Last weekend, Alex and I were going to a movie. Partly as a belated-Valentines' Day thing, and partly because I choose the movie approximately 97.8% of the time, I gave her the executive decision on which cinematic adventure we would embark on together. I mentally prepared myself for a chick flick- but to be honest, the only "mental preparation" I need is the promise of an unlimited supply of movie theater popcorn. You give me that, and I'll watch soap operas on Telemundo for 9 hours. Actually, fuck it, I'd watch that with or without popcorn. Telemundo es muy bueno!
However, when she chose Confessions of a Shopaholic (starring Isla Fisher, the crazy yet hot chick who marries Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers) I had a sudden change of heart, vetoed the pick, and said that I would go to a chick flick, just not that one. I compromised by suggesting He's Just Not That Into You, because at least that movie had my boy Justin Long in it (you might know him from Accepted, Dodgeball, or the Apple vs. Mac commercials- he will forever hold a place in my heart because of his portrayal of Warren Cheswick in Ed, the greatest TV show ever.) And I felt pretty good about putting my foot down for that reason, until I actually thought about it a few days later.
So, to recap: I refused to go see a crappy, boring chick flick that at least would've had a smoking hot woman on screen for the majority of the movie....instead choosing a different crappy, boring chick flick because I like one of the dudes in the ensemble cast. I'll let you connect the dots.
Happy Friday. Hopefully everyone goes out and gets a little banged up this weekend. As for me, I'm still living la vida without the loca, for one more week at least.
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