I look at the T.V. I look at my
wife. I look at the T.V; I look at my wife,
uh-oh… Don't do it, don't do it, for the love of God please
don't -- and there it was. It started as a slight upward curl
of the lips, followed by the opening of the mouth, a flash of teeth
and finally a faint breathy chuckle. Even before she uttered
a word my stomach was rebelling and my mouth was beginning to fill
up with a mixture of acid, detest and Mongolian Chicken. I
knew what was coming and I was horrified.
"Oh we're going to see that." She says
looking over her shoulder just in time to see me cup a hand over my
mouth and swallow my dinner… again!
I don't even attempt to respond.
I just continue to breath and pray that at some point between
now and May 27th the almighty hand of a sympathetic god
will either temporarily blind me, or set fire to every movie
theatre within a 50 mile radius.
I'll beg, I'll lie and I will most
definitely try to conjure up some self-inflicted injuries - - but
it won't work. According to "The Movie Rules," I'm
contractually obligated to accompany her to a movie of her
choice. There is nothing I can do. So, barring a
miracle, at some point during the weekend of the May
27th I'll begrudgingly walk into a Cineplex overflowing
with teams of middle aged women all gussied to mimic the character
they most identify with. They'll be salivating in
anticipation. The lights will dim. The cackling will
dissipate to a low murmur and the estrogen cloud that has been
slowly chocking the life out of me will disappear. Finally
the moment will come. The intentions of the screen reveal
itself… A shot of Manhattan, the ping-pongy theme song and the
words which snap my head back in disgust painfully materializes
right before my un-bleeding eyes (Gulp) - - Sex.
And. The. City… 2! I cup a hand over my
mouth and for the second time in 3 weeks I re-eat my
I had to know this day was
coming. In fact, this day, this miserable miserable day has
been 10 years in the making. Explain…. On our first date,
Cathy and I spent 2 nauseating hours enduring the gigantic piece of
crap entitled Meet Joe Black (her
choice). This was followed by an attempt to show my
artsy side when we sat down to watch the visual equivalent of a
rock-salt enema, What Dreams May Come,
starring my nemesis, Mork. On our third date we came up with
a set of movie rules. It was a final attempt at reclaiming
the dwindling respect we both had for each other's taste in cinema.
We still sorta liked each other, but another bad movie
could've ended us, thus…
The Movie Rules
Now, back to the reason why I'll be
trapped in a wicked theater watching the one movie that may very
well cause me to plunge the nearest pair of Jimmy Choo's into my
eye sockets? A couple of months ago, I violated rule number
5. I accidentally or erroneously assumed that Kevin James
could carry a movie based entirely on the fact that he's fat and
funny-ish, so I rented Paul Blart: Mall
Cop. The joy and anger that Cathy possessed
after the credits began to roll was overwhelming. It was as
if she won the lottery, but had to split it with the population of
Texas. Anyway, she'd been holding on to this chip for quite
some time; patiently waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect
movie, the perfect revenge for accidentally stealing two measly
hours away from her, but I'll go, cause I love her. I'll do
this with very little knowledge, but knowledge none-the-less.
Here it goes… This is what I know about SATC before the preview of
Okay, it's about the Redhead,
Horseface, Mannequin and Kristin Davis. They live in New
York, buy shoes, have sex, cry, drink delicious Cosmos and
occasionally fall backwards onto fluffy beds while kicking their
feet in the air, (This is what Hollywood thinks women do when
they're asked out on a date/receive a gift /or just finished
reading a hokey love letter by "the" boy. Notwithstanding, this
scene is always crucial to the plot and can be played out in a
myriad of ways depending on how the director wants to portray the
amount of admiration the girl has for the boy. For
example, if the girl ends up aggressively hugging a pillow, rolls
over onto her belly, then screams into said pillow while pounding
her fists into the fluffy bed, well, she really "likes" the boy. If
she's decked out in boxers and an over-sized T-shirt, you can
almost guarantee that she'll begin to jump on the bed while the
smash "Walking on Sunshine" is played. This means she's "in
love." If at any point during these proceedings you can hear
the boy's voice repeating the word "Hello?" from the phone jumpy
thought she hung up, you can rest assure that these two things will
happen: She realizes her "embarrassing" mistake and in a
panic picks up the receiver and utters this line, "Uh yeah, okay..
sorry, (giggle) see you at eight." This will manifest into
itself into an awkward first date at the end of which he'll end up
screwing her best friend). Book it!
Here's what I know about SATC2 (based
entirely on the preview). At one point Mannequin says,
"Fabulous." Somehow big hats and sunglasses are pivotal. That
cave man with big eyebrows wears a suit and looks surprised.
More than once they will all walk side-by-side in slow motion
(with no guns!), The Redhead cries, because of something stupid
(like her pantsuit). Horseface Broderick will beyond all
logic, find herself in a forbidden love triangle. Kristen
Davis will look overwhelmed at all times. Oh yeah, they'll
also be in the desert wearing MC Hammer pants and riding
camels. I wish I was making this up; this movie is going to
I love you all,
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