Apparently, my blog turns one today?
Ever since I was told I was the maid of honor it never made me feel excited in the sense that I should be feeling honored that my friend thought I deserved that title. And it was partly due to money and how, at the time, I didn’t know what I was going to do for the bachelorette party and the cost involved. However, on a deeper level, it’s not just about money or planning a party. These are superficial in the sense that they only mask the true problem at hand. Truthfully, I haven’t been happy with my romantic life. I haven’t met anyone, until recently, that actually could have potential. Two years I spent in a relationship that was damaging to my confidence and to my ability to trust, and when that ended I found myself not wanting another relationship for fear that it’s going to be exactly the same. I’ve tried to break out of the habit of not expecting anything great to happen. Time and again, however, I kept fucking things up because of it. I don’t know what it is to love someone genuinely because it has never happened. As much as I try to exude “I’m fine, I don’t need anyone,” the truth of the matter is that I would like someone in my life. Not that I need them to complete me, ironically, everything else is taking off (they’ve trusted me with opening shifts at work) and I enjoy my job. It’s gotten me to be more outgoing. Until then I’ve had to rely on social media to make me feel as though I could connect with others. It’s a pleasant change. But now it’s time to find someone who understands and accepts me, who will appreciate my company for what it is. I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t need the same kind of love or respect my friend has gotten. It’s hurting my perception of how she feels about getting married, maybe indirectly, but all the same - I am tired of being cynical. It has brought more hurt than resolve.
I introduced someone to Punch Brothers last night.
I want to stress this again: In many, many parts of the country right now, if you want to go to see a movie in the theater and see a current movie about a woman — any story about any woman that isn’t a documentary or a cartoon — you can’t. You cannot. There are not any. You cannot take yourself to one, take your friend to one, take your daughter to one.
There are not any.
By far your best shot, numbers-wise, at finding one that’s at least even-handedly featuring a man and a woman is Before Midnight (on 891 screens) so I hope you like it. Because it’s pretty much that or a solid, impenetrable wall of movies about dudes.
Dudes in capes, dudes in cars, dudes in space, dudes drinking, dudes smoking, dudes doing magic tricks, dudes being funny, dudes being dramatic, dudes flying through the air, dudes blowing up, dudes getting killed, dudes saving and kissing women and children, and dudes glowering at each other.
Somebody asked me this morning what “the women” are going to do about this. I don’t know. I honestly am at the point where I have no idea what to do about it. Stop going to the movies? Boycott everything?
They put up Bridesmaids, we went. They put up Pitch Perfect, we went. They put up The Devil Wears Prada, which was in two-thousand-meryl-streeping-oh-six, and we went (and by “we,” I do not just mean women; I mean we, the humans), and all of it has led right here, right to this place. Right to the land of zippedy-doo-dah. You can apparently make an endless collection of high-priced action flops and everybody says “win some, lose some” and nobody decides that They Are Poison, but it feels like every “surprise success” about women is an anomaly and every failure is an abject lesson about how we really ought to just leave it all to The Rock.”