Dear Diary, My Face Hurts.

Today I went to see the movie Julie and Julia.

NOTE: I did not read the book. It's on the list, but I have my nose in five others. I can't enjoy most movies from books because I spend the whole movie comparing. Under the Tuscan Sun about ruined the "read book before watching movie" experience for me. I thought Hollywood bastardized that delicious book (like they do most everything else, for that matter) although it was beautifully filmed in Cortona (I've been there and walked up to Bramasole - they captured its charm perfectly). The story, however, was just wrong. Hated it. I prefer to enjoy the few movies I actually do go to a theater to watch in ignorant bliss.

Today's cinema experience was just that - with a big, stupid smile on my face while actually crying through almost the entire film. I basked in the freedom of sitting in a theater on a weekday (I try to avoid theaters, as well as stores, on the weekends - see a theme here?) and getting lost in the stories of two women finding themselves, ironically, through food.

In addition to the outright laughing and sniffling, I was barely able to control my semi-silent giddy clapping, nodding (Brie is the "best cheese in the world," you betcha), and "mmm-ing." I almost apologized to the couple next to me several times for all the extra animation. But hey, my cell phone was off, LADY BEHIND ME, so I believe I was within the limits of acceptable, considerate theatre behavior, UNLIKE RUDE-ASS LADY BEHIND ME WHO LET HER CELL PHONE RING AT LEAST FOUR TIMES.

While engaged in the movie, somewhere between all my drooling, "mmming," laughing, and sniveling, I did find myself leaning waayy forward in my seat every time a bottle of wine appeared. I was squinting hard, unsuccessfully, to see exactly which wines they were actually drinking with all this amazing food.

The intense high stayed with me throughout the movie and followed me home. And the tears - WTF? Although I could write it off as premenopausal hormones screwing with me, I believe it to be more than that. As I watched these two women totally absorbed by their passion for food, I could totally relate, given my current situation. I often shared the "movie-Julie's" feeling that no matter how bad a day at work was, coming home and cooking was like wiping the slate clean. I would first pour a glass of wine and design a meal around it (when I could get past the cheese and crackers). It was the part of my day that I most looked forward to (other than the yoga mat) and any toxic jive from the work day was not allowed into my kitchen. Movie-Julie seemed to recognize that same release in her tiny kitchen.

And since the genesis of the movie was a blog, let's just get this out there, shall we? Blogging? Totally narcissistic - as I've mentioned before, and was subsequently addressed in the film, blogging is really "all about me" headquarters. We (yes, "we" - I've been blogging two whole weeks and consider myself still somewhat blog-tarded, but I'm now doing this blogging thing nonetheless, dammit, and I am now part of that "we") are doing nothing more than expressing our opinions, whether you ask for them or not, about what we observe is going on around us. Bonus - through my cynical lens, I find a lot of what's going on around me just too freaking amusing not to share, regardless of how sarcastic, with just a hint of bitter, my delivery may be.

But also present in this medium is the concept of self-exploration. This is really like putting your "dear diary" entries out there for everyone to read, if you think about it. (OBSERVATION: As little girls, didn't we do our damnedest to hide our childhood diaries from the prying eyes of siblings and parents? "Dear Diary, I think so-and-so is dreamy. If anyone finds out my secret crush I would just d-i-e." Now we vomit personal thoughts into cyberspace. Huh. But none of your business who I think is "dreamy.") Self-exploration unfolded during the blogging process in the movie and that's what's going on here. I'm no shit getting to know my world in a different context, and finding myself all over again. Hence:

Dear Diary, Today I ...

went to yoga and liked my frog pose

lost my car in a parking garage

almost burned my ass moonwalking around a campfire

talked to a snake

finally aced a Rosetta Stone written exercise

tried to hock my Whiskey Victor on eBay - still 0 bids

fondled a book

got excited about bread

smiled and cried through a movie till my face hurt

Two weeks from Sunday I'll be in Italy ... I have no expectations of what those entries from the vineyards will look like this Fall. But whatever happens, I plan to enjoy it in open-minded, ignorant bliss. Maybe even smiling and crying through the whole thing (hormones be damned) until my face hurts.