Being TerraT

I am so tired.

I had this whole post planned and today I'm so tired that I don't want to write it. But I'm going to because I'm so sick of myself going, 'ooh I'm going to write about THAT' and then I don't.

For instance I took off last weekend to Santa Barbara and took pictures of THE BEST SALAD EVER. Mmm. It was good. But I didn't write about it and I'm probable not going to, UNTIL I GET MY iPHONE. hehe. Oh? I didn't mention obsession #2? Someone told me to shut up about the iPhone yesterday, but I couldn't, because they keep fucking saying that it's not the greatest fucking thing on the planet and I know, I KNOW, they're saying it just to piss me off which makes me want to make them eat sand.

Wha... wait. What was my point again?

Last night I'm falling asleep on my couch and the dim warning signal is going off in my head that the dog needs a bath.

DOG NEEDS BATH DOG NEEDS BATH

Dude. He stinks. Seriously stinks. And sure, he looks white, but only if you don't know his fur isn't supposed to have a grayish tint. Fuck.

Before I lived in my current apartment I rented this huge in-law attached to a 2 million dollar estate. It was huge but had ton's of inconveniences, ask Grace. One of them was the stairs (which I did fall down and bruised myself so bad that I had to call in sick to work because the only thing I could do for half the day was cry), one of them was the lack of closet space (half my clothes had to be dirty at all times to fit in there), and the last thing was the shower which was only a shower, not bath tub or anything remotely close. This is where I lived when I brought Izzy home.

Now, on a complete side note, I will fully admit that I got Izzy for a number of reasons; I was lonely, I sort of liked dogs, and I wanted a baby. I wanted a baby in the way someone wants to sleep with that really sexy guy that you've heard through rumors has herpes.  I mean gosh, he's just soooo sexy. heh.  The day I brought him home I watched him walking around my apartment and immediately called my mom asking her, "What have I done?? I don't know how to take care of a dog! What if I accidentally kill him?" which at that point had a very good likelihood.

Well, a year and a half later I am proud to say he is not dead. YAY. We've survived shots, a horrible vet visit where I got into an argument with half the staff and the vet ended up stabbing Izzy viciously with a needle before I could slap her stupid fat face, doggy training one, doggy training two, muzzles, baths, constipation, diarrhea, and oh you just name it. Izzy got me over my germ phobia. He showed me that even disgusted I could pick up something covered in bodily excrement if I loved it enough... and no one else was around to do it. He's my constant companion, my buddy, my baby, and as I joke often enough, my soul mate.

My aunt once said to me, "Lifetime, the channel for women and their dogs", and I have to agree. Izzy watches Greys Anatomy with me. He shares my swedish fish, loves rice cakes, and stares at me longingly when I'm having a beer. Last night he was primarily staring at me longingly for a bath because he is by far the most pampered thing ever.

Many would argue that Izzy's not all that spoiled. He doesn't have set bath dates or pre-scheduled grooming appointments and he's allowed to jump into pretty much any pool of mud that he wants to. Provided I'm not dressed nice. And even if I am dressed nice chances are I won't be quick enough to stop him. But for all that he is still very fastidious. After every walk Izzy will always sit and pull all of the little stickers and thorns out of his tail, his coat, his paws, everything. If you stop to help him he licks you appreciatively and then rolls over on his back so you can get the ones stuck to his belly. So last night he's thumping his tail around and I know, yes I know, that I'm the lazy one in this relationship and it's my human duty to bathe him, so we took a shower together.

This is how the original apartment figures in. Izzy's too big for the sink, and since I didn't have a bath tub Izzy and I just took showers together. At the new place I have a tub so realistically I could've thrown him in the tub last night, but remember? I'm lazy.

So that's what we did last night. Took a shower together. Afterwards I threw the towel over Izzy cape like and he walked around looking like a jedi, all mystic and hooded. Then he sat up regally while getting blow dried and rolled over on his back to have his belly dried too. He cracks me up because even if I didn't blow dry him Izzy always cleans himself up after a bath. He'll just jump into a pile of wet towels and rub every wet part of himself on the towel. He's so metro-sexual.

It was late, and I was tired, so I didn't take pictures, but I really have to remember to next time because he's seriously the cutest thing ever. No. I'm serious. He's way cuter than your dog. Yep. What? You want to take this outside?

fee fi bo boobies, MOOVIES

Um, I thought I'd do an update of that movie brick. So I watched it again, and I like it. Really like it. Which is to say I think I would love love love it if it were a book. My hearing sucks (it comes from being Puerto Rican and having all your relatives yell everything and anything they have to say directly into your ear drum) so movies like this where the characters talk quickly and are often whispering can be nothing but mumbles to me. I turned up my tv as loud as I could go without my neighbor taking a hit out on me and rewound several times, but to no avail. I think I missed at least 25% percent of this movie and that percent probably would've taken this movie from good to great for me. The other reason why I wished this could've been a book is because the dialogue is just, really fast paced, intelligent, funny, good. I wanted to take it in further but we're already three scenes ahead and I'm still digesting. So basically if I weren't so deaf and dumb this movie would've rocked.

Also, to add to the mix:

  I really wanted to see premonition, I tried to get down to the theatre to see it, but I rarely if ever actually make it to the theatre, so I picked it up yesterday at blockbuster. Um, if you've ever read any of my movie reviews you might have noticed that one of my biggest pet peeves is bad fucking writing, even when the story's tolerable or enjoyable, bad writing just has no fucking excuse. NONE. Fine if you can't write fucking believable dialogue, that's a skill set that maybe you just don't have, but not tying up a plot hole? What the fuck is your fucking excuse? Did you take a NAP?

So here's the plot, Sandra's husband dies on a week that she's not living in sequence. She wakes up the day he dies and the next day he's alive again. Somewhere on day three she figures out that she should map this. My problem is that day two has her daughter's face all fucked up and turns out that it happened before day one, but her daughter's normal on day one. Follow me? So I'm thinking that when Sandra goes back in time she fixes it so that her daughter's face never get's fucked up. Not true. She doesn't. She just sits on her god damn fugly lazy ass and let's her daughter's face get fucked up.

What the fuck?!

Okay you dumb ass stupid piece of shit writer, here's the thing, if you're going to have an error like this you do one of two things:

One: You make it so that Sandra goes back and FIXES the accident before it happens, thus explaining why here daughter's face wasn't fucked up the first day OR

Two: You make her daughter's face fucked up on day one to begin with.

Here's what you DON'T do, add in random scary symbols, crows, barbed wire, girls fucked up face and scary non-responsive answer, and think that's all you have to do to make a movie. You dimwitted fuck. You only get to add in that shit IF IT MAKES SENSE. I swear to god I wish I could stab you with a manuscript just so you could die of the irony.

And the ending? So fucking trite it's god damn unbelievable. Okay, highlight the following if you don't mind being spoiled or have already seen this movie. The other way you fucked up? You poor fucking excuse for a writer? Okay, so Sandra is there when her husband dies, and we know from the first scene in the movie that she was on the phone with him right before this happened, so going back in time she has actually changed nothing, then if that's true why do the police not know that she was at the scene of the crime? Are we to assume that she just left went home and tucked her children in to bed as if nothing had happened? This movie could have been good in so many different ways if the writer didn't have to have velcro to tie his shoes.

I've had a string of bad luck that I pretty much blamed on my bad decision making skills and inability to remember simple shit. Absofugginlute simple shit.

I hate myself.

But today, you know what? I just reached the threshold. Here's how I always know when I'm getting there, I start laughing and everyone looks at me a little bit funny, kind of like they want to back up. And the truth is I'm laughing so I don't cry or go on the internet and research bomb making skills because although I watch McGyver I never actually learned anything.  So here's a list of the random shit that's been happening. Please note that I've actually left some shit out.

1. Second day of work at the new job and while switching lanes on the freeway I hit these metal iron gate thingamajigs that have apparently fell off the back of some truck. Blow out tire, bend rim. Late to work. Nice impression.
2. For the weekend wedding I had a few weeks back I rent all of my lenses, everything checks out fine. At the ceremony I figure out right during the vows that the lens I use specifically for the ceremony won't lock into place. I'm shoving it but it won't click. I don't have enough time to change lens so I say, fuck it, turn the lens as far as it will go and keep shooting. The lens let in too much light though and all the photos are ruined from the last part of the ceremony. Nice. NICE.
3. At wedding check engine light comes on and I have to do some under the hood work before I drive home.
4. Next day realized when working on the car took off my jacket, apparently left it on the bush next to car with one of my expensive lenses in the pocket. Hyperventilate whole three hour drive back to the hotel. It's there, thank god.
5. On the day I'm supposed to meet with the couple and go over their photos in person (which is important to me) my purse goes missing. I had it at one location and chose not to bring it in to the next location. So the debate is, did it get taken out of my friend who always says they've locked the car when in fact they've actually fucking forgotten to's car, or did I bring it in? Debatable, my friend's missing some random shit too. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK. My last un-employment check is in there along with my emergency gas card, cell phone, SOCIAL SECURITY CARD, iPOD, blah blah blah. All the normal shit that is always in your fucking purse. The worst part is the only reason my social security card and iPod was in there is because I forgot my book for the train last week and needed the card for some new hire paperwork. Otherwise never in there. Gah.

Okay. It's okay. I'm  not upset. These are just technicalities. I'm breathing, I'm good, I'm serene, I'm motherfucking Ghandi. EXCEPT, I go in to the transportation office at work to get a new caltrain pass and she says to me, Hope your day goes better! So I turn and say on my way out, thanks! I'm sure it will, what else can go wrong? Then I proceed to climb into my car parked in the twenty minute limit zone and go nowhere.

My batterie's dead.

I don't get why people don't listen to their iPods. Sure, sometimes I forget mine exists for weeks on end but then I remember where the battery charger/headphones/actual iPod is and we run through fields holding hands occasionally taking breaks to braid one anothers hair and I know, just know deep down inside where it really counts, that everything is alright in the world.

That is until today when iPod turned on me, laughing at me in mockery taking all my horrible secrets and throwing them out like dirty laundry to air. Today, in that field, iPod gave me a black eye and I choked the bitch with it's own headphones wire.

Come to think of it this all Peachy's fault because I CAN'T GET MANIC MONDAY OUT OF MY HEAD. I really can't. It's pathetic. So this morning I turned my iPod on and instead of going to one of my normal, completely worn out playlists I chose random. Random. And here are the songs I heard:

Tracy Chapman, The Promise. Okay, this is song is completely boring and the only thing I can really say in my defense is that I do like Tracy Chapman in a completely non-lesbian way and my friend had this as her wedding song so I obligingly downloaded it.

Green Day, Give Me Novacaine. I like Green Day in a secret undercover embarrassed way because I know that people would throw rocks at me if I admitted it out loud. Go ahead, throw rocks at your computer screen, HA. Um. Also I stole this cd from Cindy Lou and downloaded it for free. Go throw rocks at her.

Jennifer Lopez, Dance with Me. Here's the thing. When I purchased my iPod I downloaded every single cd I've ever owned since I was sixteen. Among them the J. Lo remix cd my football r&b loving classmate in college gave me. I gave away the Aaliyah cd but kept this one. Blame every car that drove past me bumping Jenny From the Block that summer.

Then came the NAZARETH. (shudder) this is what I get for buying my dad an iPod and then keeping his whole play disk on my computer. FUCK

At some point you just have to give up, go back to your on the go playlist, find that new cd that you love, throw your iPod a surprise left uppercut.

In other news, last night I attempted to watch Brick. I say attempted because I fell asleep. I could blame the insanely huge dinner I ate (mmm stroganoff) or I could credit it to the movie. It's a tossup. Here's the thing, Brick got great reviews, the trailer was amazing, I've been dying to see this and almost went to the theater. But I don't know. In order to get into this movie you have to suspend belief. Not just a little but a lot. The plot centers around a highschoolers mysterious death and her ex boyfriend's subsequent attempt to figure out what the fuck happened.

Believable right? I thought so. But you'd be wrong.

All of these high schoolers are unbelievably droll, quick witted, and wildly sophisticated. We're talking quoting poetry while playing the piano in a candle lit room during a HIGH SCHOOL party.

If anything I would liken it to a 1940's PI movie. I kept expecting the main character to say, "Now listen here doll".

I'm not saying it's bad, it's more like a cold pool that I can't seem to get into if you know what I mean.