judypatricia

To preface this, I love you, friends list. Hard.

It's no wonder The Count of Monte Cristo's fourteen-hundred-something pages long (well, my edition's, anyway)there are so many characters and a few long, little inside stories that make it BIG. GAAAAAD. I am up to Luigi Vampa and Cucumetto and Carlini (poor dear!) and loving it, though it weighs as much as a small dog and isn't fun to carry around.

It's looking like I will be in Italy in September. I know I'll want to barf myself silly just at the airport, thinking of flying over ocean for six hours, but.

In a hissy fit earlier today, I walked too close to a pointy edge of a glass shelf at my job, and completely slammed into it on a spot between my shoulder and elbow. You know I saw stars and that it's bad, bad, awful because it turned a light purple and swelled almost immediately after.

What do you think about Closer?
I think I love Clive Owen in it. Other than that, I don't know. Even if you hated it, be honest: the absolute only thing that could have made it worse would have been everyone just sleeping together simultaneously, la Y Tu Mam Tambin.