Juice on the Lens

Well, Smallwood and I hit the town tonight, which is something that we haven't hit in a while. She decided that I needed to get out there, and absorb a little culture. So, she convinced me to go to the Nickel Film Festival, which took place in some building downtown. I've already forgotten the name of it, but I can tell you that the stairs were carpeted. Carpet on the stairs. ...I can't remember the flooring setup in the lobby.
Anyway, she and I do a sit down in Coffee and Company beforehand because I'm trying to get the attention of some bikers who are loitering outside. Smallwood doesn't even drink coffee, which is hilarious because I was convinced that soon after we finished dating she began drinking it due to my influence. This never happened. I considered this to be Smallwood trivia:
Q: "How did Amanda start drinking coffee?" A: "Not sure, but Paul had something to do with it."
I really believed this. Not so. She's never drank it before. She drinks tea. She drinks from styrofoam because she doesn't give a fuck about the planet. She told me so! This is how my memory works. Namely, it doesn't, not ever. I've obviously confused her with some other ex-girlfriend.
Over coffee (tea) I told her about this blog, and she expressed interest in reading it. I warned her that she may therefore be mentioned. She suggested I write it as though she won't be reading it. Please don't tell her she's mentioned so much in this particular post. Please don't tell her I told you about her 'fuck the planet' attitude; that was supposed to be between us.
Anyway, the films we're lined up to watch are independant horror flicks. Hilarious. It was really hot in this mystery building.
I just want to know how in the fuck you get a persian cat into a jumpsuit in the first place. It's hard to get cats into Santa Clause hats, or at least I assume so. Cats don't want to do anything that humans want them to do, and that's what makes them cats. I think that's why people like them so much. Cats don't give a fuck about us, and we, as a society, are drawn to that. So, how do you take an indifferent cat and put it into a little cat-sized jumpsuit? With the zipper up!?
Anyway, the initial shorts were very opaque and confusing, but they got better with each passing film. The last one, the full-length, the professionally shot...gear, was actually quite entertaining. Graphic as fuck (and I've played a lot of M-rated video games), but very engaging. Suddenly, the film cuts out at the end, right at this massive cliffhanger, and rewinds by about...5 minutes. People are looking at one another, people are confused. But, you know...independent film, this could be an artsy thing. This could be art. This happens three or four more times, the house lights come up, the trendy girl in the pants suit thing apologizes, we all leave. Huge cliffhanger. We all leave. My favorite part was when they took a brief intermission to piss around with the roll, trying to get it working, and each individual group of people (art gods and goddesses that they were) say to one another, "The first time, I thought it was like, part of the film? But then, when it happened again..." Everyone around us was echoing this. Smallwood and I mocked everyone. Smallwood and I have English degrees. Acadia English degrees. I can move objects with my mind. She can too.
Now we're both bothered by the huge cliffhanger in the film. They're screening it again, so we'll likely go a second time.
I can only watch an anus being tied off once, though.
The mustache actually, honestly, feels a little thicker. I'm mindful of hair length, and I'm making sure the colour is good. It seems to be turning a lighter, almost blonde as we go. As I go. You, the reader, have nothing to do with my growing this, actually.
I think I might do a standup show downtown. For the sake of paying rent, which will be included in the title, somehow.
But for now, I'm going to procrastinate. It's what I'm best at.
Also, now the brakes are nonoperational on the car because things are like that with me. The line started to leak immediately after dropping Smallwood off. Good thing. If it was before dropping her off, she would've seen me crying, while shouting, "My dad is gonna kill me! My dad is gonna kill me!"