e.g.

browmance*

by Tim P.

There was a small list of choices for my next BMG assignment and I selected what I thought would retain the most of my remaining dignity.  The brows. I went into this with as much knowledge, I would have to say, of what a manzilian wax is, which is to say - none.  I’d like to retain the meager droppings of whatever ruggedness I still have left, thank you very much, I said in my head.  

Generally, I have a pathological fear of even approaching the realm of “woman stuff”.  If there’s talk of mani-pedis I automatically tune out and think about the next episode of Justified.  If I hear an inkling of a conversation on skin products, I start thinking about the Giants starting rotation and how they stack up to the Phillies’.  I hear spas, I think Starcraft strategies.  All of which is to say, I’ve never really thought about how my eyebrows look or how it’s done.  Having said all that (as a backhanded way to burnish my guy credentials), I didn’t have much against getting my eyebrows done, at least compared to my other options. However, a quick google image search was done beforehand to give me an idea of what was to happen and the images of the pencil-thin, almost-drawn-on eyebrows gave me pause.  Lots of pause.

Anna vA. and I met up at a small, clean and beautifully lit shopfront called Cloud Nine in Oakland where we were met by Alresa. (Editor's note: Alresa looks like Lieutenant Uhura from the new Star Trek movie, or in other words, drop dead gorgeous. I don't know if this made it better or worse for Tim.) We explained what I was doing there (to write about it), and our options on method, wax or threading.  It was suggested I go with threading and I concurred, simply because it was less painful.  Alresa was incredibly helpful in explaining everything she was doing, including what’s going on with the string and what it would be doing (we even got around to what I can do to combat the dry areas around my eyes). 

Not surprisingly, I was most fascinated by the process itself. Now I’m no physics buff. The extent of my knowledge of physics goes as far as what I can remember from high school classes and having watched every episode of The Big Bang Theory. Nonetheless, the physics and history of it all piqued my interest - from how a piece of cotton string, purposefully arranged and moved, could pull off entire chunks of eyebrow follicles (and inflict a tiny amount of pain), to its origins (Indian, supposedly). The pain itself was fairly minimal.  The ends and bottoms of my brows were a little more sensitive, but nothing too intense. On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being a light greeting-punch to the arm and 10 having a shoulder dislocated), it was probably a 2.5. The end result was effective, without being dramatic.  A subtle, positive modification that became what I wanted, without me realizing it.  

After the deed was done, we walked out. There was a slight breeze, and it actually felt different. I’m not sure how to accurately describe it, but it seemed like there was an extra current that blew underneath my eyebrows. I also noticed, as I investigated with my finger, that the area between my eyes was so smooth! That square inch section of my head had never felt that way before and it felt nice.  (I wanted to make it the VIP section of my forehead, but realized it’ll grow back.  Damn you hair.)  Out of all the assignments, I’d say this is the most likely one I’d do again on my own. Also, I have one less topic to tune out and one more I can join in on. 

before

after

*other candidates for the title: browbeaten; what up, brow; brow to brow

around the corner

Is it February already? There are lots of things to look forward to in this short month.

• Tim P. of Boy Meets Girl fame will be tackling a wild and wooly challenge.
• Glen S. has a rather racy Valentine's Doctor Love to share with you all.
• As always, Anna vA. will share her current favorites in weekly Short Lists. 
• Kim H. and Anna vA. are busy snapping and styling photos, respectively.
• Designers, designers, designers! If it's fashion, Anna vA. has an opinion.

Stay tuned for a hot and heavy February.

boy meets girl

Deed Spating // by Tim P.

It was a crisp, cool, clear Wednesday night in the City by the Bay. Anticipation running high, we cracked jokes about our coming plight. We all had a slice of surprisingly scrumptious pizza. Little did we realize, this was to be the highlight of our night...  

Fake suspense building aside, I went speed dating. Before your preconceived notions can set in, let me explain.  Umm... hold on... errr... actually, go ahead and let them set. It's really everything I expected, which isn’t entirely a good thing. In the days leading up to this, I was nervous. I had no clue what to expect and nobody I knew personally had ever done this before. I set a few conscious goals for myself: I was going to be authentic without being too personal;  I was going to go at it with an open mind and no reservations;  I wasn’t going to lie about anything;  I’ll even smile... some; and I’ll clumsily knock over not one, but two glasses of wine on separate instances in one session (Okay, I didn’t plan that going in, but it happened.  No I wasn’t drunk, or even buzzed. I’ll give you a minute to picture it. No really go ahead, I’ll wait... done?  Good, let’s move on.). Upon entering, I was given a scorecard, a number, and a nametag. I had a drink to drown the remaining butterflies in my stomach. It was successful. Die butterflies, die. Oh the wonders of alcohol.  Here’s how the whole thing worked:  a female was seated at a station and to begin, the males would pick a station. Every five minutes a whistle would blow and the guys would rotate to the next station. After (or for the bold, during) each session, you would write the name/ID number on your scorecard and you could circle Y or N along with any notes you might have. Afterwards, you would go online to enter all this information, and if both sides entered a Y for the corresponding numbers, both would get the chance to contact the other via the website.  

I must’ve cycled through some derivative of the same conversation (what felt like) a billion times:  "Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm (name). How are you feeling tonight?  Wonderful.  Sooo what brings you here tonight?  What do you do?  How do you like it?  I'm a (occupation) at a company based in (location).  How do you like living in the city?  How long have you lived here?  Man this city is great, right?  Any fun interests and hobbies?  Tell me something unique about yourself. Oh that's interesting!  Me? I like to do (fun interest or hobby).  *blown whistle in the background*  Well, it was nice to meet you."

A few attractive ladies were there, and they knew it.  But in general the women were interesting and normal, if guarded (justifiably so). One was a sixth (!) generation San Franciscan. One used to work at the climbing gym I currently go to. There was an interior designer, multiple hikers, assorted travelers, a tipsy law student, a humanitarian, a reality show buff, and a corporate recruiter (wink).  I asked all of them if this was their first time doing anything like this, and all of them said "yes". One woman even mentioned how this would all make for an interesting social experiment.  She promptly ordered another glass of white wine and asked the waiter to keep em coming.  The skeptic in me thinks it's hard to believe anything that was said, but at the time, I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I guess I’ll write, and you decide.

There was an unmistakable sense of desperation in the air - some reeked of it even as they seemed genuine. I’m not the greatest conversationalist, but I felt I did fine keeping things light, though its not hard to fill up 5 minutes.  Not surprisingly, the women expected the men to quarterback the situation. There was also a lot of what-about-you's. The last few conversations went more smoothly, drink-spilling incidents aside. Dare I say, I was even getting comfortable. Nobody was overtly rude, though one did the “mid-conversation-sideways-glance for a glimpse at the next guy” move a few times. Toward the end of the night, I found myself wondering why I was so nervous in the beginning.  

A day later, my curiosity won over and I decided to put a “Y” for all the women I met.  I won’t be following up with a date but damnit, I want to see the results. Ultimately, I couldn’t help but think perhaps it's this same sense of curiosity that brings people to speed dating.  Well, besides all the other stuff. Either way, it was a one time experience I’ll look back at fondly, and joke about, but it will absolutely remain just that - a one time experience.  Plus, we had some really good pizza.

around the corner

amanda levete console

• One of the final installments of an Accutane Diary. Find out how Anna vA. feels about the highs and lows of this controversial drug.
  
• Is it Boy Meets Girl or Girl Meets Boy? You decide, when this battle of the sexes is revealed in August.
  
• More, more, more from Doctor Love.
  
• Kim H. has something to say, so you better listen!
• Pics, posts, and poetics. Don't forget to share the blog with your friends & enemies. xx
  

boy meets girl

Oh the Zumanity!

Ah Vegas, the city of (perceived) concealment. "What happens here, stays here", says the slogan...I’ve never been much of a rules guy anyway, even to my own detriment.

On a recent all single male sojourn to Las Vegas, I suggested we hit up a show, preferably a Cirque du Soleil one. I had never been to a Vegas show before and we had nothing planned for one of the nights. My buddies didn’t disagree, none having been to a Vegas show either. We had heard good things about “O” but it was sold out and the other shows I hadn’t heard much about. So being as logical and clueless as possible, we chose whichever one best suited our time frame and price. We booked a show, "Zumanity", for later that night. We spent the rest of the afternoon doing awesome tough guy stuff. I personally checked off a list that included winning a wrestling match against an alligator with one arm tied behind my back (a normal person would use their stronger arm, I, however, am not normal), traversing the entire Grand Canyon with my bare feet (lotion helped... barely), and hunting bears using only a rubber band and nail clippers. Just kidding. Of course, there aren’t any bears in the desert.

We met up with friends, Vegas locals, for dinner who, after finding out about our plans to see the show, remarked “Just you guys?” I realize, in retrospect, that a warning flag was thrown our way. Sharp and attentive as a World Cup official, it was dismissed. After gleefully stuffing our bellies, we made the short walk over to New York New York where the show was being held. I don’t know about the others, but I missed the advertisements for our show along the way. Ironically enough, it was probably because I was ogling at women. We arrive at the ticket booth and I saw for the first time, what our show was about. It was billed as “The sensual side of Vegas.” I immediately did a double take and noticed my buddies doing the same. I looked at the billboards showing half naked men in masks, but I figured “What the hey, it’s a circus show”. Lots of good circus shows have that, though maybe not so prominently displayed in their posters...right? Besides we had paid for it and we were already here. We got in line. I didn’t notice it then, but all around us were couples or (likely) bachelorette groups. We had seats next to a group of four guys from Texas. They seemed a tad rowdy (at least compared to us), clearly here to have a good time. During the pre-show acts, they hooted and hollered loud enough for our entire section and yelled inappropriate (and thus hilarious) jokes at opportune moments. Finally the lights dimmed and the emcee strolled in and asked if we were having a good time. Massive cheering ensued.  The guys next to our group yelled "HELL YEAH!" The emcee followed that up with “I GUARANTEE you, tonight, you and your partner will go right back to your rooms after this show, because this show will set off something hot and steamy”. Well then. My gast was flabbered.

Despite my rising level of anxiety due to seeing a “sensual” show tailored to couples with a bunch of other guys, the show must go on. There were some awe-inspiring moments as well as some uncomfortable ones. The most excruciating point came when they did a male semi-strip tease that featured minimal, if any, acrobatics. I’ve never been more uncomfortable while comfortably seated next to friends. Of course there were female acts of a similar nature (hubba hubba) and the show itself wasn’t bad at all. And those rowdy guys seated next to us? Quiet the rest of the show. I think I can safely assume it wasn’t what they expected either. All in all, I enjoyed it only slightly less than any normal circus act, which, considering the last minute realization, is a win for me. It was definitely rated R and after the lights came back on I thought, “Ohhh, THAT'S the sensual side of Vegas.”

After leaving, we walked to our next destination, eyes on the ground or flickering to the side. We asked each other what we thought of it, and normally elaborate guys gave quick, simple answers, clearly not wanting to delve into it any more than required. We finished our walk in silence, preferring to let the rest of the city’s excessive displays distract us from what we experienced, regrettably, together. 

boy meets girl

Pedi-wha?!

When the idea came about of getting a pedicure for my next assignment, as with all of my other assignments (one), I was hesitant. I had refused all previous invitations from various females in the past. Having never even seen one in person, well, I had reason to be hesitant.

I walked in and immediately my olfactory senses were punched in the face, like not even a jab, it was a full right hook. It smelled a bit like a chemistry lab mixed with a girls locker room (umm not that i'd know what the latter smells like... umm... moving on), which as I found out, isn't entirely untrue (go double negatives!). But I didn't let that stop me from my mission. I made the customary greetings to the two personnel manning the pedi-chairs. They seemed nice, but little did I know that one was a diabolical mischief-maker (explanation coming). Writing this now, it would be at this point, I would have wished there was a future Me who could council past Me of what was to come.

Wide-eyed and curious, I innocently began to look around.  There were a lot of fun colors on the rack of nail polish they had on display. For a second, I thought, this could be a scene in a horror movie.  A young girl walks into a nail salon. She picks a bright red color and as it is being applied, she realizes (cue dramatic music), instead of nail polish, IT'S HER OWN BLOOD. (That idea's on the house by the way. If you're a writer, you're welcome.) 

After a brief discussion, a darkish metallic gray was selected as the color for me.  "Guys usually pick that one" one of them says. I didn't quite know how to take that.  Shortly after, I was motioned to sit on one of those pedi-chairs. Clumsily, I worked my body into the space, not knowing where my lower limbs go. After several unreturned, confused glances, I was motioned to place them in a small pool of blue-greenish water bubbling at the base of the station. Duh. Turns out, it's basically a mini jacuzzi made for feet. The water was hot, but richly so, and the bubbles were, for lack of a better word, the bomb. I remember telling my feet, "live it up while you can feet, you've certainly earned it" (In my head, of course. Imagine that being said out loud - it's crazytalk.). After soaking my feet and fumbling my way through the massage settings of the pedi-chair (whoever had the novel idea of fusing lounge chair with massaging orbs should win have his/her own day of the year), one of the pedicurists came by and attended to the dire situation otherwise known as my feet. I kid, of course. I mean, I generally take care of them. I wash them daily and even scrub them extra hard after long sweaty days. I make sure my toenails don't get too long and basically keep them in original condition. Yet, my feet have never been pedicured or pampered in any way. They've even been known to get all dry and crusty on long summer days when socks are entirely forgotten. I can imagine her taking a look at the dogs and saying with a slight shake of the head, this is gonna take awhile.  But if there was any mortification, she held it in. 

Most of the process was a blur. Chemicals were applied, some sharp looking objects were used. Cuticles (something I never knew I had until that day) were removed.  Then the lady pulled out an orange, rough-looking scrubber. She began to scratch the bottom of my feet with it. Now the bottom of my feet had not been messed with for many years. Thus, I had forgotten about the ticklish spot that exists at the underside of the arch of my foot.  The thing hit me like an electrocution. I lurched, slightly but noticeably at first, trying to hide the sensation rising from the farthest part of me. I kept squirming with each scratch over the spot. Eventually Anna vA. noticed. "What's wrong?", she asked with an evil smirk. Uh-oh. The innervation grew with each scratch. I.couldn't.hold.it.together. Comedy ensued. The resulting contorts of my body were not pretty. Try as I might, I could not help but look foolish. Now everyone was laughing. Even as my focus was on mentally suppressing all nerve receptors from my feet, I couldn't blame them. Included in the "everyone" from two sentences ago, was the perpetrator holding the sponge. With each contortion of my body, she laughed harder, then scratched harder. After what seemed like an eternity, she moved on. I told myself, one day I'll come back, she'll scratch, and I won't even move. That'll show her. After a lotion rub, I watched intently as color was applied, imagining my remaining dignity slowly walking away, shaking its head.
I will freely admit the whole experience was wonderful and relaxing and positively cathartic. I had time to chillax, made easier with the massaging chair; and be tended to on the area that probably gets the least attention. Having company and chitchatting about celebrities is never boring and an integral part of the experience.  The pedi-ladies were incredibly nice and warm, even though we were the last customers of the day. Ticklish spot aside, she was gentle with my feet and never once did I feel like I wasn't in capable hands (yup another double negative). After it was all said and done, I looked down and saw someone else's feet. The colored toe nails, the smooth(er) skin, all of it seemed like I was looking at a picture of my feet instead of my actual feet. I certainly had a grand time and it felt nice to be pampered, if only for a little bit. The thing about it though is that as a guy, I'm not sure I care too much about having my feet look good. Aesthetics aside, they didn't feel that much different than before. Would it bother me if I never had another pedicure for the rest of my life? Probably not. But that's mostly because there are now four more people in this world who've seen me morph into the living essence of "awkward".  
Tim's 1st pedicure lovingly provided by Nail Image :: 2031 University Ave. Berkeley, CA :: 510.848.5447

around the corner

Exciting stuff! I just returned from a photo shoot with Kim H. (photographer) and Eva R. (model). We are entering a style & photography contest by the end of May, and will post the out-takes and behind the scenes images.

Tim P. and I have an appointment (that's a hint) for his next boy meets girl challenge. Stay tuned for his thoughts on this mostly feminine practice.

I have a few pieces that I can't stop wearing, so pics are in the works for an upcoming post.

I welcome you to comment back on any style issues / questions / challenges you may have.

boy meets girl

By Tim P.

An intro:  I will be taking on assignments, tasks, or projects that will be... how should I put this delicately, feminine in nature. Obviously, I won't be breaking any new ground in the things I do, the concept of men doing female things is hardly unique or even uncommon. However, I will be writing about them. Hopefully you'll be able to glean a small window into the mind of a straight male about the things you (the presumably female reader) do, just in case you were curious about what goes through the mind of a your boyfriend / husband when you drag him around to do your... delicately again, womanly activities. At the same time, I don't claim to represent all of menkind (damn you spellchecker, that should officially be a word), but I hope to bring some enlightenment. At the end of every task, I'll probably go drink some hard liquor, smoke a cigar, and eat red meat while I watch Sportscenter, you know, just to balance things out.  For the first Boy Meets Girl, I will be doing a real-time "running diary" of the movie Beaches. (This idea was inspired by The Sports Guy on ESPN, who didn't invent it but certainly brought the idea, and its many uses, to my attention.) This is the 1988 vehicle starring Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey. If you haven't seen it before, don't worry you'll still be able to follow along. I tried to sum up the important scenes and make sure the narrative of the movie (and my writing) flows accurately (if I was successful in that, is a different question. And while I'm still in these parenthesis, if you have not seen it and feel like this is a spoiler, too bad, this movie came out 22 years ago, you had your chance.) Prior to this assignment, I had never seen the movie, nor knew of its existence. That's also precisely why I decided this format was best. It allowed me to watch the movie with a fresh set of eyes and hopefully, an open mind. Anyhow, please keep in mind these thoughts and opinions, however cynical, wrong, or awesome they may be, are mine and mine only, and do not reflect those of anyone else. Unless of course you thought the same when you were watching it, in which case, great minds think alike. I'd also like to preface this by saying I am by no means, a movie critic or reviewer. I am however, a critic of life (which makes no sense but I thought sounded good). Either way, I'll do my best to avoid making judgment or comments about what was good or bad, and lean toward observations and opinions (however wrong they may be). Okay enough parenthesis-speak.  So with all that out of the way, here goes:0:01 Feels like I’m doing a DVD commentary right now.  Except instead of being involved or otherwise knowledgeable about this movie, I’m using Wikipedia and imdb to check my references. Oh well. 

0:05 “Touchstone Pictures” it reads.  I remember that logo. Production company logos are all touched with fancy graphics and animation these days. I liked it when they were simple and quick.  Back in my day, people had to use 14.4K modems to connect to the interweb.  Yes you read that correctly, a max transfer rate of FOURTEEN POINT FOUR KILOBYTES. Kids these days have it easy.  Okay, moving on. 

0:20 Opening scene is a close up of a letter. Thought it was written in Arabic or something but it’s just in cursive.  

0:26 Woah, its “a Bruckheimer/South production”. Could it be Jerry Bruckheimer? I have the right movie right? These are typical of thoughts that go through my head. Even when watching a movie named “Beaches” starring Bette Midler, I’m hoping it's related to explosions and action movies.  

0:35 A Gary Marshall film. Just IMDB’d him. Did not realize he did Pretty Woman too.  Also, forget my last comment, wrong Bruckheimer. 

0:45 Music starting to come in, even sounds like the 80s. 

1:00 First shot of people is Bette Midler singing a song. Her hair... I mean... wow.  

2:00 She’s sitting next to the piano guy who looks like a gentle non-violent version of Det. Crockett in Miami Vice (the tv series, not the movie, which we should all collectively agree NEVER HAPPENED). 

3:30 She gets a message and is running off to the airport. What could it be?!?!? Oh the suspense.  By the way her name is CC Bloom. For some reason, I chuckled when I heard it.    

4:18 Hahahaha! Bloom says “Is this the modern world or what?” to which the airport lady says “That’s right, but even in the modern world, planes don’t land in San Francisco when it’s foggy”. No clue why I found that funny.   

5:01 Just found out this is based on a book.  

5:25 Cue an opening-song-that-I-don’t-immediately-recognize-but-somehow-sounds-familiar starting a flashback scene.  

6:05 A girl hanging out underneath some stairs just offered a girl who appears lost a drag on her cigarette.  

6:16 The girl describes a hotel by saying “a bunch of fruits in monkey suits playing music in the lobby”.  Woah there.

6:48 That’s CC Bloom as a young kid!  And she's smoking!  GASP!  What a rebel.  

7:26 Check out the outfit on Leona. My interest could not be more piqued. 

7:56 She’s dying of “heat prostration”. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like a bedroom activity native to Miami. 

8:11 Kid Bloom refers to her mother by her first name. This girl is crazy. Also, really starting to like this Leona (the mom) character. Hope she gets more screen time. 

8:25 Old guy sitting in an auditorium, smoking a cigar says “CC Boom? Sounds like stripper.” Up to now, that’s the line of the movie. 

8:45 Kid Bloom in the middle of her song and dance for the old guy.  Can’t help but wonder how she’d do on American Idol. By the way, I like how that sounds, Kid Bloom. Sounds like a good name for a rock band made up of adolescents. You're welcome.  

9:08 Another old guy in a hat is sitting next to the cigar old guy. Kind of looks like a perv, but his bow tie makes me think otherwise. No perv would wear that, I just refuse to believe it. 

10:30 Kid Bloom’s competitor does hand stands and flips in front of the American flag. She’s got talent AND playing the patriotic card? You lose, Bloom. 

11:20 Kid Bloom is arguing with Leona. She could star in her own late night fitness video with the fits she's throwing.    

12:52 Not much happening right now, they’ve calmed down and are going back to the Bronx. But not before Kid Bloom and Lost Girl take pictures and exchange addresses. Lost girl lives in Atherton.  

13:33 Woah woah woah. They walk into a ritzy looking place and sit down at a table. Two kids who can't be older than 14 aren’t gonna get stopped at the door? My suspension of belief wall just got its first crack of implausibility. 

13.:42 Finally someone comes over to address this. Wait a second... they let them stay just because she name dropped her daddy’s name?  

14:33 Woah BUUUURN. Hillary (Lost Girl) tried to imitate Kid Bloom singing and Kid Bloom comes back with a “Hillary, don’t sing”. Ouch.  

15:14 Some Aunt hands Kid Bloom some cash and tells her “it will keep you honest”. I don’t get it. 

15:50 In case you haven’t noticed, it’s turning into a rich, pampered, but lonely girl bonding with a brash, but talented girl story. They’ve only bashed it over our heads for the past five minutes. 

16:12 Kid Bloom hates her hair. Wonder if Adult Bloom feels the same. Also she’s reading a letter while riding a horse. That's crazy reckless.  

17:09 Flashback moving forward into their adult years. Hillary is going to Stanford to become a lawyer. CC is still performing. 

17:15 Voiceovers of them reading each others letters. Also I just thought of  Bette Midler's ghetto name is she ever got one: B-Mid.  

17:41 Uh oh. Hillary's turning into an activist, presumably in the Bay Area. Bloom is trudging along making ends meet in NY, brash as ever. 

19:37 Thank goodness, it’s the end of the voiceovers of the letters... so far. 

20:26 CC’s singing in an empty bar. If that’s not passion, I don’t know what is. Starting to like CC’s brashness too. 

21:01 GASP!  Adult Hillary’s here in NY! 

23:40 CC’s loud. Hillary cries tears of happiness because she’s free of her old life.  

28:02 Cinematic fast forward. CC’s doing birthday grams dressed as a bunny. What a coincidence she does a gram for someone who also happens to be a director! He sees her talent and invites her to an audition. Maybe it's my manly intuition (men have intuition too) acting up but the way he looks at Hillary (she tagged along)...there's something going on here. Not to mention the way CC is looking at both of them.  I smell trouble. We also find out Hillary’s an attorney for the ACLU, fightin' the man. Represent. 

29:35 CC’s first acting role, a prison guard on death row. Starting from the bottom of the entertainer ladder. She also thinks the director “hates my hair”. I hate it too. Wear more hats B-Mid.  

30:16 Some random guy just walks up and stands next to the pair at a laundry mat. They’re also playing cards, gin, while waiting for the laundry. Got me thinking. I used to play it a lot. What an underrated card game. 

32:32 CC literally prances into Hillary’s workplace to tell her she got a part in a Broadway show, presumably a big deal. Meanwhile her client, a poor woman carrying all her belongings, runs out, scared from the excitement they are sharing. I hope she gets help soon from someone else who cares. 

34:15 Not afraid to say, I liked the number CC just did. Particularly the costumes of the background actors. Looked like what an invisible man would’ve looked like if he was a 60s Chicago gangster. 

37:00 Director tries to hit on Hillary while CC looks on with a look of obvious jealousy. Comedy ensues, and by comedy I mean drama. Which for me is really the same thing. 

39:40 CC comes home drunk, Hillary tells her she slept with the director, but shows remorse while CC gets angry about it. Thought CC was going to really blow up but no such fireworks.  We also find out Hillary’s father is sick and she’s going back to SF. Of course the scene ends with “We’re friends, aren’t we?”  Ding!  Callback (to the scene when they were kids and have to leave each other)!

40:10 Here come the voiceovers while they go over each other’s lives. Hillary is dating a lawyer, CC’s career is on its way up.

42:40 Intriguing. Director asks CC out on a date. Also asks CC about Hillary for a second time.  

45:45 The plants Hillary had asked CC to water are dying! Just like their friendship! May I have another helping of symbolism please? Hillary gets hitched to that lawyer. In turn, CC gets the director to marry her. Great line I intend to use, “I’m a womanizer, not a liar.” Hilarious. That’s followed by a great sequence where they do a quick city hall wedding. Right after the wedding kiss CC slaps him in the face and says “This is the happiest moment of my life and I don’t ever want you to forget it.”  Again, hilarious.  

49:38 Another great number by B-Mid about tig ol bitties and how the brassiere was invented. (See how I did that, switching the beginning consonants around to make it sound funny? I used to do that a lot in my head. My favorite, for obvious reasons, is tig ol bitties. My second favorite? Pothole and hotpole. Don't ask.) 

51:31Director John walks in and sees former lover Hillary for the first time and it looks like it could be something, but CC quickly interrupts their moment. Hillary’s husband, Michael, watches on kind of awkwardly. Also, great thought went into both men’s names, John and Michael. The everyman’s names! 

53:01 CC and Hillary are playing gin again, gee, that’s twice now.  

56:10 They have an epic argument. Names are called, insults hurled. Their first. (Insert obligatory cat sound)  

58:59 Beginning of more voiceovers. Since its going to take awhile, let me just say on a completely different subject, minty chapsticks are. the. bomb.  

1:00:53 Is that a sighting of CC’s awesome mom? 

1:00:55 It is. As spunky as ever. 

1:02:33 Mom lays it on her and gives it to her straight. I’ll paraphrase here, but she tells her 'you’re an attention whore, that’s why she moved away and that’s no reason to break up with someone'.  Word to your mother. 

1:04:22 Director John and CC break up over where their careers are going. She’s on her way up and he likes it where he is. Not really emotionally attached to this relationship. Next please. 

1:06:44 Uh oh. Hillary catches her husband with another woman. Two scenes, two breakups. She ends this one with “That’s my robe.”  

1:14:52 CC’s career is in the crapper. They meet for the first time since their fight. Hillary wants to be BFFs again and CC resists at first. She relents. Jealousy was involved. Can I just say without judgment, female friendships are so complicated. I’ll never understand it. They’re BFFs again. Also it's revealed Hillary’s prego. The plot thickens! 

1:16:32 Hillary’s obstetrician (had to look up spelling) also happens to be a fan of CC’s. What a coincidence.  

1:18:34 As expected, Obs (short for obstetrician) and CC kiss and plan for a marriage. Will she really settle down?  

1:21:02 That was fast. She’s leaving town because of a chance to revive her career. Except she leaves the job of breaking up with obstetrician fiancé to Hillary. Great rationalization here, “I didn’t know I was doing it, so it doesn’t count.” Gotta feel for the guy. Not cool CC, not cool.  

1:23:04 Director John reappears. Revival came from him. Thank yous are shared.

1:24:10 CC and Hillary bicker in the operating room while Hillary prepares to give birth. Obstetrician reappears and they share a quick update (Obs is married now). CC faints, everyone ignores Hillary.  I get the feeling this is supposed to be funny, but I guess I don’t get it. By the way CC’s hair in this scene is totally 80s. 

1:26:26 Hillary’s kid is fine, Hillary is not. She’s always tired. CC’s career is on its way up again. 

1:28:01 Quick scene with Hillary after she tips the doorman a wad of bills. What’s this for? It’ll keep ya honest. Wait a sec… that happened in the flashback scene! Also Hillary’s not looking so good. 

1:29:04 Hillary collapses. If I was sitting in the theater, I can imagine the collective gasps. By the way, theres a cool 3 second establishing shot on top of Nob Hill in SF. I recognize it. I used to live a few blocks from there. I remember cutting my lip as a kid while playing at a nearby playground and my mom, carrying me in her arms, running those few blocks home to clean it up  I remember this because she constantly brings it up. Memory association, what a strange thing. 

1:29:10 Hillary looks pale in the hospital. She has viral cardiomyopathy. Just looked it up, it's real.  It's basically an enlarged heart. Somehow I'm not surprised they picked this for the movie.  

1:32:59 Hillary, Victoria (Hillary's kid), and CC decide to spend the summer at the beach house.  Hillary originally wanted CC to come and help. She initially didn't want to but eventually agrees, after finding an old picture of the film strip they took as kids in Atlantic City. Also, Hillary becomes downright dour and mopey.  

1:37:40 Sorry some boring scenes in a row. They drive down to the beach house. Hillary’s kid and CC don’t exactly hit it off. Something tells me they will. 

1:39:11 Hillary stresses about a picture of her mother’s hands after her daughter comments about how they have the same hands. I’m confused.  

1:42:20 CC and Hillary’s kid start to connect and Hillary starts to get jealous because she’s sick and can’t really play with them. They also bicker about how she’s not living the rest of her life. At least B-Mid’s toned down the frizziness of her hair. Also, the first usage of “fuck” that I can remember in this movie. Woah there, let’s not go overboard. Yes, that was sarcastic.  

1:44:12 CC watches herself doing an interview on TV in which she looks stoned. Also just noticed Hillary calls her daughter Puss. I think I’ll use that from here on out instead of Victoria.  

1:45:31Card game. Gin. Again. Hillary is looking worse.  

1:48:25 Puss finds her mom unconscious on the floor. She gets hysterical. CC drives into SF General Hospital. I recognize it even though this was shot in the 80s. Sorry no personal memory this time. 

1:49:58 Hillary doesn't want to stay at the hospital and they decide to move back to the beach house for her remaining days. I have to say I admire that.                                                                    

1:51:39 Hillary shares one last moment with her daughter and CC, sitting in a lounge chair watching the sun set behind the ocean with “Wind Beneath My Wings” playing in the background. Something wrong with my eyes though. They keep secreting some sort of foreign salty substance. Probably just some dust in my eye. Stupid cliché scenes.                                                                               

1:52:16 Still dusty in here. Geez I gotta vacuum in here.                                                                  

1:54:44 CC asks Puss to live with her, it’s what Hillary wanted. She lists reasons why she’s not the right person, but Puss wants to stay with her.                                                                                   

1:58:54 This song sounds familiar. Oh wait, it’s the first song we hear CC sing when she was a kid in Atlantic City. She looks a little stoned singing this. Maybe it's just me.                                       

1:59:54 And it ends with a shot of the photo strip they do as kids. “Well sure, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Aaaaaand roll credits.

If you’re still here, thanks for sticking through this. It was a lot longer than I anticipated but I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had in writing it. What a ride.  The ending was obviously sad and the scene where she spends her final moments was certainly heartfelt, if a little cliched.  A lot has to be said about the two principal characters, Hillary and CC.  Not breaking any new ground here, but you really come away feeling for them even though I didn't particularly think much of them throughout the first half of the movie. Hillary was, yes admit it, a little spoiled but certainly proved she had a good heart. CC spoke her mind, for better or worse. But the main thing I took away from these two hours of my life was the underlying reasons for their disagreements. Every argument had a purpose, whether it was to let out festering feelings about the other (their first in NY when Hillary's jealousy boiled over), or to show the other what they're doing wrong (CC telling Hillary to live life as if she's alive, not live it as if you're dead).  Sometimes it takes an argument or disagreement to really bang home a point. Sometimes there's no other way for two strong-willed friends, guy or girl, to connect other than on a level where honesty, as much one doesn't want to hear it, is expressed. I suppose you can't guarantee that every argument turns out well and in fact, most of them don't.  But it's the ones that turn out well where you look back and say, that's where things changed for the better. Until next time, peace.