cimorene

my dad wants me to apply at temp agencies, despite the fact the parents of my babysitting demons want to pay me nearly $300 to house sit for the month of july. so, that's what i'm doing tomorrow, besides tshirts and contemplating a) swimsuits (target), b) cds (online), and c) shoes (department store only!).

went for smoothies and watching moulin rouge, which i'd never seen, at house of brooke with my high school clique. it was nice, though i feel disconnected from a lot of them now. re mr: that movie has a great plot. and by great i mean "not that great." however, it was very entertaining, and nicole kidman's perfection was enthralling and at times even offputting with the white and red and the bruised hollows around her eyes and the "sweat" (ie water sponged on top of grease makeup) on her face. ok, well, very rarely offputting. i admit she's gorgeous.

then driving back, turned from top 40 to hip hop at the first detectable strains of enrique iglesias (retch). heard the following ~~rhyme~~ pair of lines: "all close together like school lockers; [something] women who love ballers." and i wonder: ok, it's not like it's really improvisational. so why would you write rhymes that, well, DON'T RHYME? it's not like it's artistic licence, or one of those songs or poems where it really doesn't matter. it's rap with no content but sex and hardly even that!

it's not really 1:11, it's really midnight; my posts have been wrong all day; i'm in central time again, and my computer doesn't know it (though i've reset it twice, stupid little fucker). so, see, i was back by midnight. our wild parties. oh, though, i did have a lemon-lime-apple smoothie with some heavy/cheap white wine in. it was really gross, though, and i only sipped it a bit.

you look her in the eye and watch her cry
my mouth went dry