Last night I took myself to go see The Italian Job, which was awesome, bam, bam, BAM! (Dear Marky Mark: I am now ready to take you up on your invitation to feel the vibration. I’m sorry I hesitated before, I just didn’t want to make a move until I was absolutely sure. But after all that gold-heisting and mini-driving and nice-forearming, I am definitely good to go. Does your offer still stand? Let me know!)
And then I snuck myself in, actually went to the bathroom and did a costume change (lipstick, took off my glasses and put up my hair), to see Reloaded, which wasn’t quite as awesome, more like bam, talk, talk, bam, TALK! Even though it felt a little like school, I’m still glad I saw it because I continue to be sorta piqued by the series as a whole, unlike the Star Wars thing — I actually forgot to go see the last one. I remember kind of wanting to see it, but then just … whooosh.
I got home after midnight and proceeded to have a rotton night’s sleep, partly thanks to the popcorn and cake dinner maybe, more partly thanks to a bad, bad mosquito. I hate mosquito nights! If there were a sort of color wheel of likes and dislikes (good idea!), for me mosquito nights would be the diametric opposite, the orange to the purple of clean-kitten smell (one of my favorites!). I woke up at 4am, itching and disoriented, and for some muddled reason, I just wrapped my comforter around my head like a hoodie and … put on my glasses. The thinking being, I guess, that my eyelids would be protected? And it sort of worked because next thing I knew, it was 8am and my glasses were all Jerry Lewised across my face. Bon morning!
Also: My mouth wrote a check to The Washington Post, and my ass is going to have no problem covering it because it’s a very, very brief quote (and I have quite a substantial snack of an ass). The article’s called “Something Clicked, And Then We Met,” and it’s about … online dating! And guess how Libby Copeland, the very smart and funny author of the piece, found me? Because about a week and a half ago, my ad was the pick of the day! Which meant that, thanks to Spring Street’s insanely agressive syndication, for one incredibly startling day my face was on the cover of, oh, theonion, salon, televisionwithoutpity, etc., etc., etc. It was really weird. And pulled in lots of friendly email from 68-year-old Canadians. The end!