Spiderman - does what a spider can. Unless it’s the second act and he’s depressed.
Friday night was fun, if a bit strange. After the glory of the Roadhouse (which, might I add kind of disturbs me that I’ve started calling it that. i.e., You know you shop at Bloomingdales a lot when you start calling it Bloomies), we went to the other bar called ‘Sauce.’ This is an appropriate name also for what I became. There was dancing to Junior Senior- love it.
Elissa was right though, her boyfriend and I are each other in opposite sexed bodies. And him with the wearing of Polo all the time, but we’ll ignore that. It got kind of bad because we kind of got on a roll of jokes, most of which were directed toward Elissa. She can handle it, so that wasn’t a worry It was kind of like when Chris Kelly and I watch tv, and after a while we have no idea what’s going on with the show because we’re just making progressively catty remarks about the show, the characters, the actors, their children, pets, and moral indiscretions. But instead of that, it was at our friend/girlfriend’s expense.
So, I was helping entertain (and for one I do NOT mean that in a dirty way) a kid from Cali that Elissa had to take out that night (mom’s friend’s sister’s kid, I think). We were having fun dancing, except he did that horrible thing that I always forget that straight boys do. We’d be dancing and then all of a sudden he’d be grinding on my ass. I’d get him turned around, and before I knew it, he’d been drawn as if by a magnet back to my ass. But it was probably my own damn fault for plying him with drinks. Although he used to be a bartender (so he said, but then didn’t know what Jagermeister was- I have my doubts), he didn’t drink much, so I felt it my duty to egg him on. Anyhoo, he was gentleman enough to walk me home - um and we literally did walk home from Webster and Clark, so that’s about four miles or something. Of course, I turned my usual ankle and plunked down on my ass; it still hurts (the ankle, not the ass).
Oh yeah, before this gets too long (too late!), I went and saw Spiderman 2 last night. It was def. better than the first one, though this one did have more closeups of women screaming into the camera. After a while, I was just like, “Okay, what the fuck? Are none of the men on this busy Manhattan street bothered by the huge explosion and chucking of people that just occurred?” The answer from the movie was a resounding, “Nope, just the women.” The film’s highlights were Tobey Maguire saying earnestly (and as kind of a command), “Punch me, I bleed!” and the kid who played Willam Defoe’s son (and who is among the world’s terrible actors) bitchslap Tobey twice. Most things were corrected by the presence of Alfred Molina, who was ROBBED of last year’s academy award, but maybe will get one for this movie since the Oscar committee seems to prefer a movie like Spiderman to actually good films like Frida.
Um, if it could stop raining now, that’d be great. Chicago, why do you make me run three blocks thru the rain to my car with stupid drunk people blocking my way as they stagger into the street?
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