Sex And The Suburbs
Last night, I ventured outside of the Beltway with my friend Rachel to see Sex And The City in a theater less, uh, colorful than the one in my neighborhood.
That started out as one of the most embarrassing experiences I have ever had, and thank God that I was there with Rachel. The movie started five minutes late. By movie, of course, I mean the previews. About halfway into the trailer for some piece of crap starring Dane Cook, everything stopped and the lights came on. And then the outside voices started. And then the chants of "We want sex!" It was about that time that I called the front office to find out what was going on in the projection room. After conferring with Rachel, we decided if something wasn't happening by 10:45 we'd leave (it was supposed to be a 10:15 show). 10:42 the lights go back down, the shrieking commences, and... the previews continue. Eventually the movie started, and it was good (if not a little draggy but that might have more to do with the fact that somehow our 10:15 show ended at 1:05 after the projection room malfunction.
All of the footage of Carrie's apartment made me wish that my own living space was better maintained. And then this morning, I was told that some people are coming to put an attic fan in on Monday afternoon. The only way into the attic is through my closet, so I will be spending the weekend cleaning out the closet AND the rest of the room. Divine intervention or huge inconvenience as I have spent this week in a funk the size of Madagascar (the country, not the movie) and have like 8 homework assignments that must be done and a test to be scheduled. I'm leaning towards the latter, but I think that's residual negative energy.
