American Hustler

I’ve been dying to see the movie American Hustle since it came out.  Didn’t get a chance to catch it in theatres.  But when it became available on demand, so I was excited to see it.  I had a free night the other day and decided to rent it.  I snuggled up, got cozy, popped some pop corn and settled in to watch the movie. 

Yay!

During opening credits, it stated that the movie was going to take place in 1978.  Great!  I thought.  I am a child of the seventies.  I graduated from High School in 1979.  I wore all the hottest clothes, listened to all the music, and danced the hustle.  I even snuck into a couple of discos with my sis!

I was enjoying getting into the movie.  Then, during a scene with Jennifer Lawrence, she was wearing a sheer white dress.  It was quick, but I thought I spotted a thong under her dress.  Hmmm.  But we didn’t wear thongs in the 70’s.  Umm, they weren’t invented yet.

Ok.  I kept watching.

Jennifer was trying her best at a Long Island housewife accent.  Unfortunately, she was falling in and out of it.  Half Long Island, half Chicago.  “Go to the stawh (LI for ‘store’) and buy a cahh (Chi Town for ‘car’). 

Hmmm. 

And she was nominated for an Oscar for this performance. 

By the time she got to her last scene, the Long Island/Chicago accent was completely gone and it sounded like just sloppy Hollywood.  Really surprising that they let that happen AND it got her an Oscar nom to boot.

But, I continued to watch.

All of a sudden, in a very poignant scene, Amy Adams whispers to Bradly Cooper, “You got this.” 

Huh?  Wait a minute.  Did she just say, ‘you got this’?

She couldn’t have just said ‘you got this’.  It wasn’t invented yet. 

Maybe it was just the popcorn crunching. 

Let me rewind.

Watched it again.

Increased the volume.

“You got this.”

UGH!!!!  Oh, no she didn’t!!!!!

But she did.

I’m sorry, but nobody said ‘you got this’ in the 70’s!!!!  This is ridiculous!!!

I continued to watch...

Later on in the movie, Christian Bale was taking about being ‘real’ a lot.  Something else we never said.

He also made a speech in which he says something about being in, “that place.”  Today, we say stuff about going to “that place” when referring to bringing up a topic of conversation or emotional state.  In the 70’s we would use “that place” when referencing a physical location.  

I hate to complain or nitpick , but this is a multi million dollar film.  Performances were Oscar nominated.  Didn’t anyone check for references like this?  Wasn’t anyone on the film older than 30? 

What the fuck??

In a film where they tried to replicate the fashion, the music, and the culture of the 70’s era, they dropped the ball on the dialogue.

Although, they also dropped it on the fashion.  I’m sorry, but no one walked around with an ultra low cut blouse down to there all day everyday.  To business meetings and lunches with their boobs popping out.  Maybe, just maybe they’d wear it to a disco.  But even then, if they were hustling (dancing) their boobs would never stay in.

Amy Adams’ hair was also super long.  But the Dorothy Hamil wedge cut was what everybody was wearing at the time.  This was a very short hair cut.  Very few women wore very long locks then.  And if it was long, it was not that long.  That was the 60’s.

So, needless to say, I hated this movie.  How could I get through it with all of these ridiculous anachronisms!  I’m sorry, I’m not a professional film critic, but if you’re going to make a movie that takes place in a particular era, get your shit together.  You must pay attention to detail.  Right?

I mean, the 20 and 30-somethings will never know the difference, but don’t you want to make an authentic quality film?

This film bites.  In other words,

“They don’t got this.”

The Broadway Curse

I met a guy on line a few weeks ago.  He seemed nice enough, so when he asked for my number, I gave it to him.

He called a couple of weeks later.  Of course, I didn’t pick up.

Called him back a few days later.

He reported, “If we had spoken on Sunday, I would have had a whole different outlook.  But, on Tuesday, I was laid off.”

“I have to hang up now.” I replied.

Of course I was just joking, and agreed to meet him for a drink later in the week.

As planned, he called the day before to confirm.

About an hour later, he called back.  I thought, “He’s definitely cancelling.”  But he wasn’t.  He told me, he had a friend who plays in the orchestra of the Broadway musical, Chaplin.  He had free tickets.  Would I like to go.

Against my better judgement, I said yes.

I just can’t turn down Broadway.

Then, I thought, “But what about the Broadway curse?”

The relationship was doomed before it began.

What is the Broadway curse, you might ask?

It’s just whenever I am dating someone, if they take me, or I take them, to see a Broadway show, we break up shortly after.

I call it a curse, because it never fails.  It doesn’t matter how good the relationship is.  As soon as we go to Broadway, something bad happens.

The worst one was when I was dating Peter.  Peter was a rich and handsome man I was dating when I was in my 20’s.  I really liked Peter.  And he was starting to really like me too.  To make a long story short, I asked him to Les Miserables on Valentines Day.  The night was such as disaster.  I parked in a no parking zone and my car got towed.  I couldn’t get my car until the next morning, so I had to sleep over Peter’s.  We weren’t at the sleep over stage and it was all very awkward.  I slept on the floor.  He thought I was a jerk and a prude.  We never saw eachother again, except for when I met him to pay him back the $250 he loaned me to retrieve my car.  Ugh!  I get nauseous just thinking about it. 

Anyway, I said yes to Broadway on the online blind date. 

I normally only like to spend about an hour on a blind date.  If I don’t like the guy, I can always hightail it the heck outa there.

We met for a drink before the show.  We also had a snack.  Cheese.  Really, not enough food for a hungry girl like me.

When I get hungry, I get cranky.  This will be important later on in the story.

We had some things in common, except for Jesus.  Now, I don’t have a problem if people don’t beleive in Jesus.  But, when you meet on a Christian website, it’s a little strange when they tell you they’re not a Christian.

“So, you’re really into being a Christian, huh?”

“Umm, we DID meet on Christian Singles Dot Com, asshole!”  (I didn't say asshole out loud.)

What the fuck?

So, we went to the show.  Which sucked.  It couldn’t end any sooner.  And I was hating my date more and more as each never ending second of the show went on.

I wanted to blow outa there as soon as the show ended.  (I actually wanted to blow outa there during intermission.)  But then the friend in the pit texted that we should come backstage.

Ugh!  Really?  Do I have to spend another minute here?

But, I did.  And being backstage and on stage was actually a highlight of my life.

But when that was done, I just wanted to go home, eat a cheeseburger, and go to bed.  And not necessarily in that order.  But I couldn’t find a cab.  And the date was trying to help me find one.  I suppose that was nice, but for some reason, I just wanted to not be with him anymore.

I noticed a piece of white goo starting to form in the right corner of his mouth.

I told him it was ok if he wanted to jump on the subway.  He kind of tried to kiss me good bye, and all I saw was the piece of white goo in the corner of his mouth.  I turned my head and wanted to gag.

I just couldn’t get out of there soon enough.

Later that night, when I was finally snuggled up in my leopard print pajamas, I thought, 

“The Broadway curse strikes again.”

Is it a deal breaker if your date is packing…heat?

In my twenties, I worked at my brother-in-law’s business.  A customer saw me and asked me out for a date.  I remember being really excited about it.

The guy was a restaurant owner.  It seemed like he was pretty successful. 

And cute.

Except for the handlebar moustache.

That was pretty narley.  But, at the time, I figured I could get him to shave it if things got serious.

But could they ever get serious with him and that stache?

I guess we’ll never know.

Anyway, he picked me up for the date in a nice ride.  It was the first time I’d ever heard the beeping from setting the car alarm.  Shoot.  I guess it was longer ago than I thought!

So, he drove us to the restaurant.  When we arrived there, he turned off the car and took his jacket off before getting out of the car.

The date removed his jacket to reveal a holster with a gun in it.  It was like the kind that the cops wear in police shows.  The kind that goes over both shoulders.

I almost swallowed my breath mint!

My eyes googled out of my head.

I immediately asked him about it.  He told me that he needed the gun for working at the diner, just in case of a robbery.

“Are you going to wear that all night?” I asked him.

“Sure.  Why not,” he replied.  “At least you will be safe.”

Safe?  Why would I not be safe?

Maybe because my DATE WAS CARRYING A FUCKING MACHINE GUN!!!!!!

I nodded politely, and we went into the restaurant.

How did the dinner go, you might ask?

Let’s just say, I spent it in the bathroom.

Taxi Driver

Sometimes I treat myself to a cab ride to work. 

It’s nice to skip the hustle and bustle of the commuters, the traffic, and the time it takes to

get just a few blocks downtown during the morning rush.

So, on this particular day, I grabbed a cab and was off.

I asked the driver, politely, to take me to my destination.  He agreed happily, “Of course!  That is why I am here!” and we were on our way.

I always try to be nice to any cab driver.  One time, I think I was rude to one, and he nearly threw me out of the cab on cold winter night.

Anyway, the ride was going fine.  That is, until we were stuck for three red lights, trying to make a left turn to my destination.  The cab fare was getting higher and it was getting later and later as we waited.  So, I told the driver I would get out of the cab there.  We weren’t at the curb, so the driver told me I couldn’t get out there.  He said it was illegal.

I told him I only wanted to get out because we got stuck for the three lights, etc.

He started making excuses about the lights and that it was not his fault, etc.

I told him I understood, as he droned on and on.

We finally turned the corner and he stopped at my building.

It usually costs about $12.50 to get to work with a cab.  Then I add a couple of dollars tip.

Today, it was $15.50.  $15 and an extra 50 cents for something else.  I gave the taxi driver a twenty and asked him fort three dollars back.  I informed him, I would normally give a better tip, but I was now low on cash since I didn’t expect for it to cost that much.

The cab driver gave me 50 cents and then my three dollars change.

I told him that I did not want the 50 cents.

He insisted.

I took the three dollars, then reached down and put the 50 cents back on his seat, and exited the cab. 

Another person entered the cab.

As I walked away, I heard the sound of coins hitting the pavement.  Then I heard yelling coming from the cab.

The taxi driver had thrown the 50 cents out the window at me.

As I bent down to pick up a quarter, I asked, “Why did you do that?”

He screamed back, “YOU INSULT ME!”  In his Russian accent.

I only found one quarter.  Didn’t see the other one, so I started walking away.

A woman on the street pointed the other quarter out to me, as the taxi driver continued yelling out the window.

The woman said, “Take down his badge number and report him.”

I suppose I should have.  But I just picked up the second quarter and kept on walking.

So much for treating myself to a quiet cab ride to work.  

A crowded M15 bus ride with my face pressed up against the door window and my ass pressed against a smelly business man is beginning to sound much more attractive to me right about now.

Donkey Booty Badonkadonk

I was out to dinner a few weeks ago. 

An Italian restaurant on Second Ave.

It was a gorgeous October night in Manhattan.  So gorgeous, in fact, that the weather was warm enough for outdoor seating.

We sat at a comfortable table.  But the tables were all very close together.  So close you can hear the conversation at the next table.  So close, that when you try to squeeze out of your table, your ass ends up in the linguini of the guy at the next table.

There was an empty table to the right of us.  That is until a couple came.  They were a stunning couple.  In their twenties.  The guy was tall, dark, and handsome.  With a great body and shaved head.  The girl was a Brazilian bombshell, who looked like Sofia Vergara on steroids.  She was tall, dark, and exotic looking, with a slammin’ body, a Spanish accent, long brown hair in a high ponytail, and a donkey booty.

The couple was having small talk. 

I was having small talk too.  But, who could concentrate on my small talk?  I couldn’t stop looking at the couple.  I was more interested in their small talk than mine!

Of course, my date’s hair was shaved.  But that’s where the similarity between him and our neighbor ended.  My date was the complete opposite.  Short, old, and wrinkled, with secretary's spread.

Jessica Rabbit got up to go to the ladies room.  As she did, her ass cheeks knocked over all the glasses on the opposite end of my table.  “Oops!” She exclaimed, as her badonkadonk skimmed my veal parmigiana.

Sofia was very animated.  She was talking and flirting with her date, with her Latin accent.  She was flicking her hair left and right.

At one point during the dinner, I reached down to get something from my purse, and I felt something smack me in the face.  It was the Brazilian bombshell’s hair.  She flicked it and it was so long that it hit me in the head.

I looked up in surprise.  I think I made a noise.  And she looked at me and said how sorry she was, in her thick Brazilian accent.  I told her it was fine and we both laughed.

I think I was having a girl crush.

My date had no idea what had just happened. 

A few minutes later, I felt something hit me in the noggin again. 

Again!  It was Sofia flicking her frigging horse ponytail. 

Again!

Ok.  This is getting ridiculous.

I didn’t say anything.

My date was like, “What happened?”

Clueless.

He missed it again.

Sure enough, another few minutes later, it happened again!

What?

She flicked her hair again, and…bam!

More horse dung in my eye!

This is getting out of hand.

Enough is enough. 

Can this chick please keep her stinky tail on her side of the restaurant??

Thank you!!