Funny How Things Find Their Way Back To You

First, and foremost, Jimmi Simpson is back!

In case you don't know who Jimmi Simpson is, he's an actor that went to my college and was friends with one of my roommates. He's in the movie Stay Alive, which comes out the Friday. When you see the commercials (which have been on every five minutes in the last week or so around here), he's the first blonde guy they show who is talking about this new game. I have a feeling this isn't going to be in the theaters long, so I plan on going to see this movie in the near future. I haven't seen a good teenage slasher movie in the theaters since Urban Legend, I think.

Yesterday, I was going through some things on my bookshelf and found a journal that I have been looking for for years. And I mean literally years. I went through all kinds of boxes and things at my dad's house trying to find this notebook. I thought for sure I left it in my old Le Barron (remember the bitch mobile? That was the cat's ass, or so I was told...ha ha ha). I had given up hope. And then yesterday, I moved another notebook and there it was. I've taken things off that shelf more times than I can count in the last few months. I swear I never noticed it there. Weird. The journal spans from different random times from 1991-1996. It's not nearly as full or in depth as I remember it being, but there are a few gems in it - a poem about some guy I used to hang out with, song lyrics, a list of songs that I put on a mix tape (including Grey Eyed Athena by Senator Flux...dear lord! Who even remembers that song?!?!) and the answers sex survey that doesn't have the original questions, so I can only guess what it was asking. Good times...

On my way home from school tonight, I heard "Crash Into Me" on the radio. And for the first time in about five or six years, I didn't turn it off. I've always had this on again/off again thing for Dave Matthews, especially that CD. We used to play it all the time when we played caps in college. It got to the point where I got sick of it. But I guess Dave and I are back on again now. He's like that bad boy ex that you know you shouldn't still have feelings for, but you just can't help yourself.

And since we're talking about things from the past coming back, one of my high school friends found me on here this week. I haven't talked to him in many years and it reminded me of when a bunch of us used to play hide and go seek in Jamesway.

Wow. I feel old.

So my friends, here are your assignments. Go see Stay Alive this weekend. I might not get there because I have a paper and a presentation next week, plus a lacrosse game and a concert this weekend. I want to know how it is. Sure, it'll probably suck, but I want to see Jimmi get some more work. If you're one of those downloading people, go find "Grey Eyed Athena" and tell me what it sounds like because I don't really remember. Get in touch with your inner frat boy and embrace Dave Matthews. And finally, since Wal Mart ran Jamesway out of existence, go get a group of friends and play hide and go seek in your local Supercenter. You can top it all off with an Exclamation perfume battle in aisle 4.

I never remember my dreams, so I want to get this down. And wtf does it all mean??!?!

It's all still a little hazy, but the first thing I remember is that Sherri and I are going to the movies. We decide on what we want to see. She gets in line, but a mad rush of people suddenly stand behind her and when I go to stand next to her, someone grabs me by the arms and drags me to the back of the line, yelling at me for cutting.

I finally get to the front, but I don't remember which movie we decided to see. I try to get Sherri's attention, but she's standing too far away and can't hear me. The person behind the ticket counter says that he thinks she bought a ticket for "Staying Alive" (side note: wtf?!??! and I'm certain it was not "Stay Alive" nor was this 1983). So I get a ticket and put it in my coat pocket. Sherri comes up to me through the little turnstile thingy,confirms that I bought the right ticket and tells me that I need to try this drink that she bought. The drink is strawberry flavored and has a thicker viscosity, like syrup. I apparently like this or want my teeth to fall out because I go to the little Dairy Queen type place to order one. This huge guy cuts in front of me in line. The squirrelly little guy behind the counter, who clearly saw this, just helps him without saying a word.

Well, I go apeshit. I start screaming about how I got in trouble earlier for cutting in line, but this guy gets rewarded. The guy is huge and obnoxious. I punch him in the face, but it wasn't as hard as I could. The guy pulls out this butter knife on a plastic sword handle (again, wtf?!?!) and I laugh at him. Then he leaves.

I go back to the counter and tell the guy what I want. He disappears in the back room and doesn't come out. Someone else comes out and I scream at him to get the guy back here and tell him to make my drink. He comes back and takes forever to make it. In the meantime, I keep checking my pockets for my movie ticket, but I can't find it. All I can find are tickets to other movies that I've already seen. The guy brings the drink over to me, but it looks nothing like what Sherri had. Instead, he gave me some kind of green soda with huge lumps of pink jello in it. He says, "I'm sorry. It's going to suck, but that's all I can do."

I go apeshit again...and the F bombs start flying. (side note: That's how you know this is a dream. They'd probably be flying a lot sooner in real life.) "I'm paying you for a SERVICE! Do your fucking job and give me what I asked for. You should be trying to exceed my expectations considering how fucking awful this has been..." yadda yadda yadda...There are two women sitting at the counter eating this giant, messy piece of chocolate cake, just staring at me. I know I'm overreacting and way too angry and disrupting everyone. I know they are all extremely annoyed by me and just want me out of there. I keep looking for my ticket and I can't find it. I also don't know if the movie started or not yet, and what happened to Sherri.

And that's about where I woke up.

I'm So Lazy Today

I have no motivation to do anything today. None! I had good intentions of cleaning or doing homework today, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't even want to go out for dinner, like I had originally planned. Although, I did spend some time creating a photo slideshow that I put in my "my heros' section.

I just feel drained. I want to lounge on the couch and watch a movie or read. And I haven't really done that in a while. I've been busy. It's justified, right?

I went out to see my friend's band play last night. I missed the beginning of the set, but they finished with the Dropkick Murphys' "Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced" and that's what I really wanted to hear. We were out pretty late and I still didn't sleep in very much. Maybe that's the cause of my blahs.

I wonder if I'll ever get my ass in gear today.

Random Thoughts That Popped Into My Head Today

OwMyHeadOwMyHeadOwMyHead......

Can you please call back later? I just can't deal with you at 7:30 am.

I'm pretty fucking far from okay.

Holy shit! Was that Mary?!?!?

Damn, that's an ugly baby.

Look at all these fucking bread crumbs.

I find your lies entertaining, actually...

My hair smells.

What the fuck did I touch?

I refuse to puke.

I hope you enjoy your skiing trip on Brokeback Mountain.

When will my computer be fixed? I'm missing myspace to the point where I'm breaking out in hives.

It's probably best if I don't stand up.

I guess I missed garbage day.

Nothing cures a hang over like Guers Orange Drink.

I've got to throw those tulips away.

Mmmm...boxed wine.

Please do not call me back...like, ever.

Anyone who calls before noon is not your friend.

This is the closest thing to jammies that I could have worn today.

I'm actually a lot nicer when I'm hung over.

Nice park job. I wasn't even trying to parallel.

Does it mean I'm an alcoholic if I'm hung over and craving boxed wine?

Does it make me an alcolohic if I'm just craving boxed wine? I don't even like that stuff.

If Bob Dylan hadn't changed his name, Marc Bolan would have been Marc Boman.