Event: Went to a movie by myself
I remember telling my sister one time that I went to PF Chang's for dinner by myself while traveling for work. She was horrified! Mortified at the thought that I would sit there alone, eating by myself. I always thought that was so funny. But I get it now. Every time I see someone eating alone (especially at a sit-down restaurant) I feel bad for them. I mean, do they not have any friends? Does no one love them? Is this what they do every Saturday night? But then I convince myself that they are traveling just like I was and they have plenty of friends and loved ones back home. Uh huh. Sure. Restaurants, I thought, were no big deal. But seeing a movie by myself? Totally out of the question. Until now...
Friday night I took the plunge. It was like 872 degrees outside, I had no plans and my favorite actress of all time was debuting her latest movie: Eat Pray Love. How appropriate - Julia Roberts plays a woman in search of herself by traveling the world, eating, praying and loving. Similarly, I look nothing like Julia Roberts, but I too am trying to find myself while eating my way across the city, praying that I will find someone to love. It's almost the exact same story line! Anywho...
I walked up to buy my ticket and found myself standing behind a couple wanting to see the same movie. I hear them say, "You're kidding!" and then they bowed their heads and walked away. Sold out, I assumed, until I walked up and said, "One ticket for Eat Pray Love" and the teller said, "Go ahead and select your seat on the screen in front of you." First of all, when did we get so sophisticated at the movies? We have to pick our seats before we go in? But how will I sneak into another movie after this one if everyone has assigned seats. Grrrrr. This explains why my ticket was $12. I digress. As it turns out, luck was not in favor of the couple, but movie-watcher-party-of-one was in luck! There was ONE SEAT left (aside from the front row of course) and I got it. Me. All by myself. So there.
I located my seat (E3) and found myself sandwiched in between a dad and an overweight loud laugher who I swear was going to dive into the box of Milk duds head first even before the movie started. She used MY cup holder to hold her extra large diet coke (as if that's gonna help) and while ripping the Milk dud box apart to get the last stubborn-still-stuck-to-the-box dud, I looked at her like a mom looks at a 6-year-old. If my inside voice had come outside to play it would have said something like, "Lady, I'm gonna knock you and your duds into the middle of next week if you don't shut it." Luckily, she sat back, put the empty Milk dud carton down and folder her arms. Moments later, having found my happy place, dad on my left starts to have a wheezing attack and the woman in front of me gets the hiccups. WTF? Am I in daycare? Are you people toddlers? This is why Redbox is so successful.
The movie finally started and within seconds everything around me faded away and I found myself enjoying the movie's journey. For the record, I am not an overly emotional person. I make light of every situation and I'm not a big crier. Especially in movies. But there was a part in the movie where I not only had tears streaming down my face but I was pretty sure I did the ugly cry. I buried myself so far down into my seat I didn't want anyone, including Milk dud Martha, to know that I was not, in fact, made of steel. Boo Hooing away, it hit me. What do I care? I'm alone in a movie theater. I don't know anyone here! Who cares! Bawl away! And I did.
Now, I won't give anything away, but a third of the movie is centered around eating - in Italy. Lots of pasta, pizza and wine, and for this singleton who hadn't had dinner yet, I knew exactly what my next move was going to be. The credits rolled, the lights came up, I wiped my eyes and immediately ran home, opened a bottle of wine and put some spaghetti on the stove. This movie was empowering and if Julia Roberts can eat pasta and drink wine by herself in Italy then why should I feel bad about doing it here in my kitchen. Two glasses of vino later, I was speaking Italian (mostly made up words but it sounded really awesome), I was tossing pasta in the air (it's usually pizza dough that's thrown in the air, but it's actually really fun with pasta) and that's when I got a little cocky and dropped a plastic lettuce holder on the floor, shattering the base. Oh la merda! Ho rotto la ciotola! (translation: "Oh shit, I broke the bowl." Thank you Rosetta Stone).
In the end, I ate really good pasta, I prayed about my foul language and loved the fact that I once again did something I've never done before...Ciao!