Watching Chicago again was great. The actual experience itself... was a let down. Again, my theory about dressing to kill holds firm: everytime I feel like doing something out of the ordinary (in this case, wearing a shirt I made myself and pants I haven't touched in almost a year) whatever event I attend becomes a let down.
This time, hardly anyone showed up for the movie. Karen and Justin seemed to like the movie a lot, sis and I were our usual estatic selves, but Christy didn't seem to like the Richard Gere-stripping number. And I don't think she likes musicals all that much. Pity.
That only means... that I'll be planning another big'ol' group outing to watch Chicago (again) when it gets released to the Suncoast theaters.
Hrm... and my humanistic sentiments may or may not have withered away at the moment. It's not that often that I'm openly willing to admit my faults.
Oh well. I should try something that Jyl does (semi)frequently: give everyone a 24 hour period where I have to answer all questions truthfully. But... I won't.
Like I said, rare moments and all.
Gah... dammit. Remind me NEVER to wear just sleeveless shirts when it's still winter.
. . . . . posted:||11:35 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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