Anyway, the movie made me happy, and then sad, and then really happy, and then devastated, but ultimately sort of happy. I'm not sure. But I do know that it had a profound effect on me, not like say, Marie Antoinette. Good God. I wanted to cut my own goddamn head off ten minutes into the ten hour movie. And I am (was) a Sofia Coppola advocate. Thanks a lot for sucking major balls, Sofia.
I took my new car out driving around in squares in what my dad refers to as "unnecessary driving." I figure a Toyota can handle some unnecessary driving, whereas my Pontiac couldn't. So I drove past the arena, through a field of indiscernible hooved animals, and on into a previously undiscovered industrial part of town where Terminator looks to have been filmed at.
I ended up at Kohls, which is less soul-crushing than I remembered it, where I bought stripey this, and stripey that, and dangly earring this, and pink neon that and so on and so forth, until I could not even fit the enormity of all the crap I bought in my car, which is slightly larger than a potato.
My neighbor, although now civil to me, is still parking in an extremely mentally impaired manner. It's even more awkward now when she waves at me and smiles. "HI!" I wave back, inwardly cursing her Hyundai (which is actually a Chrysler Sebring upon closer inspection. Same difference) rammed up against my car, which fortunately, is potato portioned and far easier to maneuver around her assmobile (which is leaking a multitude of shit already, by the way).
That concludes my entirely pointless entry about my enormously pointless weekend.