Tonights classic film is "House on Haunted Hill" an awful remake of a not so thrilling movie originally starring Vincent Price. The original version is happy to stop with Vincent faking his own death and then haunting his wife into a confession. (His "ghost" is really a human skeleton rigged up marionette like. He then manages to scare her into confessing and then throwing herself into a vat of acid.) How exactly the producers of this remake got Geoffrey Rush to agreee to be in the film I don't know. I do know I would have liked to see how it was done. (Probably something very undramatic like "Listen you signed the contract now you will do whatever piece of shit film we say you will do.")

Friday night and nothing to do. NOTHING. Those chicken mcnuggets only worked on monday. Great. The insane professor I was talking about yesterday, the one who is all worked up about being left by the One-well he called me today at eleven o'clock in the morning and yakked at me for an hour.I have now become, in his mind, the undisputed expert on his relationship. Fabulous. Just what I need as a another hobby. He is also one of the massing throngs who think I truly missed my calling and that I should be a therapist.I sincerely doubt that his behavior is going to prove that I can help people never mind "cure" people.-Of course the good news is that maybe I can use his relationship as part of PhD thesis, dysfunctional relationships in the over educated and emotionally unstable. Ok what I didn't mention yesterday is that when he pulled myself and the other professor into the conference room to tell us his tale of woe he actually referrred to it as "an intervention for himself." This wouldn't be so surprising if there wasn't a friend of mine who knows someone who is planning his own intervention at a spa. Interesting day and age we live in, ain't it? So this guy calls me and is all over the board, he wants to call her, but he doesn't want to talk to her. (I refrained from saying "You know Sign Language just isn't as effective on the phone." This goes back to a previous post about how hard it is to post how disinterested you are.) So after I give all this advice (take your time, don't call her, take some time away from the situation before you make a decision)-and I would like to say the most annoying part of this process is I would offer advice, he would disagree I would explain my case, he would accept my idea and then twenty minutes later bring the idea back up as if A he never disagreed with it and B it was HIS idea and not mine. But here is where it gets really fun. He is going to talk to her on Sunday night. This is the night when I told him "Ok you two sit down, and go in with no preconceived notions, go into the evening with the idea that this is an exploration of whether or not you can continue the relationship and if you can under what conditions. But don't go in with 'This is what I am going to do' attitiude." So he says "You know I really want to her that I won't talk to her unless you are there, because you have such insight into her." I'm like oh great, like I have nothing better to do with my weekends now than play amateur couples therapist. The really sad thing here is that I don't, actually. So now he thinks this is a good idea, to have me in as a "mediator." Of course, as a friend of mine pointed out, this is a guy who had an intervention for himself so probably not that well versed with good ideas. Oh wait, I forgot, last night I left him in a bar, on his way to crawling into a bottle of bourbon, what does he do? After being left by the One only fourteen hours before he goes and finds another woman, Katie, who he really likes and he sees now as another option. I've been on the market for two effing years, cute, voluptuous, smart, and not nearly as insane as this guy I can't options, but he is on the market all of FOURTEEN HOURS and he can? (Of course as one of my other friends remakred, don't get excited until you see what his "options" are. After all he was drinking bourbon pretty heavily. His new friend is probably an Emu in drag.) Yet another friend pointed out that I could have boyfriends-paul the mad robe flasher in indiciative of that-she pointed to the fact that I date "a lot of people." My response was "only if you are using the term 'people' loosely." Oh and one other note, his One came back. My didn't. His even called to say she hated hurting him etc etc. I never even got so much as a frickin' postcard (Sorry I ruined your life. Hope you're ok.) I'm not depressed because I've got a distorted perception of reality, I'm depressed because reality is distorted.

In other news John hasn't called. Sniff. I guess I'm just not fit to wear the crown.

Well, at least I can go see Willard to soothe my misunderstood soul.