Archive | October, 2011

Chicago International Film Festival

10 Oct

A movie about depressing Chicago winters? Yes, please!

Let me just start this story with the following disclaimer: My father cannot sit through a movie in the theater without complaining about how annoying everyone around him is and how THAT GUY is chewing way too loudly. I never thought I would become that person. A few days ago, I had an experience that made me realize that I am my father.

Pete and I were lucky enough to attend the opening night of the Chicago International Film Festival. We got free food (which I think we actually stole, and then encouraged others to do the same, but that’s besides the point), rubbed elbows with celebrities like Gary Cole and Dennis Farina and attended a star-studded after-party (we SWEAR Billy Zane was there).

It should’ve been, like, the best night ever, but it was kind of a flop. Let me explain.

The main feature of the night was the premiere of this new indie film, “The Last Rites of Joe May”. We were soooo excited to be sitting in a world premiere!

Then the movie started. It’s about this old man who has no friends or family. While in the hospital with pneumonia, his landlord thinks he’s dead and gives his apartment away to a woman with an abusive boyfriend. Because that’s not depressing.

Oh, and did I mention the film takes place in the middle of a Chicago winter? I have to live through that ish every year and really wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of the sad, sunless season that starts in just a few weeks.

So about 20 minutes into the movie, I realized this film was not my cup of tea and started spacing out. That’s when I first took notice of the woman sitting next to me. She was wearing a bright blue skirt and leopard print high heels which should’ve been a sign that she was going to be a handful. She had this little clutch with a snap that made this little “POP!” every time she opened it.  She’d “POP!” it open every five minutes, search around for her phone with it’s glaring white light, then “POP!” it back closed. And she kept “POP!”-ing her gum. I think there was something wrong with her jaw because normal bubblegum bubbles are not that loud.

And then there was this smell. Someone was wearing wayyyyyyyyy too much perfume. And someone (might have been the same person, not sure) took a dump in their pants. Not even kidding, it really smelled like someone had an accident in a perfume shop, it was so terrible.

And I sat through that for over two hours. I wanted to die and I kept rubbing my temples and rolling my eyes. By the end, I was in a really horrible mood.

The only good thing that came out of the evening was that Pete dropped his (stolen) beer bottle on the ground and it rolled all the way down to the front of the deathly quiet theater. The whole theater broke out into applause and Pete said he felt like a real celebrity!

Today is Pete’s birthday. And you know what the only thing worse than that stupid movie I had to watch? This commercial:

Pete’s been singing this song all day, and I can’t say anything because it’s his birthday and I’m not allowed to be mean today. This is just not my week.

Home Alone

9 Oct

I am 27 years old. By this point in my life, I should be able to spend the night alone, but I can’t, and it’s really a problem.

I grew up with three sisters, two parents, and a dog. Since college, I’ve always had roommates, first friends, and now my life-roommate, Pete. (Half the time I don’t even want to talk to Pete, but just knowing that he’s there and that I COULD talk to him if I wanted to makes me feel less lonely.)

Well, the point of this story is that I have never spent more than a night or two in a home alone in my entire life. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s something I never had to get used to, or just because I’m a huge scaredy cat, but something terrible happens every single time I’m left home alone.

My parent’s house is particularly scary. It dates back to 1910, when there was this huge estate on our street. Our house was where the gardener lived. It fell into disrepair around the mid-century and a lot of work has been done to it since. (It’s amazing what my mom can dig up at the local historical society.) But it’s still really frickin’ scary and creaky.

A few years ago, I spent the night at my parents with my old dog, Mousse, to keep me company. He was 14 at the time, which would make him about a bijillion in dog years. In the middle of the night, we heard a huge “BANG!” coming from downstairs – it sounded like a broom fell over or something. Mousse and I both shot straight up and just stared at each other. “Can you go see what that was?!” I asked Mousse. He looked at me as if to say, “I’m 100 years old, you selfish, lazy piece of poo. YOU go see what that was.” And then he went back to sleep.

Well, the same thing happened this week, minus the trustworthy old dog (may he rest in peace). I was already bracing myself for a scary night when my parents asked me to sleepover while they were out of town. So that’s why I decided it would be a good idea to watch the new show, “American Horror Story” alone. It’s about an old haunted house. Fabulous!

In reality, that was a terrible idea. At 10:45 p.m., I prepared for bed like this:

At 11 p.m., I tried to wash my face with my eyes open in case someone tried to sneak up on me. At 11:30 p.m., I called Pete to say goodnight.

“I’M SLEEPING,” is how he answered the phone. “I CALLED YOU 50 MINUTES AGO.”

“Sorry I didn’t see that you called. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“UGH….I’M SO TIRED!”

“I’m so scared. I was watching this show…”

“DON’T BE SCARED. LOVEYOUGOODNIGHT.”

At 12:45 a.m., I was laying in my sister’s bed with all the lights on trying to focus on my book until I fell asleep. Except my book was also about a haunted house (it’s called “The Thirteenth Tale” and I recommend it) so that wasn’t working out too well.

I don’t know how I eventually fell asleep , but I did and was THRILLED when I woke up and saw that the sun had some up. I was also exhausted at work that day.