In Loving Memory of Lorenzo

Classes start again tomorrow, and like all kids preparing for the school year, i've been busy making sure everything is in place. My list so far:

- New L.L. Bean backpack with my initials embroidered in Verdana font-check.
- Crayola magic-erase markers so i can write secret notes to my friends in class-check.
- New back-to-school outfit ironed and layed out on dresser as if a person was wearing it and then vanished-check.
- Shoes with matching socks set at the bottom of the dresser under my slammin' outfit-check.
- Lunch money for the school bully-check.

Well, it looks as if i'm about ready...still, i can't help but be anxious about how the first day will play out. Will i have anyone to sit with at lunch? Will my teachers like me? What about that boy i have a crush on...did he get his braces out over the summer and did the doctor find a cure for his turret's? (hope not...he was dreamy)

I guess i can only hope for the best. Whatever happens, i'm confident that my school experience will be much more fulfilling than that of poor Lorenzo in the Lifetime Original Movie* I caught last night. One moment his school counselor is telling him that his future "shines so bright, i have to wear shades to even think about it" (despite the fact that his mother is a crack addict who makes Lorenzo buy her drugs in return for motherly affection)...and not five minutes later, Lorenzo gets run-over by a cadillac and then (after the driver realizes Lorenzo is a fighter and still breathing) shot in the chest twice. To be fair to the school counselor, the headlights of the cadillac were shining really brightly.

* don't knock Lifetime; it is one of the few entertainment outlets that doesn't make you feel bad about laughing when terribly dramatic things happen to people.

Moving is a Female Dog

I've finally moved into my new castle. Granted i'm in the basement, and some of you more critical and bitter (most likely because you were an orphan who was seduced by a kindly whore who by an unlucky turn of events turned out to be a violent tease) readers may scoff at the idea of a castle owner living in her own basement, but i bet you'd scoff less if i told you i sleep on a mattress made entirely of rare peacock feathers covered in egyptian cotton.

Now then. To the matter at hand. Drinking half a bottle of wine while watching a Shakespeare adaptation that your more....let's say sophisticated...roommate ordered on netflix may lead to great introspection and questioning of everything you thought you knew. Who is this merchant of Venice and why is his daughter such a bitch? Would i too steal my father's jewels and run away with my lover, leading to the humiliation of my father's name and the potential loss of a man's life? I was sure i would before, but after watching this film, i'm not as confident in my ability...nay, desire...to sacrifice my family for my own selfish ambitions. In short, mixing Shakespeare and alcohol is a bad idea...unless you enjoy getting into heated discussions that cause your friends to get pissed and walk out abruptly, too put-off to take their cell-phones or wash the dishes with which they cooked you dinner.

All this revisiting of recent history has made me exhausted and as the butler has just informed me that the feathers have been ruffled to my liking and the egyptian cotton has been thrice (way better than just two times...trust me) pressed, i bid you goodnight.

My Favorite News Anchor is Dead

Today being the first in over a week that I've had access to any kind of news outlet, I was devastated to learn about the untimely death of Peter Jennings, my favorite Canadian...well, one of the few I fantasized marrying and having a dozen children with...which we would then sell on ebay of course, using the extra cash flow to buy out ABC and have our own 24 hour news channel starring Peter. Sigh. Another dream deferred.

Smoking is bad and you shouldn't do it. In the words of my favorite European cigarette warning, "smoking will cause you to die a slow and painful death." Learn from Peter's mistakes. Then again, my cousins' constant bickering over the last week (and current loud snoring while i'm trying to type this heartfelt memorial post) makes me think that some people deserve to die young. I'm not so sure about the slow part, but painful shouldn't be too hastily dismissed.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the news is gonna suck now--even more so than Swedish news...which really bites by the way. My cousin tells me it's because i don't speak Swedish, but i know its because the news anchor has a faux-hawk and the beginnings of a mullet...i think i'll send him some cigarettes.

The Big Date

The men's lady has returned. While chatouille has been shoring up RBIE's support in Western Europe (preaching to the choir, if you ask me), I have been spending time in America's forgotten lands. Namely, Nebraska, Iowa, and the always-depressing California. During that time, I have gained much knowledge. Did any of you, my fellow metro-centrics, know for instance, that corn is possibly one of the world's most fascinating and tittilating vegetables? And also, did anyone realize that my parents are so desperate for their 23-year old middle daughter to finally get married that they are now in Texas, showing my picture to motel owners and convenience storekeeps, promising them that I know how to cook and I've lost weight since high school? (Both lies, incidentally.)

Anyway, the men's lady should not depress you with this nonsense. I am here to inspire. Tomorrow, I have not one big hot date, but TWO. One is on the phone (I'm not a whore!), and it is with a perfectly nice indian doctor with whom my parents set me up, and would like me to marry within the next year. The second is the third in a series of dates with another perfectly nice man who buys me dinner and agrees with me that children are worse to be stuck next to on airplanes than fat people. (At least fat people are apologetic.)

In conclusion...nothing. I have no conclusion. In keeping with part of the mission of RBIE, I refuse to be genuine online, and I also refuse to have a point. Take that!

Momullets

They're a cross between a mohawk and a mullet and they are slowly taking over Europe. Alert the police. All this focus on terrorists and we're letting a seriously criminal fashion trend fly under the radar. I dont have much time because ten swedish men are fighting for my time and affection as we speak, but I'd like to warn all my male American friends (a number close to the thousands now that the RBIE call-service has picked up), please, GOD, please don't let this happen to you.

That is all. I will be in touch. Don't make me take out the scissors.