Pride, Irony, and Oozing Orifices

I'm going to be real with you all today. I figure I owe it to you after not blogging for like a WEEK! *sigh* I'm such a slacker.


Anywho - have you all seen the trailor for the movie "My Sister's Keeper" that recently came out? Well, I admit that I may have cried a little during the full-length trailor. (don't judge me, you KNOW you did, too!) But then I actually went to SEE the movie.


Oh Good Lord in Heaven.


You know that feeling you get when you're about to cry at a movie or something really moving. You get that lump in your throat and feel like you have to swallow a million times a second, and your eyes feel like you just simultaneously poured acid and water on them because they start to burn, but then fill with what probably began the Niagara Falls phenomenon? BUT you, unlike Niagara, are able to keep them at bay and prevent those falls from-a-flowing. Your eyes still glisten, but you've won the battle. Score: Pride-1, Moving Moment-0.


Well, that was me during the full-length trailor. I'm not talking about that piddly little excuse for a trailor they played on the major tv networks. Those don't do anything to me. I'm like the rock meets Jimmy Fallon when it comes to fighting off the tears with those bad boys. But if you have gone to see any full length films in the theatre over the past 2 months-ish, then you saw the full length trailor. And admit it: you teared up and you know it.


So the decision to see the movie was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing for me. My sister and some other girls had planned a girls' night, but McStudly and I had like a bazillion parties that day, so I opted out. But when the boys left for the Bachelor party, my friend R and I decided we'd make a night of it, possibly grab some grub, and check out the movie. She and her husband BOTH warned me that she would probably be an impossible wreck. It made me laugh, really.

She told me about how she's not a big cryer, but when she goes to really emotional movies, it's like the flood gates open and everything she hasn't cried at over the years, all of those uncried tears start fighting for freedom (I'm paraphrasing, of course... or maybe kind've making that up. But it's true to her point, at least). So I said I'd drive and we would make it through... as long as we brought tissues, because I was sure I may cry a little at some point. I mean, if the trailor makes you tear up, a full 2 hours of something is bound to break you, right?!

So we stuffed a wad of tissues in her purse and went about our merry little way.


I should stop here and tell you that the movie was AH-mazing. I won't give anything away, but you need to see it. Seriously. Right now. (Why are you still reading this? Go! Go see the movie!!) No, really thought - it's awesome, though made quite a bit differently than you'd expect from the trailors, and all.


I think I started tearing-up about 5-ish minutes into the movie. Never a good sign. But by about the last 15-20 minutes I was sobbing... SOBBING! I cannot express to you how humiliating that was, mainly because I did NOT care at the time. (And I'll have you know, I was NOT the only one, thankyouverymuch.)

Have you ever tried to contain a sob? It kind've starts to sound like you're choking or gasping for air. It's ridiculous. I tried to muffled my international sound of distress with a wet wad of tissues (speaking of which, where does all of that goo come from? It feels like it's coming out of every orifice north of the aorta! GaRoss!!), but I'm not sure how well it worked. So I did what anyone would do - I started slowly mouth-breathing. It's like the only weapon against fierce chick-flick tears. But if you're not careful, and you haven't mastered it, you'll end up whimpering like a child who scraped their knee and 10-minutes-later has not forgotten about it. (You know that you know exactly what I'm talking about. Where 10 minutes later they have those random spurts where there shoulders seize up again and their bottom lip almost meets their esophagus and there's that little breathy hiccup sound that's almost kind've cute... yeah, that one.)


The funniest part about all of this? My friend R didn't shed a single tear! She was the one we were worried about and nothing. nada. zip. zilch. nunka. dryer than the sahara. In fact, I think I cried more than enough for her. How's that for irony?!


So I guess the moral of the story is, make sure you're close enough with your sob-story chick-flick movie buddy so as not to be embarrassed when the lights come back up and your more puffy than the magic dragon.





...and that you need to see "My Sister's Keeper." Like yesterday.