Why I Go To The Movies Alone

[Note: I actually wrote this piece as a guest article for another blog, but as it simply never got published, I decided it would be a waste not to publish it on my own blog.] 

The first time I ever went to see a movie by myself, I went to see Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World.

I was terrified as I walked up to the counter and asked for one single ticket.

I also felt hilarious because of the irony of my movie choice whilst being alone, but that’s beside the point.

I had this preconceived notion that it was sad and depressing and just plain pathetic going to the movies alone. I thought everyone in the theater would judge me or feel sorry for me, and I didn’t like either of those options. I remember being in high school and seeing people alone at the movies and swearing that I would never be that pathetic.

And then after college I moved to a city where I had no friends and was five and half hours away from family, and had no choice but to be pathetic and go to the movies alone. I befriended my town’s $2.50 movie theater after living in the city for six months and swallowing my pride long enough to tell the guy at the counter that I just needed one ticket.

An hour into the movie, it hit me that going to the movies alone was the best thing that could have ever happened to me at that time in my life.

No one is watching you. Literally.

I have always been a self-conscious person, caring way more about how people view me than I should.

But in a dark movie theater, I realized that literally no one is looking at me or cares that I’m there by myself. They’re there to watch a movie, not watch me.

There is a lot of freedom in realizing that you don’t have to worry what others are thinking about you because they’re not paying you a bit of attention.

A movie theater alone can be a little slice of heaven.

I was in a place where it didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t know anyone or was alone. I could laugh with people, cry with them, be shocked, amazed, inspired, and all without even talking to them. I could eat snacks and junk food in public to my heart’s content, and no one judged me because no one was looking at me.

An introvert’s paradise, really.

Going to the movies made me take myself on a date.

That may sound silly, but I was alone in a city I didn’t want to be in, and it was really easy for me, on my days off, to stay in bed till 3 p.m. feeling sorry for myself. The movie theater got me out of bed, dressed in something other than sweatpants.

I used to consider going to the movies as like taking myself out on a date. Before going, I would shower, put on makeup, do my hair, dress up a little even maybe, not for anyone but myself. I would buy popcorn at the movies and not have to share with anyone. I didn’t feel so gloomy and self-pitying while I was enjoying a movie.

Even though I currently actually have a few friends now and am dating someone I can drag to the movies, I still sometimes take myself to a movie alone, just to cheesily remind myself that I’m my friend and I’m pretty cool.

New Blog Because I'm Cool (I'm Not)

I decided to get off my butt and do something I've been thinking about doing for months: Create a film review blog.

If you had asked me junior year of college where I would be in five years, I would have probably told you some cockamamie answer. I was naive and dumb junior year.

But somehow writing would have been involved in that cockamamie answer, and that's the one thing I wasn't dumb about junior year; I knew I loved to write.

I graduated college four years ago, and still have yet to actually do anything in my vocation that really involves writing.

Don't get me wrong, I've learned to accept and (most days) be relatively happy in my current vocation. And while the majority of my job is writing e-mails in a customer service-type setting, that's not the kind of writing I thought I'd be doing post-graduation.

I still cling to the hope that one day, I'll find myself in a job that allows me to really write like I want. But that's not today, so instead of moping about it, I choose to be proactive.

Thus this new blog was born.

I'm still creating and word vomiting on this blog, never you worry, three people who actually read this blog. But if you're tired of my rantings on nothing in particular and long for me to be consistent in my writings, then maybe hop, skip, wander, or whatever form of movement you'd like on over to my new blog that will be exclusively film reviews, found here:

http://andnowthefeaturedpresentation.blogspot.com/

Enjoy and stuff.

"I'm not superstitious. But I am a little stitious."

So Robert and I finished The Office a few weeks ago.

Not gonna lie, season 9 was hard to get through. Not because we were prolonging the end, just because the season was rough. The show was never the same after Michael left, but that last season just felt really off.

But they redeemed themselves with the last episode.

As far as last episodes of shows go, The Office made pretty top ranks in my book.

I really judge shows based on the very last episode (cough The Newsroom cough I pretend it doesn't exist cough) and I'm not gonna lie, I teared up multiple times in the last episode of The Office.

I was thinking about the last episode today, and it made me have some serious The Office withdrawals.

So if you are too, then don't worry. I got you covered.






































And finally, perhaps the best moment of the entire show.






Office, come baaaaaaaaaack. I love you.

The Politics And Stuff

I don't talk about politics.

Mostly because I know nothing about them.

I fully admit that I probably should learn something about politics besides really liking The West Wing but struggling to understand anything that happens on the show besides who's kissing who.

I think it would do our country an enormous amount of good if people my age - aka kids who have been out of college long enough to understand a wee bit about the world but not adult enough yet to really truly understand a 401k - took it upon themselves to be educated about politics (and in my humble opinion, saying you don't want Hillary to be president because she's a girl is NOT a good enough reason to not want her as president).

I mean have a comprehensive, basic understanding of politics. Enough that you could at least stumble through a grown-up conversation about politics.

I think that's probably how you know you're a true adult - you want to at least sort of understand big things like politics and 401k's.

And as much as I find politics icky and terrifying, I want to do some research or take a class or talk to someone who can patiently explain things to me.

But, until that time comes and I can say with reasonable confidence why I want to vote for someone, I 100% for sure can say that even if you don't agree with Obama's way of being president or whatever, you have to admit that he seems like a cool guy.

Like, even if sometimes I roll my eyes and say, "Thanks, Obama," I still think he got swag and we should be besties.

If you think I've lost my mind at this point, I submit this link of some awesome photography of the prez.

http://twistedsifter.com/2016/07/pete-souza-white-house-photog-favorite-obama-photos/

You won't be disappointed. Promise.

"I Can't Go Back Now"

I listened to Matthew Perryman Jone's "I Can't Go Back Now" on repeat one, and I wrote a thing.

I never meant to fall in love with her. 

I even tried not to. 

Told myself it was just sadness confused, that we would get over his death and then realize we didn't need each other anymore, that the only thing bonding us together was a grief neither of us could carry, but just in that moment, and we could and would learn to carry it alone. 

But holding her right then lessened the grief just a little, and I was looking for any morsel of relief during those days after he died. 

Maggie and I felt it the most after he died. 

Not that other people didn't feel it or grieve, I know they did. 

Just not the way we felt it. 

I remember the first time I met Rex. I was the weird new boy in third grade, braces and glasses and a head so full of useless facts that sometimes they all spilled out when I tried to talk normal. 

None of the other boys liked me, but that was sort of okay with me. I didn't mind playing by myself during recess. 

But then Joey Franklin stole my toy helicopter and refused to give it back and so I did what any other self-respecting eight year old boy would do when the Joeys of the world steal their toys during recess and laugh at them for crying about it - I punched him square in the nose. 

And when Joey ran to Mrs. Feathershed the teacher with his face covered in blood, Rex whispered to me to shut up and waltzed up to Mrs. Feathershed and told her he did it because it was about damn time someone broke Joey's nose. 

Rex was suspended from school for a week for punching Joey, and grounded by his parents for a month for using a bad word. 

But he also gained a new best friend. 

I told that story during my best man speech at Rex and Maggie's wedding. Got a huge laugh from everyone. 

I don't remember what story Maggie's maid of honour told, but it sure wasn't as good as mine. 

That's what I felt about anyone else's friendship with anyone else ever - it wasn't as good as mine and Rex's friendship. 

Maggie once asked me if I was mad at her for stealing my best friend for her own. I told her that I guess I should be, but couldn't because Maggie just felt like an extension of Rex. 

When Maggie showed up at my house a few months after he died, I was listening to Rex's favourite album on my record player. 

I realize how cliche or fateful that sounds, but whatever. Maybe it was both of those things. 

When I opened the door, she tried to pretend like she wasn't crying. 

I didn't know what to say to her, so we stood there staring at each other for a few seconds before she shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile, and the tears poured down her face, and I grabbed her and hugged her as hard and I knew how. 

We laid on my bed and listened to the album all the way through three times and didn't say a word to each other. She rested her head on my chest the entire time, and I played with her hair. 

That was ninety-seven days after he died, and I thought I was just comforting the widow of my best friend. 

That Moving Day Mindset Though

In fifteen days, I get to start over.

I found a new place to live, and these final fifteen days until I get to live there feel like a hundred days.

Obviously I’m excited.

I’m currently sick and couldn’t sleep last night, so as I tried to drift off, I sappily thought about all the wonderful and weird and happy and dramatic and stupid things that happened in this apartment.

Wonderful = My man told me he loved me for the first time in this apartment. That’s the most wonderful thing I could have asked for.

Weird = I grew up in a lot of good but weird ways here. I learned I’m better and healthier living alone, I learned when to keep my mouth shut when I really want to yell at certain individuals when I see them in my neighborhood, I learned what I had to write on work order requests to get the maintenance guys to leave notes when they fix things, I learned to not sweat the small stuff sometimes.

Happy = I discovered who I should keep around in my life, and who is unhealthy. Which was an extremely happy thing for me because I’ve always dealt with being desperate for friends and being wiling to be friends with anyone who smiles at me. But over the past 13 months living here, I figured out who is healthy for me and who’s not.

Dramatic = See above where I said I figured out who was unhealthy. Enough said.

Stupid = Lots and lots and lots of stupid mistakes were made in this apartment. Selfish decisions, saying words that felt great in the moment but weren’t even thought through a little bit, stuffing myself with Taco Bell and Fazzoli’s until I really just wanted to throw up.

I can’t wait for the new wonderful and weird and happy dramatic and stupid and sappy things that will happen in my new home.

You Don’t Want To Be Skinny, You Want To Be Skinny In A Movie

I remember the first time I thought I was fat.

I was at a middle school Sunday school class. I was thirteen and up until that point, blissfully unaware that all of the other girls were skinnier than me. But it was summer and hot, so we were all wearing skirts and t-shirts to combat the non-air-conditioned basement youth room. I clearly remember bowing my head for prayer, and suddenly noticing that there was an obvious roll on my stomach as I sat on the couch. I stared at it through about half of the prayer, suddenly becoming grossed out by my own body. I spent the second half of the prayer sneaking looks at the other girls’ stomachs, seeing if my roll was bigger or smaller than theirs. When I got to the last girl, I took a sharp intake of breath. My roll was bigger than every other girl in the room.

I thought about this for weeks, wondering if it was okay that I was the “fattest” friend in my friend group. I went through my clothes and decided what I could layer to keep this information to myself, what I needed to get rid of because there was no hiding my stomach in that shirt or dress.

I can even remember going so far at the next sleepover as hugging a pillow to my stomach through the entire movie marathon with my friends because I didn’t want them to see my roll.

I’ve had moments and years where this pillow is my best friend. I’ve been thankful for certain friends not because of their friendship but because they are bigger than me and that boosts my confidence. I’ve had moments of being jealous of people I knew who were anorexic because in those worst moments, it seems like that word would fix all my problems (note: I am not nor ever was in no way shape or form anorexic nor will I ever be, just sharing a thought).

I was probably my most thin senior year of high school carrying into freshman year of college. But what’s funny about this is that these were also my worst and most depressed years of my life thus far.

I like to remind myself of this because sometimes I need to be slapped in the face with the fact that being 10, 20, 40 pounds lighter than I am right now will not automatically make me a happier person.

What will make me a happier person is loving myself.

I know, I know. I am the master of cliché. But hear (or read) me out.

If I love myself, that means I will feed myself things that are good for me, and I will also treat myself with splurges.

If I love myself, I will exercise an appropriate amount and work all of my muscles, not just run myself to death in the hopes of becoming skinny.

If I love myself, I will treat my body with kindness and find positivity in myself instead of focusing on what I may be hiding behind the pillow.

I read a quote one time by J. K. Rolling that said, “Is fat the worst thing a person can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring' or 'cruel'? Not to me.” I printed this quote out when I first found it and taped it to my scale to remind myself of its truth every time I weighed myself. So what if I’m the biggest girl in my circle of friends? It’s also possible that I’m the nicest or the sweetest or the one with the most intoxicating laugh, and if I had my choice, I would rather be those things than skinny.

So yeah, I don’t want to be skinny, I want to be skinny in a movie. Because if I were in a movie and became skinny, I would think that also means I would gain the affection of every male in a 100 mile radius, I would gain instant best friendship with all the most popular girls, and I would find some kind of inner being and become a magical better person.

In real life, if I were skinny, I would be dating a man who was crazy about me, I would have 2 or 3 of the dearest and sweetest friends I could ever ask for, and I would be a child of God who loves herself.

Oh wait. That is real life. So what am I complaining about, again?

Right. I’m not skinny.

Meh. Who cares?