Maybe I'm just crazy.

So the other day I was having this conversation with my good friend Travis about the social structures of today and how casual sex and drinking ones self to oblivion and other things are no longer considered taboo in society and we got to talking about the past. I mentioned how I feel like I was born into the wrong generation, and how I want nothing more than to live in like, the 1930's when boys would pick girls up on dates and give them a flower and take them out to dinner or a dance and expect nothing more than a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night, and everyone was just so classy. Like how during the second world war, women were so fashion concious that when they were denied nylons due to nylon rationing (for it to be used as parachutes) they would tint their legs using either watered down gravy or tea and then draw a line down the back of their legs to imitate the nylon seam using an eyeliner pencil (these days girls are so stupid that they go out in skirts that provide a full view of their private area without even knowing that Nylon's are something more than the title of a magazine), or how clothing was also rationed so people had to make do with what they had, using hand me downs or sheets or old clothing to make new clothing. I know plenty of people who would throw a fit if they had to wear the same thing for more than a year without buying anything new. Travis got to talking about how like, in the 1940s the guys would just act like gentlemen but they would slick their hair back or whatever and everyone was just so cool. I really wish I lived back then. I think that society now is simply too rambunxious for how I wish to live. I'd much rather be part of a conforming society where everyone was very put together and proper and free from social and mental constrictions and they did what they had to without a big fuss.

I want this line. All of it.

I'm acting like some kind of 50s housewife.

Lately I've been suffering from a case of "boring". Tonight, I decided to attempt to curl my hair. Unfortunately, I don't think midnight was the best time for me to put my curlers in, because it resulted in some very poor placement, but it garnered some laughs among friends. Ignore my icky makeup-less face. Tommorrow I suppose I'll get up late, take these out, they'll look horrible, and I'll end up going to work looking a little bit less Dita-Von-Teese and a little bit more Bride-Of-Frankenstein, but that's okay. I suppose these things are expected of me.

Ellen Page is so talented.

I am every little girl you ever watched, touched, hurt, screwed, killed.

Okay, so I don't know how many people out there have seen Hard Candy. I'm assuming not many, since most people look at me like I'm insane as soon as I say the name (and most of you who don't know what I'm talking about, Hard Candy is a term used by pedos regarding underage girls). Anyways, this is Ellen Page, one of my favourite actresses (and a Canadian at that, Bonus points!) in her pre-Juno indie-flick days. I keep getting different dates on this movie, but I believe that the year it was officially released would be 2006. On a budget less than a mill (which seems to be virtually unheard of lately) the filmmakers have managed to spin a delightfully twisted treat. Page stars as Haley, a fourteen year old, who hunts the hunters. I can't say much else without completely destroying the film for people, although I do have to voice my admiration for the filmmakers who managed to create a female (key term should be: Girl) character who shows no signs of weakness whatsoever. This is excellent. The entire film dialouge is pretty much attributable to Page herself, with a huge cast of like, 6 characters or something, if I counted properly. Sandra Oh also has a cameo in the movie.

This is the last time...

So this is odd, the painful realization that all has gone wrong and nobody cares at all. So you buried all your lovers clothes and burned the letters lover wrote, but it doesn't make it any better. Does it make it any better? And the plaster dented from your fist in the hall where you had your first kiss reminds you that the memories will fade.

So this is strange. Our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all. The picture frames are facing down and the ringing from this empty sound is deafening and keeping you from sleep. And breathing is a foreign task, and thinking's just too much to ask. You're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.

Well you'd like to think that you were invincible, weren't we all before we felt loss for the first time?

It's hard to explain how I am getting by on so little from you, It's hard to believe that I would let myself get so wrapped into you.

Please tell me you're just feeling tired. 'Cause if it's more than that I fear that I might break,
out of touch, out of time.
Please send me anything but signals that are mixed, 'cause I can't read your rolling eyes.
Out of touch, are we out of time?

I'll wait until tommorrow, maybe you'll feel better then, maybe we'll be better then.
So what's another day, when I can't bear these nights of thoughts of going on without you.
This mood of yours is temporary. It seems worth the wait to see your smile again.
Out of the corner of my eye won't be the only way you're looking at me then.