Sometimes I just don't even know.

* Good enough to justify the ticket price
** I genuinely liked it
X I hated it
+ Number of repeat viewings at the theater

Theatrical Releases
The Artist
Haywire*
The Innkeepers*
The Woman in Black X
Salmon Fishing in the Yemen*
21 Jump Street*
Lockout X
Hunger Games
Titanic 3D**
The Cabin in the Woods**
The Avengers** +1
MiB3*
Snow White and the Huntsman
Safety Not Guaranteed**
Prometheus*
Brave*
The Amazing Spider-Man**
The Dark Knight Rises*
Rifftrax Live: Manos, the Hands of Fate**
Celeste and Jesse Forever*
Moonrise Kingdom*
Premium Rush**
Looper**
The Perks of Being a Wallflower**
Argo*
Wreck-It Ralph**

Home Video First-Time Viewing
Justice League: Doom
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang**
Chronicle*
Superman/Batman: Apocalypse
Attack the Block*
Jeff, Who Lives At Home*
Green Lantern: Emerald Knights
The Opposite of Sex
Secretary**
Drive*
Quantum of Solace*
The Triplets of Belleville
The Campaign*
John Carter
Labyrinth*
ParaNorman*
Secretariat*
The Money Pit

I back-slid from 30 theatrical releases in 2011 to only 26 this year. I got on a good streak of going to the movies a lot late in the summer after I moved into my new apartment, but once the weather turned cold enough to discourage me from walking any further than I absolutely had to go, that slowed me down a lot. Netflix November (where I posted what I watched every day on Facebook) generated two-thirds of the home video list. I almost always just re-watch stuff at home, and this is the first year I've tracked new movies in that medium. Eighteen isn't half bad, though.

For all that I had some big disappointments this year at the movies (Prometheus, and God, especially Dark Knight Rises), on the whole I think I had a much better average of enjoying what I saw (up to an 85 percent positive from 76 percent last year). And I was also caught off guard by some of the titles I fell in love with, too. I never would've predicted that The Cabin in the Woods would be a contender for my favorite movie this year. Another candidate is Premium Rush, and I literally hadn't even heard of it until the same day I decided to see it based on an Internet banner ad. True story. Considering that I also completely embraced Looper, I'm forced to declare 2012 the Year of JGL.

My thought processes...

Holly 1: I'm thirsty. I want a Diet Coke from one of these restaurants.
Holly 2: Cinnabon has the shortest line. They appear to serve soft drinks.
Holly 1: Oh. My. God. That smell! That glorious smell! And look how delicious everything looks!
Holly 2: Don't even think about it.
Holly 1: That smell is the world's best marketing campaign all by itself.
Holly 2: Nope. You already had lunch. You're on a diet. Even if you weren't, eating that still wouldn't be a good idea.
Holly 1: It smells like heaven!
Holly 2: That's because you'll die if you eat it.
Holly 1: It can't be that bad.
Holly 2: Look at how skinny the people behind the register are. They clearly don't eat their own product. They know something you don't.
Holly 1: Sigh.

Amazingly, I walked away with just the Diet Coke.

* The awesomely amazing pool
* Close proximity to a fantastic library
* The flowering bushes in the courtyard
* For all her other faults, my landlady fixed anything broken right away
* Convenient parking
* Easy to visit my NoVA friends


Things I won't miss about my old apartment:

* The hour-long commute to work via Metro
* Whoever keeps throwing cigarette butts on my patio
* The condo association office that is *never* open when I'm not at work
* The perpetually broken treadmills in the gym
* Wet laundry from junky dryers
* Ground floor = everyone walking their dogs can spy on me if they choose
* Just barely missing the shuttle from the Metro and waiting 20 minutes for the next
* Too much hassle to go into the District for myriad cool activities

They tell big people all the time that if you just lose some weight, you'll have a better life. Well, I've sunk a great deal of time and effort over the last four months into losing 30 pounds. And all I have to show for it is stretch marks and a closet full of clothes that don't fit and that I can't afford to replace.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

Since I can't be bothered to actually update this journal with events from my life anymore, I figured I might as well use it to catalog my various projects. I'm going to start by going back to some older ones.

So, in this one, I wanted to make something to display my love for the (then) unborn child of my best friend. It's all the rage to decorate wooden letters spelling out a baby's name on the nursery wall these days, so I went with that. I had originally planned to make the letters myself, but I ultimately decided it was more time- and cost-effective to outsource that part of the project. Also, by purchasing the letters from someone with a laser saw, I was able to get connected letters made to very precise specifications, even choosing a preferred font. It's BinnerD, if you care.




I started my actual work with 10-inch tall, 1/2-inch thick letters cut from Baltic Birch. I began by painting the letters.




I tried to match the letters to some of my friends' existing wall art -- a tree decal. I was just eyeballing it from a photo though, so I didn't quite get a true match. But close enough, I suppose.


Proud Papa to Be





I used acrylic paint, and I went the extra mile to do both sides for no real reason other than I just worried that somehow it would be visible if I didn't and my laziness would be evident to the world if I left the back blank. But it wasn't worth it in the end. The painted back actually stuck to the protective newspaper I'd laid down when I switched to the front and some of the paper is permanently adhered there to this day. So, yeah, if you want to do this project, maybe skip that part.

Because I'm a librarian, I decided to go with an iconic children's literature motif. And, being a librarian, I had plenty of access to discarded library books. These were all books that had been damaged in some way and could no longer be checked out, but now instead of just getting trashed, they get to live on as art.




I clipped out pictures from the books, and I played with them a bit to find the arrangement that worked best. I was especially proud of how I used the Curious George clipping.




After I had an actionable plan, I used ModPodge to glue the pictures down. And then I gave the whole surface of the letters two coats of the stuff using a sponge brush. Then I took a fine-tipped paint brush and traced over the strokes of the illustrations with copious amounts of ModPodge as if I were re-painting the pictures. The effect isn't going to trick anyone into thinking I'm actually talented enough to really paint the images by hand, but it gives it a nice texture after it dries. Otherwise, it might look too flat. Outdoor ModPodge gives the best results for this particular technique.




After it was all dry, I sealed it up with a couple coats of clear spray paint.




And then I mailed it off to Missouri, where it arrived at my friends' house almost completely undamaged (grr) and will now live on the wall in little Ollie's room until he gets old enough to redecorate. At which time I'll have to make something new if I want to continue to compete for the title of Favorite Aunt.

If I'm going to continue to obnoxiously post my dreams on here on the few occasions when I actually remember them, then I need to post more other kinds of posts in-between those occasions. Two out the last three entries on this page have been accounts of things that didn't even really happen to me.

Although the context for this morning's dream is that in real life I did recently back out of taking over an apartment and had to fight to get back my $500 deposit even though I hadn't even signed a lease yet. The whole thing was my own stupid fault for A) being stupid enough to give them the check in the first place, and B) not taking 30 seconds to think over the decision before committing. I had buyer's remorse before I even made it home.

Anyway, no more dream analysis. I promise.

I just woke up from the most amazingly vivid and unpleasant dream.

I dreamt that I was apartment hunting. I went to the beautiful, vast apartment complex, and the manager -- an older Southern lady with a sugary, conniving demeanor -- showed me a beautiful one-bedroom apartment, and I loved it and agreed to take it on the spot. And then I'm so excited about the pet-friendly community that I immediately run out and adopt an adorable dachshund even though I haven't even signed a lease or put down a deposit yet. Which they give to me on the spot even though that would never happen. I name the dog Circe for reasons that made sense in the dream but now don't. And then I'm showing of my new apartment and my new dog to my mom, and I'm trying to find a good place to lay down some newspapers on the floor for the unhousebroken Circe. And I discover the apartment actually has three bedrooms, and the other two are already furnished. And if I live here, I'll have to have roommates, which is NOT THE DEAL. I spent a lot of time, trying to track down the manager, but she was out and about on the complex, showing other gullible people apartments. And the other Southern ladies in the complex office are making a big fuss over me, and trying to take my Polaroid picture to go on the wall in the office, so that all the residents can recognize each other, and they're selling me on the idea that everyone here is super-friendly and I'll be best friends with everyone else who lives here. But I finally make them produce the manager, and I back out, which is allowed because I haven't signed a lease yet, but now I'm still homeless and on top of that, I now own a dog. A dog that isn't even housebroken. And we're both homeless. And it's so hard to find pet-friendly apartments. And I already love Circe, but probably the best thing to do would be to take her back. And I wake up on that depressing realization. I can still feel Circe's warm little body wriggling against my chest.

And it's now 8:25 am on a Saturday and I have no interest in going back to sleep if this is the sort of shit my brain is going to pull.

Blah.

Text of an ad:

$1200 / 1br - 1br - 675ft² - Foggy Bottom

beautiful sunsets), 675 sq. ft.,
gourmet kitchen, refinished parquet floors, ceiling fan,
A/C, W/D, lots of storage, and indoor parking space included
utilities (electricity) not included


My inquiry:

I am interested in learning more about the Foggy Bottom apartment listed in your ad. The ad did not specify a date of availability. I am looking to sign a lease starting July 1. If that is acceptable, I would be interested to see some photos of the unit, if available.

Thank you,
Holly


The response (complete and unedited):

( Collapse )

Last night I dreamt that I had to make a television appearance. I'm not entirely certain why or on what program, but it was not just your typical spot on Leno. It was Very Important and Serious Business that had to do with at least the fate of the country, if not the world. In order to prep me for this event, everyone was trying to get me to eat this magic lasagna formulated with Tina Fey's DNA that would completely subsume my personality in the personality of Tina Fey.

I'm sure there were complications with obtaining the lasagna or something. I don't really remember the plot of the dream, just the basic premise. I do remember, to my chagrin, that at no point did I protest having my own self essentially blanked out of existence. I was more, like, "No, make me Tina Fey NOW!" Ouch.

I hope the television appearance really was worth the sacrifice. Even if apparently my bruised psyche doesn't consider it a sacrifice.

Then again, maybe this whole thing was just my subconscious mind's attempt to place an order for lasagna instead of ravioli tonight at Olive Garden. But the subconscious can suck it. All the waking parts of my brain are in agreement that the portabello mushroom ravioli is the bomb and will not consider ordering anything else.

This nonsense has been lighting up my personal blogosphere all week. I don't know about anyone else, but it's given me a mad craving.

It occurs to me that I haven't eaten at an Olive Garden since I moved to DC. That's four years now. And I'm ashamed to admit that's entirely due to peer pressure. In truth, I love Olive Garden. Without irony even. So no more pretending to have a sophisticated palate. I can't fake being food-snotty anymore.

Instead, tomorrow night I'm dragging my friend Emily (the only person I know out here who I can convince to willingly darken the door of a chain restaurant) to the nearest location. And I'm going to merrily consume mushroom ravioli and at least two helpings of the most addictive salad on Earth.