Elephant

Does anyone know the ending to the movie Elephant? I rented it this past weekend but unfortunately was unable to finish. I stopped at the scene where the young blond gunman kills the principal.
The movie made me anxious but the colors were so vibrant.

My Neighbor.

My neighbor frightens me. She lives in a house next door to my apartment complex, and our porch overlooks the side of her home. She runs an at-home music school, which consists mainly of four or five different garage bands with grungy fifteen year olds drudging through Rolling Stones covers. (Satisfaction and Brown Sugar are among the repeated favorites.) It is loud and my life always has a soundtrack. I have witnessed her make three different kids cry (two male and one female) and have overheard some harsh words being thrown at a man assisting his children across the street. (Apparently, the children were out of control and stepped a foot or two into her lawn. I think one of them also butchered her “garden” by picking a blade of grass. This is not the first time I heard arguments concerning the “garden.”)
Last night I was the porch having a delightful telephone conversation with my sister when my neighbor and one of her dogs exit the house thus, entering the private little box my porch creates and encourages. She calls for the dog, and limps toward him on her cane.
“Fuck you bitch!” she screams at her dog (and a wiener dog, at that), “Fuck you! Fuck you Heidi! You bitch!”
Of course I am scared out of my skivvies by now, being in possible view. Her wrath is alive and in full effect. I am young, I am enjoying myself and I am definitely a target. She takes no prisoners.
My sister, overhearing my neighbor and coincidently also being named Heidi, laughs out, “What the hell!”
“Shhhhh!H!H!H!H!!” I frantically mutter through clenched teeth. I have frozen myself into survival position, with my shoulders slumped, my back curved and my knees snuggled underneath my nose. I breathed slowly, loudly, inhaling the outside smell of my jeans, the smell puppies and young children own.
“She can’t hear me,” Heidi says loudly, impatiently.
But she can and she will! She is fearless and ferocious and probably kills kittens for kicks.
“Heidi you fucking bitch, get your ass over here!!!” I hear her bellow from down below.
My sister roars a throaty crackle into my ear. I squeal and whisper with no separation, “Igottagobye!”
I sat there silently for another few minutes or so, until I heard the comforting and safe click of her door. Then I sat there for another thirty seconds, just for good measure.

fruit salad!

It is Tuesday and I am in the library as usual. Why is it so hot outside? It snowed on V-day last year. SNOooowed. I should be doing work but I am a procrastinator at heart.
I went to Houston this weekend. It was Harv’s birthday, and Heidi was in town for her Mardi Gras break. She hates being in New Orleans at this time, since Bourbon Street reminds her of a “frat house bathroom that’s never been cleaned.” She’s right; it is gross. The birthday celebration went well, mainly because any family gathering is a guarantee for some Nannie chocolate cake.
We had a Valentine’s party at work and I ate cookies all day. The soft kind with inch thick icing. There is a boy at work named Henry who is about two and a half or younger, and he makes all the other kids cry. While I should assume the role of the concerned, fair and responsible care giver and put a stop to the chaos he causes, I can’t help but giggle during these situations because his method of mayhem is dancing uncontrollably in his classmates’ faces. I have yet to figure out whether or not he is using his MC Hammer-esque jig for intentional harassment, or if he simply wants to bust a move to the Wiggles. (Because who can’t help but dance to the Fruit Salad song??) This is the same boy who once poured a bucket of sand down my pants and is secretly one of my favorites.
Lately I have been looking into purchasing a sewing machine, preferably used. It’s a hassle having to transport myself to Houston to borrow my Nannie’s. It is also over fifty years old, and is built into a desk. Plus, my hand stitching always ends up unraveling, which can lead to embarrassing situations I typically strive to avoid. EBay makes me nervous. So far have only been casually window shopping, but am considering taking the plunge into online consumerism. Suggestions?
Why are strip clubs called Gentlemen’s clubs? I have my doubts there are many gentlemanly things going on inside.
Yesterday was perfect for kayaking, but supposedly it is going to rainnnnn for the rest of the week.

the wonderkid

Holy explicative! I got my hair cut yesterday and it is SHORT. I am the spawn of Twiggy and a pre-pubescent boy, although Kate says I look like a flapper. She also says they drove cars and smoked cigarettes to be radical. I've done both, but one makes my nose stuffy. Haaha, how embarrassing.

late.

How do I find out what fruits are in season? Lately all of my apples' innards have featured a pink tie-dye theme and it is starting to gross me out. The one I tried enjoying today looked/felt/tasted like it came from the mush pot.
How can I keep the doctor away with this poisonous produce inhabiting our grocery stores??
My friend Stevie, who is suprisingly not named after Ms. Nicks, is an official "apple picker" for her local food mart. I need her to accompany me on all my selection endevours. frbhsdd i have to go to work.