I don’t think internet cafes should be allowed to play Ja Rule.
I’ve done an immense amount of aimless driving since moving to L.A. I. Subconsciously, I think I’ll drive and drive and end up finding what I’m “looking for.”
And also to test my intuition, knock on wood, I’ve managed to never drive forever just to have a car crash. But I’ve also never managed to drive just to find “what I’m looking for” either.
If something tells me to turn left, I turn left, even if I’ve never turned left before and have no idea where left goes. I’ll turn left, and think “Something told me to turn left; this is where the miracle begins” I create movie drama wherever I go.
Nothing remotely resembling a romantic comedy has happened to me today.
Except for I was “pulled” to go to a café I’ve never been to before….this is the time in a romantic comedy where my future husband would be sitting at the table across from me eating a spinach and tomato omelet, and a latte….and we’d both just coincidentally happen to have the same affinity for coloring the white dots on our composition notebooks, or we’d be reading the same book, or both have Barack Obama buttons, or….something. It would spark this hilariously cute and quirky conversation, and obviously: Instant Love.
The rest of my perfectly crafted and effortless awesomeness would continue from then on.
This miracle has yet to happen, but I keep thinking someday…
Today the only guy that’s accompanying me is JaRule, and the rest of his posse, and his other lady Ashanti. Hardly romantic comedy style.
One thing that movies tend to leave out, other than “You’ve got mail” and that was when e-mail was still somewhat of a novelty, other than that, movies tend to omit our reliability on communicating through text messaging.
One reason I’m sure is because the movie would be devastatingly boring if you were just watching a relationship flourish (or fall) through the art of texting. But now this is how we do it. Even when you’re in the beginning of a tryst with someone, we’re such pussy’s, we text. I do anyways.
Dating is awkward as it is and any opportunity to skip over the steps of uncomfortable phone pauses, or nervously talking over each other, because you still have yet to know each other’s speaking rhythm, so you speak before the other one has a moment to respond, or think…Any chance to avoid that I’ll take it. So, we text.
What I’m getting at is it’s really hard to have any sort of romantic comedy moments, when our reality is heavily based around not speaking. And less and less real interaction, half the funny things you would have said in person in the past, is being said over introductory e-mails. Not to mention everything else that’s said over beginning e-mails, you do avoid some of the awkwardness because you know what you’re getting into before you even say yes to a date.
Awkwardness has a charm that’s lost when everything is perfect. Still, I sit here and I refuse to say hello to a complete stranger…actually there’s no one to say anything to, my intuition led me to a un-air conditioned café playing JaRule…and Britney Spears.
The DJ of this place must be reading my energy because I happened to have been listening to Britney Spears last night for a good 2 hours.
A friend and I rolled up and for whatever reason; every time we’re stoned we contemplate the rise and fall of Ms. Spears. It really is an epic fall.
People tend to forget what led to a seemingly unnecessary focus on Britney…. But she was radically famous in her day.
Now she’s famous for radically fucking up, but what led her to being famous for that, was the fact the she was the absolute pop icon of the late 90’s early 00’s and she killed it every time she stepped on that stage.
Perfectly crafted, perfectly raunchy in the sexiest way imaginable, and
Fearless. Obviously she had to be, because when you listen to her early records, girl was belting, and laawd knows she couldn’t sing. Hot damn though, she loved it. And however horrible it really was, we were enamored with her. Seriously, her body in “Slave 4 U”… she had all us, haters and lover alike, in the palm of her hand. She dripped with sex and confidence. Whether it was trickery she used to make us think she was the bomb shit, or what I don’t know. Even if she wasn’t “the shit”, she was.
This is what I think of every time I’m stoned. What happened to poor Brit? I listen from beginning to end and think….What a sad, sad, fall.
We didn’t bust out the Britney tour videos this time, which we’ve done before, and mind you, mimicked evvvery-single-step.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t had my magical movie moment, I listen to Britney Spears. Listened. In movies you’re supposed to listen to Bob Dylan, or Bob Marley, or anyone named Bob when you’re stoned. Not Britney. I listen to the Bob’s when I’m not high, which I think puts me in a category to have at least ONE movie moment….no?