I am such a good date.

I stopped watching Oprah about a million years ago when she brought around that human penis, Dr. Phil, but I remember watching her show and other daytime talk shows (oh college, how I loved your carefree afternoons of drunken TV watching) and all the counseling they'd do of woebegotten women who'd forgotten how to take care of themselves.

Like, they were all sad because the man in their lives wouldn't take them out to dinner or they had no man and didn't get to go out to dinner at all and it was making them feel like less of a woman and does my ass look fat in this muumuu, etc.

Anyway, amidst all the DUH advice she would give them, like, paint your toenails and shave your legs even if you're the only one who's going to see it (perhaps this is why they were not getting man love? Just a thought.) she would also tell them not to forgo doing things just because a man wasn't taking them out to do them. Which, at that drunken time, seemed to me like a lot more DUH advice thankyouverymuch because I was very independent minded and also stubborn like a damn mule so just the suggestion that I might need a man to escort me to my favorite eating establishment (unless I was broke, in which case it was an accepted necessity) was, like, blasphemous.

Then Dr. Human Penis appeared on the show forever and I stopped watching and thus began my lifelong condition known as Throw Up In My Mouth Whenever Oprah is Mentioned.

If you love Oprah and want to leave me a comment about what a despicable whore I am, feel free, but know that I won't read it because it will make me throw up in my mouth.

ANYWAY.

Last week I received a pair of tickets to see the first showing of the new Indiana Jones movie which I was very excited about because I remember when Harrison Ford was REALLY FUCKING HOT and thought I could reminisce about the good old days of hotness by squinting at the screen while he ran around with his hat on chasing spiders or whatever it is those movies are about.

But Bubba is out of town (still, yes.) and all my friends have children or other stupid grown up responsibilities that keep them in lock down during the free-wielding and job-ignoring hour of 4pm, so I was suddenly facing the very real possibility of OMG I might have to go see this movie by myself.

I've never done that. Gone to the movies alone.

I mean, I never pined about Oh, boo, I really want to see XYZ but woe is my sad sack no man will take me, because I don't usually care too much about movies and am happy to wait for Netflix to bring them to my lovely flat screen, but this time, I was sort of getting sad sack-ish.

Until it was the day of and I had been telling people (including Bubba) for, like, four days that, "Oh yeah I'm just going to go by myself and it's not a big deal." even though I was totally *not* going to go because, what, am I going to go alone? Come on, already. Don't be ridiculous.

It seemed like the right thing to say, and frankly the right thing to DO, since I had already started fantasizing about Mr. Ford and his hat and that bullwhip that he always has strapped to his belt and all, but I when it came to actually getting into my car and driving, unaccompanied, to the movie theater, parking the car, walking up to the ticket tearer chick with my one ticket and no one behind me to whom I could say, "Go on, love, I'll meet you at the concessions where I'll be buying the world's largest popcorn." - well, I just couldn't see it.

Until I just went ahead and shut up that stupid bitch in my mind who kept telling me that someone was going to think I was a loser weirdo going to a movie all by my stupid loser self and walked right up to the ticket tearer chick and she was a dude and he was like, "Enjoy the show it's #11 on your right." and no one was laughing.

I didn't even hear one of the five bazillion people in the ticket line (who HAHA had to wait and buy tickets - who's the loser now?!) snicker even quietly under their breaths about the loser girl going to the movies by herself.

Now, maybe I missed it because of the loud screaming by children whose parents do not believe in babysitters or strangling, but I'm pretty sure no one even looked at me weird. Frankly, I think Bubba and I get weirder looks when we're together than I got when I was alone, but that might have to do with the intense game of grabass in which we like to engage.

Who knows?

So I went in. I went up to the concessions and got myself a popcorn, and even though it wasn't the biggest one they had and even though I didn't have anyone to tell about the popcorn I was getting, it was still really fucking good. Which may or may not have had something to do with the amount of Pour Your Own butter I put on it (thank you AMC theaters for this feature - you have enriched my life). I can't say for sure what made it great, but I can say that not having to share makes any concerns about being seen alone in a movie theater go right out the window because when they hand me that little bag (I did indeed get a small because of that other bitch in my mind who won't shut up about the fat ass thing) I know I'm going to get to eat as much or as little of it as I want and no one will say two peeps.

SWEET.

In fact, the whole situation from getting in the car to getting back into the car afterward was pretty enjoyable and scandal-free. In fact, I had a few singles sitting around me, all carefully spaced out with a seat between us, we made Row #5 look like the Place To Be If You're a Self-Righteous Movie Watcher until Thickness and his band of Cheeto Munchers came sidling up behind our row going, "Hey, are those seats taken and can you just all scootch down so that we can all sit together and make a lot of disgusting eating noises while alternately scratching our asses on the armrests?"

Ok, so I made that last part up, but they were, in fact, gross and eating Cheetos and they smelled like old dog's breath. Whatever, I scootched down to the far end of the row away from them and their orange fingers and butts and enjoyed my popcorn while watching a not totally un-hot Harrison Ford chase a misshapen glass head around a jungle while he wore his hat almost the whole time and used his bullwhip at least three times in the first scene.

Thank you for that, Harrison.

Anyway, at the end of the day I decided that I am a very good movie date.

I usually get good parking spots, I'm totally up for movie snacks, I remember to put my cell phone on vibrate, I don't make conversation with the amazing crackheads that sit close by and when the movie's over, I'm all for taking the exit at the front of the theater that goes out to parking lot instead of mooing through the cattle drive out past the restrooms with everyone else since I don't have to pee every five minutes.

And so, even though I was tearing off of work to go see a movie rated in the PGs, I felt like a grown-up. Like I'd done a grown-up thing that grown-up people would do in the event that a movie was happening and they had tickets and no one to go with them to sit and chew popcorn side by side in a dark room.

Plus, my toes are always painted and my legs are ALWAYS shaved and I play a mean game of grabass, so I might just be a good and grown-up movie date in general. I suppose that is always a possibility.