I Do Math Sometimes. Except It’s Not Really Math Math; It’s Word Math.

My brother courteously reminded me, once again, that I have a BLOG and I actually ought to spend some time writing in/on it. Then we started talking about how Sandra Bullock loves Top Gear too and how we’ve both resolved to never pirate any of her movies for the sole fact that she’s a fellow petrolhead and you can’t steal from someone who loves Top Gear because that’s just wrong, even though the only way we can even watch Top Gear is thanks to Final Gear. I’m sorry, that was a ridiculously long run-on sentence and my high teachers would probably kill me for having written it.

Anyway, I hung out with some of my coworkers for once. I don’t usually go out with them because they’re all a few years older and tend to drink and that’s not really my scene. This time, though, we decided to hang out at our new coworker’s house and watch scary movies. Except I didn’t really have much of a say in the matter.

It was three boys and me. One was Funny Coworker. The other two I haven’t introduced on here before. One was Youngin (called so because he’s 17 and I have no inspiration) and the other’s named Dreds (because he has them. I think). Anyway, the boys decided that we simply had to watch scary movies. I hate scary movies. Why the hell would I want to watch something that scares me? Where is the logic in this?

And my other issue with scary movies is that I’m a bit too analytical for them. Oh, something is jumping out at the protagonist in the first five minutes? Well you can bet your ass that he’s not going to die yet because we still have an hour of film to get through.

The first movie we watched was Cry_Wolf, which I actually loved. Girls, if a boy ever insists on watching this, go with it. It features a cute British boy and Dean from Gilmore Girls.

The other movie we watched was Hard Candy, which stars Ellen Page (aka that chick from Juno) and Patrick Wilson (whom I saw last year when I watched All My Sons on Broadway. He’s a really nice guy. I was up in the front of the crowd and my friend was shouting at me to get a picture and I felt totally awkward with my camera in his face so I asked him to move back a bit because it was just far too strange to be snapping a photo so close. He did and then he made this face:

then a smile, and my friend loved me forever and ever. The end). Patrick Wilson plays the part of a photographer pedophile and Ellen Page is this psycho 14 year old who wants revenge on him. It’s all sorts of screwed up and involves a castration which isn’t really a castration which made the boys I watched it with go insane.

Funny decided he wanted to choke Ellen Page. Dreds wanted to just beat her up a bit. Youngin was far too concerned for the welfare of Patrick Wilson’s balls to really focus on revenge. He did, however, agree that the three of them should attend Ellen Page’s next movie premier for the sole purpose of hurting her. But only if Funny went first, followed by Dreds as the second wind. Then, when they’re not expecting it, Youngin can run out and “get her good”.

We’ve also hired a bunch of new people, which is bull because those of us who have been there for ages aren’t getting many hours and why would they give them away? Youngin is one of the new hires, along with a gorgeous guy who may be competing with Hot Coworker for the title of Hot Coworker. I think I may have to name him Gorgeous Coworker. He’s like 5’8″, lightly tanned skin, dark brown hair, and has the cutest dimples. I haven’t worked with him yet but I am going to see him on Friday when I go to pick up my check. Yes, I will indeed be dressed as cute as humanly possible.

Speaking of boys, I had a revelation today. I’ve already told some people but for those who haven’t read Michelle‘s posts and comments (shame on you!), I have a new theory.

The amount of time I spend working out at the gym is directly proportional to the level of attractiveness of the guys who work there, thus if the boys are gorgeous, I spend more time there. And the level of attractiveness is directly proportional to how horrible I look that day, meaning that when I show up in a shirt 5x too big and a pair of old shorts and wearing blue butterfly socks, you can bet that the trainer is going to look something like him. Therefore it makes sense that I spent 2+ hours at the gym today. And that I’ll be there tomorrow, looking like a creeper because he stands directly in my line of vision and it’s NOT MY FAULT he just lounges around where I can see him nonstop. I mean really dude, move.