Thursday, June 16, 2011

I Saw the Sign, and it Says "You're Old" | I'm a Grown-Up Now

I thought The Hangover Part II was great!
So, the highly anticipated sequel to The Hangover was released Memorial Day weekend, and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard! The general consensus among viewers was "Yeah, it was pretty good, but it was basically a remake of the original movie." Uh, you say that like it's a bad thing. What did we expect? We don't want to see the characters grow into deeper human beings. Please. We just want to see these guys getting into hijinks that we would otherwise never experience. I thought it was hilarious. This was the movie equivalent of the turkey sandwich you enjoy on the day after Thanksgiving that is made from the leftover turkey. No, it's not terribly imaginative, but it is delicious. Know what I'm sayin'? Besides, this was the first movie I had seen in 18 months, and it was the first time my husband and I had gone anywhere together without our baby since the Super Bowl (translation to girls: it was the first time we had gone out since the first weekend in February). And they served beer in the movie theater. Seriously, the projectionist could have replaced The Hangover Part II with Glitter*, and I still would have Tweeted** later; "OMG, having such a blast at the movies today! LOL!"

*When trying to create this scenario to illustrate that I would have thoroughly enjoyed myself no matter the movie, I considered a few notoriously horrible films as examples. I realized that I have to choose a movie title that is recognizable to the general public, and that is universally considered awful, even by people who haven't seen it. I considered Gigli, Smokey and the Bandit II, and Throw Mama from the Train. When you think of a movie that is so bad that it makes you want to stab yourself in the eye with a fork, what comes to mind?

**I don't Tweet, but sometimes say that I do to sound cool. Is it working?

My vision is failing.
I've been getting by without glasses, but began considering it recently after I was unable to distinguish between "EAST" and "WEST" on a road sign and took the wrong Interstate entrance ramp. Then there was my recent case of...mistaken identity. I was taking Robinson for a stroll, which sounds nice, but it was hotter than Africa outside, and by the time I was so sticky and miserable that I just wanted to collapse, I had power strolled well into the next neighborhood, a good half-mile from home. As I'm debating whether to turn back, or continue burning calories, (spoiler alert: I chose to burn calories) I notice a chicken crossing the road. Intrigued and amused, I take out my camera phone to snap a picture. I'll upload it to my blog with the obvious caption "Why?" Get it? It's funny in an ironic sort of way. Ha. Ha. So, just as I'm about to snap a photo, a car drives past, prompting the chicken to take flight. I know that chickens can sort-of fly, but they don't have the kind of wing span I'm seeing here. Oh no. That is so not a cute chicken I've been scoping out. I've been staring at a vulture feasting on fresh roadkill. Icky! I'm horrified. It's like The Crying Game: Poultry Edition. Vultures are just creepy freaking birds. Proof that vultures are vile: I've never heard anybody say "Oh, I love vultures!" I've never seen vulture stuffed animals, or a vulture charm bracelet, or flannel pajamas with little vultures all over them.
Recounting the story to Steve later that day, he laughed at me and said "I think that was a buzzard." My reply: "Are they different?" Apparently. I Googled it. They are two different species, but I still think I saw a vulture. [Shiver] And if you're thinking I'm a dumb-dumb for believing I had a chicken in my neighborhood in the first place, you should know that last month I totes saw two legit ducks hanging out on my street. And there is not a body of water near my house. Unless you count the neighborhood swimming pool.

The Edge of Seventeen
So, I'm a little late reporting this, but I watched the most recent season of American Idol with mild interest. The final two Idol hopefuls were high schoolers, and throughout the season I kept remarking that Lauren Alaina was "such a darlin' little girl", and that Scotty McCreery was "such a nice young man". I think it's a sign of my quite grown-up age when I stop viewing teenagers as my contemporaries and begin viewing them as kids. I mean, I'm only twelve years older than Lauren and Scotty, but I found myself having warm, maternal feelings towards them, as opposed to feeling inclined to buy them beer. You know who doesn't share this sentiment? Judge Jennifer Lopez. There was one point, late in the competition, where during one of Scotty's performances, he interacts with the judges, and I think there was something in the lyrics about giving a kiss, and he is playful with Jennifer. You know, it's all part of the act. Afterwards, during the judges critiques, host Ryan Seacrest teases Jennifer about letting Scotty give her a kiss, and rather than play along, she scrunches up her face and says something like "I'm a married woman!" like she's horrified by the idea. She's about 41 years old. I'm 29 years old, and I'm bouncing around my living room with my baby on my hip, trying to keep him awake and happy until his father gets home, and I'm all, "What?! You're 'a married woman'? How about you're old enough to be his mother?!" I'd let Scotty kiss me. I'd let him knock me a little peck on the cheek like he's my nephew or something. She is more than twice his age. Just because her creepy Svengali husband is watching doesn't mean she has to act horrified about somebody else kissing her. News flash, J. Lo, not everyone is trying to get with you! 

P.S. I am from the previous generation, where I was actually in college when the first American Idol, Kelly Clarkson, was crowned, and rumors swarmed for months about whether she was romancing runner-up Justin Guarini. Maybe I am not reading the right teeny-bopper magazines, but how did Lauren and Scotty avoid such rumors? They are super cute.

I am my own plumber
My bathroom sink has not been draining properly. I did not ask my husband to look at it. I did not call a plumber. No, I looked it up on the Internet and I fixed it my damn self, thank you very much. Twenty-something Samantha would never. Yes, I believe this to be a sign of the times. I am slowly transitioning into thirtysomething Samantha. She gets shit done.

Mom: Are you on amphetemines? Because this is just not something you would do.

No, Mom, I'm not taking speed, I'm taking initiative!

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