7/20/99 - My descent into wussyhood continues.  Acting on the quasi-recommendations of Nicole and Aylin, last nite I walked down to the video store to rent a movie -- The Truth About Cats and Dogs. 

Now, I've caught clips of it before on cable.  I've probably caught clips of 90% of the films made in the last twenty years on cable.  But I had never sat down to watch it, primarily because it's a chick flic.  I don't watch chick flics.  I don't normally watch many movies at all, but the ones I do watch generally have a firm line of testosterone running through them somewhere.  Even Roxanne, the male counterpart of The Truth About Cats and Dogs (which is yet another take off of Cyrano de Bergerac.  But everybody knows that.  I'm just trying to look smart), had plenty of guys and guy humor in it.  Anyhow, the point is I rented it and watched it in the dark with scented candles all around me (Hey, they're Jenny's!). 

It was OK, nothing to write home about, though.  Wish it had more of Jamie Foxx. But I tried to concentrate on the aspects of it that have something to do with me and Paula -- namely falling for someone who's looks are in question (since I've never seen Paula, although she said she's sending pictures.  Better not get any " I don't know why you didn't get them, they must have gotten lost in the mail" bullshit).  Y'know, can you love someone for what's inside and then have them become beautiful as you get to know them?  That sorta stuff. 

Naturally I managed to screw the point of it up, and turned it against myself.  Instead, I felt like the person who looks like Janeane Garafolo, but is as smart as Uma Thurman (for those of you who haven't seen it, Garafolo is a smart and witty radio veterinarian, and Thurman is a dipshit model).  Except Garafolo has better teeth.  There's the scene where Thurman is at Ben Chapin's studio (Chapin is the film's hunky photographer and co-love interest of Thurman and Garafolo), and she's looking at a photograph he took.  She looks at it and says, "Um, it's really dark."  Which is the sort of thing I would say if I had to comment on an artsy photograph.  No appreciation or analysis of the photo because my mind doesn't work that way.  Instead, "It's really dark."

After the film I went out to have a smoke.  My apartment building is really small -- only 8 units -- and there's only one walkway that passes by the doors or stairs.  When I go out onto the steps to have a smoke, I can't see anyone coming down the walkway because our patio fence obstructs my view.  Anyhow, I heard some rustling coming from the walkway to my right, and I figured it must be someone walking home.  Since I haven't lived there long, I really don't have any idea of who my neighbors are or what they look like, and it's sorta important for me to know. I'm anal about knowing faces and names (maybe that's why I couldn't just get drunk at a bar and sleep with the first woman who looked at me).  So I look down and to the right, and who do I see but...

...an opossum.  The single-most buttfuckingly repulsive creature that evolution produced.  A creature so horrifyingly nasty that after I first saw one in my old neighborhood when I was about 13, I would not walk around at night in my old neighborhood for a couple of years.  I really despise the little buggers.  Back in the days when I had a car, I ran over two of them.  Both times were purely unintentional -- it was dark both times, and the fools just dart out onto the road like they've got the right of way.  But I never felt bad about it. 

So here is this nasty little fucker about two feet away from me.  It was a young one, thank Buddha.  Had it been full grown, I probably would have pooped my pants and run inside.  (Yes, this is the kind of courageous man some woman out there is thinking of getting together with).  As it was, I just made several sharp, brief hissing sounds, and so it just kept on strolling by, to frighten some other poor soul at a later time.


 
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