Jane Eyre, Timothy Dalton, and Up, Up, and Away

The saga of the Endlessly Scary and Brutally Strange Landlady continues. But, I won't bore you. I'd rather look at pictures of Gerald Butler and think ah, what if! That man could chase away the darkest nightmare, no doubt about it. However, I would not be surprised if he was gay. In my experience, incredibly good looking men often are. At the very least, gay men tend to be very attractive.
Nevermind. I lied. Here is part 99 of this gripping saga, my little ferrets! My landlady went off her considerable rocker a few days ago and blocked my leaving the house. Let me explain! The garbage, as you know (well, you soon will), must be wrapped in PLASTIC. I failed to wrap the garbage in PLASTIC. So, she took the time and trouble to take the garbage can and place it INSIDE the house, put it IN FRONT OF THE SIDE DOOR (the one I usually take to leave the house) then REMOVED my TRASH, and left it and the can for me to find. This reeks of hostility, insanity, and just plain acute mental problems. Which I guess is covered under the reasonably broad umbrella of insanity.
So, someday the evil bitch from hell will die, and one can only hope that she is sent to a hell in which EVERYTHING is covered in dirt. I mean, everything. That would be the best torture for her that I could possibly imagine, my lovelies!
Ah, I feel better now. It's either that or I take up drinking again. Or, for the first time. Not sure which.
In other news, it is still incredibly cold here in Ye Olde New England. The wind whips through our bones, our bones whip through the wind (I know, there you have it, what an image), and my book has still not been recovered. This is a project I continue to work on in the hope that someday, I will have my book back where it belongs, pulsating like stars on my computer screen. Maybe that's an overblown image, but I'm not responsible for what I do now that I've taken up drinking! Hyuck, hyuck! Actually, I am not much of a drinker, my preferred vices being caffeine, chocolate, Whose Line is it Anyway?, and demented fantasies starring UK actors I will never meet (see Gerald Butler, above). It's an Irish thing, I guess. We are so prone to lyrical fantasies, we are.
Anywho. In world news George Bush is still the president, things still look rather bad, and I saw an incredibly depressing special on Sixty Minutes wherein the reporter and his $300 haircut visited the Artic Circle and took a look at undernourished polar bears. All due to the warming of the ice caps. We basically live in a Disaster Zone everyday, and I'm just another feckless idiot who does nothing but whine about it and blog like the post-modern person I am. This is according to a guy named Peter I was once friends with at a job I once had long, long ago. He used words like "post-modern" impressively well. I drank a lot of coffee and listened. I'm not as bright as people who use big words like that!
What else is there to say, now that I've excavated what is left inside my teeming psyche? All psyches teem, I guess. They do something important, anyway. That's their job, I reckon.
I have not watched much of the Olympics. There's a topic for you! I did get the DVD of Jane Eyre out of the library, the BBC one I once watched in my high school honors English class. It starred Timothy Dalton (my friend Beth said he looked like a gargoyle -- for some reason this comment has never left me) and was so good it almost made me cry. I watched all three hours of it or so last night and almost cried (again). It's just a really good version of my all-time favorite book, although Mr. Rochester is a moody bastard with a syphillitic wife living in his attic. Must tend to make a person cranky! Dalton nails the character on the head, and looks really handsome. Not too gargoylish, really (did I spell that right?). The actress who plays Jane is so tiny she looks like she should be performing in a circus with the other midgets (OK, that was wanton cruelty, right there!). But she did a good job, and again, it made so happy that I almost cried.
That's all! I am over, out, and up, up and away.
May all your flying lessons be happy.

Landladies Like Bad Cottage Cheese

Ah yes, how I have missed you all. And the saga continues...
Speaking of, the one-man "Star Wars" show (don't know exact title) will be making its way into the area in a week or so. I've heard it's brilliantly amusing, so amusing in fact that Conan O'Brien proclaimed it "great". If it's good enough for Conan, it's good enough for me.
Here in windy New England, New Englanders continue not to speak to one another. If you want to live in a place where no one will ever approach you, bother you, and will let you die in peace (your body discovered weeks later when the smell bothers your next door neighbor enough to stir them from their woodcarving or Democratic political activities), then come here, my gentle friends. I lived in the Southland once upon a wee time, and sometimes miss the fact that people there ACTUALLY SPEAK TO YOU. I know, it's amazing! Say what you like about the South, but the people are damned nice for the most part. And they know how to have fun.

Anyway, now that I've plugged the Land o'Dixie, I will continue to update you on the Landlady of Mentally Skewed Proportions. We had a blow-out last night, and I am FINALLY going to MOVE from her HELLISH CREEPY HOUSE. From hell, needless to say. The woman is controlling, dominating, critical, paranoid, mean, moody, and that's on a good day. I sincerely hope that the next person who moves into her haunted house (haunted more by past inhabitants, methinks!) is A. Male and B. A masochist. You'd have to be to live with this woman, because she hates women. I figured that one out awhile ago. Whoever knew it would be so complex simply to Rent a Room. But then again, life in the 21st century is anything but easy. Ah, for simpler times, wagon wheels, warm nights spent nodding off in front of fires after a long day of chopping wood out underneath God's Great Blue Sky. I almost said Green -- excuse me, I need to stop popping Acid Tablets! Kerchoo.

Speaking of Kerchoo, I made the mistake of buying Cottage Cheese with Onion and Chives. Not only does it look like something left in the back of the refrigerator too long, it made my stomach curdle. Cottage cheese does have that effect sometime! Ah, to be a rube for the dairy industry!
Kerblam!

That's about it from here. Today is a Sad Day, by which I mean no hunky Scottish man has come to carry me off to his lair, wearing only a kilt, his long, muscular legs on display for my visual pleasure. I have not won the Lottery, Saved the Children, or Even Voted in Recent Elections, and yet they say God loves me. I think She just might! Down with patriarchy, my wild, free kittens!

May you have a blessed day, out underneath them stars.