Today, I saw The Bratz Movie with Alexa.
'Twas not very good.
Thus begins... the rant-type thing.
It was an hour and a half of ostomy-gurgling fun that went sort of like a collage of these 8-year-old frendly pictures, complete with these (and waaaay too many more) songs:
Get what I mean?
Exhibit A: Deaf guy who can hear. He can hear EVERY SINGLE FREAKING WORD EVERYONE SAYS. And, he tells Yasmin she has an amazing voice. Wait, whatt? He can't HEAR, director man, REMEMBER??
Exhibit B: Yasmin doesn't have an amazing voice. She has one that resembles that of my dad's and my mom's blended together.
Exhibit C: "Yaz, now that we're not friends anymore, delete my number off your cell phone." Oh, no.
OK, I know I'm totally bashing this movie. It was tolerable at some, dare I say most, parts. But it was not a 'good' movie. It was a slightly tolerable movie that was unfairly made slightly intolerable by the fact that, for the first good hour of the movie, I was sitting in my own crap. Here's the story.
Before the movie, I'd had a McDonald's hamburger and fries, a delicacy I only get to enjoy once every, like, month. If I'm lucky. Most of the times, I get a salad... and a large fries. But the golden, crispy yumminess that are Mickey D's fries are NOT the focus of my story here. So, my stoma, being the LITTLE JOKESTER THAT IT IS, kept freaking gurgling and farting and making my bag blow up. So I asked Holly, who is like a mommy to me, if while she was buying the tickets I could use the bathroom and empty the 'contents' out of the bag. Now, you all know movie theater bathrooms are disgusting and you don't sit down on those seats because the last person who sat there could've been, like, contracting leprosy or something like that. Usually, that's not the case, but being the hypochondriac that I am, that's what I think. But having this "situation", I HAVE TO SIT DOWN, because if I don't, the liquid in my bag will pour all over me instead of in the yucky, yellow toilet water. So I put one of those clear things down. It slipped and fell in. Put another one in. It broke. Then, it slipped and fell in. The movie was starting in 10 or so minutes, so I said to myself, "Hey, if I be reeeeeeeally careful, maybe if I go into human chair mode, my poop won't spill all over me!" So I went into a human chair, you know what it is cause you do it too, opened my bag, and... whoops. Of course most of it got in the toilet, but some poopy got on my undies, down my favorite shorts, on the seat of my favorite shorts, lots of places like those. So, for the first half or so of the movie, I was sitting in my own poop. How positively Bratz-alcious.
THEN, DURING the movie, my stoma WOULDN'T SHUT UP! Maybe that's why the deaf guy went deaf. Every time I moved, it talked. When I stayed still, it talked, too! It was never quiet, I swear. Then, during the quiet, slightly more romantic but not too romantic because the 2-year-olds behind us that kicked our seats can't handle kissing moment, it let out a big one. But it was better that my stoma decided to sing along with Yasmin, because I think that Steve the Stoma is a better singer than Yasmin the Bratz-Doll-Come-To-Life. She was pretty, yes, but, come on, can't you get Ashley Tisdale or someone with slightly more 'Bratitude' to do a voice-over thing? I mean, having Bratitude is what your movie ADVERTISES.
One last thing.
We've got more BRATITUDE than you'll ever even DREAM of having.