like Eat + Drink and Hops & Pie, because I think they were pre-bandwagon, but fuck it, let’s count them too.

(Should I have warned of a curse heavy post?)

That’s a baker’s dozen with a mere 5 minutes of research. Is this happening in other cities? Is this a sign of something? Are aliens that are shaped like ampersands trying to acclimate us, perhaps?

If this name generator didn’t already exist, I would have wished that it did.

 

so many tiny hairs

September 7th, 2014 by biscuit

Being of Italian descent, there are a lot of ways I could go with a post about hair.

However, today I got the hairs on my head cut. By this woman who I think is the most amazing stylist ever.

This is our story.

Like four years ago, the daughter of the family that owns me and Crockett’s favorite restaurant showed up with an amazing haircut and I complimented her on it and asked who did it, because I was in desperate need of a haircut at the time. She told me it was a woman named Emmy and I called her and made an appointment.

She’s a teeny tiny brunette woman who, at the time, lived in Nederland (where I grew up). She had my goal hair (which, as always, was sort of piece-y and easy and just super hot) and I was shy and nerdy when speaking to her. She gave me an amazing haircut that I can’t find a picture of. (Facebook, what the fuck are you good for if not for finding pictures of your hair from four years ago?) She was basically like me if I was cooler and had decided to cut hair instead of do math.

She intimated the shit out of me, and by the time I called to make another appointment she’d moved to LA. TO LOS ANGELES. Best haircut I’d ever had in my life and the woman who did it just up and went halfway across the country.

Three years later, I had terrible hair. You can only go to cheap stylists and say ‘please do exactly what I have but shorter’ for so long. Eventually it gets blurred into generic hair shape.

I googled Emmy to look longingly at her portfolio, because I apparently remember a good stylist better than, say, high school boyfriends. (True story – my high school boyfriend’s last name was the French word for something else, and the other day I was trying to see if he’d gotten ugly because dear lord all the rest of my ex boyfriends (Crockett excluded, handsome as ever) have gotten ugly (or they always were? and I just didn’t used to be shallow?) and I googled his name with the English translation for like ten minutes before I realized what the problem was.) She was back in Boulder, so I made an appointment and went. It was right before we went to San Francisco.

Unwashed, unbrushed, amazing.

Then she went and had a baby and stopped working for awhile (and one million congratulations to her for that).

So I waited, and grew it all long, and went to a stylist a friend recommended and medium loathed the outcome, and occasionally googled.

And then.

Unmade up. Super pleased.

Just cut, unmade up, super pleased.

She’s back.

You guys, I don’t know how to explain how important this is. Everyone’s hair is a pain in the ass, and everyone should have a stylist who understands the ways in which that pain exists.

High school boyfriends come and go (patently untrue once high school is over unless you are an adult making EXCEPTIONALLY poor choices but just let me say this) but a stylist who understands your hair and that you like it to be a-little-punk-a-little-shaggy-but-never-ever-like-the-mom-from-the-brady-bunch is forever.

here there be Guardians of the Galaxy spoilers

September 6th, 2014 by biscuit

I saw Guardians of the Galaxy last night. (That’s not the spoiler.)

Every time in this damn post I’ve tried to type Galaxy I’ve typed Galazy, which isn’t the spoiler either.

I’m just giving you some head room in case you read really fast and it took this long for you to realize that there were spoilers coming.

Ok, so. Spoiler on a single point. During the final battle scene, Groot dies saving everyone else by growing his branches into a protective ball to cushion them when the ship they’re in crashes to the ground, k? And instead of  “I am Groot”, which anyone with an internet connection knows is all he says, he says “We are Groot”.

There was much, much crying. A face so wet that swiping my cheeks with my hands wasn’t accomplishing jack shit.

AND THEN. Rocket, the super smart raccoon that is Groot’s best friend, cries and cries and puts a stick from Groot’s exploded body in a pot and carries it around through the ‘you guys saved the world speeches’, and just when I thought I couldn’t cry more, I did.

AND THEN. The damn thing turned into a baby Groot.

I would like to propose something, henceforth called the SmushyHeart warning.

I want to know, in any book or movie, if anything bad is going to happen to any non-human character that a softie like me might develop feelings for.

So in the case of GotG, you could click on a ‘SmushyHeart’ link and it would be like don’t worry, Groot explodes but totally comes back to life as an adorable baby. In the case of these books my mom and I read about a druid who communicates telepathically with his dog Oberon, there would be a page at the beginning that mentions that while Oberon will likely be captured and possibly even hurt and left for dead, he will always be good as new in the long run. The warning for Old Yeller would just say ‘GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN’. Etc.

I can’t be the only one who needs this, right?