So…

It's been one of those weeks.

I say that like it's Saturday evening, don't I?

But it's not.

It's Tuesday.

But by Saturday, I may have jumped off a bridge. So it's probably best to get this "woe is me" post out of the way now…

But, as I was saying, it's been one of those weeks.

"What kind of weeks, Judith?"

(You know, I really ought to figure out some way to style those audience-type questions of y'all's. Right now, they just don't have the same effect as they would in a live studio. Or even on Dora the Explorer for that matter. But I digress…)

The kind of weeks when your favorite "I feel pretty panties" suddenly become your "No, motherfucker, YOU have a happy period" panties.

The kind of weeks when your toddler mistakes the last of your tampons for action figured-sized rocket launchers.

The kind of weeks where you crack your favorite coffee mug while searching for the whiskey, you forget not one but three seperate loads of clothes in the washer for so long that the socks begin discussing the theory of creationism as it applies to wet socks left in the washer for too long, and you seriously contemplate dumping out that box of Sweet-N-Low on the dining room table just so that you may call yourself Tony Montana.

Because by this point, yes, you are officially that insane.

And the thought of a little holiday all to yourself in a padded room sounds absolutely delightful.

So as I was saying…

It's been one of those weeks.

And it all started out with a cute little robot and a bucket of popcorn. Imagine that.

Now, we all know my experiences with movie theaters… One might say that I'm unlucky. The more practical person, however, would say that I'm cursed.

We're talking "plague on both your houses" kind of cursed.

But one of my other personalities happens to be a glass is a third-full kind of gal, so I continue to have hope that one day- one day- I'll actually be able to enjoy an actual movie in an actual theater.

Which is why I stared into the face of danger and took the kids to see Wall-e last Wednesday night.

Occasionally, being heathens in the Bible Belt has its advantages. One of those just happens to be the fact that the evening shows at the local theater are guaranteed to be near empty on church nights. So if, say, you often find yourself near tears as your two-year-old has a meltdown the size of New Orleans over who gets to hold the popcorn bucket; on Wednesday and Sunday nights, you may just luck out and have the whole theater to yourself (i.e. no witnesses).

Peter didn't get off of work until late afternoon, so we grabbed dinner at Chili's and got there just in time to catch the nine o'clock.

Everyone was in a relatively good mood, popcorn was fairly fresh, and the world seemed to be a happy place full of rainbows and puppies and kitties… All in all, a damn good set-up.

At last.

This was it. My moment of glory. I was finally going to see a movie and enjoy it without coming to any sort of physical or emotional harm.

By God, I was going to be just like all of the normal people for once in my life.

And I was happy about it.

It took The Baby a bit to get into the movie, of course, and there was a brief bout of musical chairs here and there… But everyone quickly got settled in and it was smooth sailing.

Wall-e was delightful.

The kids were laughing. Peter and I were laughing. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that we were enjoying it more than they were. Which made the experience that much more of a triumph.

Right up until the moment that it caught on fire, that is.

(Oh, shut-up. You knew it was coming. Hell, deep down, I knew it was coming.)

It was actually rather surreal, that hole appearing in the middle of the frame of the little robot flying through space with his fire extinguisher… At first, I thought, "Hmmm… when did Robert Rodriguez start working for Disney?"

And then, "Okay, I don't get it."

Followed by, "Shit. I think that's really burning."

And then, "Oh Baby, don't cry! They'll fix it in just a second…"

"Any second now…"

Ten minutes later:

"I'm sure it's about to start soon… Here, have some popcorn. Okay, who ate all of the popcorn!@$#@!?"

"…No, no, Mommy's not upset with you…. And put your shoes back on."

"…No, you can't run down the aisle. I don't care if there's no one here."

"…No, how many bones does a Brontosaurus have?"

Ten minutes after that:

"Get up off of the floor…"

"Ugh. Don't eat that!"

"Where is your Daddy? How long could it possibly take to walk up there and tell somebody to fix this…"

"Lord, grant me the serenity to…"

Ten minutes after that:

Now, you don't really think that I sat there any longer than that, do you?

I'm not that insane, you know.

Tony Montana or not.

But it really has been one of those weeks.

I say that like it's Saturday evening, don't I?

But it's not.

It's Tuesday.

But by Saturday, I may have jumped off a bridge. So it's probably best to get this "woe is me" post out of the way now…