10 Things I Hate About Me
It’s no secret to my [long-suffering] husband that I am a woman of many guilty pleasures. Over the past several years, he has witnessed my addiction to Golden Girls re-runs, Roseanne re-runs, my ongoing love-hate relationship with ramen noodles (in which I crave them and crave them until I give in and eat them, and then drive him crazy asking him if I look fat), my unabashed love of the McDonald’s breakfast burrito, and my ability to slather just about anything in hot sauce/wing sauce/that space-age zero-calorie Parkay fake butter spray (and hoo boy am I ever fucked if they determine that that shit causes cancer because I put it on EVERYTHING).
Therefore, it’s logical to assume that I have quite a catalog of terrible, awful, no-good, very bad movies that provide me with the guiltiest of pleasures, and oh, how correct that assumption is. I present you with (in no particular order) The Top Ten Movies Which, If Airing On Any Television Within a Ten-Mile Radius of My Eyes, Cause Me to Drop Whatever It Is I May Be Doing and Stare Glassy-Eyed at The Television Until The Pathetic Final Credits Roll:
- What a Girl Wants: This movie is ridiculous. No, let me take that a step further: this movie is ridonkulous. Miss Doxie said it best. I have seen it multiple times, but I still find it necessary to roll my eyes at the exact same places every single time, as if to say that I am above watching this trite, horrifically unrealistic piece of fluff (in which that bat-shit crazy Scientologist Kelly Preston sings, and OHMYLORD why did they not dub over that?), yet…there I sit, glued to the screen, secretly jealous that I didn’t grow up in a quirky walk-up apartment over a restaurant in Chinatown, only to find out that I’m actually the daughter of a famous British politician who will try on wacky clothes with me in a kicky little montage. Sigh.
- Sweet Home Alabama: What can I say? I am a sucker for a movie about a big-city girl getting back in touch with her humble redneck roots. This movie also reminds me of a very basic costume design class I took in college, in which we learned how to mirror a character’s emotional journey with his or her clothing. Apparently, the costume designer for this movie was in the same class, because we watch Reese Witherspoon’s clothing start out as chic all-black (because she’s a designer! In New York!), then soften to incorporate colors and some blue jeans (because she’s in the South now! And that’s what they do down there!) and then move into a full-out patterned sundress with cowboy boots (Yee-haw! Pass the okra!).
- Center Stage: My friend Bee and I love this movie. We looooooove this movie. If you’re anything like us, and you totally get off on the sordid, hidden, ridiculous world of dancing, with its eating disorders and body issues and backstabbing prima donnas and endless wailing about “bad feet” and sex scenes underscored with Mandy Moore songs and people snootily pronouncing the word “ballet” with the emphasis on the first syllable, then this, my friend, is the movie for you. I can’t even pretend to hate it; so deep is my love for Center Stage. After all, this is the movie that brought us the classic line: “I’m the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy! Who are you? NOBODY!” Fucking brilliant.
- Mystic Pizza: My friend Bird is responsible for turning me on to this one. It’s got all the elements of a classic: close female friendships, sex with an older [married!] man, high-waisted jeans, and Conchata Ferrell. I was actually in a play last year with a woman who had a very, very small role in this movie, and discovering this excited me way more than it should have. But hey, that makes me 2 degrees away from Julia Roberts & Matt Damon, so I’m practically famous now.
- First Wives Club: I don’t know HOW I got so attached to this one. I remember watching it for the first time during a particularly horrific weekend at my ex-boyfriend’s parents’ house, and I guess the intoxicating combination of Bette Midler, Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn, and the weird dad from 7th Heaven was simply too much for me to resist.
- Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants: Damn you, Amber Tamblyn, for making me cry EVERY TIME. This is actually a decent movie [for teenage girls, which I am not], but I still harbor a white-hot hate for Alexis Bledel and her big ol’ Gilmore Girls forehead.
- St. Elmo’s Fire: If the 1980s and John Hughes got drunk on Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers, hooked up in the back of a DeLorean at a Hall & Oates concert and had a baby, it would be this movie. We’ve got Demi Moore. We’ve got Rob Lowe. Holy shit, we’ve got MARE WINNINGHAM. I dare you not to get addicted to this one.
- Where the Heart Is: This one is just straight-up bad. It’s a weird-ass story full of weird-ass characters, not to mention some craptacular acting by Miss Natalie Portman. I’m sorry, but she fucking sucks, and not just in this movie, but on a regular basis. Yeah, she’s pretty, but bitch has the emotional range of a fucking lawnmower. I don’t care if Jesus himself descends into my cubicle right now to tell me that Natalie Portman is talented; I’m just going to have to respectfully disagree. That being said, I still watch this steaming pile of dogshit whenever it happens to be on.
- Three Men and a Baby: See: previous blog post. Forgive me, Lord. I know not what I do.
- 10 Things I Hate About You: I love this movie not quite as deeply as I love Center Stage, but I have wasted some serious Saturday afternoons immersed in this, my favorite Julia Stiles movie EVER (sorry, Julia, but you haven’t given me much to work with here). I seriously covet her hair, her car and her house in this movie, not to mention that there are big bonus points earned for the cast containing pointy Center Stage star Susan May Pratt.
Now, this list does not include all the movies I watch incessantly that I do not consider guilty pleasures. Which is to say that, yes, I will freely admit that I have watched Legally Blonde, Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, A Mighty Wind, Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club, For Keeps, Saved!, The Devil Wears Prada and The Birdcage so many times it’s a miracle I can hold a steady job. Eh, who needs a job anyway. If only I could locate my long-lost, rich, British, biological father…
Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.