Here's the thing: I have a hard time sleeping. Whether or not I've been up for 19 hours or am exhausted from school/work, most nights it's hard for me to sleep (especially if The Dude is not around). To help me sleep, I put on a movie and it's usually a chick flick. The Dude hates it but it helps me. For a while, it was Love Story. For a few years (even now) it's been Notting Hill, and sometimes I put on a Nigella episode and I'm asleep in minutes. I think it's because A. I know the movie backwards and forwards or B. it doesn't interest me at all. Last night I put on Confessions of a Shopaholic and I couldn't tell you what the movie was about. Instead of putting on the same movie every night I like to switch it up. I've seen the first 20 minutes to every single chick flick Netflix's Play Instantly has to offer, so naturally when Dear John was available I put that on.
I wanted to kill myself.
I cried. I admit it, I cried. And I can't even say that I enjoyed the movie because it legitimately made me feel bad inside to the point of hating that something like that exists. It's worse than The Way We Were because Hubble was never as romantic as John and because there wasn't as much passion. I know, so silly of me but I am so upset! I hate it!
Although.. Channing Tatum is dangerously sex. I mean sexy. Painfully so.
