The Fire Has Been Caught
It's no secret to my friends and family that I'm slightly obsessed with The Hunger Games. I read all three books in about twenty minutes (that's an extreme exaggeration). I was as giddy as a kid rushing to see a Pixar flick about talking fish/cars/planes/monsters/bugs/toys when the first movie opened in theaters. Then I sped to Target to get the DVD as soon as it was released. And last night, my friend, Courtney, and I burned rubber to the movie theater again to see Catching Fire.
The earlier shows were sold out, so Courtney and I were forced to sit in the car and wait for an hour. That's when I made the not-so-awesome fire photo above. Then we did what we did best- people watch. A van with beanie babies covering the dash board and a pretzel hanging from the rear-view mirror served as great entertainment for us. So did a Winnebago with a wierd poster hanging in the window of an old woman holding a baby. Welcome to Tennessee.
We finally made it inside the theater and a drugged-out woman gave me some attitude in the bathroom. And there was pee all over the toilet seat in my chosen stall. And we couldn't figure out how to get out of the disgusting bathroom without touching the door handle. Again, welcome to Tennessee.
We spent our life savings on Milk Duds and Reece's PB cups. We took our place in the Black Friday-esque line and waited some more. I haven't seen such a line since the opening of The Blair Witch Project in the nineties. Yeah, I don't go to the movies much.
I've always known that The Games are geared towards the youth of today, but I had no idea that I was the oldest fan of the series, apart from Suzanne Collins' grandmother. We stood there, in a sea of acne and skinny jeans, and I realized that we were probably the only wives/mothers in the joint. Everyone else there had boyfriends or girlfriends and siblings in kindergarten. We wore a band on our left ring finger and child-bearing stretch marks on our bellies. Out of place is an understatement.
When show time was upon us, pandemonium began. The line of kids pushed and pulled to get through the door and find a seat. I thought about using the old lie that I always shouted to get to the front row at rock concerts when I was a young'un- "Move out of the way! Pregnant woman coming through!", but I managed to keep my mouth shut, grab Courtney's arm and push my thirty-year-old ass through the crowd of prepubescents.
Side note: I used the above lie to get to the front row at a Limp Bizkit concert in 1999. Several onlookers were appalled when they saw the "pregnant teen" crowd surfing and drinking beer bought with a fake ID.
We found our seats and were privileged enough to hear a conversations chocked full of "likes" and "Ohmergerds" about mid-terms and that hot guy in Algebra class. I text my husband to let him know that I was surrounded by children and that thirty-two never felt so old.
As for the film, I won't spoil anything for those of you that have yet to feast your nerdy eyes upon it. I will say, however, that once you have seen it, you will have nightmares of monkeys. That is all I'm giving away.
All in all, it was a most excellent night. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. And I haven't been surrounded by so many kids since I worked at a day care ten years ago.
I came home and showered because I felt icky after entering that gross bathroom. Then I started re-reading Mockingjay because my Hunger Games fever spiked and I can't wait for the third movie. I fell asleep at 3:15, and my husband's alarm went off at 3:30. He was waking up early to go deer hunting.
As he kissed me goodbye and walked out the back door, I thought, "May the odds be ever in your favor" and I went back to sleep.
I'm obsessed with The Hunger Games. But only slightly.