Ray of Self-Absorbtion, Innocence, and Mystery

Although the time is only 11:27 in the PM, I can tell it's going to be one of those nights where I lie awake until 4:00 in the AM, so I am going to write about something terribly boring that will hopefully put me in that should-be-wonted sleepy mood for which all you normal people out there should be grateful, should you be a person who does not have this dreadful disease.

I...was...going to say something but I forgot what it was.  Oh yeah!  My neighbor.

I have a very interesting neighbor.  He is a middle-aged man who I am convinced sells some sort of narcotics out of his garage, who seems to be inebriated by said narcotics day and night, who has two beautiful children who almost fall to their deaths by riding they're tricycles off the stairwell that leads to the garages on a daily basis, whose wife/girlfriend/roommate/mother of his children/some random chick with large breasts takes out the cat litter in the most inefficient way by dragging a punctured trash bag full of feces and sand and urine all the way from their apt to the dumpster leaving a trail of you know what behind along with its pungent smell, who cannot let me walk by him, whether at the pool or below his balcony or in the parking lot, without saying "Hey neighbor!" in his delightful southern drawl that cancels out all of his previous somewhat irksome attributes, yet, to which, I never know exactly what to say.

I normally do not notice the man until he calls me, but I don't notice anyone until they call me, and even then I often unintentionally ignore them.  I don't know if it's because I'm really self-absorbed or because I am basically blind, but I just don't pay attention to whether someone I am nearing is going to wave or say hello.  When people say, "Hello!!  Hannah!  I've been waving at you for like 80!"  I say, "Oh, sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right now," so I seem really important, as if I have a lot of very important things to think about, none of which concern those pedestrian acquaintances that want my attention.  That is not the reason.  I really don't know why.  

So sometimes it takes two or three "Hello neighbor"s before I look to my left or above me or to my right and then notice and wave and say "Hi, how ya doin'?"  and walk off.  

A couple weeks ago I was walking into the gate when he was talking with some mysterious man in some mysterious car, probably doing some consulting for his business, when he puts his cigaretted hand into the air, "Hey neighbor!"  "Hi."  I open the gate to continue the long trek to my door.  But he continues.

"You're so mean."  He says this in a light-hearted way, of course.

"What?"  I turn around and try to see through the tinted window of the Beamer to share a look with the driver to express my sorrow for holding him up.

"You're always scowling."

"I am?"

"Yeah.  You always got this mean look on your face."

"Oh.  Sorry.  I have a lot on my mind.  I don't realize."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm scared to talk to you!"

"Oh.  Don't be.  I'm nice."

"But you always look so mean.  You're sister though, she's always happy."

"Yeah."

I was unfazed.  Ever since I was a child I've encountered the whole, "You and you're sister are so different."  And you just know they mean a good different.  I was (am) the grumpy child, and my sister the happy one.  Nothing could (can) bring that girl down.

A few days ago I turned the corner and almost ran right into him.

"A ray of innocence!"

"What?" I said.

"You.  Are a ray of innocence."

"Oh.  Thank you."  Laugh.

"If I ever saw you rob a bank, I would pass out!"  He clutches his heart as he says this.

"Oh."  Laugh.  "That...would be weird."  I am inching away.

"I bet you never done nothing wrong."

"Well, you know, I'm a mysterious one."  I turn around and walk away.

"Oh!"  I hear him yell out laughing.  "A devious one!"

So I really don't know what he takes me to be.  For a long time, maybe a year, he couldn't distinguish me from my sister.  Now he can; I think cause my hair is short and I wear glasses sometimes.  But he is a very interesting man.  I wish you could meet him. 

[The Reader is one of the best movies I've seen in the theaters in a long time.]

Virgins

Just watched Virgin Suicides for the first time yesterday. Might be one of my favorite movies.

The 80 Theory

I hate blogging when I have nothing to say. I also hate the word blogging. Or blogger.

But yes. I have nothing much to say right now. Roommates are watching Flashdance in the other room, which I have never seen, the movie I mean; I've seen the room plenty of times.

Oh. I thought of something mildly entertaining to talk about. And mild entertainment can sometimes be such a nice refreshment from all those really intense bachelor breakups and engagements and whatnot that I know we all watch with exceptional devotion. Well, I am going to the dentist tomorrow and Tuesday. A fun activity for spring break I'd say. I have to get fillings. A lot of fillings. I think ten or so. I hope I get laughing gas. Okay I was very wrong about this. Bad topic idea. Oh, how exciting this is...metablogging.

No no. I have something to relay to you all. It's an exciting new theory. The theory was actually created in 2006, but it's never been published before. And since blogger.com calls this stuff publishing, I can call this theory published after I tell you about it right now...

Summer of 2006, my friend and I go on a road trip to Colorado. We wanted to make the trip exciting, something like that Extreme Days movie where everything that could possibly happen does and we meet people and get into romantic relationships and we have car trouble and we do something really epic like jumping off of something....or something. So. We brought our video camera, my video camera, and filmed everything little thing. Turns out, the only exciting thing that actually happened was washing our hair with tomato juice because it had turned green from swimming in the rundown motel pool while creepy men came out of their rooms to stare at us. (We heard tomato juice would help...and it did.) Anyway, since we were filming every little thing, we took our camera along when we stopped the car and stepped out to go look at a view....that turned out to be very disappointing. It was very windy and she was filming me walking (exciting, I know). The wind was so intense I was falling over myself. I turned around toward the camera and in a fit of passion screamed "IT'S LIKE 80!" We halted in our tracks and laughed at my random phrase that actually seemed to make some sense, once we teased it out a bit. What I meant was, the wind felt like it was going 80 miles per hour. I don't actually know the general speed of wind. But it gave a good impression of what I was experiencing: very fast wind. 80 mph is pretty fast. In some sense at least. So here comes the theory part...After this road trip, that Like 80 exclamation being one of the highlights by the way, we began to notice how often we said "Like 80" in whatever situation. "He was going like 80." "I think I got like 80." Then we told a few friends about our theory. They began noticing themselves saying it. And here's the weirdest part: everyone says it! We noticed that not only do we ourselves use this phrase in the oddest situations. But so many other people do, too. If there is a type of situation that calls for a number under 100, especially when referring to speed, percentages, amount of people, or prices, people tend to use the number 80 if they are unable to be precise. Look around you. It's everywhere.

I'm glad I found something interesting to talk about. I think it's interesting at least. Then again, I also thought using tomato juice as shampoo was exciting.

7 Pounds

Sorry to say I really hated 7 Pounds. Will Smith is way too generous with his bodily organs.