This weekend I decided I needed to see August: Osage County and so it was off to the movie theater where I enjoyed two hours of Erin Brockovich-ish Julia Roberts and drank a monster diet coke.
I have a real thing for Erin Brockovich, as anyone who knows me can tell you. Last semester I wrote a paper on the feminism of Erin Brockovich creatively entitled Erin Brockovich: Feminist Icon, my phone auto-corrects Brockovich, and even typing Erin’s name over and over my heart swells with happiness and push-up bras. It’s the type of film I pop in to watch as a comfort movie, right up there with You’ve Got Mail and Notting Hill, which is kind of odd, really, when you consider the subject matter, but for whatever reason, Erin Brockovich is a boiling pot of cheesy soup for my soul.
Also, I heard that Julia Roberts is in a knitting group, and I don’t know if this is fully true or not, but I really like this idea and I really like living in a place where rumors like this reach me.
Also also, I once went out with a boy who told me I looked like Julia, and though I can’t recall many other details about him/our time dating, I do remember that compliment and always will.
Thanks for that, Frank! (His name was not Frank.)
I remember the first time I saw a movie by myself. It was Mamma Mia! and I was off sick from school or work or whatever I was doing at the time, and got so bored I left the house and ended up at the movie theater. Probably not the best idea, but this blog is not where you come for best ideas.
Why do you come to this blog, again?
I was super embarrassed to be by myself at the theater, and rashly used years of stored up wishes to hope no one I had ever met would see me in my sick, alone, popcorny state.
It wasn’t until later that I realized going to the movies on my own is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
I once went to a movie with a boy (not not Frank) and he told me he loved to spend days at the theater seeing back-to-back films and eating huge buckets of popcorn. This was very appealing to me and I felt maybe we had a real connection. When we got to the popcorn station, we ordered our large popcorn and I smiled thinking this was the beginning of one of our many movie days, a tradition we would look back on fondly.
The worker asked if we wanted butter or no butter on the popcorn, and at the same time Non-Frank said, “no butter” and I said, “butter” and then we looked at each other and right there, I knew our relationship was doomed.
Movie rituals are sacred.
Why are you having popcorn if you’re not having butter?
I won’t accept other opinions on this.
I actually ended up at the movie theater three times last weekend, count them, THREE. It was all part of my special all-me alone weekend, which unlike Lorelai Gilmore’s special all-me alone space, wasn’t closely attached to heartache and tears.
Well, not as closely attached.
Lately I’ve been trying to document my life better through pictures. I’m feeling this sense of urgency, this, “You’re leaving here soon, don’t miss anything” anxiety, and so I’ve gone out of my way to try to capture the things that make my life at this particular moment in time so wonderful.
Things like Malibu never packing up Christmas.
Or Reel Inn’s daily puns.
I find myself with a bad case of nostalgia for the now. It’s like my life is moving too fast for me to take it in, and soon I won’t be able to go to the beach when I please or spend inordinate amounts of time crafting a frothy teen soap and I’m very sad about this. I feel like I’ve finally got to a place where I know my place, if that makes sense?
I have a routine and friends and a niche and it’s about to be taken away from me, and I’m simultaneously trying to live in the moment and freaking out that it’s all going too quickly.
And so I take pictures.
And eat a lot of nachos. Always nachos.
And I go to the movies alone. Three times in one weekend.
And it’s sublime.