Sad

You would think, reading my entries, that I live a bleak existence, moving from sadness to sadness.

I'm not going to comment on your thought. :p *snicker*

But I will say ...

Okay, when somebody says, 'Oh, I'm not going to say anything about that, I'm too grande (like an sbux coffee size?) to descend to your level, but I will say ...'

Didn't they, with their 'but I will say,' just do exactly what they said they weren't going to do because they're not a cunt like you are (but they didn't call you a cunt, they just thought that of you so that makes them so superior to you, see?)?

Anyway, but I will say ... @_@

So, me, C, and Max where in the matchmaking hopper, getting ready to show some bks how to play the game by killing them dead, over and over again, when C asked me how I liked the movie How to Train Your Dragon, and I said many things about how much I liked it, and one of the things I said was that I liked that they got real Vikings to sing the closing song in the credits.

Real Vikings. You know, Jónsi.

I mean, seriously! People think Vikings where like these thugs wearing helmets with horns (which the movie playfully indulged in) whacking people, stealing their goods, particularly the girls to get to their goodies.

Cause Viking men like cookies.

Who doesn't? :p

*snicker* *blush*

But, come on! They had literature, a culture, their own writing, and their own language that wasn't based off that wimpy romantic shit everybody else in Europe (a Greek word, I'll have you know, not Latin) was speaking, but came straight from the Aryans, skipping even those bed-sheet-wearing Greeks! They stole food, and womenfolk, from other people, because the latter: who wouldn't? I'd steal me some hot Irish lass, too! And the former: you ever try to grow anything in Iceland? No? Try that and see if you're not raiding the Giant food store for some Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup tomorrow!

So, anyway, real Viking runes (that didn't spell anything, I mean, where was their linguist and will they hire me? I'm looking! I'll even take the occasional ass fucking from the boss-man and agent if that ... 'facilitates' ... my ... 'entry' into that ... 'target sector') and a real Viking band playing. I liked that.

I remarked, further, that Jónsi sounds like Sigur Rós, except that Sigur Rós is 'sad' and Jónsi is 'trip-happy.'

I should have fastened my seat belt there.

Because after asking if I knew about trip-hop, ... excuse me? I invented trip-hop! I am the trip-hop-happy preteen azn girl whose feet you cannot see fluttering over the DDR mat, thank you very much, ... C said that Sigur Rós wasn't sad, per se (that is French), but was ...

But was what?

"Well," she mused, "they're ..."

"'Sad'?" I offered.

"No," she answered, "Not 'sad,' but they're ..."

"'Sad'?" I suggested.

"No," she said, annoyed, "there's a French word for it, but the American word is ..."

"'Sad'?" I recommended.

Max wasn't helping at all, with this, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Max is a very agreeable guy.

C, the poor creature, was probably thinking of 'melancholie' which is the French word for 'sad.' Or she was thinking of 'tristesse' which is the French word for 'two people in other relationships, but fucking each other.' Because why? Because one of the guys or girls finds out, and somebody ends up dead, and after that, everybody is ... wait for it: 'sad.'

The problem here is that C was trying to convey a concept to moiself (that is CT French), and the problem with that is, well: I like dancing on tabletops ... nekkid! ... when I'm right, which I always am, and you're wrong, and I win, like I always do.

Those are the kinds of days I have.

Good times! Good times!