Movie Review – Muffin Top: A Love Story

Last week I was given the privilege of screening the movie  Muffin Top: A Love Story. And let me tell you, it was a privilege because this movie is LOL funny. Like, for reals.

Muffin Top: A Love Story is an awkward, sweet, funny movie made for chicks, by chicks. That’s right, a movie about women actually made by women. (So weird, right?) It’s the story of Suzanne (writer, director, producer Cathryn Michon), a Women’s Studies Pop Culture professor who studies images of women in the media for a living, and yet is still insecure about her body due to the myth of female perfection in our airbrushed culture.

Check out the trailer:

 

 

The movie tells us what we all know, but still don’t believe – that we are all beautiful and must learn to love ourselves before we can be loved. (Oh, and that supermodels are genetic freaks). Best of all it delivers this message in a way that will have you snorting your wine out your nose with hysterical laughter. And will also have you (shockingly) fall madly in love with David Arquette. (Seriously, who knew?)

If you love the awkwardness of The Office or Veep or Curb Your Enthusiasm, you will love it.

If you’re a woman who’s ever looked in the mirror and hated what she sees, you will love it and absolutely need to see it. (And if you haven’t I simultaneously want to punch you and kiss you. But mostly punch you. Because, really? Never?! You might be a little conceited.)

Muffin Top: A Love Story is available On Demand here. So grab some girlfriends, a few bottles of wine and plenty of chocolate and enjoy the funniest girls’-night-in you’ve had in a long while.

Or click this link to see if Muffin Top is coming to a movie theater in your town as a red carpet event and make it a girls’-night-out. Select cities will have cast member attending. (Hello David!)

But please, do yourself a favor and do see it. You’ll be so happy you did. And remember, supermodels are genetic freaks! you’re beautiful.

 

My Girls’ Night Out (While All My Friends Were Drunk Off Their Asses and I was Stone Cold Sober)

Last Friday night, when I was nearing the end of my second week of the Biggest Loser-style weight loss competition Just Lose It program at my gym, I was invited to my friend’s beach house for a girls’ night slumber party.

At first I thankfully declined the invitation.

I mean, I couldn’t drink. And trust me, I’ve given myself plenty of pep talks before walking into a social gathering about how I’m not going to drink because I am trying to lose weight, only to find a glass of wine in my hand 30 seconds after walking in the door.

And party food is my biggest weakness. (If we’re ever at the same party and you want to find me, just head over to the food table where you’ll most likely find me face first hoovering as many hors devours as I possibly can into my cheese hole.)

meat-and-cheese-platter
This photo was taken at the Wine Sisterhood Gathering in March. Right before I stuck my face in it.

 

But we had nothing going on at home. And if I’m going to be successful beyond this program I’m going to have to learn how to rein it in and live my life in (a little bit of) moderation.

So I put on my big-girl no-drinking panties and went to the beach house.

Of course I got shit from my friends 30 seconds after walking in the door. I told them if they tried to make me drink I would leave. So they shut the hell up.

I have to be honest, if this Just Lose It program was an individual competition as opposed to a team competition, I would have ended up drinking. My drunk friends were acting like assholes, but I really don’t think I would have noticed (or cared) if I was drunk and acting like an asshole too. Screw proving something to myself. I disappoint myself all the time. I’m used to it. But I had a weigh-in in three days. I needed to stay strong and not disappoint my team.

I did have fun, but trust me, they were having more. Seriously, not to be offensive, but if this is what it’s like to be “high on life,” pass me a bottle of vodka so I can take a big ol’ swig. Being high on booze? It’s better.

Speaking of “high,”, the high point of the night was the food. At least for me. (No surprise there.) While there was fatty delicious crap dip (I only had two bites. With corn chips. Not bread.), the dinner itself was incredibly healthy. We grilled Salmon and chicken and fresh vegetables picked from one girlfriend’s garden. Plus we had cherries. Because my nutritionist says I need carbs. Amazing.

Grilled-summer-vegetables
Yes, we know how to make a meal!

After dinner we pumped up the 80’s iTunes and danced. If you are a man reading this, and are anything like my husband, I will tell you just like I told him that seven women dancing in the living room of a beach house does not mean we were just one drink away from having a big lesbian orgy right in the middle of the hardwood floor. Sorry to disappoint you, dudes. It just means that dancing is fun. And girls just wanna have fun. (Yeah, that was lame, but I couldn’t resist.)

Around eleven o’clock (which is about an hour and a half past my bedtime) we decided to walk to the dive bar down the street, that due to previous trips to the beach house has been nicknamed “The Hurt Locker” by my husband.

And this, is where things got a little bit nutty.

I can’t really tell you what happened at The Hurt Locker because it’s a little like Vegas that way. But here are some things that might or might not have happened. (I can neither confirm nor deny them.)

There might have been a two-man band there (singer and guitar player) with a guitar player who only seemed to know one riff and therefore every song sounded exactly the same. If there was such a band, the mystery remains how in the hell the singer even knew what song the guitarist was playing.

One of the girls might have chatted up a few of the locals to get free beer. I won’t lie, I like free beer and attention from the opposite sex too, but at this place? Not worth the $5 savings.

One of the girls might have had everyone in the entire bar dancing because of her hilarious dance moves and vivacious personality. She’s very pretty, but her confidence and funny demeanor translated into her being sexiest broad in the joint (by far). Her goal may have been to make sure every single person at the bar was having a good time. (If that did happen and that was her goal, she achieved it.)

The girl chatting up locals for free beer might not have liked not being the belle of the bar and might have told some of the patrons that the dancing girl was a lesbian. Or perhaps she was trying to protect the dancing girl from unwanted molesters suitors. You know, if she did say that, which I’m not saying she did.

But I will tell you that the dancing girl might be is funnier and cuter than me, so while I wasn’t the one calling her a lesbian in an effort to minimize the attention being paid to her, she might have deserved it! (I’m just sayin’)

One of the girls might have flirted with a cute boy who is the same age as her son – 21. (And people call me a cougar.)

But I’m only saying those things might have happened. I’ll never tell. And if they did… well, my friends were just having fun. Drunk girls do silly things. I was sober, so of course my behavior was boring perfect.

But I will tell you this, it’s a good thing I’m seeing some real progress with this Just Lose It program, because I had fun, but my girlfriends? They had a blast!

The ABC’s of Keeping Score with Middle Age

Last Friday was my birthday. My birthday is on Flag Day, so I hope you hung a flag in my honor. Or in honor of our flag. Whichever.

American-Flag-unicycle
Now this is how I like to see Flag Day celebrated!

To celebrate I got my butt out of bed at 5AM even though I didn’t sleep well the night before and went to the 5:30 Boot Camp class at my gym to prove to myself that I wasn’t old. (And so I wouldn’t feel guilty about eating whatever I wanted that day.) At the end of class the instructor had everyone sing Happy Birthday to me. I’d be a liar if I said I hated that. It wasn’t a scary milestone birthday, but it’s two very short years away from a scary milestone birthday, so I did some serious reflecting on my life -where I’ve been and where the hell I’m going- when I went on my morning dog walk. Then I had a mini-mid-life crisis, got a spa pedicure and had my toenails painted blue. And then to stick my tongue out even further to this thing called old middle age I got my hair colored so I could say buh-bye to my gray roots (until they pop back up in about three weeks a week and a half, sticking their middle finger up at my stuck out tongue in rude defiance). Me: 1 – Middle Age: 0 (At least until my roots come back!)

blue-toe-nail-polish
Don’t my feet look youthful?

In the late afternoon I went to a party for Chandler’s cross country team because even though it way MY birthday, I’m a mother first. (Plus I heard there’d be wine.) It was the track coach’s wife’s birthday too and some of the kiss ass very nice track moms got her a cake and had everyone gather around to sing Happy Birthday. She insisted that they sing to me too. I like the track coach’s wife. We got home from the party around 8:00 and Dave and I watched a DVR’d episode of Mr. Selfridge. Or rather Dave watched it. I was asleep (and probably drooling) by 8:30. Me: 1 – Middle Age: 1. (Dammit!) On Saturday morning I took the 9:30 kickboxing class at the gym a little terrified that Chris Stevenson would pull me on stage as he tends to do on birthdays. I really didn’t want to go on stage because A.) my normal workout pants were dirty and I was forced to wear a pair that screams, “Yes, my ass really is that fat” and B.) Even though I’ve been going to Boot Camp regularly, I haven’t been to kickboxing in a few weeks and wasn’t sure how well I could keep up with the intensity of the class. Chris was feeling unusually generous because he tried to coax me onstage, but didn’t pick me up and place me there like he’s done in the past. (He was probably afraid he’d hurt his back when he saw the size of my ass in above-mentioned workout pants.) Saturday night it was time to celebrate my birthday properly. I met my friend Cindy at Latigo Kid in downtown Agoura Hills at  my bedtime  8PM for a margarita (or two) before heading over to The Canyon Club to relive my youth and see 80’s New Wave/Pop/New Romantic sensation ABC. (Take that middle age!) Oh yeah, when I live it up, I live it up big. And if you’re going to live it up big and relive your 80’s (or 90’s) youth in this town, The Canyon Club is the place to do it. The club’s got a great ambiance and it’s all 80’s/90’s music all the time – Psychedelic Furs just played there (so bummed to have missed them), Courtney Love is coming, The English Beat is coming, Rick Springfield  plays there all the time.

Canyon-Club-Agoura-Hills
The coolest club in Agoura Hills through the blurry lens of my cellphone

ABC’s lead singer, Martin Fry may be 55-years-old, but he has definitely still got it. He shot his Poison Arrow straight through my heart alright. (See what I did there? No? Did you say #epicfail? Sorry!) In all seriousness, the band was fantastic. Martin looked very sharp dressed in a suit and his voice sounded great – amazing actually. Cindy and I smashed up as close as we could and danced and danced. The Look of Love, When Smokey Sings, Be Near Me – we sang along at the top of our lungs to all of them. They rocked the house. 80’s Music Rockstars: 1 – Middle Age: 0

ABC-Martin-Fry
These blurry pics are as good as it gets with my cellphone camera!

Although I will admit, the band went on exactly at 9:00 and was off stage by 10:15. (Probably when they used to start playing in the 80’s.) Because even though Martin Fry is a rockstar, he is even older than me. (I wonder if he ever falls asleep on the couch at 8:30 when he’s not performing.) 80’s Music Rockstars: 1 – Middle Age: 1. Yes, that damn Middle Age even sticks its middle finger up at rockstars. The only thing to do is keep rocking and stick up your middle finger right back. (You know, when you’re not asleep on the couch.) *Flag on unicycle photo courtesy of Mike Baird