Nothing apocalyptic occurred on 6.6.6 (unless you count my unfortunate bout with diarrhea as the work of the Devil!) which I suppose is ok since we still have plenty of ominous sequence of dates to pin our end-of-times hopes on. Crossing my fingers for 7.7.7!

My life progressed another two weeks and things happened but I just didn’t tell you about it. Here’s all the earth-shattering events that you missed in brief:

1. I started summer school.
2. I’ve been accepted into an internship.
3. I saw The Omen and hated myself for it.
4. I purchased plane tickets for New York City.
5. My boyfriend sold the Vespa to a couple of crossdressing lesbians.
6. I started reading the Book of Mormon today.

You’ll have to continue reading if you want a moment-by-moment recount of all the fabulousness that occurred. I assure you, there was an abundance of it.

Two summer school courses are about to destroy all the fun in my June and July. I’m taking Shakespeare in Text and Literature and a Latin American survey course. My professor for my Shakespeare course turned out to be a no-show on the first day of class and my second class nearly put me to sleep. I’m still not entirely sold on this whole learning is fun thing.

I applied for an internship at my college’s public relations department and successfully convinced them that I am perfect for the job. This is the first position that will finally correspond with my English degree and will hopefully help me construct a presentable and meaningful portfolio. I’m pretty content and grateful about the whole bit. I don’t get paid but the experience I will gain will be well worth the effort, or something like that.

The Omen was in itself ominous in that it pretty much signified the death of proper apocalyptic thrillers. Of course, Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto has yet to be released so I could be counting my chickens way before they hatch into little adorable spawns of Satan. I still don’t understand this new concept of remaking movies that are in no need of being remade (i.e. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, E.T.). Luckily, with a pair of free tickets I sat through The Omen feeling terribly sorry for Julia Stiles. She’s cute and shouldn’t have to sell her soul for such thankless roles. Yet she plods through the film like a trooper and struggles to make the audience feel any amount of sympathy since she has such a wicked, wicked son (most people refer to it as the Terrible Twos). When she finally croaks after an awkward looking fall and a really mean Mia Farrow, I can’t help but feel relieved. One pointless character down, 3 more to go. I’m a little unhappy with how irresponsible Hollywood has treated these remakes. They thrust out hurriedly-pieced-together craps of cinema for young audiences to gobble up with the false impression that newer is better. It’s not. With access to things like Netflix and Blockbuster, it seems like an insult to previous preformances to assume that a newer version is superior to an older one. In any case, I didn’t like the old The Omen either so that fact that it has two sequels makes me sad either way.

I’m going to New York City with my boyfriend next week and we’ll be staying for 6 days in the Wellington hotel. Our intention is to sightsee and catch as many World Cup soccer games as we can. I’ve been to New York City about 4 or 5 times and my secret intention is to buy a lot of knockoff handbags and accessories but let’s just keep that between you and me.

My boyfriend sold the Vespa in hopes of finding a newer and perhaps bigger model. I had basically stolen the Vespa from him and was happily driving it to and from work when he broke the news to me last night. I was disappointed considering all the fun I was having driving a Vespa that didn’t belong to me. He happily sold it to two lovely lesbians who preform at Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede here in Orlando. While I mourn the loss of my boyfriend’s pearly white beauty, there’s a certain level of delight knowing that two lesbians are putting around town where my own rear end once sat.

Speaking of lesbians, they are totally not condoned in the Mormon religion which is strange because with all those wives you’d think something kinky would happen. One man can’t possibly please so many women so perhaps it really is a matter of divine intervention. A friend of mine, who is a devoted Mormon, presented me with a copy of the Book of Mormon. It’s a thoughtful gift although I’m not religiously inclined and I shelved the book along with other texts that have prophets in them. In a recent email, my friend suggested a reading of some of the texts over the summer. Since I have in fact been wanting to read various religious texts (Quran, Bible, Torah, etc) I decided what better way than to get down and dirty in the Mormon Book Club. Following the schedule, I began reading the Second Book of Nephi passages 10-17 and I don’t know who this or what is going on. I have a little trouble trudging through the antiquated language and certainly I have a problem with authority. Any book with a bunch of commandments, no matter how reasonable, puts me on the defensive. You can’t tell me what to do, Moses! Just for the record Nephi is not the boss of me.

Tags: college, Daily Jibba Jabba, english, ex-boyfriend, Film reviews, sex

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