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Sarah: “Hey, I’m going to meet the punk rock kids at the bar to watch the Patriots game. Do you want to come?”

Ben: “I can’t, I’m watching Silence of the Lambs and the game here.”

Sarah: “Um, why?”

Ben: “I’m comparing the two. Hannibal Lecter and the Patriots have lots in common. Hannibal likes to tease his victims and take his time, just like the Patriots.”

Sarah: “I’ll never understand why girls like you. I know you’re a cool guy, but you probably come off as the skin-suit kind of guy.”

Ben: “Chicks dig the mullet.”

Dear Robert Redford,

I’m over Sundance and therefore feel like I should break up with you as well. After years of attending I’m not nearly as excited to go as I once was. Ticket prices have doubled since I started attending and actually getting the films you want is nearly impossible. I did, however, get a few good documentaries and a free dose of humiliation. There are ways to prevent this–I’ll explain.

When choosing where to place your volunteers never, ever put the hard of hearing at the ticket counter. When you are placing an order and you are asked to repeat the film name over and over until you’re yelling it for all to hear it sucks, because undoubtedly the movie will be Good Dicks, causing said elder, female volunteer to blush and you’ll look end up looking like a dirty pervert.

Think ahead and also please stop sucking my bank account dry.

Love,
Sarah

Sarah: “Ben, you have to go see Juno ASAP, it’s really good. Or Sweeney Todd. You can’t beat a throat-slitting barber.”

Ben: “I can’t see that one. You know I’m scared of Tim Burton movies.”

Sarah: “Still? You sort of an adult now.”

Ben: “Sarah, I was four. Not exactly a movie to force a small child to watch over and over. This is totally your fault.”

Sarah: “Well how was I to know you’d grow up to be a baby man.”

Ben: “You have no room to talk, remember, you’re terrified of Silence of the Lambs.”

Sarah: “Because that is REAL! You could be a skin suit at any given time. Beetle Juice isn’t real. Proving once again I’m way tougher than you.”

Ben: “Perhaps tougher, but still in need of therapy. We really should get a therapist on staff for the entire family.”

Last night I drove to West Jordan to meet friends for a movie. I’ve been dying to see Sweeny Todd and they were going, so it was well worth the commute. Plus they don’t suck.

MapQuest totally lied to me—it took way longer than 16 minutes to get there. Luckily I had my new Spice Girls CD to listen to, so I didn’t mind as much. Getting out of the car I was still singing the Wannabe lyrics…

“Yo. I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want.
So tell me what you want, what you really really want.”

…slightly off-key and entirely louder than I should’ve been, when I heard snickering behind me. Embarrassed I started walking faster, but in my non-weather appropriate footwear that wasn’t such a good idea. I, of course, slipped and in my attempt to keep from falling on my ass I accidentally grabbed the side mirror of a car, nearly tearing it off. It was all sorts of awesome, since the car belonged to the laugher.

So, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want. Not to look like a dumb ass in public, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

When you enter a movie plan ahead how many seats you’re going need. It’s one thing to ask the people next to you to move down once, but twice… NOT COOL! At that point I’m forced to make a dramatic scene and step over the seats in an effort to move a row ahead, leaving Maddie no choice but to follow. Unfortunately she got her foot stuck in the seat, somehow absorbing my bad karma for being a bitch in public.

We saw “Across the Universe” which was good, but entirely too long for someone who a) had zero patience left due to the above mentioned assholes, and b) self diagnosed attention deficit disorder.

My mood was magically lifted with a glass of red wine and a Red Rock burger. Seriously, that was all it took. Sometimes I’m easy, just don’t mention that to my mom.

anyone who knows me knows i detest scary movies. hate. hate. hate them! when i saw half of silence of the lambs in high school i slept on my parents floor for a week and a half. did you read the part where i said i was in HIGH SCHOOL?

it’s haunted me ever since.

with all my free time these days i’ve hit my life to do list. number 47: watch silence of the lambs the entire way through.

since i’m such a procrastinator i’ve now watched every movie in the hannibal lecter series except silence of the lambs. all during the middle of the day at marky’s house, because for some reason his house is immune to serial killers. this prevention didn’t stop me from freaking out. one night when i was supposed to meet friends for drinks, i wouldn’t leave the house because i was too afraid. (see guys! you thought being afraid of hannibal lecter was just an excuse to avoid the bar.)

today i’m going to marky’s place to finally watch the movie. i’ll be happy to cross it off my list, though i’ll be sad to let go of the hannibal lecter diet. i’ve lost a few pounds being so grossed out each time i see food. i wonder if i could trademark and sell that diet…

there are few movies that make me want to slit my own wrists. year of the dog was just such a movie. urban princess and i took one of our male friends to see it on saturday. he didn’t think to ask what we were seeing, just agreed. dumb, dumb boy. he paid the price dearly. not only did i take the last veggie dog at the theater, i made him sit through the entire movie. i had high hopes for it. dead dog movies are always good for some tears, the only tears shed here were out of pain.

upon leaving i broke up with the broadway theater. how could they betray me with such a horrific movie?

last night, however, we got back together. i saw black book, and it was great. how i gage the success of a movie is how many times i look at my watch.

1-3 great.
4-5 color me bored.
6-10 sharpen my razor, it’s suicide time.

black book was a two-glancer, and better yet i left the theater spit-free!

i went and saw hot fuzz last night at the broadway. two things: 1) i need aviator glasses something fierce. 2) i hate people that aren’t me.

the group that sat in back of me clearly enjoyed the movie. so much, in fact, they couldn’t stop laughing–which is fine under most circumstances, however, when you lean forward laughing so hard that you actually laugh INTO MY HAIR? umm, gross.

sure, i get that mistakes often are mad, so i overlooked it the first time, but after the fourth i was annoyed. i don’t want laugh spit in my hair from strangers, and i refuse to apologize for that. i was on a date, therefore practicing some self-restraint. i ignored it for the 10th and 11th time when really i wanted to turn around and poke his eyes out with my drink straw (sorry, daisy… insensitive, i know).

from this point on, my standards for judging movies will be: was it laugh into hair funny, or just funny?