Spent this Sunday night cleaning my house with Sex & the City movie in the background, exercising two very therapeutic practices for me: chick flicks and frenzied organization.
I had a movie-filled weekend. Haven’t had one of those in a while, and it felt great, y’all! Two with friends, two by myself, as follows:
The Big Sleep @ moxie (Bogart! Bacall! Black & white!)
I AM @ moxie (see this. see it. go see it. go.)
Bridesmaids @ hollywood (more to come…)
Sex & The City @ home. (That’s happening now. You’re caught up.)
All these movie films leave me with relationships on the brain (this and every day), and I started thinking about the phrase “no strings attached” in particular as I folded some laundry. (No, I haven’t seen the Ashton Kutcher movie yet. Yes, I love that N*SYNC song.)
So Bridesmaids. I laughed. I cried. I solidified a long-growing obsession with Kristen Wiig (homegirl WROTE the movie, you guys! she wrote it!).
I’m DTR-ing my comedy girl-crush: I love her.
She has this horrifyingly hilarious “relationship” with Jon Hamm in which he treats her like shit in return for sex on his schedule. It’s hilarious because of the way it’s presented, but it’s horrifying because it represents an icky truth: sometimes we let ourselves get away with a lot less than what we deserve. (Guys, girls, whatever. Neither side’s entirely to blame.) I blame “no strings attached” and the pervasive assumption that it’s possible and acceptable to eat your cake but not have your cake, to corrupt the cliché.
Why do we (you know, the nonspecific, culture-encompassing “we”) celebrate the lack of strings like it’s such a good thing? Strings aren’t so bad, right?
They keep our shoes on.
They let us play guitar.
They’re an essential kite ingredient.
They’ve done some innovative things for cheese.
Maybe relationship strings don’t have to tie you down. Maybe you’re a kite and they help you fly.
What do you think, readers? And/or did you see any good movies this weekend? Yeah, let’s talk about that instead. Sheesh…