I am Sarah Jessica Parker, and Other Embarrassing Tales

So I went to log in to blogger this morning to post something, and my cache had expired. This is officially the longest I've gone without posting in over a year. (Those of you scoring along at home: 11 days. This is what you would call an obsession, apparently.) That's weird. Anyways, I refuse to apologize. I am my own man, and I post when I want. So there.

Also, it's slightly disconcerting when people call to inquire about your welfare because "you haven't blogged in a while." That, my friends, is a little very weird. But also, awesome, in the sense that people care.

Back to the business at hand.

Went to see The Family Stone over the weekend. I am Sarah Jessica Parker. Or, at least her character in the movie. Live and in person. Do you understand exactly how horrible that is? Probably only if you've seen the movie, but I'm going to go on and on about it anyways, because seriously, this has me at my wit's end.

SJP's character is almost utterly irredeemable. She is overly formal, has annoying mannerisms, talks inappropriately and for long periods of time, can be counted on to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, and has a tendency to act as her own little physical comedy routine. Each of these things taken one at a time are not necessarily damning, but by the end of the movie, more than likely, you physically loathe her character. Or at least I did.

And then we are five miles from the theatre when it hits me: I am the complete embodiment of her character. It's so mind-meltingly accurate that the realization almost took my breath away. Cast a boy with a bad haircut in the role and it would be like looking in a damnable mirror. The entire movie turned out to be a concentrated exercise in self loathing. Seriously, if you know me, go see it. It will blow your mind.

In any case, it depresses the hell out of me. Because damn. She was, like, the villain, practically.

Also, that dinner scene at the halfway point is literally, hands-down, flat-out and every other cliched term possible, the most embarrassing and uncomfortable moment I have ever had watching a movie. For perspective's sake, I have watched the first-gay-experience moment in A Home at the End of the World with my parents and I wasn't as uncomfortable as I was on Saturday. Seriously, I almost had to leave the theatre. Maybe I was just overly high-strung that night or something.

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Okay, so that was worth waiting 11 days, right?

See you again in a couple of weeks!