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2003-10-04 @ 4:49 p.m.
lost in translation

I guess I was tempting fate on Wednesday when I asked my doctor to do a blood test to see if I was menopausal. It certainly seemed so. I hadn't had one of those bloody monstrosities since last February. And I had been having more hot flashes than Ru Paul all summer. My skin had cleared up. PMS? Well, I'm in a perpetual state of PMS, so it was a little hard to tell the difference. And I was starting to rather enjoy the notion that in a few months, that is to say, a year without periods, I would never have to worry again about getting pregnant. Not that I've had any reason up to now, since I'm a 45 year old virgin. But you know, just to be on the safe side. The realllllly safe side.

And of course I just enjoyed the no fuss, no muss of not having a period. I know the first month or two I was really uncertain around that time of month. Will I get it? Won't I get it? Should I schedule a massage? I had had a brief crisis...the "Oh gee, I'm not a woman anymore because I can't give birth." But after about month three I was walking on sunshine. I was ecstatic. I was top of the world, MA! But then this morning....


And I had just had a dream about that subject about 3 weeks ago. Looking down and seeing blood. Very weird. Ok, I won't subject you to any more talk of my bodily fluids...unless its funny or we're on a date and you're a consenting adult.

It was rainy and cold today, so I went to a bargain matinee and saw Sophia Coppola's new movie, "Lost in Translation". OK, we have a medium sized auditorium, right? There's about 23 people in it. I sit in the middle towards the front. Threw up my Don't sit near me force field, but something went terribly wrong. A nearly empty auditorium, but suddenly this group of 5 adults comes sliding down my row and the guy sits right next to me, as in hogging my arm rest. And his wife, sitting next to him, is chit chatting away all through the previews. The first shot of the movie is of Scarlett Johannson's lovely ass in bed, and the woman loudly announces, "That isn't very nice."

OK, you're sitting next to an angry menstruating bipolar woman. Do you really think its wise, to open up a movie with narration that isn't scripted? So I moved, with a great deal of flourish and hurumpphing. Had too. Just so it would later be noted on the police report, that I gave the lady a chance to redeem herself before I bludgeoned her with jujubes.

But I loved "Lost in Translation". Especially for one, who is suffering from a broken heart and thinking that romance is not possible. It is a wonderful, thoughtful movie about two people in a foreign land who are initially drawn to each other out of loneliness....loneliness perpetuated by a substantial language barrier, cultural barriers and later we find out, the "You're not special anymore" barriers thrown up by their respective spouses. I really like how Coppola makes us feel their isolation by constantly being surrounded by Japanese speaking people. Usually in movies about foreign countries, everyone surprisingly speaks English. Not this one. We are as lost as the characters in the movie. And it works very effectively in bringing these two unlikely people together. First as survivors of culture shock, than as soul mates. Go see it!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty