Performance Anxiety Exacerbated
This past Thursday, I had the pleasure of finally not working too terribly late. And as an added bonus, I had the opportunity to go watch Spiderman 3 with a friend. On an IMAX screen at Navy Pier, no less! Talk about double bonus... Because the 19:00 show was sold out, we decided to watch the next showing at 21:45, which meant we had several hours to kill. Normally this would have been an ugh, but since I was with a friend whose company I actually enjoys, it wasn’t too terribly awful.
Since the both of us had not had any dinner yet, we decided to walk around the touristy Navy Pier to see what kind of culinary temptation it has to offer. The one I wanted to go turned out to be pricey, so we settled for the second choice, Bubba Gump, a restaurant inspired by and licensed from Forrest Gump. Let’s just put it this way... The food wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t great either. For the price I paid, I definitely would never ever go back there again. Not only was it a tourist attraction, but it certainly was a teeny bobber magnet.
Even the thought of a high-pitched teenage girl’s annoying voice that mimics those of Valley Girl’s accent just utterly want me to gag right now.
Anyway, after dinner, we sat around and killed the time till a line began to form for the movie. Interestingly, I don’t understand the purpose of why people would form a line fifteen minutes before the show was to begin, especially when everyone had assigned seating. But like that psychological experiment done in some university years ago on peer pressure where the lone true unknowing subject was forced to conform to agree with the others’ response of five to the question of two plus two, I convinced her to wait in line as well.
The movie was decent. Nothing to brag home about. Kirsten Dunst looked marvelous as usual, but I thought I’m beginning to not like her as the damsel in distress character. Yet again. But then, it was a Spiderman movie after all. I did like her a lot in Elizabethtown though. And then Eric Forman as a villain... That was quite funny. The whole time I was secretly hoping that Donna would pop up somewhere in the movie and make some slapstick comment about his new black suit. Sigh... My fantasy never came to fruition. I guess I had to settle for the totally predictable ending with a kiss between Spidey and MJ. I would have much rather preferred that the movie ended with them in a fight, which would have been a great cliffhanger for Spiderman 4, seeing how Sony Pictures have confirmed at least three more Spiderman movies at least.
On a side note, is this corporate greed that I smell? I don’t really want the Spiderman franchise to go down the toilet just like the Batman franchise did from 1989 through 1997, which by the fourth installment had turned into a rotting piece of human excrement from the donkey.
End of side note. As I had been drinking a kind of pina colada beverage at dinner, I had to go to the restroom a lot. Even while waiting on the bench for over an hour before we could single file ourselves into the theatre, I went to the restroom twice. Although I was thirsty during the movie screening, I forced myself not to drink any water because I didn’t believe my bladder could withstand two hours and twenty minutes with the addition of liquids after I had broken the seal.
Surely enough, not even a sip of water in me, by the time the movie concluded, I was making a mad dash for the restroom. I was lucky, as there were five free urinals next to the lone guy using the sixth one. Having had the golden urinal rules committed to memory, I went for the third urinal. (Actually, in this scenario, the correct choices could be either the first or third. Don’t ask me who came up with this shit, but the point is that you want to pick the urinal where the next guy won’t have to stand immediately next to you.) But as I headed towards the urinal I had already claimed in my mind, the guy at the sixth urinal ripped a huge one. Loudly. And stinkily, I must add.
Oh. My. God. I tried my best not to laugh, as it was kind of funny. But I didn’t want this big guy to confront and punch me, as I wasn’t keen on letting anybody touch me after their hands had held the little package down there. So as I stood at my urinal, I stared blankly ahead at the tiles, and bit my lips not only to prevent from laughing, but to relax myself so I can actually pee. After a few seconds, the crowd from the theatre began to pile into the restroom. And just as I was mentally calm and ready to open the floodgates, a guy took the remaining free urinal to my right.
No big deal, right? Except this guy bumped into my right foot when he took position, which totally ruined my relaxation process, thus bringing back my performance anxiety. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had the audacity to actually turn his head and tell me he was sorry! I mean, saying sorry was perfectly okay, but according to the man laws pertaining to urinal etiquettes: One shall not turn and face another person when both are standing next to each other at the urinals. One can only communicate with each other when both are facing forward. Damn! Now my pee would never come out, despite the fact that my bladder was about to explode! Effer!
Didn’t he realize the faux pas he had just made? The etiquette has the same effect to which if a guy agrees to his girlfriend’s request to have a threesome with another man, both guys can never look each other, especially when one is about to ejaculate. Or that neither guy can touch the other, for otherwise it would just kill at least one erection. What a dumb ass!!!
Since the both of us had not had any dinner yet, we decided to walk around the touristy Navy Pier to see what kind of culinary temptation it has to offer. The one I wanted to go turned out to be pricey, so we settled for the second choice, Bubba Gump, a restaurant inspired by and licensed from Forrest Gump. Let’s just put it this way... The food wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t great either. For the price I paid, I definitely would never ever go back there again. Not only was it a tourist attraction, but it certainly was a teeny bobber magnet.
Even the thought of a high-pitched teenage girl’s annoying voice that mimics those of Valley Girl’s accent just utterly want me to gag right now.
Anyway, after dinner, we sat around and killed the time till a line began to form for the movie. Interestingly, I don’t understand the purpose of why people would form a line fifteen minutes before the show was to begin, especially when everyone had assigned seating. But like that psychological experiment done in some university years ago on peer pressure where the lone true unknowing subject was forced to conform to agree with the others’ response of five to the question of two plus two, I convinced her to wait in line as well.
The movie was decent. Nothing to brag home about. Kirsten Dunst looked marvelous as usual, but I thought I’m beginning to not like her as the damsel in distress character. Yet again. But then, it was a Spiderman movie after all. I did like her a lot in Elizabethtown though. And then Eric Forman as a villain... That was quite funny. The whole time I was secretly hoping that Donna would pop up somewhere in the movie and make some slapstick comment about his new black suit. Sigh... My fantasy never came to fruition. I guess I had to settle for the totally predictable ending with a kiss between Spidey and MJ. I would have much rather preferred that the movie ended with them in a fight, which would have been a great cliffhanger for Spiderman 4, seeing how Sony Pictures have confirmed at least three more Spiderman movies at least.
On a side note, is this corporate greed that I smell? I don’t really want the Spiderman franchise to go down the toilet just like the Batman franchise did from 1989 through 1997, which by the fourth installment had turned into a rotting piece of human excrement from the donkey.
End of side note. As I had been drinking a kind of pina colada beverage at dinner, I had to go to the restroom a lot. Even while waiting on the bench for over an hour before we could single file ourselves into the theatre, I went to the restroom twice. Although I was thirsty during the movie screening, I forced myself not to drink any water because I didn’t believe my bladder could withstand two hours and twenty minutes with the addition of liquids after I had broken the seal.
Surely enough, not even a sip of water in me, by the time the movie concluded, I was making a mad dash for the restroom. I was lucky, as there were five free urinals next to the lone guy using the sixth one. Having had the golden urinal rules committed to memory, I went for the third urinal. (Actually, in this scenario, the correct choices could be either the first or third. Don’t ask me who came up with this shit, but the point is that you want to pick the urinal where the next guy won’t have to stand immediately next to you.) But as I headed towards the urinal I had already claimed in my mind, the guy at the sixth urinal ripped a huge one. Loudly. And stinkily, I must add.
Oh. My. God. I tried my best not to laugh, as it was kind of funny. But I didn’t want this big guy to confront and punch me, as I wasn’t keen on letting anybody touch me after their hands had held the little package down there. So as I stood at my urinal, I stared blankly ahead at the tiles, and bit my lips not only to prevent from laughing, but to relax myself so I can actually pee. After a few seconds, the crowd from the theatre began to pile into the restroom. And just as I was mentally calm and ready to open the floodgates, a guy took the remaining free urinal to my right.
No big deal, right? Except this guy bumped into my right foot when he took position, which totally ruined my relaxation process, thus bringing back my performance anxiety. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had the audacity to actually turn his head and tell me he was sorry! I mean, saying sorry was perfectly okay, but according to the man laws pertaining to urinal etiquettes: One shall not turn and face another person when both are standing next to each other at the urinals. One can only communicate with each other when both are facing forward. Damn! Now my pee would never come out, despite the fact that my bladder was about to explode! Effer!
Didn’t he realize the faux pas he had just made? The etiquette has the same effect to which if a guy agrees to his girlfriend’s request to have a threesome with another man, both guys can never look each other, especially when one is about to ejaculate. Or that neither guy can touch the other, for otherwise it would just kill at least one erection. What a dumb ass!!!
posted by StHalcyon at
05:05
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