Tuesday, February 25, 2014

For the Love of Chick Flicks

So, I was minding my own business (hanging out in full-on work avoidance mode), thinking I should check out one of those smart documentaries on my Netflix queue. The instant streaming movies aren't the hot new releases that you really want to see, but rather the random movies that you don't always remember, plus some independent movies, which kind of reminds me of living overseas before cable modems and streaming movies and DVDs, back when I used to rent up a bunch of movies from the base video store and it was never the movies you wanted to see but random movies that you didn't know too much about.

So, naturally I watched a chick flick.

Not just any chick flick, I watched What to Expect When You're Expecting. This is funny because I read the shit out of that book when I was pregnant with my son, highlighter in hand. Funny because I used to crack my friends up when I was pregnant and this book was my constant companion. My go-to reference. That book which I would read and reference, like constantly, to the point where I would drive people crazy.

My constant refrain included things like "... but the book said... " and "... but that's not what the book said..." which was, I'm sure, annoying as hell.

But I just wanted to do everything right. I was a woman of a certain age who sometimes worried too much and lived far away from family going through a really big change that sort of knocked me off solid ground. I couldn't control any of it. That book offered me the opportunity to control something, some small part of this scary process--at least I could pretend that I was in control. That provided a small bit of comfort.

Even old married ladies (that would be me) need to
have fun with lady friends (that would be Marisa)
on occasion. Chick flicks remind me of this.
I call this picture "sister wives" because
we would be the best damn short-hair having
sister wives in the free world.
But I digress (as is my way); back to the movie. It started off cute--chick flick cute, you know how it is. And then it started to get to be about babies. And it made me cry.

It wasn't just the moment when there was a miscarriage. Or the twins. Or the reconciliation. Or the break up. Or the doubt. Or the meet cute. Or the adoption. Or the lost job. Or the hospital scene. Or the time when the guy got his foot run over. It was all of it.

And it was especially Elizabeth Banks, whose character Wendy was the one I really most identified with. You know, the older mom, the one who gained a shit-ton of weight and had the unpleasant (not so much painful, not so much high risk or anything really bad, just not so much pleasant) pregnancy, the one who had a painful labor and a typed-up birth plan, which went out the window when she demanded her epidural and then had the c-section and then almost bled out (Hey Hollywood? A little heavy-handed there. Sometimes people get epidurals and c-sections and don't almost die before it's all over. Just sayin'.). And I wanted to hug J-Lo and not in that sarcastic way that I might have in the past, but when she hugged that baby? Sigh. Well played, Jenny from the block. And then Anna Kendrick? She's just totes adorbs.

I liked the movie more than I anticipated--who knew? I used to watch these movies all the damn time. But somehow, I moved away from them. I watched a lot of action. Adventure. Indie films. Mysteries and thrillers. Then I had kids and it was Disney movies, animated films. Documentaries to feel like a grown up again, to connect back to the ideas that used to fill the corners of my brain. And now? Maybe some more chick flicks. It's been too long, clearly.

1 comment:

  1. Like this post, Mari. There is something about an occasional good chick flick. :) Like the new name of your blog, also. :)