How Low Can You Go

I like to think that I’m a different kind of woman, that the trappings of regular women don’t ensnare me. I like to think that I’m stronger, more self-aware, that I don’t fall prey to things like handbags and kittens.

And last night I did something I swore I would never do.

I watched Eight Below.

Animals in trouble always make me cry, especially doggies in trouble, and especially now that I have my own. And I just felt like crying, very womanly of me no? But I did, I felt like sitting on the couch, all by myself, and sobbing to Eight Below.

I did write a previous post about Eight Below, guessing at many of the plot points that would arise. Surprisingly enough, hardly any of those things happened, but they should have, because they would have made a better movie then the one I saw. If you can’t make me cry with eight dogs stuck in a snowstorm all on their own, then you really fucked up your movie.

Paul Walker is pretty hot though, even if he has the voice of Keanu, he’s still pretty cute.

I told Remo a lot this morning that I’m glad he’s not a sled dog stuck out in the Antarctic with no one to love him. I think he understood.