The new movie, Superman Returns, is not without its good moments, but it’s really freakin’ long. I was also reminded of why I don’t see movies in the theater very often. Noisy children and questionable smells abounded, but at least no one’s cell phone was ringing this time.
I think moviegoers have gotten even stupider since the last time I saw a film on the silver screen. I know it’s normal for people to be milling around in the theater before the show starts… getting snacks, going to the bathroom, whatever. Hell, I do it myself. But now, it seems like folks are so captured by a moving picture that they feel the need to watch it as they walk all the way down the stairs to the exit, and once they reach the landing, pause to stare for just a few more seconds, just in case there’s the slightest chance that they’ll never get to watch that 20-foot Coke bottle dancing around again. Morons.
Anyway, the movie… Lois Lane was horribly miscast, and Kevin Spacey absolutely ROARED as Lex Luthor. The scenery was great, the special effects stunning. I was surprised to see Parker Posey in this one, and although I may have chosen someone else for Lex’s bitch, I think she’s a great actress and there’s really nothing she does that I don’t like. I thought the script was kind of loose sometimes and the motivations of the characters seemed unrealistic, but I suppose that’s my biggest gripe about most movies. Quoting Mr. Cranky, “I may not have a PhD in ‘feelm,’ but I know what I don’t like!”
Back to hating the theater. I sat still in a dark room for a very long time. I brought a Mountain Dew and a peanut butter sandwich, but those didn’t keep me from wishing I could get up and move around some. When the movie ended somewhat after 10pm, I was not in a super mood. So what happened when I went to the bathroom? I broke my goddamn thumbnail clean off. Shit!
After saying good-bye to my friends, I hit Wal-Mart on the way home. I needed (and still need) a new notebook for my journal (you didn’t think I wrote all my business in here, did ya?) and since I’m extremely anal retentive about certain things, I need to have the exact right notebook. It has to be a spiral Mead NON-PERFORATED college-ruled notebook with a normal cardboard cover, solid-colored and one-subject if possible. Walmart, like every other store so far, didn’t have it. Another trip to Wal-Mart made in vain. Fucking Wal-Mart.
I remembered at the last minute that I needed a big suitcase. My recently purchased ladybug suitcase is cute, but lacking in durability. Such is the nature of most cute things.
I found a big ugly suitcase to put all of my ugly clothes in so I can go to New York and Colorado without all my ugly crap spilling everywhere.
At the shortest checkout line, this disgusting excuse for a woman was trying to write a check for some of her shit and pay cash for some of her other shit, and she wasn’t being very quick about it. Some equally gross dude was behind her. I thought they were together, but it turns out they weren’t, so things took even longer. Miss Cashier wasn’t going anywhere, so I didn’t expect her to give a shit.
When I got out my wallet to prepare for my three seconds of customer service, I found that some Dew-resi-due had spilled on my nice wallet. Awesome. I played with my chiseled nail some more to pass the time.
As I approached the cashier, a man in dress pants and a leather jacket carrying a helmet asked my cashier for change for a dollar. Seemed to be an odd place to stop in and do that, but whatever. The dress pants and motorcycle getup was also odd. I noticed it, but perhaps only because he was the only thing standing in the way of my purchasing an ugly suitcase so I could get the hell outta there.
I know, I sound like a real bitch, but I was out late last night and still put in a full, productive day at work. My face was a big oil slick that had not seen soap or makeup in over 14 hours. I haven’t eaten anything healthy in days and I skipped my morning workout. I felt slimy and jolted. I have two days to get my shit together before I leave town for three weeks. I just know I’m forgetting something…
I walked to my car and opened the trunk. The trunk was full of Gus’s clothes, which I still haven’t taken to Goodwill because I forget to do anything once it’s out of my sight. (I just know I’m forgetting something else…) So I had to shove the suitcase into the back of my little Camaro.
I’d put the car in reverse when a man on a Harley rode up behind me. I figured he wanted the space, so I gave a quick nod and signaled as if to say, “Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving. The parking spot is all yours.” The man called out something as he turned off his bike and took off his helmet. When I turned again, I saw the medium-length dark hair and immediately recognized the clothing of the man I’d seen make change just moments ago.
I rolled down my window and asked what was up. He said he saw me in the store and thought I was very attractive. Having mastered the right combination of flattered and embarrassed, I thanked him. I didn’t have much else to say, but I thought about how ever since I was 15, I’ve always been a sucker for Harleys. I’d love one of my own someday, but not today.
“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you. I think you look great. You have a great body.” (Etc.)
I thanked him again, but started growing nervous. This guy was quite good-looking himself. Mid-thirties, smooth, articulate, tall, dark… Harley…
In so many words, he asked if I was interested… and I stammered, “You know… thank you so much… those are very nice compliments, but I…”
He asked, “Are you single?”
“Are you married?”
(Clearly no ring on my finger.) “Yes!”
“Well, if you’re up for it, I’d still like to get to know you better.”
In man-language, that means, “I want to sleep with you.” This could only lead to something very bad.
And lead us not into temptation…
Our conversation needed to end, but the only way to do that quickly would have been to run him over and I’d be a real traitor to my gender for doing such a thing. I said that he seemed like a great guy, but I just didn’t think it would be a good idea. And I said, “Sorry.”
I feel bad for rejecting him because this incident is probably going to make him less likely to approach a girl he finds attractive in the future. But I also feel good for doing the right thing, and I feel weird simply because this happened at all. Facing rejection sucks, I know. I feel like I’ve been there a million times. It’s so easy to remember what a big blow it is to be the recipient of rejection that I forgot that doling it out can be even harder sometimes.
Isn’t this the kind of shit that happens in movies? I mean sure, dorky dudes with nothing to lose try to get my number with stupid pick-up lines all the time, but there was something totally different about this incident, other than the fact that this guy could have easily looked beyond a Wal-Mart for his next piece of ass.
So of course, I’m thinking about all the stuff I could have said to make the incident seem cooler and more moviesque, or at least to have kept me from feeling this weird right now. But what I regret the most is not asking what he was getting change for and why he was getting it there.
In other news, I wish I had a notebook.