|Singing, dancing Kryptonite|
Case in point: 4th grade. I missed THREE weeks of school with what I can only assume was some form of the Bubonic Plague. My favorite movie back then was The Sound of Music. My mom stayed home with me the whole time and we watched it over and over and over. I tell ya, I knew every line of that movie. I could climb every mountain, ford every stream, AND name the casting director. At the time, it seemed like a pretty good way to pass the time while the Black Death slowly exited my system. But now? Now, even a glimpse of that movie makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can't hear My Favorite Things without feeling, ironically, so bad. Any flower that remotely resembles the majestic edelweiss sends me into convulsions. Even talking about World War II makes me break out in a cold sweat... which was rough, seeing as I was a history major in college.
|I am trying to break your heart|
This past week, if I had gathered the strength to get up and pop in a good ol' Wes Anderson DVD instead of suffering through two hours of talking dogs, I could have ruined one of my favorite movies. Thus, Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2 was a necessary evil. This theory also holds true for bad breakups. That's why I can't listen to Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot anymore. It used to be my favorite record until... nah, I'd never let a girl ruin that album for me. Nice try, Eva Longoria.