Straight No Chaser

Quest for Camelot

i convulse over that man. that purple velvet coat, those defined cheekbones, that delightfully effete tenor...i saw it three times. once on friday, once on saturday and once on sunday. i would see it again tonight if i didn't have something to do later. i fucking loved it. i am already fantasizing about the steps i will take to purchase it. wonder what the extras will be. an interview, hopefully...maybe they'll show him putting on his makeup, watching the playback..."making of" clips for the songs, hopefully? ahhh i can't fucking wait. one of the more disenchanted critics said he looked like a "vampire caught halfway through a sex change." i say that's a little harsh. not a paragon of ball-scratching masculinity, no, but not so ridiculously womanish that it detracted from the character. the images are pervasive and the music is infectious, and that's all i will say about it. go see it. oh, and i want to see "the corpse bride" when it comes out in september. i don't remember if i've said all this already. i now suddenly feel like i've already written about the movie in here. i'm too lazy to check. anyway, i guess it's impossible to say too much about johnny.

in between projects, they like to give me busywork. this morning it was shredding timesheets, hundreds of thousands of them, five giant boxes in a room with three shredders, two busted phones, one internetless computer and not a single window. i wanted to die. i spent most of the morning pulling out staples so as not to break the shredders, which broke anyway, repeatedly, and invariably at the same time. that's the kind of job that my dad thinks everyone should do at least once, to get a practical sense of the value of an education. i couldn't imagine doing something like that all day. i get bored enough eating dinner without a book or a movie or someone to eat with. feeding paper into a shredder for four hours felt like dying slowly and painfully, fingers first.

the whole time, i thought about marcus, and how i hope he doesn't die on this leadership conference thing. he is so stressed out, so thinly stretched, so tightly wound, so asthmatic...really he should be somewhere with his feet up, and i should be feeding him grapes or something. pieces of brownie.

my head hurts.

generally speaking, and with quite a few obvious but iffy exceptions, i really despise stereotypical masculine behavior. more than that, i just don't understand it. this excludes marcus, for the time being, even though he has his moments; i just don't want anyone to think i'm blasting him, because i'm not. i love him intensely, always, and right this minute i just happen to like him, too. this also excludes anyone who might be reading this, because i like you, too. the others, though...generally there is this bizarre entitlement complex, this "boys will be boys" credo that justifies the most inexcusable immaturity. as if a heightened impulse to propagate makes it okay to go around slicing people's hearts in half. and, whatever, that's not really their problem, i guess, everyone is responsible for his or her own whatever, whatever, but still. argh. use your brain once in a while. your heart, even. your penis can have his turn once you've proven he deserves it.

i just hate hate hate hate men sometimes. again, not all of them. only the ones who behave like children, the ones who don't care who they hurt, the ones who care but hide behind that horseshit "i'm just a guy" excuse and most ESPECIALLY the fuckers who think they're funny/cute/sexually appealing when they are, in fact, obvious jackasses. this applies to all people, in fact, male or female, but i've never heard any self-respecting, progressive female use "i'm just a girl" as an excuse to continuously fuck up.

other things i hate:

idiots. passably intelligent people who make bad life decisions and then whine later, when they are living the repercussions. in fact, any intelligent people who behave stupidly. not to be confused with unintelligent people. in my twenty years i've met very few people whom i considered veritably unintelligent. i'm sure they're out there, i just haven't met them. most of the stupid people i know have no excuse to be as stupid as they are.

the woman four cubicles over, who pronounces the word pictures as pick-chaaaaars, and who has this weird office princess mentality.

writing. this journal. everything that feels stilted and uncomfortable when i'm in a bad mood. my own immaturity. the fact that i'm not thirteen years older and happily married with two healthy kids. the eerily unpredictable future. college. twenty. men (did i say that already?). driving to and from the office with a headache. unstapling and shredding piles of timesheets with a headache. having my mathematical prowess and intellectual flexibility (for which i was supposedly hired) wasted, via shredding assignments, with a headache. my broken car radio. the fact that this entry started out cheerfully and deppishly, and is now reflective of my actual mood. not being able to come up with a relevant title.

my fucking head hurts.