RedHead Confetti

I know I haven't been a very good blogger/writer lately. My household, rather than being relatively harmonious and calm has been quite full of upheaval and riotously noisy! This isn't my thing, really, and makes me very uncomfortable, so I turtle up-- that means I crawl even further into my introverted self, needing to claw for silence and calm wherever I can find it, and often unable to string two or three written sentences together for lack of motivation. If this sounds something like depression to you, you're right, it rather is, but I'll go into that more in a little bit. Turtle-up, it sounds funny, right? You crawl in your shell, and are protected, but it doesn't mean just that. It means turning away from interactions, seeking out silence and alone-ness on purpose. It means desperately trying to find some little cave you can crawl in for just a little while-- physically or metaphysically. It's a pretty bad thing, most of the time, I won't paint it pre...

I love bad B movies. You know the kind, the Mystery Science Theatre 3 000 kind; the Elvira, Mistress of the Dark kind. I love them! This often surprises people; I'm not sure why, really. I have a very dry sense of humour, gallows-type, British-dry, but I love cheesy flicks. I love that they don't take themselves seriously, that they're over the top and often the actors are so earnest! It's wonderful. I have a huge soft spot for indie-films, documentaries and foreign films, too. I've watched them with my Dad, growing up, and as an adult, and we snicker our way through the plots (often more hole than plot). Some of the stories would be good, if they were done with more than 400 bucks for film, and a 50 dollar catering budget. Some of them will never make good stories, and are only there for MST3K and mockery. My Love never did watch them, like I do, until I instituted bad movie night-- which falls randomly whenever I feel like tits, blood and tomatoes-- or ...