In which I compare Knocked Up to porn and myself to Medusa. In other words, I am a really fun Friday night date.

The Director and I saw Knocked Up last night. We'd decided to have a fun, relaxing Friday night. Watching a hilarious movie. And then having a low key, let's enjoy each other's company dinner.

Ha.

What he didn't know before he came over was that I'd spent the day loathing one person after another. The people at work I mildly dislike or am even ambivalent about? Loathed. The slow walker in front of me on the sidewalk? Loathed.

Some days are like that.

He's been telling me for a while that while he thinks I'm doing a great job of functioning like a normal human being, I clearly have a lot of anger and aggression that needs to come out.

I asked if I could take it out on him by plucking out all of his body hair, of which there is a decent amount. Because wouldn't that be to be a constructive way to get aggression out, and in the end, a win-win? And he said no, that he'd rather I go to the park and kick children.

Despite this, I believe he will be a really good therapist when he's done with his doctorate.

So, Knocked Up. Everyone I know said the movie was hilarious. It got great reviews. And it's not that I didn't laugh or think it was funny. I did - I laughed out loud. A lot.

It's just that I couldn't suspend reality that much. It's not like the Harry Potters, where you strap yourself in and let the fantasy wash over you and just run with it for the fun of it. That kind of suspension of reality I am all over.

But Knocked Up? Just pissed me the fuck off. Because seriously? The super dorky, lazy, pot-smoking, not working schlub is really going to get the beautiful, funny, nice, hot hot hot woman with the cool career? Like, even that drunk she would ever kiss him, much less have sex with him, and then decide, oh, I should keep the baby and have a relationship with him?

No. Nonononono. No. This is just porn without naked sex. A below average guy gets the stellar girl story for guys to masturbate to.

And the lack of realism bits that bugged the Director? Money. Like, who was paying the bills for that group of guys living in that house? And later how could he afford a place in Malibu, because that last shot is on the way to Malibu, even though they said East LA, and anyone who knows LA at all knows that?

And I was all, those are the not-reality parts you're going to fixate on? When there are so much bigger, more obviously not real in a million years aspects? Oh, look, Knocked Up! You can be any doltfaced clod and make no effort and you will still wind up with some hot girl. You can even impregnate her and then she will try to love you.

But then wait wait! Panic! There's the other couple, and they feel so real and what if they are real?

What if the hot married guy - who actually has a very attractive, funny, if a bit highly strung wife and fantastic kids - who thinks that marriage is just misery and men will always feel stuck and suffocated is right? And, just like in the movie, maybe it will always be the women who are terrified of being alone while the men just plod along oblivious? And how come men never have to deal as much as women do?

Why wasn't he focusing on all those things, which were clearly so much more important than how they afforded the house and all the pot?

I know what you are really thinking - why the fuck did it matter to me? I dunno. It doesn't today. It did last night.

And then you know how sometimes you just can't stop yourself?

Like you can almost physically see the words coming out of your mouth, and if you could you would snatch them out of the air. And while they are galloping forward into the world you think, "No! Stop! Just stop it, right now! Stopitstopitstopit!" But it's like you're having an out of body experience and all you can seem to do is watch yourself being this utterly trenchant Gorgon?

That was me the entire night.

And after the movie, what I really wanted was pizza. From Pizzeria Paradiso. Usually I have no strong restaurant preference. If pushed to choose, I always can. But usually I am flex, and if it's not Ethiopian food or a steak house, I will easily find something I like.

What I am saying is: I almost never say this is what I want. Now.

And so when the Director, who is extremely accommodating but turns out to be a NY pizza snob, said he hates Pizzeria Paradiso and could I just pick anywhere else, it added to my, oh, seriously, you suck ass, every last one of you mood. And anyway, just move to NY already where you can eat all the fucking NY pizza you want.

Yeah. So it was 10 pm, we were starving and Biddy's was right in front of us. And even though I really like Biddy's, last night there was nowhere I would less rather go. Except everywhere else that wasn't pizza.

And they had no Bass. And no Boddingtons. And the waitress was sweet but new and flustered. And I was all kinds of irritated.

And so the Director was the target of my irritation. I wasn't criticizing him directly. But the thing is, he is a guy. Which puts him firmly in the man category. The category of people that I was just generally mad at. Who started it all by not agreeing wholeheartedly with me about the most insane parts of the move and then on top of that, committing the heinous crime of not wanting pizza.

And of course all of this anger over very trivial things had nothing to do with what is going on in my own life.

Lucky for me, he is a man with a lot of emotional maturity and patience and insight. And so even though I was being a Gorgon, he came over and sat next to me and put his arm around me. Or maybe the snakes for hair is less scary to contend with than being turned to stone. I dunno.