Sometimes I feel like enjoying bands like The Veronicas will somehow buy me hipster street-cred which secretly exacerbates my interest for said band, even though I wish a fiery, fiery death upon any self-or-otherwise-identified hipster. So figure that one out, Freud.

I’ve been reading a lot of Augusten Burroughs lately, which always tends to put me in this hybrid elated-yet-self-deprecating kind of mood. My ex-boyfriend called me today to alert me that I’d left what he considered a significant portion of my book collection in his apartment. Despite our relationship fizzling over six weeks ago, he just now felt the need to let me know. I don’t know. He says he kept meaning to call, and then the more and more he waited, the more awkward he thought it would be. I can’t deny I’ve ever been in that position, but I was driving myself mad thinking I’d lost my copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology or Pride and Prejudice or my collection of short stories from Annie Proulx. All things I tried, in vain, to get him to read. He was never a literary one, my former flame.  I shouldn’t say that. He had his own peculiar brand of taste in literature. This is a man whose bookshelf is simultaneously occupied with e.e. cummings, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and 100 Best Fart Jokes, 2003 Edition.

So it was a fairly major wave of relief that washed over me when he told me he had all of those things, along with my personally-annotated copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife. Somehow, my unpenned copy just seems…inferior. I like reading my own notes. Some of them are crass, like, “How hung is Henry?” Come to think of it, most of my notes are probably that crass. Oh, well. Our entire conversation was awkward and punctuated with uncomfortable silences. I quite literally had to chomp on my inner cheek to keep from blurting out how I longed for his touch, to keep from asking if he was still reading, started watching, if he thought about me, if it was okay to still talk to his sister, whom I adore, if his hand was feeling alright after the break, if he’d found anyone else, if he was looking. I had to chomp to keep from asking, to keep from sobbing, I think.

The whole encounter added an unpleasant element to my day; I don’t like to dwell on him when I don’t have to. And now I can’t stop. Coupled with the discovery of this fantasic song by The Veronicas, “Untouched” I’m in a downer place. Which sucks.

A lot.

So, the warmer weather is here, yay and all that bullshit. God, I hate this part of the year. Allergies! Dogs running around shitting everywhere! Sticky children running around shitting everywhere! Ugh. There should be leash laws for children… I just don’t care for warm weather. Mosquitoes come out from wherever they’ve been hiding to bite the shit out of me, the birds come back and shit on my car, the humidity suffocates me, and the allergies tend to render me useless six out the week’s seven days. I fucking hate it. Seriously, Seattle is calling my name. I can hear it. What was my point? Oh, yeah, I’m getting there.

So, summer is quickly creeping up on us here in my part of Illinois, and along with all the annoying shit that accompanies it, it also means that the number of cute boys showing off their hot legs is growing exponentially! YAY! Okay, so I’m not like a fetishist or anything; I don’t enjoy being tied up or smacked or anything excessively wild. Though, I do have an ex that liked to be a called a dirty worthless slut. I don’t know, I’m not down for degradation during intimate moments. I get that ad nauseum in my real like, okay? But yeah, I’m not really into  anything, which might make me boring, but I don’t care. The only real, like, odd-ish (hehe Oddish) thing that gets me going is Men’s legs. I don’t know. They just like …. really do it for me. Thighs not so much, but calves are like the sexiest part of a man, hands down. Not feet, though. Feet are gross.

But yeah, I am totes down for legs. I am having like THE hardest time finding suitable pictures on the internet that aren’t like, guys shoving each other up the ass, but hopefully you know what I’m talking bout. Great legs are hairy, but not wild. Thick, but not tree stumps. Slender, but not poultry-esque. ZOMG Seriously, men’s legs are the best part of being gay.

And, I always like shock people when I reply “legs” to their, “What do you notice first about a man?” question; Because clearly, anything other than eyes is just sinful. Ugh. Whatever.

(Google images is a dangerous, dangerous thing)

Like…seriously.I’m a big fan of movies, and I know a lot of people say that, but so few mean it. Hi, in case you didn’t know, movies existed before 1996. Kthanks. I’d guesstimate that I see about 50 new movies a year. I don’t know how that places on any sort of yardstick, but I think it’s a lot. (Sidenote: my estimation skills blow the big one, fyi) Anyway, for all the movies I see and all the actors I watch, I don’t really have a “favorite actor.” I think Meryl can be an absolute genius, I tend to enjoy Drew Barrymore, and I kind of have a thing for Kathy Bates — I don’t know, she just really does it for me. So, this evening I opened my netflix envelope and popped in “Little Children.” I loved it, by the by. And not just for the copious amounts of Patrick Wilson’s ass, although, believe me, it helped. But I’m sitting here, amidst the disaster zone that is my dorm room, thinking, “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever been dissapointed with a Kate Winslet performance. Ewan McGregor either, for that matter, but I’ll think about him later.” And it dawned on me I LOVE KATE WINSLET. I just wanted to share that with the world, you now? If you dig Kate, like movies, or liked Patrick Wilson’s ass I would definitely pick up “Little Children.”

So, last week I made a video that, in part, referenced a paper I was supposed to be writing. I’m looking back now thinking God that paper was so easy, why the hell didn’t I just sit and write it? The paper was for my Media Studies 101 class, about encoding/decoding media messages. I was given the above commercial and had to write about these three frameworks we learned about in class, and how a peron operating within each would decipher the commercial. Blah. Blah. Blah. The point is, I fucking love my Media Studies class, and I’m glad, because I get to spend the rest of my time at this University taking MS classes. Yep, that’s right, I love my major. After heartbreakingly being denied admission into our College of Media last semester, I was welcomed with open arms upon my second attempt. Whether it was because I worked harder to boost my GPA or they simply took pity on me, we’ll never know. Regardless, I am a Media Studies major, and for probably the only second time in my college career I’m excited for classes. Isn’t that sad?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve noticved that I’ve taken posting videos more, and that’s because I’m too lazy to actually sit down and write a post. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am too lazy to sit. Amazing, I know. Hopefully you like the videos, if not, oh well.

Shut up, it was a big deal for me.

Look! I have eyes. Enjoy (in HQ, of course).

So, in Mexico, children celebrate Easter by smashing Cascarones (confetti-filled dyed eggs) over each other’s head. Why? Well, according to Wikipedia, having an egg broken over your head brings good luck, but really, it’s just a shit ton of fun. Now I need to wrangle some people to smash.