Monthly Archives: May 2013

Netflix,Stabbings and Decapitation aren’t Romantic

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Lately I’ve been watching foreign romances on Netflix…and they are the most tragically depressing movies I have ever  seen.

In the last two days I’ve watched a movie about how an impoverished Indian woman receives a job at a hotel from a mysterious British hotelier to save her family from losing their house. Very heroic of her I would say. So they fall in love like people do, but soon after the happy dandy honeymoon phase is over, he starts to become more of a demanding asshat up to the point where she stabs him and herself. Like okay what. I was expecting them to run off together  and get married. To be happy.She would become a dancer and he would become a cinematic director. But that is the complete opposite of what happened. There was no happiness in this movie.

I figured it was just a one off, I didn’t expect to watch another horribly sad and heart-wrenching movie the next day…but I did. This movie was about a queen who had an affair with her husband’s handsome physician, which really I should have known it  all would just go downhill from there…but being the hopeful person I am I still had hope for them! The queen soon became pregnant with the physician’s baby, which meant she had to start visiting the king’s bedchamber again so no one would guess she was having an affair. They thought no one would ever find out about them…but a red-haired power-seeking hag  did. She and the Cabinet forced the Queen into exile and they tortured the physician until he confessed, he was soon then killed…his last thought was of her..that just about killed me. The King was forced down from the throne as well, which is good, he was a terrible king. But basically, there was no happiness in this movie except for the birth of the princess. I should have known that it would end terribly, the majority of the movie was gray lighting…that’s never ever a good sign. Sigh.

I’m just never again going to watch a “romantic” foreign movie from Netflix. Because what they really should be called are Heartbreakingly Tragic Foreign movies, not romantic. Decapitation is less than romantic.

Where’s My Hogwarts Acceptance Letter?

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H_finalY’all, I fully believe that I was accepted into Hogwarts.

I have a theory that someone else received my acceptance letter, because you know their postal services aren’t very reliable. I mean what if my owl was blind? It could have accidentally sent it to the next door neighbor’s chimney, or flew into a tree and someone else found it! There is that saying “Finders, Keepers, Losers Weepers.” In Texas, that one is almost more important than The Golden Rule.

And now, they have taken my identity. I am a victim of identity theft! We must all find the culprit, and turn their muggle head into an oxen’s buttocks! Then, I shall be able to resume my identity. My identity as The Greatest Wizardress on Earth. But oh no, since the person who took my name is a muggle, then they’re literally going to be the worst Wizard ever…or they’re dead by now.They have probably dragged my respectable name through the mud!

But that’s not all, I think that I’ve put a spell on my math teacher to give me good grades…so really, it would be the best if I went away…to Hogwarts! Where they could make sure I didn’t tell everyone of their existence…but oh wait…that’s too late isn’t it? Muahaha! They must take me in now!

Five points for Hufflepuff!

Also, I really just want to fight an evil twenty foot snake and save the world from the biggest and baddest wizard ever known…is that really too much to ask?

Let’s All Play a Game…the Quiet Game.

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TETRRF-00013265-001I literally cannot express my thankfulness and happiness that summer is just around the corner.

I’ve become this people-hating blonde monster. You think I’m kidding. I’m not. We have this patio inside our school, which is where a lot of people go in the morning to hang out…a lot of people who never stop to breathe. They just keep talking and talking. They never stop talking, ever.

I know they have freedom of speech, but can’t they have freedom of speech in a quieter voice? Why must they yell everything they say? I know too much about some guy’s girlfriend problems, and I now know where some kid in my math class gets his drugs. One would think they would want to keep that a secret from the police roaming the hallway? But they keep yelling, and I keep shaking my fist.

Even with some of my friends, I want to tell them that we should all just play the quiet game! I would really enjoy it if there were one day where everyone at school played the quiet game. It would be great.

Oh, and the lunch room is the worst. Everyone acts like a bunch of orangutans on acid! Everyone is all over the place. They’re yelling,dancing, throwing food, and scratching their buttocks! Shouldn’t you be eating? With your mouth closed? And sitting? Just keep eating! No need to talk! Y’all there are about two hundred people in my lunch, so it gets loud. Not kind of loud, but migraine in the making kind of loud. Oh my, I sound like a surly old man who wishes for the neighbor children to be abducted by aliens.

Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy talking to people..usually. But spending nine months with the same people, listening to them just endlessly talk, is mind-numbing. I wouldn’t mind if they talked about something interesting or if they were entertaining, but no. They talk about Manga, video games, and oh God…basketball. I just want to hit them upside the head with an iron skillet and tell them all to shh!

Only four more weeks, I can do this. I have faith. The force is with me.

Take Me Back…with Women’s Rights and Modern Medicine

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1850_fashion_ridingI wish I could go back in time to Victorian England, but with antibiotics and rights..

Think of all the fun they had. I mean, they went to balls and soirees! They Waltzed and Fox Trotted! I want to Fox Trot. We had cotillion in middle school, but my parents thought it would be too boring and stuffy. So, now I just keep dreaming of the day I can Fox Trot.

But moving on, let us not forget the gossip of The Ton! I bet they had the absolute best gossip ever. Basically everything was looked down upon, so it made a wrong doing even more scandalous. A simple embrace in the gardens would mean automatic marriage or a duel at dawn. Name your seconds!

AND FOR PETE’S SAKE, THE CLOTHES. They had the most magnificent clothes. All the men dressed dashingly and the women wore the most beautiful gowns. None of those basketball shorts or jeans, only dresses and suits of all different colors, in amazing fabrics. Ladies wore feathers in their hair and men wore top hats! Though, now that I think about…I could live without ever trying on a corset. Those cannot be good for one’s respiratory system! No wonder women were prone to fainting spells. I’d say if you can’t breathe, it would be pretty obvious that one is going to faint all the time. But really, a dress made out of pink silk sounds like Heaven…sigh.

Ooh…and rogues and rakes! The ones the ladies thought they could tame and make suitable enough to be their husbands. The ones the marriage-minded mamas told their daughters to stay away from. They gambled a bit too much, they drank whiskey instead of port, and they were dark and brooding! They sound so much more exciting than the stiff upper lip simpletons. Though, there was always the off chance that you could be married off to a fortune hunter or a man three times your age..or a fortune hunter who is three times your age. And you wouldn’t be able to stray, because that’s not what proper young ladies did back then.

Lastly, writing letters! They wrote actual letters to each other. Who does that on a regular basis now? It used to be the norm! The feeling when you get a letter addressed to you is the best. If I could only ever write letters as means of communication, I would.

Okay, I realize that I probably read too many historical romances and watch too many Jane Austen movies. It all just seems so delightful, if you ignore all that pesky oppression and disease. Someone please invent a time machine.

I would…but I have to go to high school. Sigh.