like a goldfish

I have now officially seen the Taylor Lautner "thriller" Abduction thrice on Asian HBO.

There are a number of things I have come to realize about myself and my life because of these viewings:

1. I can recognize Dermot Mulroney's voice within three words, and every single time I always wonder where that scar came from.  I imagine a variety of scenarios, ranging from a baseball sliding-into-home accident when he was in little league, to a knife fight in a bowling alley a la Grease 2.  I could easily look it up, methinks, because "Dermot Mulroney scar" was the second thing that pre-populated Google as I typed his name to ensure I was spelling it correctly.  But it's a just a little better, not knowing, you know?  I like the mystery of it all.

B. I haven't decided my thoughts on Taylor Lautner yet.

3. Okay, so I think I still like Zac Efron as a teenage idol more.  He can sing and all. But he doesn't have those muscles?  And Taylor always seems to be squinting into the sun? Which makes him a bit more mysterious, less boy-next-door, like Zac? And I don't think Taylor would ever try to pull off skinny jeans, which speaks to my soul and impresses the teenaged girl living inside my movie-selecting-hypothalamus-gland.

D.  The girl in the movie and her bangs sent me into a deep spiral of eyebrow hatred for approximately one week, culminating in me declaring to Topher that I'm pretty sure I've waxed and plucked my eyebrows into such submission that I'll never get to have those Brooke Shield-like eyebrows that I so deplored in seventh grade but now secretly kind of want back, I mean, a few days a week at least.  And I'm a bit sad about all that there, which led me to ask Topher:

Do you think my eyebrows are too skinny, and do you like my eyebrows even a little bit at all?

To which he said:
Your eyebrows? I don't even notice them.  Unless that left one gets that little tuft that it sometimes does and makes them all uneven looking.

You can envision the wail that my hypothalamus gland let loose after that, oh yes I bet you can.

(I'm still moving on from this eyebrow episode.  Good thoughts for my speedy recovery are welcomed and shall be returned equally so upon the commencement of your next very own physical appearance non-freakout, as dictated by the whomever-therefore-reads-my-blog-clearly-cares-for-my-ramblings-and-I-shall-care-in-return-unto-them guidelines and rules.)

All of this to say, that you're probably asking how one has the time to wonder so deeply about one's eyebrows?

Too which I say, when you've been mysteriously ill for three weeks and have a hotel room to yourself for a weekend in which you are attempting to convince your body to provide all the necessary...items for your medical officer to attempt to diagnose you, you have have a lot of time.

And so.

You also do things like:

A. Make ridiculous lists like the preceding one, and this one, too.

2. Spread out every article you brought on your adventure onto every available surface so that when your husband shows up so that you don't have to spend the entire weekend alone, he says, for the thousandth time since you met nine years ago, "you're just like a goldfish, expanding to the space that you're given!"  To which you reply "when in Rome!" which is the universally acknowledged non sequitur a wife is to use in reply to all statements ever made by silly Tophers and husbands alike.

C. Spend hours thinking about how you seem to have lost your quest for perfection, a fatal flaw that has dogged you since birth.  This occurs in the moment wherein you realize you don't actually need to achieve the best language score ever! Especially in a language you enjoy speaking, but one that will likely very rarely ever again be useful to you.  This, in turn, becomes a realization that renders one of your Thirty before 30 goals essentially nonsensical, causing you to question what you're doing on this little corner of the internet anyway? Until you realize, who cares! You write this for you and that cute little kid with blue eyes that you dreamed about the other day that left a strange feeling in your arms when you woke up! Huzzah!

4. Realize that your desire to give up seeking perfection falls more in line with your Ravenclaw self (knowledge for knowledge's sake! seek out the interesting and don't be afraid to be your oddsboddikins self!) than your Slytherin one (achieve greatness at any cost!), causing you to sorrowfully relinquish your ties to said Slytherin Pottermore account.  You give a mournful prayer in honor of both your former JD-PhD-CEO-seeking-self and your attempts at even pretending you were somewhat of an adult.

Finally, it should be noted that a weekend alone in a hotel room means that you get to turn your air conditioner up really high, wear a hoodie with awesome thumb holes so no cold air can enter!, climb into bed sans-pants-but-with-hoodie and watch Abduction all over again and then type up a seemingly important blog post that is actually a delicious essay about nothing in particular, except to say:

so this is where I am and how I'm doing so far this new year.

How are you?