The Hot Couple Effect

Titanic is going to be re-released in theatres in 3D this April, and I am so beyond excited to go see it and get my cry on. I can’t really explain the reasoning behind it, but I truly look forward to the opportunity to watch a film that will essentially take me, a functional twenty-something girl, and turn me into emotional wreckage. It must have something to do with the levels of estrogen in my body. My mom has a very similar need to watch Terms of Endearment or Steel Magnolias when it is on. Maybe it’s genetic.

Whatever it is, I love this movie. Always have. I was Titanic crazy.

When it came out I saw it in theatres (keep in mind I was a second grader when this came out) several times. I read historical fiction pieces centered on the sinking ship. My mother took me to see an actual survivor speak at a local event. When I was confirmed at Immaculate Conception Church that year, I chose Rose as my Confirmation Name over my grandmother’s. I shit you not.

Perhaps what draws me to Titanic is what I refer to as the “hot couple effect.” There are some films where the chemistry of the couple is so hot that you can’t stand to look away, even if you know one or both will end up dead by the end of the movie. The Notebook re-created this effect successfully, and I have been told by several guy friends that The Notebook is reserved as a special tool used by men to get into girls’ pants. I shit you not twice.

Another one of my favorite examples of this would be Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 Romeo + Juliet. I am sure that the soundtrack has a large impact on my emotional attachment to this film, yet I have to say that I would describe the fish tank first meeting scene as ideal.

Come to think of it…maybe I just have a strange attraction to hot, fated couples from the 90s. Hot, fated couples from the 90s in which one half of the couple is Leonardo DiCaprio. I don't know what that says about me.
--- Sarah Ann Rose

The Dark Skate

I went roller skating and par-took in this skate known as the “dark skate,” and I would describe this skate as the most dangerous behavior I have exhibited in the last month.  

At about the fifth warning for parents to “remove any children unable to skate without assistance off of the rink before the dark skate begins,” I began to sweat a little wondering if I should step off. I am not what one would describe as coordinated. However, I felt emboldened by some new life decisions I won’t get into today so I said Self, what the hell.

What the hell is right. A dark skate consists of a rink only lighted by the glow of cosmic, disco lights and their less ethereal partner, the strobe light. Essentially, this means that you and your fellow skaters are in fact moving around the rink, but appear to just be transferring from one floor panel to another like characters in a poorly constructed flip book.

The effects of the strobe light were so stunning that I began to just drift along, feeling as though the flickers of light were in fact transporting me around the rink and the roller skates were just an illusion. However, I was quickly stirred from this feeling when the grazing shoulder of a nearby child almost sent me flailing into the oblivion of the unknown.

Naturally, anxiety began to settle in. Self, what have we gotten into? How do we get out? But alas, Gaga’s voice both calmed and revived me at once.

“I’m gonna Marry the Night,” she began and I literally (yeah, I know the proper use of literally, Dear Reader) screamed, “This is my JAM!”

I sang and dance-skated through it even though I was sure my moves were going to take down small flip-book children passing by. Even though this is ridiculous in retrospect, I really felt a sense of self discovery at this moment.

What can I say? The lights shimmered and the lyrics fit.

P.S.

Two things to look at!

If you need schooled on the use of literally READ THIS: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/literally

If you need something empowering to listen to WATCH THIS (but skip to exactly 8 minutes in...just trust me on this one): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cggNqDAtJYU&ob=av3e

Pizza Slut

I was eating dinner this evening with my family at my local Pizza Hut when I had sort of an epiphany about the movie Grease of all things.


My mother was commenting on how the look and feel of Pizza Hut has not changed since the late 70s early 80s.


"The seat cushions, the plastic plants, the recipe of the pizza itself hasn’t changed at all really. God, even the music is the same," she said pointing to the ceiling to indicate that Babe by Styx was in fact playing above our heads as we chewed crust.


"This song is terrible," I replied, dribbling crumbs on my new Nirvana baby tee.


"Yeah, but it's like going back in time," she said staring off somewhere past me, "I find it oddly comforting."


Following suit, the familiar beginning notes of Grease's You're the One that I Want started to play and though I didn't have chills or anything, I started singing along when BAM it hit me-- the epiphany.


First I have to preface the epiphany by explaining my original stance on the movie Grease.
As a little girl, I loved it. I ate that shit up. I sang Hopelessly Devoted to my baby pool and hoped to someday acquire the kind of edge that made Rizzo so irresistible (I never did).


However, the movement known as Girl Power took a strong hold on me at a young age (maybe Geri's mini leather dresses and red hair stood in for Rizzo's edge?) and I quickly became alarmed with the end sequence of the film.


Sandy's sweet nature was traded for red lipstick and black satin pants. Worst of all, this bitch picked up smoking to impress the guy. What kind of message was Sandy sending to young girls like myself? Change yourself for a man? For John Travolta?


While I still loved the film, I made a point of addressing this issue with every person I have viewed it with since. The core message of the film’s end is a bad one. You shouldn’t have to smoke to get a boyfriend.


So I am singing along at Pizza Hut and for the first time in my 22 years of existence, a thought occurs to me. Until I was singing this evening, mentally cataloging the scenes from the film with the lyrics, I never once took notice to this crucial point: Danny changes too.


How could I have missed this? Of all the times I have seen the movie or even just this specific scene, how could I have missed it? His friends even laugh at his awkward Rydell High sweater right before “Tell me about it, Stud.”


And even though Danny loses the Mr. Rogers getup about two seconds after seeing Sandy’s slutty make-over, it’s the thought that counts.


To clarify: I don’t think that anyone should have to smoke or wear ugly sweaters to find love. Yet, the gesture shows effort. It means a lot to visibly see someone trying for you.

Hey there, World

Bear with me, readers, I am fresh to the blogging world. However, I will do my best to ensure that my posts veer away from Narcissism and twirl delicately into the strong arms of the better looking Insight.

I recognize my blog's title is not overly promising at the moment. The musings of a twenty something girl, discovering herself as she tries to make sense of the world around her through her writing. A girl all dressed up with nowhere to go, finding that actions speak louder than words and absence may make the heart grow fonder but all that glitters is not gold. Yes, I see how overdone this blog concept may be.

Though I can't promise that there aren't 1,000 other blogs about twenty something girls much like myself, I can assure you, Dearest Reader, that I will offer you the best that I have.

What the fuck does she mean by that? Dear Reader ponders. Well, I can only say that I believe that there is significance in the original human experience. While I am sure there will be readers out there who find my life experiences to be mundane and irritating, I have found that my life consistently surprises, shocks, horrifies, and pleases me. Thus, it is my hope that some readers may have similar reactions.

There is no concrete theme here other than me simply sharing insights from my life with you. And I promise to do my best to only share the interesting bits rather than my personal opinions on the Kardashians or any #hashtag moments because I fucking hate both of those things and I am sure deep down you do too.

Love,
Miss Sarah