So, Justin and I watched the season premiere of LOST with a group of friends and we all gave each crazy looks everytime something insane happened. Which was a lot. Um, Jacob's House? Who on earth was the eye staring back at Hurley? Was it David -- his imaginary friend? Eh? I mean, obviously, the house is a figment of everyone's imagination -- which means Jacob isn't "real." Ohh - brain freeze. I'm thinking too hard.
I was going to write this huge long synopsis of the premiere and my take on it, but my laptop is a piece of poop, and wasn't working at the time the show started, so I didn't get to write :(
BUT, I did get to think long and hard about who the Oceanic Six are... and I think I know all of them! Maybe. Let's break it down:
Hurley (Double Duh)
Claire (Desmond forsaw it, therefore it is)
Aaron (same as above)
Man in casket...
So let's think about the casket bit for a moment -- we know that the person was a loner, had no family or friends, and now we know that the person was on the airplane, ruling out my original theory of Ben. Which, in my opinion, leaves Locke. This is the man that didn't want to leave the island, that Jack obviously hated (and tried to kill -- except for the no bullet thing) but at the same time felt so horrible/guilty over his death that he tried to kill himself.
So next question -- who is the "he" that Kate refers to at the end of Season Three when talking to Jack -- the guy who will start wondering where she is? What's Kate's story? I mean, the girl was being saught after for murdering her stepdad... I don't think being marooned on an island exactly qualifies as a pardon for murder and running from the cops.
So is she one of the Oceanic Six? Or did someone/company who found the Losties/freighter people supply her with a new identity. Because, no offense to Kate (I love her character), her ass should be in jail. I just don't know if she is one of the six. Which means, there is possibly another slot out there I'm not thinking about.
And regardless, if she is or isn't one of the "Six" -- mathmatically speaking, the "he" wouldn't be part of the "Six" either. It just doesn't make sense with the storyline -- the "He" (which some believe to be Sawyer -- if it was, his ass would be in jail too) couldn't be with Kate if she wasn't one of the "Six" because people know she was on the plane (assuming he is the sixth person) -- that would total seven. And if he wasn't one of the Oceanic Six and Kate was, we wouldn't know him, which wouldn't make sense from a plot perspective... I think.
Dear God, my head hurts from thinking this hard. The end ;)
I got about halfway through cleaning my g-mail account (1500 down to 750) and wondered if I should be clearing this stuff out. I guess because I stumbled across some adorable e-mails Justin sent me when we first started dating in the summer of 2000 (ah, the memories) and was so glad I kept them.
But do I really need google alerts, Pier 1 Imports sales fliers, random evites cluttering my inbox? Sigh – I just don’t know.
Luckily, the archive feature in g-mail gives me time to decide about some of them – and I’ve found a lot of good pics people sent me over the years I’ll be adding to Facebook, so look forward to those soon!
Oh – and I don’t know about you, but I’m about to pee my pants with anxious anticipation of Thursday night at 7 p.m. on ABC. I’ll be taking serious notes and recording the episode for a blow-by-blow blog breakdown of what happens in LOST, and some LOST theories Justin and I have been pondering for the last three years. Let’s just say, watching all of Season Three over the Christmas holidays will work in our favor. I’m sure of it!
After hitting up the good tasting coffee/awful bathroom French café, we ventured back to the subway and made our way to one of the more popular shopping districts in Paris.
Note: originally, I had asked Brandi if the Louvre was an option for today’s trip and learned that the lines are ridiculously long to get in and I really only wanted to see the Mona Lisa and apparently the painting is disappointing. By the time we would have gone through that, I would have had to go back to the train station bound for London. So my choices were culture or shopping. To those who know me well, I think it’s obvious the decision I made given the situation.
Apparently Champs-Elysées is something I should have known about/read up on prior to the trip… like in a history class, or in prepatory trip reading. Well, maybe not the street itself, but at least one of the most well-known monuments overlooking the street, the Arc de Triomphe, as some wonderful “friends” astutely pointed out in the picture section of my Facebook (cough, Kelly, Amy).
Sigh – to be honest, I don’t ever remember learning about either one in any history class in high school or college, which is a glorious testament to an American education ;) Or rather, my lack of long-term memory. I’ll admit it, anything I learned during school was placed in my short-term memory to regurgitate during a test and then quickly forget. I’m afraid the Arc de Triomphe and Champs-Elysées were two of these causalities.
My favorite parts of Champs-Elysées were as follows:
The Louis Vuitton store: I couldn’t afford crap there, to my dismay. I incorrectly assumed that due to import costs to the U.S., I could get an LV bag cheaper in France. I was quite wrong. In fact, someone could fly from France to the U.S., buy a buttload of dresses, couture, high-end purses and sell them in France for a huge profit. Stupid dollar.
The McDonalds practically next door to Cartier: what is the fascination with a Royale with Cheese in this town? I’m proud to say in the last two years, the only McDonalds I’ve eaten at was in Paris. Brandi asked if I wanted to take a picture next to the fast-food chain, I didn’t but she did!
Sephora: I have never seen such an amazing collection of perfumes in one location. My allergies were in overdrive!
Italian Food: Brandi and I had lunch at this amazing Italian restaurant. The service sucked (which apparently is the norm) but my four cheese pasta dish was incredible. Especially after eating an egg mcmuffin for breakfast! Who loves Gouda, feta, Brie and bleu – me! (I take after my grandfather)
After that, we went to another part of Paris where two popular department stores are located. Printemps was one and to be honest, I don’t remember the name of the other (maybe Galaries Lafayette – they were both on the same street, I think). I do remember that the food at these locations (particularly the pastries) looked delectable (and tasted delectable… I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth), and I got pissed off at seeing this BCBG dress I had been eyeing a Nordstrom’s back in the states for twice the cost. STUPID. But what was really breathtaking at both locations were the window displays – so intricate and ornate! Gorgeous! And seeing all of the people, particularly little children, happily gazing on made me quite happy myself.
After that, we headed back to the train station (I don’t think I mentioned that the train station had several lingerie stores… it was like Frederick’s of Hollywood but worse), and then I made my way back to London.
Overall, even though I can’t speak French, I loved Paris and being immersed in a culture I knew nothing about (my own fault, mind you). It almost forces your senses to become a little more attuned to what’s going on around you. I guess that’s a good excuse!
So, this past weekend, I was watching this movie called, “A Good Year” with Russell Crowe. He plays this Englishman who inherits his uncle’s vineyard in France. I’m watching it, and like the sap that I am, I start crying. Not because the movie is sad (it isn’t and I’d probably give it a B-/C+), but because I realized how much I enjoyed (and missed) London and France. In a way, I’m glad I waited almost two months to flesh out my day in Paris because it was almost like I was back, and it’s a good feeling.
At some point, I’ll post on our final day in London. Highlights of that story include this guy singing and dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” in front of the National Gallery. You won’t want to miss it.
Happy New Year!
So it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted, and really, it’s because I’m lazy. Here’s the breakdown on what I haven’t accomplished since Jan. 1 due to this bout of laziness:
Laundry: I won’t tell you how long since I last did all my clothing instead of just one-offs of desperation
Indoor Christmas decorations: I did take down the outdoor lights and decorations on Jan. 2 – I don’t want to be THAT person in the neighborhood – cough – you know who you are on Othello Cove who not only has their lights up, but still has them on at night
Cleaning: I think those of you who know me well, know this is a constant battle for Justin and me.
Painting: I actually started painting our front bedroom and guest bathroom right after the New Year’s and quickly stopped after a regrettable incident that ended up with both Walter and me in the same bathtub rinsing blue paint off of ourselves. Neither of us was pleased. I also can’t figure out how to paint this corner of the bathroom without removing the toilet.
Working out: Actually, I remedied that on Sunday and have worked out every day since, so I think I’m un-lazy now in that category. And to make sure I stayed on track, I signed up for the Capitol 10K on March 30.
And then obviously blogging (Arnold, you probably think I’m dead and have stopped reading… *teardrop*).
So what better way to start back blogging then to discuss my joy and subsequent fear in attempting to killing a creature this morning.
The situation began last night. I had just gotten back from working out (i.e. ridding myself of the lazy bug I had been plagued with for the last three or four weeks), and I’m talking with Justin at the foot of the stairs inside the house. We heard this weird buzzing noise, but couldn’t find where it was coming from because it was dark, and well, we’re lazy so we didn’t try very hard.
Flash forward to this morning when I’m getting ready in my bathroom and Walter starts barking crazy-like. He’s not much of a barker, so I take his “I am dog and I will defend the JB-House honor” bark pretty seriously.
He’s over at the front door and so I check to see if anyone is at it – no one. In fact, not a single “person” was there.
What was there could only be described as the biggest flying roach I had ever seen perched on the window right above the front door.
After a slight shriek, I think quickly and grab the Raid under the sink, the three-step stair thingy from the bathroom where we are/were painting and make haste towards this evil flying demon of rodents.
I’ll admit it, I’m pretty sure Walter was weirded out by my odd laughter and profanity-filled threats towards this otherwise innocent rodent while I was spraying liquid death at it. But my laughter quickly ended and confusion and slight fear set in when I realized the thing wasn’t dying. Maybe it weakened him, but spraying a fourth can of the Raid didn’t kill him.
I didn’t know what to do. So I left the mess I had made (Raid dripping from the top window) and gathered my stuff to go to work. At one point, I went to check on it, thinking he had finally bit it. But as I approached it raised its head and looked right at me.
I quickly chalked it up to coincidence and continued gathering my stuff, but as I made my way to the coat closet that’s right next to the front door, the crazy roach lifted its head again from its deathbed and looked right at me. And then it telepathically informed me I’m next. (or at least, I fell like it was sending me some type of equally horrible death threat)
So I yelped and ran out of the house and haven’t gone back. I hope Walter is okay. If I don’t blog again, you’ll know why.