Ashley Judd is quite possibly one of the perfect people in the world.
I think I might have a crush on her.
Esteban and I watched ‘Someone Like You’ or was it ‘Something I Smell’ or ‘Someone Who Happened To Look Hot Without His Shirt On’ or maybe ‘Another Movie In Which Greg Kinnear Plays Someone You Could Never Be In A Relationship With’ with it’s alternate name ‘Greg Kinnear’Unfuckable’. Aside from having a rather disturbing scene in which Ashley Judd performs a cheerleading routine in a camisole and panties where you can see bad naked parts, it was a fluffy romance movie. Certainly no ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ or ‘You’ve Got Mail’, but Ashley has promise of becoming the Thinking Woman’s Meg Ryan. Not that Meg Ryan fans aren’t smart, but just that Meg appeals to a broader audience whereas Ashley appeals to women who can respect trying to rise above one’s trailer trash past.
There is one scene, however, where Ashley Judd is walking to the refrigerator, in said panties and camisole, which are actually very similar to my favorite pair of summer jammies with the exception that mine have cute flowered boxer shorts rather than bad naked exposing bikini briefs.
As she walks in profile, a tiny round belly can be seen.
That belly made me fall in love with her. Right there. The fact that she has a little round belly (albeit a tiny one, but by Hollywood standards, she was positively Buddha-esque) and was prancing around, doing cheerleading routines and eating Chinese noodles cold out of white takeout containers, in scanty yet comfortable underwear, in front of Hugh Jackman who was, in fact, not wearing a shirt and also was, in fact, a MAN.
That right there made me love her just a little bit.
Later, in a scene where Ashley was talking with her best bud, a strangely neurotic Marissa Tomei, Esteban remarked that he thought I looked a bit like Ashley Judd, or rather that she looked like me. So she has that going for her too.
Actually, I’ve always sort of pictured myself looking a bit like Ashley Judd if I ever lost my voluptuous curves and cherubic face. I guess I am the Shallow Hal version, complete with fruity mother and bizarre sister. So maybe it’s all relating back to my unfounded narcissistic feeling of sometimes thinking I’m so very cute.
Don’t hate me because I’m just a round version of Ashley Judd.
I’m taking a quilting class tonight and am feeling all so domestic that I might spontaneously burst into an a cappella rendition of the Martha Stewart theme song. Last night I went and purchased my material, pins, a rotary cutter, and paid my class fee. It cost me $70. Could I have purchased a very lovely table quilted table runner for $70? Yes, I’m certain I could have. Could I have spontaneously channeled All Which Is Domestic And Good? No, I don’t think so. So stop laughing at me.
I think that women gravitate toward such domestic tranquilities for several reasons. First of all, if I have the time to make homemade holiday cards and quilted table runners, I MUST have the rest of my life in order. There must not be a slew of Esteban’s dirty socks strewn amidst abandoned newspapers and empty Dasani bottles in our living room. I must not have had to resort to wearing a sport thong to work because it was the very very last pair of underwear in my drawer and now I’m scooting on my chair to un-wedgie it from my butt. No. If I have that much available free time, this must prove that I am successfully balancing my career, home life, commuting time, personal growth and still have time for creating the utterly perfect Christmas present for my mother-in-law with my own two little hands.
Just in case you were wondering.
