I watched films all weekend. Oh, except for Friday night, when Claire came over, by far the low point of the whole weekend. That woman is insane. We have this fight because I make some comment about not screening my phone calls, except sometimes when Aly calls, which is the truth, and Claire is all, "you can't say that! Aly's a nice girl! What do you say about me behind my back?" And I'm like, why the hell do you even think about that shit? I don't give a crap what people say about me behind my back - as far as I'm concerned it's none of my business. Obviously I'm just sharing my particular philosophy with her but she takes it as confirmation that I, in fact, do talk about her behind her back. Which of course is absolutely true, because she's a fucking crazy bitch with serious emotional problems, making her a brilliant topic of conversation. And I can't lie very well and hate doing it, so telling her that I don't talk about her behind her back was horribly uncomfortable for me, yet horribly necessary, as Claire isn't capable of hearing negative things about herself and not having a total meltdown about it. Not many people are (hence why many things should only ever be said behind their backs).
On a brighter note: films. All good, bar one, which is why the new rule of the house should be: Only Kate picks the films from now on. Reading lots of film criticism does have its advantages, you morons. And Hamish, the friends of yours who think that anything from The Incredibly Strange Film Festival in Wellington is the best film they've ever seen, should NOT BE LISTENED TO. Admittedly my tastes are a little more mainstream than yours, but seriously, The Happiness of the Katakuris is a bad, bad movie.
I liked Hitch because I love Will Smith and Eva Mendes and even though it didn't make me laugh, it held my attention all the way through and had plenty in it to enjoy, especially if you're a deluded romantic like me. I really liked The Aviator. I adored Bad Education, the gayest film EVER. Gael Garcia Bernal as a tranny? Not normally my kink of choice, but fuck me, he's divine. In a dress, in y-fronts, with a beard, the guy is just perfect. In keeping with the gay theme, I also got out My Summer of Love, about two cute teenage lesbians, and it was a sweet, sexy, moving, warm, beautiful film. But - and I don't know what this says about me - the pick of the bunch, by far, was Harold and Kumar get the Munchies. A sort of adult version of Dude, Where's my Car (a movie I pretty much loathed), with two fucking hot Asian guys (one Korean, one Indian) in the lead, making me laugh my ass off. The main difference between the two films is that Harold and Kumar are actually intelligent, interesting, decent, cool characters and, despite a few gross-out/too-silly-for-words scenes, it's generally extremely funny, even clever at times, dealing with issues of race in a sharp, lighthearted way.
I'm what you might call a reckless pedestrian. I jay walk. I sometimes don't look both ways before crossing the street, instead relying on my peripheral vision and my hearing. Most of my friends have, at some point, saved my life - usually by jamming their arm in front of my chest to prevent me from stepping off the curb and into the path of a moving vehicle. And given my tendency to drive dangerously fast whenever I'm allowed, I'm pretty certain that if I die before my time, it'll be in some sort of tragic road accident. And I've made my peace with that.
Nevertheless, nothing grates my cheese quite as much as the driver who sees me crossing the road ahead of them and - both obviously and audibly - speeds up. Why is he speeding up? The only thing I can think of is that he's trying to scare the shit out of me. Dude, that was an intelligent piece of road crossing. I didn't even need to scurry; I could have strolled across the road, and you still wouldn't have had to slow down. Asshole.