So, My Weekend…

… has been busy.  Where to start.

Friday evening was filled firstly with an interlude at Kohls, where I wasted two hours before the movie trying on shirts and shoes and generally spending money I can’t afford on things I don’t need.  Go me. I rawk.  I also learned that, had I already lost the weight I wish to lose, I’d fit in size medium shirts of a certain brand in just that right way that shouts “Look, I have muscles but not really.”  Buttjangles. I must return the diet and exercise, else suffer the ravages of old age and sag. (and yes, there’s Shakespeare going in the background–Jessica Lange’s about to lose her firstborn son, natch.)

In the end, a shirt and shoes and sundry undergarmets were purchased, and there was great rejoicing. Well, there was rejoicing, anyway. I did a little dance in the car.  It was awesome.  (it probably wasn’t, but shut up.)

After that came Super 8, which turned out to be pretty much exactly what I expected: Goonies + ET + 20 years of little-kids-know-best movies under terrific direction, beautiful cinematography and foul-mouthed 14-year-olds.  I sat through the whole thing, emotionally enthralled by the bright lights and pretty explosions but intellectually disappointed at a told-again story.  It’s a good movie–maybe a great movie–but there’s nothing new there.  And the only real shocker I’d like to see now is JJ Abrams get a new monster-making company; they do good work, but they only have one look for “terrifying alien, from off-world, one each.”

And after that fine cinematic experience, there followed a quick ride through the shower-of-out-after-ten making and a trick to the Upstairs to get my drink on with the boys and girls from work–but the girl, of course, bailed.  So sad. If only she weren’t dying (she claims).  Jury’s still out…

Jason? At a bar? I know–what was I thinking, right? I was thinking I haven’t been out in ages, and I was curious to see what had become of the bar scene. Strangely, it was differently the same.  The dresses are shorter, the bras lift-ier, and the attitudes dumber.  So much more muscle present these days–twas quite interesting watching guys in torn jeans and shitty t-shirts hitting on girls in 90$ shoes and $200 underwear. There may have been dresses involved… I can’t remember.  I have confirmed that the bar scene is not my scene.  There’s nothing there but eye candy and condescension–they bring the eye candy and I the condescension. Still, it was fun… but I need a little shinier, a little quieter, and a little older-occupied bar to get my flirt on.  Though I do regret I didn’t get shot down more–if only for the practice.  I can confirm, for those watching from the cheap seats, that I remain popular amongst large women and gay men.

So sad.

And every day past Friday, from thence to now, has been filled with copyediting–which I’m sure is making me dumber.  It’s for certain making me fatter, gods damn it cross the nine hells.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to making the words prettier.  And listening to Titus Andronicus go stark raving vengeful mad….  hahahahaaha.

June 13, 2011 | Categories: Contract Writing, Mine, Movies, Rants | Tags: asshattery, bars, Fashion, Movies | 2 Comments »