"he wasn't a man"
I had a crummy day at work yesterday. First off, I've lost interest in the semester, it being three days until the exam, so my lessons were boring & largely focused on "work time," which became "chat time." Second, I had to tell the guy next to me to stop making ribald jokes at my expense because I was getting uncomfortable. That is The Last Time I ask him to take me on an off-site errand – he was fine during the errand, but before & after he made a number of comments insinuating that our business was sexual. Blech and double-blech – even though I told them to stop, and they did, I still feel garbagy. Third, the purpose of the errand was to buy samosas for a English department birthday, one that I loused up by forgetting cups, plates & napkins. Go me.
So I was not in a great mood when the Boy & I got ready to go out for the night. (As you may recall, this was the night for the po-mo/porno horror.) Mason called to back out right before we left, Dirk & Exodus & Ex's woman (Levitica – I've decided to refer to them collectively as the Pentateuch – look it up) were looking like sketchy prospects at best, and my PVC pants* were uncomfortable (go figure). I was nearly positive that we'd go to Future Bakery, eat a quiet dinner, chat with Stacy for an hour, then go home.
Need I say that my disappointments were, well, disappointed? For one, Dirk picked up the phone when we were loudly singing along with Frozen Ghost on the highway, and he even promised to put on pants in time for our arrival. I didn't end up eating at FB (which was weird, because me and eating are tight), but we had fun anyway. And then Stacy & the Pentateuch showed up, so that was cool, too. Much laughter, and the eating of schnitzel later, we were ready for the soi-dit porno horror.
I have to say that, Behind the Mask: the rise of Leslie Vernon did not disappoint. Last night was a perfect echo of every reason I had to watch horror when I was a teen, namely:
- it was what all my friends were doing, which was therefore what I wanted to do
- thrills n' some tame chills that couldn't quite compare to what my imagination has been conjuring out of the dark since the age of 11
- voyeuristic explorations of airbrushed teenage sex, which I soaked up as a valuable source of information/inspiration. Hey, when you're 16, it's easier and classier to get away with watching horror rather than porno in your parents' basement.
"Isn't this a little gratuitous?"
"Tay, who's telling this story?"
* Why was I wearing my PVC pants when no club was in sight? A few reasons. When we called Dirk on Thursday, he expressed an interest in – get this - going dancing after the movie. Buddy hasn't made it past 4:30 p.m. this week and he wants to close out the Garden's retro night. But since I'm an "anything can happen and I want to be dressed for it" kind of person, I spent some time at the lunch table musing about the most efficient outfit change before I settled on the pants. They actually make a lot of sense in winter, I just haven't really worn them since my anti-depressant-pro-weight-gain era. Of course, the people at the table began giving me shit for my bad fashion sense, so I got a little stubborn and decided to wear them out no matter where I ended up (even if front of the teevee). I even put in my new contact lenses and slathered on my typical helping of Too Much Dark Makeup to match the mood of the pants. It was fun.
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