Urgh. Watched Becoming Jane. Reinforced my belief that I am, in fact, a guy with a vagina. I don’t get the appeal of…well, of romances in general, but especially the kind where the entire relationship is mutual annoyance and dislike and the misunderstandings are just nonstop and somehow this equals true love. I mean, really? There are girls out there for whom this is Good Stuff? Really?

And the ending. Many years after leaving her love for the good of his family, and she has never married, and she looks at him as though he is every Christmas ever tied up with a bow and placed behind a wall of barbed wire, and he? Married someone else. But, oh, he named their eldest daughter Jane! See, he wuuuuuuuuuuuuuvs her!

Yeah, great. Jane was loyal and true to her death, and Douchebag McCuntrag over here couldn’t even respect the woman he consoled himself with sufficiently to put aside the torch. Its so romantic that I could just barf up my own lungs. And then slit my wrists with them. Fucking Christ.

…I still love Anne Hathaway, though.