Heather Anne

I dropped Netflix a while back and switched to the Blockbuster All Access Pass because: a) There aren't harsh enough words to describe my feelings about those throttling bastids at Netflix. b) There is a Blockbuster very near my house, very near my favorite sandwich place, so I can trade my movies in and get a Tuna on 7-Grain all at the same time. c) I can get movies mailed to me and get movies in the store, which means I can watch, like, 28 movies a month for ten dollars. d) With the Blockbuster All Access Pass, I get one free package of Swedish Fish per month.

In an attempt to broaden my horizons -- and also to give my Bridget Jones's Diary DVD a rest -- I've been watching a lot of Indie Films lately. It's been good fun. Loads of the movies are subtitled, which means I can rationalize my viewing as Time Spent Reading.

Last night, however, I ran into a small problem.

I was watching this film that was pretty much all in Mandarin, and I had to stop it in the middle because the season finale of Shear Genius was coming on Bravo. Daisy got robbed on the finale, but, you know, whatever. When I turned my movie back on, POOF! the subtitles were gone. I tried everything including swearing at my remote control, but I couldn't get the subtitles back. Well, that's not entirely true, I could get the subtitles in French.

(One time I was trapped at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport because my connecting flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta was canceled. The two women sitting on either side of me on the plane were also stuck, and they were kind of afraid. One was a woman from Australia named Annie, and I loved her immediately because she kept saying "knickers." The other was from Japan, and she didn't speak any English, but she was fluent in Spanish. I used all the powers of my high school Senior Spanish Award to help her reschedule her flight and get to a hotel. The next morning, Annie and the young woman from Japan bought me breakfast. This DVD thing last night was entirely similar. Without the pancakes.)

I tried to watch the movie without subtitles because I really liked it, but I just couldn't infer what was happening from the context clues.

Does anyone know how to fix my subtitles? Or does anyone speak Mandarin? Or does anyone have some extra Swedish Fish?

Posted by Heather Anne at 02:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)

The movie theater nearest and dearest to my home and heart is the Mall of Georgia Regal Cinema. Yes, it's true what you've heard: the nachos are crap. But aside from that, it's a great place to see movies. The theaters are nice and big; the chairs are cozy. The employees are a generally agreeable bunch. Plus I am a member of the Regal Crown Club loyalty program, which means I get free popcorn on Tuesdays, and also I earn points toward... actually no one has ever told me what I am earning points toward. Whatever, though, I'm earning points.

I saw on Good Morning America that Regal Cinemas has been testing out this new thing called The Guest Response System. It's a little remote control that the manager sends into the theater with one of the patrons, which, in effect, makes the person the Prefect of the Movies. If someone starts talking on a cell phone or chit-chatting with a neighbor, the Movie Prefect just hits the Guest Won't Shutup button, and the manager comes in and takes care of it. Also, there are buttons for like Turn on the Frikkin Air Conditioner or The Sound is Whack.

One person can participate per theater per showtime. All you have to do is be a member of the Regal Crown Club and be the first to ask to be the Movie Prefect.

I called my theater and they are starting the system in June. Not only do I qualify, I am always first to the theater.

The power of the sun in the palm of my hand.

Posted by Heather Anne at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Dear Vicks,

Listen, I just… I wanted to clear the air between us. A few days ago I said some things I didn’t mean. Like I said NyQuil was my enemy, and I threatened to register a domain to that effect. I’m sorry, Vicks, I really am. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Which wasn’t your fault. I wasn’t feeling well, and after a few days of not feeling well I am really not a pleasure. Emo Heather Anne is emo. I’m sorry if I hurt you.

The thing is: I’m a private person. Yes, I know. Blog Heather Anne is a private person. Haha. *snort* But I kinda am. I mean, yeah I blog. But in real life, I only talk about me if I really, really trust you. Like you could have a dinner with me for two hours or whatever, and you would leave thinking I was great and it was one of the best dinners ever, but that’s only because you talked about yourself for 120 straight minutes. I’m really good at that.

And Vicks, you? Just get inside me and I say EVERYTHING.

I know it’s not your fault that this stuff comes out of my mouth. My Dad used to have this picture called A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words hanging on his bathroom wall. It was… well it was a picture of a thousand words. And one of the sentences was: “Too much of the world is run on the theory that you don’t need road manners if you’re a ten ton truck.” And that, in a nutshell, is the problem with American foreign policy. Right? It’s like yeah, we’ve got nuclear…

Dammit. You made me do it again.

What I meant was one of the phrases was: “What is said when drunk has been thought out beforehand.”

So it’s not your fault that after I’d taken NyQuil I said, “Kids are so frikkin’ germy. Historians say the Bubonic Plague was started by rats, but I swear the outbreak was caused by toddlers.”

Obviously, that was something in my soul. And you just gave me the courage to say it.

Vicks, I love you. I do. I love that you make NyQuil dark green and DayQuil light orange so if I’m too sick to read I can just go by color. I love your new DayQuil cough syrup in Citrus Blend flavor. I love how when I swallow it, it feels as if a thousand tiny Cough Drop Fairies have broken free in my chest and are casting soothing charms on my weary throat and lungs. And, Vicks, your VapoRub? Every time it calls out to me, “Are you telling me you don’t want to GET - WITH - THIS?” I answer YES! I DO WANT TO GET WITH YOU! I am helpless against its charms.

Vicks, as you know, I am rather uncomfortable with the possessive nature of love. But I am willing to put aside my dislike for all things patriarchical because… I want to be your wife! And not your wife like how Cristina begrudgingly agreed to marry Dr. Burke. I really want to belong to you.

I’ve even started drafting my vows. What do you think?

I, Heather Anne, take you, Vicks, (and all your syrups and mentholated topical creams and ointments), to be my lawfully wedded OTC. I promise to love and to cherish you in sickness and in health (but mostly sickness), in weakness and in strength (but mostly weakness), for richer or poorer (even though you should probably give me free meds once we’re wed, which will make me richer. Plus Procter & Gamble owns you, so it’s not like you’re strapped for cash), forsaking all others (except the occasional prescription antibiotic), so long as we both shall live.

What d’ya say, Vicks? Be mine?

Yours,

Heather Anne

Posted by Heather Anne at 02:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

Sometimes I tell you stories, and you think my best friend is the greatest friend in all the world. Like this one:

Today I woke up to fight round 4 with the Sinus Infection That Broke Free From The Pit Of Hell, and my head was hurting so badly that I had to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror to make sure someone hadn't driven an icepick through my skull in the middle of the night. I took some medicine and a steaming shower and pressed my eyes shut super tight, trying to think of train wrecks or trench wars or natural disasters or anything more pleasant than my Sinuses.

Amy finally took matters into her own hands and said, "I am going to draw you a bath." (She said "draw" like "drawer," which is exactly how I like it to be said.)

Ten minutes later I was lying in my bathtub with my head completely submerged, breathing through my mouth, which was just breaking the surface of the water.

"It's working," I said to Amy, who was sitting on the counter plucking her eyebrows. "I can feel the stuff moving around inside my sinus cavity like Tectonic Plates!"

Amy said, "I know, it's the heat and the different pressure."

Then she screamed, so I jerked my head up out of the water, but it turned out she was only ripping one of those Biore plaster things off her nose. I sank back down.

Every so often I would come up to blow my nose, and one time I came up and Amy was standing there with these extra-dark lips, and I was like, "What's up, Lady of the Night?"

And she said, "Everyone needs an evening shade."

And I said, "Not you. We don't go out in the evenings."

And she said, "Yes, we do."

And I said, "Angie's Barbecue Shack doesn't really count."

So she wiped off the lipstick.

I went back down into the water and said, "I think I would like to wear a superhero t-shirt when I get out."

"Spider-Man is clean," she said.

I made a gagging noise.

"Okay," she said. "We're still upset with the third movie. How about the Hulk?"

"Too greeny," I said. "I'm sick, remember."

She said, "Right. How about Captain America?"

I said, "AMY!"

"Ohhhkay," she said, "Mourning Civil War. I get it."

"How about something from the DC Universe?" I asked.

"Your blacks are in the dryer. No Batman today. How about Super Beef?" she asked.

I agreed.

"And my grey sweatpants!" I shouted after her, as she left to get my clothes.

In a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door open. I sat up out of the water, and in walked Margaret. She brought my grey sweatpants in in her mouth and dropped them by the bathtub.

So yeah, you're right, my best friend is the best. But then I tell you stories like this:

Tonight I asked Amy if she'd seen my cell phone because I haven't had it in about 4 days. And she asked if I had looked in my car. And I said yes, I had looked in my car. And she said, "You telling me you looked somewhere for something doesn't mean shit to me. Let me look."

Which shows that, you know, even the best friends can sometimes be abusive.

Seriously, though, has anyone seen my phone?

Posted by Heather Anne at 10:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I have never, ever drunk-dialed, drunk-texted, or drunk-emailed anyone. Ever.

But I think I may have made up for that today. When I woke up this morning, under the influence of a rather potent combination of Over The Counter Drugs, I poured myself a glass of milk, sat down and wrote a letter, sealed it up, affixed the proper postage, and dropped it in my mailbox. The mailman came along and picked up the letter, and now it is on its way to someone who has broken my pathetic heart many, many times.

I included one of my very clever Moo Cards in the letter.

So now, the someone who broke my pathetic heart knows my phone number, my email address, and oh yes! my blog URL.

I’m not sure I realized what I’d done until I was exchanging text messages with Abigail, and she said, “Who left you alone this drugged?” And “Seriously, what the hell happened to you?” And “Are you gonna do more crazy?” Like she was going to come to my house and take away my laptop and cell phone; and go through all my drawers until she’d confiscated every last postage stamp.

I should probably flip out, but my left eye is kind of swollen shut, so when I panic I look particularly scary. I think I’ll just take a nap. And maybe call Living Dot to cancel my domain. If you come back Monday and I’m not here, check Nyquil-is-the-enemy.com.

Posted by Heather Anne at 01:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)