I'm Probably Banned from Movie Theaters Across America.

The other day, Hubs and I decided to see a movie.  After much debate, we both thought Despicable Me was the right choice, because, let's face it, we're five years old.

I had some bidniz to take care of once we got to the theater.  This was the first of several odd looks I received that day.  Please allow me to explain myself so that you don't end up thinking that the "bidniz" I needed to take care of involved the bathroom.  I didn't even use the bathroom there, FYI.

Ok, so I've always done this thing where, once I finish a book, I leave it in a public place in the hopes of some random person finding it and taking it home with them.  I thought this was a brilliant idea until I realized someone else had already thought of it, so I hopped on their bandwagon and joined.  I would gladly place the little sticker and bookmark in the book, leave it in an open place, and continue on my merry way.  The other day, though, I didn't have any stickers with me so I just left the book, old school style.

This is always a tricky thing to do, because you will inevitably get "caught", and people will either think you're up to no good or a complete loser.  Thankfully for me, they usually think the latter.  The other day was no exception: as I placed the book on the bench outside the theater, a mom in a minivan witnessed the entire thing and totally looked at me with disdain behind her Liz Claibornes.  Even though I couldn't see her eyes, I just knew she was judging me.

I skipped lunch that day, so Hubs and I decided to get a medium-sized bag of popcorn that was roughly the size of the 30-gallon trash bags we use at home, but three-times the price of a jumbo box of 500.  "Gee!" I exclaimed.  "I certainly hope there's enough popcorn here for the both of us!" 

I also need to explain a certain quirk my husband possesses.  He takes his popcorn quite seriously, ladies and gentlemen.  He's what I would call a popcorn connoisseur: he knows just the right amount of salt and butter necessary for the perfect bag of popcorn, and when we're at home, he refuses to eat popcorn that is not air-popped.  I married a snob, folks, what can I say?

Anyway, his popcorn quirks don't end at the concession stand, however.  He also has a rule by which everyone in his party must abide: there is to be no popcorn eaten until the movie begins.  Why?  Who the eff knows, but I can tell you one thing: my stomach was empty and I was in no mood to play around.  I wanted that effing popcorn, and I wanted it during my previews, dammit. After rather loudly dropping an eff bomb or four (sorry, kids!), he took pity on me and gave me four kernels.  Wow, Hitler, thanks so much.  This will totally hold me over for the remainder of all 1098 previews we have to sit through.

Finally, the movie began!  I ripped the bag of popcorn out of my hubby's hands and began to wolf it down, Garfield-style.  I was even making obscene grunting noises while doing so, but I didn't really care.  I was starving and had to eat as much buttery goodness as I possibly could. 

After chowing down on the 'corn, I decided I didn't like the movie.  This was about three minutes into the flick, I'd say.  So, I turned to Hubs and tried to start a conversation, to which I was given several stern "Shhhs!"  Here is the conversation in its entirety:

Me: I hate this movie.  I'm bored.  I want to make out.
Hubs: No.  There are kids around.
Me: I don't care.  They have to learn some time.

Anyway, I failed to convince my husband that it was a wise idea to make out with me, so then I folded my arms, gave a loud, "Hmpfh!" and pouted for the next ten minutes.

And then Hubs's phone started going off and he had to leave. 

Why I was given dirty looks for his phone ringing, IDK, but I guess since I was the hussy demanding to make out with people, the moms figured it must have been my phone going off.  Whatevs.

While he was gone, though, I got really into the movie and started laughing hysterically at it. 

Those damn minions cracked me up!

The part where they photocopy their booties on the copy machine brought back so many happy memories of my youth!

By the end of the movie, I was happy as a clam, with butter smeared all over my face and a tummy filled with popcorn love.

I was a bit dismayed when I saw my book was still where I left it, but I had no time to mourn since I saw the lady who had been sitting in back of us speaking with the manager on our way out.  She was gesitculating wildly and pointing in my general direction.

I mentioned to Hubs that it might be a good idea to try the movie theater across town next time.

He agreed.

Blogging Up is Hard to Do...

...especially when one is on a cross-country road trip.

You people have no idea what I've been through in the past forty-five minutes, and it's all been for YOU.

That being said, even if this post fails to make you laugh or even smile, I want lots and lots of comments filled with love and adoration.

GOT IT??

Good.

Ok, first of all, it is the wee hours of morning.

And since this is my honeymoon, "wee hours of morning" means it's pushing 8:00 a.m. 

Stop judging.  I've spent the better part of a week lying horizontally, so cut me some slack.

I'm sorry if that was TMI, but c'mon, people.  It ain't no secret what we've been doing.

Anyway.

Hubs and I are staying at this resort on one of the Great Lakes.  It's pretty if you're into that rustic kind of resort, which clearly I am not.  I am "out of my element", if you will.

For future reference, this is my idea of roughing it. 

Anyway, we are only here for a few days before we resume our awesome all-American road trip.

Being the rustic resort that this shit hole place is, the Internet connection is a lesser kind of good.  In fact, we can't even get access in our rooms (I know--GASP!, right?), which means I have to trudge my way out to the front lobby and use the community computer, which looks like it's seen better days. It actually reminds me of the computers we used back in '87 to play Oregon Trail.  The Internet out here is only slightly better than the connection we are unable to access in our room, so you can imagine how frustrated I am right now.  This entire post has taken me at least an hour to write.  I can only hope I still have a husband when I return to the room.

Speaking of husband....I have been wanting to blog for the past week now, but the dude won't let me breathe long enough to even sign in.  I mean, I love him and all, but can we please not make out for five minutes just so my loyal readers can know I'm still alive??

(Love you, sweetie!  And I miss you out here in this lonely lobby, my little cuddle bear.  BBS!)

I was literally caught sneaking out of my room this morning with my flip flops in hand and a $5 bill to get some coffee.  Hubs was all, "Where are you going?  Come back!  I need you!"  And I was like, "I'm drawing the line, pal!  I need a break from LoveFest '10.  My readers need me, dammit!  I am not your love slave!" 

And then I slammed the door and ran out.

Just kidding about that whole section, actually, although I did try sneaking out.  When he woke up, I told him what I was doing, he made some sort of grunting noise and fell back to sleep.  Sweet.

Anyway, so being that it's early in the morning, I simply threw my sundress from last night back on.  I didn't bother putting on a bra because I didn't think I'd come into contact with anyone. 

This is where it gets a little gross and WAY TMI, so I'd like to ask the men folk to just skip this part and scroll down...

Ok, so this is a really long road trip and I packed pretty hastily.

That being said, I'm about to run out of underwear in about three or four days.  Due to this, I've had to conserve the undies a bit, so I may or may not have gone commando yesterday.

Ok, I did go commando yesterday.  And last night, which is why I'm currently still commando.  So here I am, in this resort lobby with nothing on but a thin cotton sundress.

And wouldn't you know that I ran into everyone and their brother who is staying at this god foresaken resort!  In fact, I had to sit and give death glares to the geriatric patient who was using the computer before me.  I mean, kudos to him for even knowing what a computer is, but come the eff on!  For the past three days, I've had to endure watching teenagers sending sext messages on Facebook to each other on this thing, and I specifically get my ass out of bed at the butt crack of dawn simply because I know those little maggots are still snug in their beds, dreaming of God-knows-what, and now he's going to c *** block me?  I don't think so, senor. 

The old dude eventually went into the restaurant to get his cup of coffee, so I hurried up to log on.  He has since returned, and is now exchanging death glares with me.  I'm all into respecting my elders, but you know what, db?  I waited long enough to blog, and dammit, give a sister a break.  You can wait your turn.

On second thought, he's started to look a little flushed and he's clutching his chest, so perhaps I should just get the heck outta here before the air conditioning kicks in and I give Papa Bear his cheap thrill of the day. 

It's time for my early morning nap, anyway.

I'm baaaaaack.