Fight for your right, y'all

I went home to vote because I've never officially changed my residency. In less than twelve hours I managed to do the following:

-Pull a muscle in my neck on my left side while trying to crack my back
-Pull a muscle in my right shoulder trying to heft a bag onto it
-Got cursed out for hesitating as I stepped off the Metro North at 125th Street

No, really, that last one was nuts. I had a Slurpee cup to throw away and I stayed for all of a split-second in the doorway as I glanced left then right to find the nearest trash bing. I could vaguely hear (over my music; I had my earbuds in at the time) a protest I didn't bother to listen fully to as I'd since stepped out and whoever was pissed that I wasn't literally falling out the door and landing beneath their feet so they could get out faster was now out as well. Some words carried across to the effect of me "not fucking even knowing it was the right fucking stop." Something like; I paraphrase because I didn't pay much attention, but the general attitude was one of derisive hostility about my ability to know what stop I wanted (and my failure to get off at it instantaneously).

I walked to my left to toss my cup, and as I turned around to head back to the elevator, a woman grabbed and then pushed away my arm and said, "What the fuck is your problem? You got a fucking problem? Don't you fucking do that!" It was the mystery person in a desperate rush to get out a door that didn't close for a full twenty seconds after she'd left it. She was clearly insane, and I mean that in the literal, unbalanced, unmedicated sense as well as the cartoony, clothes weren't quite right, one-eye-was-off-in-its-own-orbit-from-the-other kind of way. She was obviously spoiling for a fight and ready to to scream some more at me, completely possessed as she was with the idea that she had been horribly, irreversibly wronged.

I blinked at her but didn't break my stride even after she grabbed me. I felt like I was taking a risk even making eye contact, but she did go out of her way to get in my way and touched me on purpose--two things most people in New York go out of their way not to do. I couldn't help but seek out the source of the strange, presumptively familiar touch. Otherwise, I have a strict DO NOT ENGAGE THE CRAZY POLICY. This was instituted ages ago, as any sane New Yorker learns to do almost at once upon settling in the city. I never felt threatened by her, I just walked by and left her to mumble somewhat threateningly and profanely about me. In short, nothing that hasn't happened before or won't again. Brings my total for just this year to two. (A train I was on had a crazy guy talking loudly about how people on the train disdained him and how he was going to show them; when he added words referring to how "that white girl looks down on me and she hates me for no reason, she ain't got no reason to and she's wishing I would just disappear," I knew he meant me. It was bad enough that someone must have complained because he bolted out when the train lingered at a stop for longer than a minute. The MTA arrived immediately after in pursuit, but then started to castigate the passengers for letting him get away. As opposed to what? Holding him until authorities arrived? I understand it's annoying to hold up the line and deal with this, but that's YOUR job, not that of untrained and, at this point, extremely unnerved commuters. I repeat: DO NOT ENGAGE THE CRAZY.)

My my. The things I go through to do my civic duty!

I am Teh Boned

I totally forgot that tonight is the screening for Diary of the Dead. I still haven't completed my assignment for class or packed for the weekend trip. Le sigh.

Haaaaay, is anyone else going to the screening?

(no subject)

Last night, I dreamt that dumbfuck, aka Jensen Ackles was in some movie about Vikings. I think it was a romantic comedy. My subconscious made a note that this must have been one of those before-they-were-famous-a-guy's-gotta-eat type things. I even saw the poster. ::shudder::

On a completely unrelated note, my brain works like this: I think about Netflix. Netflix sends you movies through the mail and, often, you might not remember what they are. What if they were porn? Hey, does Netflix rent porn movies? Can they? I mean, could they be sure the renter is 18 or older? I guess so, since you need a credit card. But my sister is 17 and she used my mom's for her account. Maybe they ask you your age on the account info and won't rent porn to people who aren't 18. I wonder if there's just a porn version of Netfllix? Probably.

This has been a frightening, if brief, trip through TV's head. Enjoy.

(no subject)

I woke up today figuring that, when I did get around to browsing LJ, the results of the primaries yesterday would be all over the place. I guess not. I went to the Times to check, and they've got something about tornadoes on the front page? What the hell is going on?

Cutest thing ever? Yeah, I feel comfortable saying that it is.

I have never seen a cuter puppy in my life. This is quite possibly the most perfectly adorable thing ever. Don't tell me kitties!