I just noticed a Netflix miniseries about a grandfather in Ohio they tracked down and put on trial for being a particularly evil Nazi prison guard, and HELL, YES, “add to my list,” even after I spent my weekend being gutted by Unbelievable and American Son and no, really, men who might like me, I SWEAR I’m fun.
I mean…Yeah, sure. I’m home alone on a literal dark and stormy night — why WOULDN’T this be my choice of entertainment?
(And yes, I still get Netflix discs because I am An Old. Blow me and then get off my lawn.)
Friend with Children: “Is the movie kid-friendly?”
Me: “I mean, *I* think so, but I also first heard Denis Leary when I was 10, and had Freddy Krueger nightmares well into my 30s because I saw that movie around age 8, so let me double check online…”
Hm… And HOW old was I when I found the VHS porn and that book about the G-spot in Mom’s room?
(Explains a lot, doesn’t it?) 🙂
I’m watching Sweet Home Alabama, and even when I saw it in the theater, when he takes her into Tiffany and tells her to “pick one” engagement ring, I got anxious. That’s too many choices, I’ll be here for 14 hours. YOU pick one. I’m-a go get a pretzel.
(And by “YOU pick one,” I mean pick one at Kohl’s and use the rest of the money to take us to Italy.)
(OK, fine, not really Kohl’s — I’m not THAT bad. But he’d know which friends to call.)
I heard fan boys got pouty, so I had to do my part to ensure the lady hero gets her (well deserved) OBSCENE opening weekend total.
Me: “My scale still hasn’t moved, but I can see and feel changes in my body, so I know the scale is just being a jerk.”
Therapist: “I’m glad you blame the scale. Some people blame themselves, thinking they have to exercise more often or restrict their diets more.”
Me: “No way. Why should *I* change? He’s the one who sucks.”
Aaand that’s how I decided to name my scale Michael Bolton.
Oh, fuck you, Netflix.
Read the room, man, DAMN — today is for cartoons and British people baking. I’m at capacity on political shit right now.