So…Valentine’s Day. I spent most of the afternoon lounging by the pool at the Peninsula waiting on a text from James (Franco) that never arrived. 3 bottles of Sancerre later, I decided to pack up Kris Humpries–the pet sloth my dad gave me for being a New York Times bestselling author–and sneak into an advance screening of This Means War. I was in the right head space to cry and watch Reese’s hair and Tom Hardy act for 2 hours, so I figured it’d be a perfect solution.
The movie was amazing. Like, so so so good. After situating Kris in his sloth bed, I promptly passed out for an hour and a half and had the best nap of my life. Once I woke up, I wiped a bit of drool off my cheek, reapplied my Tom Ford lipstick, located Kris (who had crawled one inch to the left) and put him back in his bed, and watched the explosive, expensive climax of the movie. Chelsea Handler was so talented at playing herself it was unreal, and Reese’s trainer should win some sort of Oscar for making her calves look the way they did. I loved every second of it that I wasn’t sleeping for, though I will say that I was unclear on why Chris Pine was cast as an uncharismatic, ladies man suffering from encephalitis. They should have gone with Jonah Hill. Oh well.
Tomorrow I’m scheduling an appointment with my hair guy to get “The Reese,” and I’m emailing my dad to see if he can get me a meeting with Tom Hardy to play my boyfriend in Babe’s Life: The Movie.