Changing Lanes last night. About half an hour into the movie, I turned to Fred and said, “You know, I get no sexual spark from Ben Affleck. I can’t imagine ever having sex with him, or even that he ever has sex.”
I mean, I’m sure he and Jennifer Lopez (never gonna call her J.Lo, nosirree) have a wonderful and active love life (if they can stop looking at themselves in the mirror long enough to have sex), but if I try to have a sexual thought about him, my mind just goes blank.
Which is really funny, considering that I once had a sexual dream about him.
Fred told me that he’s the same way about Jodie Foster – he’s never had a sexual thought about her, and he couldn’t imagine it.
Anyway, it wasn’t a bad movie. Quite a departure for Amanda Peet, since I’m used to seeing her in the “Zany Chick” roles.
* * *
I burned a candle in the window last night, and as soon as I opened the blinds and put the table in front of the window, Miz Poo came running and stared out the front window intently, as if she’d never seen that particular scenery before. It’s her life’s greatest ambition to go out the front door and explore – every time I go out the front door to get the mail or water the petunias, she’s sitting RIGHT there when I walk back in, sniffing wildly at the air I bring in with me. Sometimes, she tries to run past me, but I always catch her.
Is she interested in the fact that she could go out into the back yard whenever she wants? Of course not. It’s the front yard or bust, baby.
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2002-09-12