Things I Loved/Hated This Week #37


Anne Rice’s “The Wolf Gift”:


I have long been a fan of Anne Rice. Everything that she writes somehow manages to captivate me. Aside from her excellent novel The Mummy, or Ramses the Damned, I have stuck to her stories about vampires, which I adore. Her writing style has greatly influenced me — it’s so decadent and rich and exaggerative. When The Wolf Gift was released, I put in on my list of books to read, but didn’t really look forward much to it. I don’t care about werewolves. But then, Anne wrote on her fantastic Facebook page that the novel was set in San Francisco. I had just returned from that wonderful town and had fallen passionately in love with it, so I downloaded it to my Kindle and am in awe of it. It’s captivating and I don’t want to put it down. I’m constantly reading, but few books enthrall me in this way. I’m only a quarter of the way through it so far, but I can’t wait to get home from work and read some more. I don’t know if other people are as enraptured as I, since I refuse to look at reviews until I finish the book, lest I learn how the plot unfolds before I read it myself! I’ll probably finish it this weekend and then anxiously anticipate the sequel.


This film has been on my DVR for ages and ages — so long that it has been buried under a list of the many dozens of films I’m addicted to taping. Last night, I told myself to clean up these stockpiled movies and go to bed, but I ended up staying awake far too late to finish Ninotchka. It sucked me in from the onset. I adore Melvyn Douglas and he was even more magnificent when paired with Greta Garbo. I had no idea, but it is a romantic comedy set in Paris! Nothing could be better. Greta’s character was a cold Russian who was not interested in anything but bettering her beloved nation. Melvyn was the typical romantic Parisian who, for some reason, falls for Greta. She soon falls for him, too, and it’s charming to see her blossom under the influence of pre-war Paris. Unfortunately, they aren’t meant to be together at the time, but of course they’re destined to be! It’s a wonderful picture. I highly recommend it. Awfully romantic. Click play up there, that’s the ENTIRE FILM!

Everything One Direction:


I’m a twenty-four-year-old man who works as a professional. This obsession is not normal. I don’t care one bit. I’m insane for One Direction. You all know this from my borderline creepy post from Vegas. I looked back at the other day and even I was a bit taken aback by my strange behavior. Can’t help it, though, have you seen Zayn? Have you heard the news? The news about his alleged engagement? I’m ruined emotionally, reader. I can’t get over it. I won’t. Never in all my life will I forgot this devastation! But, back to the point of this post. We’ll get into my tragedy in the HATE section this week. Today was the first day of work and me and all the thirteen-year-olds had loads of new One Direction scheiße. Very exciting. I wanted everything! One girl had a Zayn bag! WHERE DO I GET A ZAYN BAG??? “Which one is your favorite?” I asked about a dozen children. When they said Niall, I frowned. Louis, Harry, or Liam, I nodded politely. The wise, tasteful children that chose Zayn got high-fives. I can’t help it. This is an obsession that I hope never goes away. I literally cannot wait until the movie premieres!



For the longest time, I thought that nectarines were plums. I had never eaten a plum nor a nectarine, so how was I to know? I’d never considered eating either. Stone fruit? No thank you. When I was at the Chateau Marmont, my valet told me that the delicious fruits I had been given by the hotel management were plums! I was lied to! I don’t care, the Chateau was amazing. I was a bit concerned though when I went shopping for plums in San Francisco and the fruits didn’t look or taste anything like what I had devoured. Only later did I remedy my mistake when I went to Walmart the other night. I bought a white nectarine and a yellow nectarine and guys…holy crap…they are so good. I’m obsessed with nectarines. I want to put them in everything. I’m down to my last one. It’s in my bag to snack on later. I want it now. I want to go sink my teeth into its juicy flesh, but I have to restrain myself until my break. Oh Buddha, waiting is an agony!

Rit Color Remover:


I do my own laundry. I’m competent at it. I know what I’m doing and I never have issues with it. I don’t bother much with sorting since I don’t own many red things and the red clothing I own is so well-worn that I assumed that the dye had long been set. Oh, how wrong I was, reader! When I was in California, I did laundry twice and had it all professionally washed once. I liked the professional job best. You just drop it off and pick it up neatly folded! T’was heaven! Before that, though, I threw my clothes in the laundry and pulled out a few pink shirts that had never been pink before. This alarmed me. Somehow, the red shorts that I’ve worn for probably the past three years decided to bleed over my new subtly piratic shirt, my beloved white oxford, and my brand new One Direction shirt that I wear with immense pride. The pink was rather light and you couldn’t notice it unless it was put next to a white shirt. Still, though, I’m easily annoyed by things like this and needed my shirts to look new again. I considered bleaching them, but this frightened me. I washed them with with hot water and stain lifting soap, but that just made it a cleaner pink! I eventually discovered Rit Color Remover online and happily found a few boxes at Walmart. I carefully followed the instructions, put in my pink clothes and other dingy white clothes and pulled out PERFECTLY WHITE CLOTHING. Reader, I lost my shit. It was a miracle. I can’t recommend it highly enough.  It also started something of a laundry renaissance in me an I’m now reading all the laundry labels so that my clothes are always stunning. Like me.


All Microsoft/Windows Products:


I don’t use these kinds of devices or programs or products — I’m all about Apple. Next month, I’m getting an iPhone and my transition to Apple will be total and complete. I have a MacBook and an iPad and an iPod and I couldn’t be happier. I plan on getting an Apple TV soon, too. I want to play my music on my television. It’ll be amazing. Anyway, now that I’m back at work, I’m sadly forced to delve into the Windows world when I have to do school work or help the kids — they all have their own laptop this year and I worry. I don’t know how to use Windows anymore. Why couldn’t they all have gotten iPads? I had to use Microsoft Word the other day and it took me ages. It wasn’t simple or elegant and the computer was slow and hideous and I just wanted my MacBook with it’s speedy processor and Pages word processor. I can actually accomplish things there. I don’t want to have anything to do with Microsoft! Ugh!

Not Having 8 Hours of Sleep:


This summer I discovered the miracle of plenty of sleep. When I work, I get about five hours a night and I became accustomed to having hideous bags under my eyes, accustomed to feeling sluggish, accustomed to finding myself waking up in strange places after surprise naps. Those happen too often. Take my advice, don’t go tanning and then accidentally pass out…when you wake up, you’ll be lobster red. I’m still recovering from this mistake. More on that later. Anyway, this summer I slept for eight to ten hours each day and I noticed an amazing transformation in my wellness. I woke up refreshed, the bags under my eyes vanished, and I didn’t feel the need to take a nap. It was incredible. I’ve always been condescending towards sleep and thought that I was one of those people that didn’t need to sleep, but I am. I need at least eight hours, but I just can’t find the time for it. I have so many things to do each day plus I have to work, so I rarely find time. I need to figure this out. I can’t fathom going to bed at ten o’clock, but I may have to. I don’t like sleeping until at least midnight. I don’t like working, taking a few hours to do my massive to-do list, and then going to bed to repeat. It makes life miserable. Le sigh…

Artificial Lime:


I used to have a bottle of lime juice that tasted fantastic and so I didn’t think I had anything to worry about the other ay when I picked up one of those little squeezable plastic bottles of lime juice to put in my gin and tonics. Lord, was I wrong. It tastes awful. It doesn’t taste of lime at all! I don’t know what it is, but I threw it away because it was such an awful taste. I’m now putting lemon in my drinks until I again find that bottle that I prefer. You don’t need to suffer through mediocre faux lime juice, reader.

Zayn’s Engagement:

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Yesterday was such an emotional day for all of us Directioners, reader. Don’t judge me. I at first assumed that Zayn’s engagement to that girl from Little Mix was just some horrible rumor. Those happen all the time. But then the BBC talked about it and so did that girl’s mother. I shan’t refer to her by name because I refuse to believe in her existence. Zayn and I are meant to be, you know? How could you forget about our special night in Vegas when we fell madly in love? Reminder:


I know he hasn’t forgotten! He’s probably somehow obligated to do it out of an outdated but romantic sense of British honor. There are so many reasons we can’t be immediately wed, and I understand what he’s doing. But it doesn’t make the heartbreak any less real. Because I love him so endlessly and so dearly, I can’t help but try and fake my happiness for him. It’s the least I can do. You can cry on my shoulder anytime, Zayn. I’ll be in England next year. Wait for me!

Sunburnt Ass:

I’m very stupid when it comes to the sun. I know this. I know I have a problem that I need to fix and I’m going to work on it, but I’m still addicted to the UV. I have long declared that if you don’t have a speedo tan, you’re not living life correctly. Well, let me tell you, I have an amazing speedo tan. Like, if you saw it, you’d be in awe. Trust. I don’t know if this is a desirable attribute here in America, but in Paris, the clubs were always advertising an event called a “blanc cul” contest where gentleman would show off who had the greater contrast between tanned skin and pale skin in their speedo regions. Odd that. I decided that I shouldn’t have such an extreme tan line, so I began tanning sans my speedo. Everything was going fine. Everything was splendid. Then, on Tuesday…I fell asleep. Did I hear you gasp? Well, I should have. Reader, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to sit for days. It’s a misery. That area is still bright red and it looks like I’ve been spanked for an hour. I’ve rarely been spanked. As you can imagine and are surely wondering, no, other extremities were not burnt. I’m not sure how, since they were making an appearance as well, but I consider it a miracle of God that they were preserved from a burn. I can’t even imagine, I don’t want to imagine. I’m petrified at the thought. This severe burn had better turn into a severe tan, gurl! Once this summer is over, I’m going to try and embrace the pale, but I’m making no rash judgements. I like being tan. I just don’t really want to die of skin cancer. I should work on avoiding that.

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