Stuff Rachel Fucking Hates

Japanese horror movies. As I may have discussed before, I am a huge baby about horror movies. Like, I couldn’t finish watching Silence of the Lambs. What most movies I watch have in common, though, being American, is that they are easy as shit to understand because they are for dumb people. Oh look, a house built on an Indian burial ground. Oh no, did you look in the mirror and say her name three times? Oh no you didn’t just wander into the abandoned mental institution. Japanese horror movies, on the other hand, are deep. Tonight I watched Pulse, and I still don’t know what happened. The best I’ve got is something about the inherent loneliness of the human condition, and a finite amount of space in the afterlife, and the Internet. I have no idea how all of that fits together, but I still won’t be able to sleep tonight.

I am broke brokety broke broke What’s that you say? I have to buy textbooks for this semester? And pay like $100 for a parking pass? Yeah ok sure.

Also I am out of books to read. Please help

Jesus Christ my phone battery is going. I hate to keep beating the dead horse of how everything I own is broken, but seriously, everything I own is broken. I just shelled out $325 for car repairs, my goddamn laptop hasn’t even turned on for a month, and now my phone’s battery runs completely out every 24 hours or so. Somewhere, the Amish are laughing at me.

Jonathan Safran Foer’s books. This is more of a “love/hate” thing. He writes very good books, and sometimes really beautiful and funny books. But they are always always always really fucking sad. Today I tried to relate to someone an inconsequential anecdote from within Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and almost starting crying in the middle of it. What is your deal, Mr. Foer?

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