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I am finding things out about myself that I never knew.
Namely this:
I like chick flicks.
For serious. I have watched two so-called 'chick flicks' in the past week, (and one gothy grungy horror superduper revenge flick, just for kicks) and they both have nearly made me cry. Key word in that sentence is 'nearly'.
WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD
The Illusionist:
The scene where he finds her body in the water. And she's just drifting and my key response was oh noooooooo, and he sees her and just runs, doesn't even stop to take his jacket off, just plunges in there and holds her. God, I wish I could act like that guy. Grief is never instant tears--grief is that sick, horrible pitted knot in the bottom of your stomach, and that dead numb flat feeling, and the world seems to fade away to black and grey, and your body's on autopilot because your head is clearly not there anymore. You cry later, when you're alone.
That guy expresses that with just his eyes. It was 'mazing.
Miss Potter:
This movie is SO EFFIN' CUTE. I was watching the beginning and I nearly cried just because it was so perfect, particularly the music-box scene. AWWWW. I'm a dork, I know.
And then he DIED. And it was the delayed-breakdown thing that got me again. I was just like ********. WHY?
WHY CAN MOVIE DIRECTORS NEVER MAKE A HAPPY ENDING? Srsly. Something always goes wrong. You can always tell how badly wrong it's going to go by how perfect everything seems in the beginning. (Kinda like life. I am profound.)
AGGHHH.

Is it just me, or did Beatrix Potter write kinda odd little books? I mean, The Roly-Poly Pudding book was about eating a cat! In a PIE!
Need I say anything more?
No.