The Adventures of Mrs.Movie Snob

The next decade is pretty bleak... if you ask Hollywood. Dystopian, disconnected, dangerous. In keeping with America’s obsession to promote fear, we have been taught, through film, that our reality will go majorly awry … relatively soon. When we were kids, my mind didn’t see 2020 like this . We have fun gadgets now, sure, but sadly, my car still doesn’t fly (lies, Jetsons), I can’t make pizza with a “hydrator” in less than a minute (thanks for nothing, Back to the Future 2), and we can’t even implant memories! (although, Total Recall, wasn’t exactly promoting this) To be fair, though, a future envisioned where things are just sort of the same wouldn’t bring in box office numbers. Throw in a robot uprising, a worldwide plague or carnivorous aliens and we line up.  What the hell is wrong with us? Here's 5 movies that make me want to build a bomb shelter:    1. Blade Runner Released in 1982. Set in 2019. Siri and Alexa are relatively new to us but they

I’ve become the very thing I used to mock. If 5-years-ago-me   heard some of the things coming out of Today-me’s mouth regularly, I’d scoff, “Suck it up!” and take another bite of my extra-cheese pizza and gulp a drink of beer. But, oh how times have changed. I’ve been reduced to 3 questions: “Do you have gluten-free options?” “Can I get lactose-free milk?” “Is it possible to leave off the sesame seeds?” A little background: I’ve basically been in some sort of pain for about the last year or so. I got used to taking daily Ibuprofen’s, sometimes Naproxen. Some days Ibuprofen and Aspirin. And still some days both with a heating pad. That’s just how it was going to be now. I’m in my 40’s and (according to one useless Doctor’s analysis and dismissal) and I should just learn to cope as I begin my decade-long slide into menopause. Yeah, thanks. My discomfort sent me to the emergency room 3 times. Blood work showed nothing and I was beginning to lose hope. Then, after

Why is everyone so angry lately? In public. Online. On the roads. It’s so exhausting. The very air can be so heavy sometimes. And it can really beat you down if you let too much of it in. We can all do better. I can definitely be  impatient. Sometimes, I get triggered, sure. When these situations arise, though, we have a choice; hastily react or pause (breathe, if necessary) and assess the actual scenario. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I have terrible anxiety. And, unfortunately, it seems to be getting worse as I get older. Ironically, I always thought the opposite would happen. You grow up and you’re supposed to let minor bullshit go, right? The answer is a bit more complicated than “yes or no.” I can let minor things go, yes. But usually it’s only after I’ve obsessed for a while. And now, for added fun, I find I obsess over very different things than I used to. Gone are the days or worrying what I’m going to wear out or when my paper is due. (Well, not completely

In 2013, thanks to a very good yet misleading trailer, Matt and I went to see "Man of Steel." As we left the theatre, I turned to him and said, "That's it. No more superhero movies for me." Besides the fact that it absolutely SUCKED, I realized something else. They're mostly all the same. And I was bored. Then a few months ago, I watched the trailer for "Joker." I was intrigued. It looked dark and disturbing. It touted itself as yet another in the new genre of alternate universe. And most importantly, it starred Joaquin Phoenix. Check. Check. Check. Fine, I'll go... We just got home. One word: Masterpiece. Set in a very Scorcese-ish 1980's Gotham, Joker introduces us to Arthur Fleck: a pathetic, forgettable little man doing odd jobs, in clown garb. He is the awkward guy everyone talks about at work. He's the guy just creepy enough that you might cross the street if you saw him in your path or switch seats on the bus if he was

Once upon a time, in the magical land of my youth, a decade seemed like a long time. Seriously. Stop for a moment and think about the time that slowly passed between 10 years old and 20 years old; 17 years old and 27 years old. Somewhere around 30, however, the passage of time seemed to change. It did for me, anyway. Time, which was once measure only for  me , now passed in " years married " and " Isabel's Birthday's ." And in these precious increments - time flies. How often I've found myself muttering (I mutter now), "How is it already ?" or  "That seems like yesterday." Or my latest declaration, " We've been in Canada for 10 years." Now, before I move on, let's process that last one... I've been in Canada for 10 years. (*silently contemplating*) 10 years in Canada. (*shivering*) 10 YEARS. (*apologizes Canadianly*) As if moving from the southern US to the frosty North wasn't life-chang

On one of our first dates, Matt took me to Luby's for lunch. I remember sitting there giggling over a heap of fried okra (and other delectable cafeteria fare) and thinking, "This guy someone I want to know." Just a few hours earlier, he had picked me up, drove me to the mall and told me he wanted "to buy me something pretty." Indeed he did. No expense was spared, in fact. After, we ate Luann Platters and   toasted our sweet tea in plastic cups. The bar was set pretty high. I couldn't have been happier. And that's my Matthew in a nutshell. He treats me like a queen wherever we go - be it a fancy boutique or a greasy diner. The world is our stage and we're always having a ball. Ask anyone. It's funny to me that two people who swore they would never EVER get married turned out to be really good at it. We fight, sure. (Boy! We've had some good ones!) We annoy each other almost daily. (Just put the dishes in the sink, ok?!) But we also laugh.

I don't have a dad. I never have. The S.O.B. is out there somewhere. Just nowhere I've ever known about. I've only ever been Debbie's daughter. I was briefly a step daughter - by law - to a very cruel man that my Mother married when I was a child. Father material, though, he was not. The only positive male role model that I can remember early on is my Grandfather, Inez. And when he was around, which wasn't too often because we lived far away, I'd feel like a princess. Still do. (All his granddaughters do. He's our hero.) So, when social media is saturated on Father's Day with images of loving, attentive, present Daddies, I find myself in foreign territory; somewhere on the outside looking in on a strange exhibit. I equate it to going to a history museum and staring blankly at a scene set in olden days. I can't relate. That's how they lived? How strange. I'm not sad, really. Or jealous. Anymore. I'm at an age where I can take

My husband has taken a mistress. It's time to come clean. She's been in our lives now for a little over a year. In fact, most of you know about her. It may surprise some of you that I am reacting so calmly and haven't gone full Latina . (A fate to which he has been warned) At this point, however, I feel it is more beneficial to the three of us if I not only accept her but embrace her very existence. Put down your pitchforks. Her name is "Father's Creed." Matt's book. Yes, the Sully family has a new member. For now anyway. She visits him most days at work. She is waiting for all of us every night when we get home. And I'm pretty sure she's along for most of our outings. Matt knows her intricately. And I am happily, finally , getting some one-on-one time with her too. I don't write this to grumble. I'm over-the-moon proud of "Father's Creed." And I'm very much enjoying Matt's excitement at each milestone. This

Sunday afternoon at a grocery store in the suburbs. I haven't witnessed such unbridled egomania since I watched the news last Black Friday. Niceties are thrown out the window. Road rules are forgotten. (Stay to the right!) The volume is turned way up and your only defense is to keep moving, and keep moving fast. If you abide by the rules, you'll get in and get out, groceries in hand and if you're lucky with very few defensive wounds. Today, I was in the midst of this mess. All was going well. Then you get in line behind cash-and-coupon-Clara. You know who I'm talking about. She's in her early 50's. She had a change purse. She had a coupon organizer. She had a question about every damn item scanned. She had all the time in the world. What she didn't seem to have was a damn clue. I stood watching her. I didn't have much choice. I was about 4th in line and the people ahead of me were absolutely fuming. And just when we were about to make some headway --

So here we are kids. 2019. The future. Even as I type that date it seems surreal. Like I'm going to wake up at any moment to find that this has all been a dream and it's really still 1990. Like most other couples we know, we rang in the new year very low key;  dinner with friends and then a few pints and some karaoke at our local pub we've aptly nicknamed "The Winchester." (Bonus points if you get that reference) Christmas always comes and goes like a hurricane and even though we wanted a "quiet Christmas, just us, " the holiday season is always a chaotic to-do list; shopping, cooking, parties, school assemblies. By Dec. 31, I am both mentally and physically exhausted. Add to that a few bonus days off of work, leaving my internal clock flashing 12:00. I heard Matt ask more than once, "What day is it?" More than once, I had to check. And then BOOM!, it's the New Year and we're all supposed to get back to adulting, schedules, school