Sunday, March 12, 2006

No! Yes! No!

Manolo Cardona as the muy sexy Gonzalo.

Today's Saturday cinematic offering was La mujer de mi hermano (My Brother's Wife, 2005). A Peruvian-penned Mexican flick, something to do with a love triangle. It was a dumb soap, basically: the wife becomes a beard. That's right, I spoiled it. She fucks her brother-in-law and since he's a chronic skirt-chaser, she settles for her closeted husband because he promises to love her forever. Whoopadeedoo!

The plot didn't matter though because I was on the verge of coming every time the stock dickwad came on screen. The brother-in-law is such a tool, but fucks like a professional. Don't let the hair fool you. Damn hippie. *drool* The afro, the worn-out Converses, the vintage tees, I hated him because he had the same moves as ... Well, let's not get into details. Okay, let's. The seductive teasing in those scenes were at once enjoyable and excruciatingly difficult to get through just because it reminded me so much of the way he used to ... Hell no, I refuse to get myself riled up and depressed over this. I clean the dishes without prompting! I dance the tango in my underoos! I am an independent woman, damnit! ... Jesus, I'm lame.

Why is it that I can tolerate most anything, and yet I can't be in the same building, let alone make use of the same appendage, with someone who reeks of monkey shit IQ? I wish - really - I could be more like Readerdroid who went on a date with a complete himbo last week, told me he was unbearable ("He's never heard of Guantanamo Bay! Can you believe it?"), and ended up taking him for a fuck buddy: they've been doing daily booty calls since. I told her that just isn't a possibility for me because from the door to the bed, common courtesy requires that I offer the guy coffee, tea, or me and answering in kind will substantially decrease his chances of sex just because reaching coitus depends on him keeping his mouth shut. And since political correctness requires mutes to have overcome some sort of adversity in their lifetime, I doubt I'd find one willing to put up with my disappointment at the discovery that his disability has been a real eye-opener for him. "About that," I'd imagine saying, "you're too thoughtful to screw." And he'd hang his head and sign me the finger. Yeah, that's exactly what'll happen.

So in the movie theatre, I was about to take a seat when someone behind me shouts, "Is that Lily?" I turned around: "Who is that?" It was an old high school classmate of mine. She was sitting with a male companion. We ran to the aisle, happily chatting and exchanged numbers before the show. Man, we did not like each other for the longest time because both our reputations preceeded us. I was a bitch, she was annoying. Then, in grade 12, we shared an English literature course and suddenly became intellectual peas and carrots. We were absolutely inseparable during class: brainstormed and supported each other's ideas and depended on the other one to be the advocatus diaboli during presentations. She remembered how I did my independent writing assignment on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein as an allegory for venereal disease and thought it was crazy of me to try and pull it off, but fell for it she did (along with the teacher who handed me that coveted A+). We hadn't seen each other since graduation, but picked up right where we left off over coffee. She confirmed the girls back home got fat (bespecled eyes do not deceive) and made sure to fit in a handful of politically-charged topics before leaving to go see her boyfriend. We got into a discussion over her militant feminist roommate. "Forget about arguing with these people," I huffed. "They're not equalists; they're historical revisionists."

She laughed: "You haven't changed a bit."

I didn't have the guts to tell her it had taken everything I had to bring myself back to this point after being belittled for the past year. Anyway, it was good to see her again, we've already made plans for next week. And how weird is it that I find out after she invited me to her St. Patty's Day party that her place is only two blocks down from mine? We go to the same Lebanese eatery, for chrissakes!


Slobodan Milosevic is dead. Good riddance to that asshole.

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