Flicks ‘n’ Chicks (and a li’l’ dick)

Just because I live here in hip ‘n’ swingin’ Manhattan doesn’t mean I’m always out at the posh clubs with all the wannabes, has-beens, and never-weres who all clamor for a split second of attention from the bona fide fat cats and heavy-hitting hipsters. It doesn’t mean I attend every fabulously glam movie premiere, flanked by my girls Gwynnie and Chelsea Clinton, all of us dressed not only to the nines but to the tens, twelves, and beyond, in our Earl Jeans, Jimmy Choos, halter tops, and body glitter.
No, some nights I stay in with my Celebrity Boyfriend Whose Privacy I Must Respect and a couple of gal pals, and watch really really really bad movies. Like tonight. Tonight we treated ourselves to perhaps the worst pay-per-view experience we’ve had since the time we chose to anesthetize ourselves by watching “Scary Movie 2”. Tonight we sat through 81 minutes of something that should have been good for at least a few well-placed guffaws, given its cast. Tonight we were disappointed.
Tonight we watched “Orange County“. “Schtick dreck” is perhaps too kind an assessment.
Not only was I repeatedly traumatized by the sight of Jack Black’s unsupported package sadly sagging in dingy white briefs, but dismayed that a cast with so much going for it went absolutely nowhere with this poor excuse for entertainment.
Gwynnie did laugh a few times, though. When I turned to stare at her in shocked disappointment at her lack of good taste and judgment (not only for her taste in movies but for her poor choice in shirts), she swore she was only laughing out of respect for her one-time co-star. But I know otherwise.
She’s out there now, and wants to watch something on “Animal Planet”. I love when she tries to get back into my good graces!