Friday, August 6, 2010

Breezin', Waxin', Flaxin'

It seems like I've spent a decent portion of my youth envying Emma Watson for something or other; whether it was knowing people I wanted to know, going places I wanted to go, or, perhaps it was just the general feeling that she was having more fun than I was.
You mean to tell me that you've spent the past seven years locked away in your bedroom, toiling away over algebra?! Pffffttttt.

Of course, the older we've all gotten, the more I think that the fact that she's got more than enough money to buy herself a nice estate in the countryside to hole up in for the next sixty years or so doesn't sound like too bad a prospect, either.
She's from England, why isn't it raining GBPs?

Regardless, in some odd way, it feels like we've grown up together; after all, she's only a year older than I am, so we pretty much did, in that weird "you-were-a-child-actor-I-watched-all-the-time" kind of way.
So, besides the fact that she's from a different country, grew up in the public eye, and is pretty much the polar opposite of my life here in Nowheresville, USA, I kinda-sorta understand where she's at in her life. We're all in the same boat, life experiences, and all that drivel that nobody believes.
So, let's be frank about this.
Emma, what the hell happened?

I realize life has changed a lot in ten years. I understand the transitional phases one takes at this time in our lives.
You know what I did for my last one?
I drank copious amounts of tea, and compiled a playlist to write homicidal short stories to.
I didn't set out to imitate Judi Dench.

So, really, my advice for your next psycho phase would be to buy yourself a pretty ring. Or a nice new dress. Or one of those adorable pygmy pigs.
You bet your sweet arse those are Paddington Bear's wellies.

As long as she's happy with it (and, by the sounds of it, she is), there's nothing more to be said. It was just quite a shock, to say the least.

Oh, and just one more question to chuck out into the cosmos...
who in monkey-hell wears knee-high boots to Glastonbury?

Speaking of Emma and her boots, as I was clearing out my closets the other day (what, you didn't think I was going to?), I found an old magazine clipping my sister had sent me.
(Yes, it's fuzzy. Yes, we have a scanner. No, I don't know how to use it.)

The card reads:
I thought you would enjoy this clipping most of all.
Enjoy a good laugh, then feel sorry for the poor girl.
What was she thinking with those boots!!! Not that the dress is much better, but WOW!!

It all prompts me to ask... Oh, Emma, Oh, Why?

You know, as we were looking at this latest picture, my mother once again told me how much like Emma Watson I apparently look (I get this often, actually).
She asked if I wanted to whack my hair off, too.
In the same breath, she said, "Although, with your ears, you'd better not."


I just hope she remembers that I'm the daughter that gets to put her in The Home.

That's OK, though, I've gotten my temporary revenge by getting this song stuck in her head...

Is It A Subscription Box, Or Something More Sinister? (It's A Subscription Box. Maybe.)