Yesterday, no car meant no going to church, which was weird. I rarely went when I lived in the Northeast, but Mom never misses, so I don’t either out here. Therefor not going means that it couldn’t possibly be Sunday, but the day before was Saturday, so what day was this? My mind, it explodes!
We also missed The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel at the Academy, which I did want to see, but what are you gonna do.
Went over to Blake’s house so that he could take me to get my renal car in the morning (he picked me up, don’t want you to get confused by the whole no car thing, “But how did she get there? I do not understand!” See? I look out for you) and we watched This Means War.
When he suggested it, I said that I had heard that it was really good and vastly underrated. He agreed. Later I mentioned that I heard it was getting an all black audience, but it should break out from that. He was confused, then I figured that it was not Steve Harvey’s movie, Think Like a Man. I wished that we hadn’t worked it out, and I had watched the movie, confused, wondering why everyone in it was white.
This Means War, on the other hand, was exactly as bad as it was reported, especially in that it was completely unbelievable that there would be any rivalry between the two characters, as one of them was so clearly superior to the other, there would be no contest. There would also be no movie, but that would have been fine. This was, however, the first time I had ever seen Chelsea Handler, having been entirely put off by what I knew about her persona, but one shouldn’t judge a book by her cover, because she was terrific–very funny and charismatic, and I wished the whole movie was about her rather than Reese Witherspoon. Man, remember when she was a serious actress who won an Oscar?
It was also the second anniversary of my breaking my finger. Thanks a lot, Tita, though I still miss you anyway.
(cross-posted to livejournal)