**This post is brought to you from under my blankies while I'm valiantly fighting off what I'm hoping isn't the flu but it feels very flu-y to me which sucks and my beloved Nyquil seems to be too far for me to reach which only leaves me the option to call out for Andy but that just takes too much energy so instead I'm gonna try and devise a rope toss fashioned out of toilet paper and hope it's strong enough to pull it to my my side. Or maybe I'll just sleep. Anyway, I decided to raid my draft folder for post that didn't quite make the cut so if they suck you know why. Like always, I absolve myself of any actual blame for being mediocre. God! I feel like an alien is trying to claw his way out of my throat! If I survive, and I'm not amongst the 30-90,000 predicted victims of the swine flu (relax, I don't really think I have the swine flu just a plain old regular phlem producing flu but the flu is the flu no matter what fancy name you give it. kinda like a rose I guess), I'll see you guys next week.**
Last Monday, Labor Day, Andy and I went to a double feature. Let's step back for a second so we may discuss the meaning of a *double feature*. In the olden days, days of poodle skirts, sock hops, the ability to disguise hickies via a kicky polka dot scarf and girls who would go away to visit aunts in other states for about 8-9 months and come back all weepy and smoking cigarettes, a double feature was something you paid oh I don't know, a nickel, to see two movies.
It was usually at the drive-in (and you would really only see one because you were typically too involved doing other things, like knitting) and you had those metal box thingies you'd attach to your window (the last time I went to a drive-in, Before-Andy, we had to tune our radio to a certain station and what fun is that? I used to love forgetting to remove the metal speaker thing and then remember when I couldn't put my window up while driving on the highway!) (by the way, I know I went to see Wolf with Jack Nicholson but I can't remember what the second movie was. . .).
In the year 2009, we did not pay a nickel to see 2 movies and instead paid $14 to see one movie (matinee), went home and then came back to pay $18 for the second movie.
The first movie we saw was District 9, totally Andy's pick. I liked it well enough but I wouldn't recommend it to everybody. For example, I'd tell my brothers Rick and Sergio to go see it but I'd discourage my brother Dan and sister Nancy from seeing it. Because of their delicate sensibilities.
The movie left me with more questions than I care to live with after seeing a movie but I don't want to voice those questions for 2 reasons. One, you wouldn't know what I'm talking about and two, I don't feel like ruining it for other people. Maybe tomorrow.
We left the theater and went home to feed the dogs, feed fish, and load clothes in the washer (BECAUSE I NOW HAVE THAT OPTION).
We went back to the movie theater to see Julie and Julia. I learned a few things about myself that day.
The first was that I can simultaneously make fun of old men who sit in yellow corvette convertibles while parked in a handicapped section and jamming to Barry White's "can't get enough of your love baby" all the while I'm dry heaving.
The second is that I hate watching people eat in movies. In real life too but I don't really have an option if I'm to socialize with others but in movies I want to throw things at the screen. But not my nachos. People in movies love to chew and talk. Chew, talk, then pick up their drinks and attempt to do all 3 things at once. Why? Do directors think that the entire population was raised by Brad Pitt's character in Kalifornia (he picked his feet on the kitchen table while eating, if I remember correctly).
The third is that I hate watching people kiss. In real life too but I usually just spray them with toilet water but in the movies I get all sorts of the ickies. Especially when those kissing are people in their senior years (because now they're also kissing to "can't get enough of your love baby" in my head). Sorry, I don't mean to sound like an age-ist but that's how I feel and the last I heard I had the right to feel icked out at whatever I wanted.
Also, if anybody has seen that movie, do you remember the part where that Julie chick is saying "Bon Appetite" over and over then her husband says it like 3 times and then starts mauling her and the last time he says it he practically throws his junk in her face? How boorish right? He was all "Bon Appetite, here's my crotch!" I whispered that to Andy and he sprayed the old ladies in front of us with soda.
True Story.
*If you're wondering where Nemo comes into the whole story because he was in the title, he doesn't. I think Nemo's dead. Tell your children.
**I just read this and now I know why I didn't hit publish but you know what? I'm sweating right now and cold at the same time so I'm going to hit publish anyway. Tazz keeps crying. Can dogs predict the future? Is he trying to tell me something?**
