I decide she’s a graphic designer,
all within the first few seconds of stepping inside the threshold. She
apologizes for the place being messy. I make a mental note to never let her see
my apartment. Not that she would, that’s silly.
I get the tour and she shows me
where all the pertinent supplies will be for next week. I get a copy of her
keys and give her my business card with all the ways to contact me.
She smiles exuberantly and exclaims
how glad she is I’m not a psycho.
I smile and say “Me too.”
That was the start of my Monday.
But I guess I should start with the end of my weekend.
I wish I could say I did something
painfully exciting, when in fact I spent from Thursday until Sunday horribly
stressed out. I was cooped up in my apartment with a few overnight clients. By
a few, I mean 5 dogs, not including my 2 dogs. If you were assuming I felt like
a crazy lesbian animal hoarder that should be put on network television, you’d
be assuming correctly.
Although my apartment is clean, and
the dogs were all under 9lbs. None of them managed to chew a hole in my couch
and live inside the stuffing, so that says something, right?
Sunday after 2 of the dogs went home,
Kh and I felt liberated enough to go to the movies with a couple of friends. We
got picked up and headed off to see The Great and Powerful Oz in iMax. I’ve
only ever seen one other movie in iMax, and that was SeaRex. (Which I totally took
Kh to see on one of our first dates, I’m awesome right?)
I sat there, with my head slightly
tilted to one side, biting the inside of my lip, wondering if the movie I was
watching was a complete load of shit, or if it was just the sheer in your face
magnitude the 3D element gave to it. I was quite sure I’d have an image of James Franco’s gigantic face seared
to the inside of my eyelids if I closed them for to long.
Barely even under the surface of
the movie is a severe undertone of sexism, and not a single empowered female
was shown. Every woman was depicted as a sniveling emotional mess whose world
and core values get completely destroyed when a man doesn’t return her
affections. The only woman who doesn’t seem to grovel at the mans feet happens
to be a woman who puts her own potential and power aside to help coddle and bring
a man to his own self worth. When all along she could probably do some serious
damage on her own, not wait for a man to save her.
Or to save the damn munchkins. At least the witches had sex appeal, eh?
After the movie I had 2 ½ beers and
we all commiserated on how terrible it was to stare at James Franco’s face that large for so long.
And now I need to sleep for 3 days straight.
xo
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