Tonight, I watched the second half of Brokeback Mountain. And wept. I've never even seen a trailer for the film (I'm culturally inept?), but I heard it was real good, and it is. The second half, anyway.
Last week, after my initial viewing of Harold and Maude, forced upon me by best friend and Maude-prophet Hannah, I bawled. Curled into a ball and cried my eyes out. It was so happy and so sad and so sweet and I just couldn't contain myself. If you haven't seen it, see it.
Also, recently, my mom and I decided to watch Boy in the Striped Pajamas. By the time I figured out what was going to happen, I got too sad and decided to leave the room, but my mom got really stressed and told me that she would positively die if I left her alone with the ending of that movie, so I stayed. And I totally lost it. It is
All this to say that, somewhere along the line, I have turned into a giant, mushy, sentimental crybaby. Sam would kick me in the shins and tell me to get a grip, but at least I posted, so he can finally get some sleep.
Chynna
P.S. For those of you who have been in Missoula, Montana on a Thursday evening: I went to DeadHipster sober. It was awful. Some guy licked my ear and everyone smelled really bad. Don't do drugs.
P.P.S. I'll write you a poem next time cause I like poems.
i think dead hipster is pretty terrible even if you're drunk.
ReplyDeletePS you do need to get a grip
It only gets worse with age. Just thought you should know.
ReplyDelete