Personal Growth

I am 33 years old and I have never once been to the movies alone before.
Until this weekend.

I have no problem going out to eat alone. A lot of people do; they seem to think that's some how sadder than sitting in a dark theater watching the latest Hollywood drivel alone. They, apparently, are not big fatties. We fatties prefer to eat alone. Nobody to judge the fried chicken sandwich with extra cheese and fries you're about to consume. Of course, when I order, I pass it off like I haven't all day. "Oh, hmmm. I haven't eaten all day. I wonder if a salad will be filling enough. Hmm. Probably not. I guess I'll just have, um, the chicken sandwich?" Right. Cuz the waitress is buying that I haven't eaten all day. I'm pretty sure she's thinking "Haven't eaten in the last hour is more like it." But still, this does not stop me from going out to eat alone. I bring a book or a nice magazine (that slight obsession with the glossy pages I have pays off) and settle in for a nice night alone. I'm the refill queen. I linger till I'm ready to leave. Wait staff hates me. But the occasional night out with just myself is worth the risk of spittle in my mud pie.

And since I'm fairly certain the restaurants in my area do not serve the blue box food I'm required to eat for the next 10 weeks (2 down!!!! whoo hoo!), options for alone time are limited. I can only walk the 2.5 miles to mall and back so many times. A mani/pedi is nice, but now that we're contemplating another house purchase, it does seem a bit extravagant to do it weekly (daily....). So what is a girl with too much time on her hands to do? I started with a nice trip to the bookstore. But if you're not having a triple venti skinny vanilla latte (decaf, extra hot. Add cinnamon and splenda) and a cookie the size of a small planet, the bookstore is really nothing more than a library. With louder people. It certainly does smell better, though.

So with both the bookstore and restaurants having been ruled out, I was running low on options. And I simply had to get out of the house. I was having one of those The-world-hates-me-and-I-suck kind of days. I sometimes get to thinking that I'd like to do something special with my life. I want to be best at something. One of the reasons I want to have kids is because than I can push all of my hopes and dreams on them. Me and Lynn Spears. I'm kidding. I would just like to be the best at something, anything, in my life. But sadly, I am reminded on a fairly regular basis that I'm nothing special. I'm easily ignorable. That's not to say I don't have friends. I have damn good friends. I love my friends and I'm sure that at least one or two of them love me back. In a platonic way. I hope only platonic. Unrequited love sucks. I'd hate to be the recipient of love I don't return (at least 3 karma points for that). But still, I'm not very...good...at much. I don't have any hobbies. I sometimes fancy that I'll write the Great American Novel, or at least a Decent American Novel, or failing that, at least one that is publishable, some day. But then I read other books and realize two things: they're all better than anything I could ever come up with and they've all stolen my ideas. So not only am I on a marginal writer at best, I'm also not very original. And don't even get me started on the inferiority complex the Food Network gives me. Those cook-offs? Just hour long audio-visual reminders that there are scores of people out there who are infinitely more talented than I. And writing and cooking are the two activities I like best in this world.

So rather than stay home and indulge my silly pitty party, I decided it was time to get out of the house. But where to go? The movies seemed like a good option. Once I've passed the concession stand, I won't go back. So no real risk of eating my weight in two week old popcorn. Before this diet, I'd happily consume a bucket of popcorn the size of a kindergartner. But that's the old Kate. The new Kate scoffs at the idea of letting some over-salted, fake butter flavored kernels of packing peanuts (also known as heaven in a bucket) pass her lips. And since I've been known to drag the HG to the movies exclusively for the popcorn (and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I saw North Country), it's a big accomplishment for me to skip the corn. However, I'm too proud to skulk back to the concession stand once I'm seated.

Once I narrowed down my options (I use the term "options" loosely) to seeing a movie, I realized that since the HG is knee deep in thesis writing, this would have to be a solo endeavor. I headed up stairs to let him know where I was headed. He said: "Are you sure? Don't you want to call Jess and see what she's doing? What about Anne? Maybe one of them will go with you." Um, thanks HG. I was feeling self conscious enough about it. You're not helping. The thing is, I don't want to go to the movies alone because I'm paranoid someone will think, "Oh, how sad. She got stood up" or worse "Awww...she can't get a date". So yeah, HG, your comment? Not helpful. But I was bound and determined to go. An exercise in personal growth.

All the way to the theater I gave myself a pep-talk. How pathetic am I? It's just a movie. And hi, I'm married. Who cares if people think I can't get a date? They're right. I can't. Because I'm married. Nobody wants the old married hag. And there's the little issue of being off the market. Even so, I pep-talked myself all the way to the theater. I even tried to change my mind and head to the Barnes and Noble. But I just drove to the theater. Parked the car. And went in and stood in line. Ok. Almost there.

Oh, while I was waiting in line, there were two somewhat more than middle aged women in front of me. One was wearing a snappy outfit consisting of loud flowered capris, a bright pink tank top, and a gold and silver leather purse. Her friend was wearing khakis, a light blue cable knit sweater, and brown loafers. I realized two things: 1, her friend and I were wearing strikingly similar outfits (sigh) and 2, when I'm that age, I want to be rocking the silver and gold leather purse. Hey, it's tacky as hell. And she's earned it. I want to earn it too. And I think going to the movies alone is a good way to start. But you can bet I was flashing my wedding rings all over the place as I purchased my tickets, handed them to the ticket taker, and ordered my large diet Pepsi. Hey, I'm not old yet...

And I saw and enjoyed the movie. I'm so proud of me. The one thing I will say is that it is no fun to discuss the previews with yourself. Next time I go to the movies, I should bring someone with me.

As a final thought. More a note to parents. If the movie is rated PG-13, why would your bring your 6 year old? I realize the ratings are only a guide. But if Hollywood--the city that gave us Paris Hilton, Tara Reid, Lindsay Lohan, Drew Barrymore, Britney Spears, and a thousand other drugged up alcoholic party girls--thinks your child should be 13 to see the movie, don't you think you ought to at least consider their suggestion? Just a thought.