(no subject)
Rupert wants me to go away. Good! The feeling is entirely mutual, mister "I can't say anything besides 'uh' and 'yeah' in interviews". Feh.
And Emma is cool. Eff off, those who claim she's a bitch. It's like that card I read in the store yesterday: "Only the good die young. Us bitches will be around forever." Ha.
In other news, yeah. I'm a bitch. And a heard-hearted one, at that. According to my boss. No, he didn't call me a bitch, I tacked that on...in fact, he goes on and on and ON about what a sweet 'little girl' I am, and so 'cute' too. (Mind you, he uses 'cute' to describe everything from fuzzy teddy bears to drop-dead gorgeous naked models, so...still not sure what he MEANS by that.)
But the man knows a good deal of my personal history, from listening to both my dad and myself, and though he says I'm incredibly smart and mature for my age, he thinks all that's happened to me in my life is turning me hard-hearted, to the point where I bottle my emotions up and just seethe and brood. Then again, this man cries all sorts at movies, so maybe he's just one of those types who think you're not normal if you don't emote as much as they do.
Who knows.
....oh. And I had a weird dream about outwitting Kevin Spacey in a brilliant game of "Who's Got the Gun?" Which I presume to mean is my subconcious worry that someone I think of as relatively harmless is about to take a turn against me, and I need to keep an eye on what they're doing.
...but I hate being all paranoid like that, so I'll let my subconcious do that for me. It's not doing me any OTHER favors, is it? Freaking subconcious...
Also, I managed to convert a coke can into my very first pipe. Yay for being desperate. *snort* Got me wicked stoned, though. May try it again, or actually GET A PIPE because by now, I just might as well.