Lazy day. Hard to believe that a weekend can be distinctly different when you don’t have an office job to go to but … here I am. Living proof.
Highlight was watching the opening two episodes of The Following which had been sitting on our planner, unviewed, for a little while now. Can’t believe we let them idle like that. Perfectly gross and intriguing in equal measures, it’s 2012/3’s answer to Jack Bauer with some extreme Dexterish homicide stuffed in for good measure. We’d only watched it as a time-filler before the rugby, too – in truth, I wasn’t that bothered. After munching lunch and wondering how to waste time before the Rugby came on (Ireland SMASHED Wales; oh, the irony of “wasting time” when the game was nothing but a colossal waste of time anyway), we thought we’d give it a whirl. M – whose stomach is still as queasy as ever when faced with the red, sticky stuff – was peeking out from behind his fingers at one point. Heh.
It led to one of my weird film hankerings. The Following’s pilot episode feature Marilyn Manson’s cover of Sweet Dreams are Made of These, which immediately made me think of House on Haunted Hill, one of my favourite horror films. I know. You (probably) didn’t like it. I don’t think many people did. I do, however, in spite of the cheesy dialogue and occasionally hammy acting, so I dusted off the DVD and slipped it into the laptop whilst the boys were downstairs watching the football. Loved every second of it, even though I probably know the script by heart – it’s so deliciously fucked up. Very Silent Hillesque, actually.
And now it’s a little before ten on a Saturday night, and we’re all in bed. M’s up at 4.15am so that’s wholly understandable, and S’s … well, S’s a kid. He needs sleep. I came up under the pretence of having an early night, too – lots to do tomorrow, including tying up my NowGamer piece, and finishing playing and then start writing up a review – but I got distracted sourcing a picture for this post. Turns out every still I can find for House on Haunted Hill scares the shit of me, so I keep procastinating. OH HOW UNLIKE ME.
Fuck it. Here’s a hot picture of McDreamy instead.
I’m also off into town in the evening to meet my cousin, L. If you read me back in the day, you might remember me writing about the sudden death of my aunt. I practically lived at their house between eleven and fifteen years of age, cycling over at least twice a week if not more (looking back, I must have driven them mad. Can’t imagine – at my age now – I’d want some goofy, awkward pre-teen hanging around the place). But my aunt? She was my Safe Place. Short with a jet black bob and indelible smile, she was the person I ran away to.
I still miss her.
Well, L is her daughter. I’d been close to her brothers, L and H (about eight and ten years younger than me respectively), but not long after L was born they moved away, so I never really had the chance to get to know her. Although I’m very, very much older – fifteen years, give or take – I’m trying to redress that. I don’t think she’ll want me for her BFF – I mentioned the age gap, right?! – but she’s just moved, alone, to the city, and I’d like her to know that there’s at least one friendly face here should she need one. I’m just hoping that our meeting isn’t horribly awkward.
Oh God, please let it not be horribly awkward!
Jesus Christ, my husband snores loudly. He’s lucky his morning shifts suck so bad, else he’d had an elbow in his ribs right about now.