Going out with Scott Pilgrim vs. the World was being with a girl with severe ADHD who refuses to medicate herself. Jumping from topic to topic, her train of thought is always running a station faster than you can keep up with. But what you do pick up is so entertaining, you don’t care about being left in the dust. She’s the kind of girl who has an uncountable number of tabs when browsing online, shuffling between them at inhuman speeds. The previous generation hates her type, considering her impolite and unfocused. She is the product of the information age, a font of pop culture assembled like a picture collage that can be appreciated at both distance and magnification. Every time I see her she leaves me with something new to admire.

Atonement was a women recommended to me by everyone. “Oh, you’ll love her! She’s gorgeous!” they insisted. Finally meeting, I notice she has a nervous tick that could be considered cute by some but annoys me. It’s distracting and a bit irritating. She stops mid conversation and checks on her makeup every few minutes, obsessing with her aesthetic to the point of drawing attention to it. Yes, it looks good and it’s masterfully applied but being reminded of it makes her seem unnatural.  Just when I think she’s relaxed she does it again. It threw off the pace of the entire date and didn’t let us get to anything really personal. Finally, at the end of the evening, readying our goodbyes, she hits me with a bombshell. She admits that the last few things she said about herself were a lie because she wanted me to like her more. I’m not sure how to feel. Flattered? Offended? I settle on awkward and find myself relieved as I walk away. I’m shocked to learn later she was nominated in a beauty pageant.

True Grit looked really good from afar but plain up close. There’s nothing wrong with a plain woman, especially one with her wit. Her western drawl was  very sexy. She came from good parents and had a lot of potential. I went out with her and it was everything I imagined it would be. She made me laugh. She made me excited. But something just didn’t seem right though. Our night together was intimate, yet she was somehow distracted, like she was musing about something more but never bothered to tell me what. I was ultimately happy with our evening but I couldn’t help feeling like something was missing.

Clash of the Titans was like getting smashed at a costume party. Judgement and reason are ejected along with your last few drinks into the toilet. You forget where you are, who you are, and most importantly, who everyone else is. You start associating the costumes adorned as the personae they intend to represent. You high five Batman, throw your arm around the Dude, and glare at Franken-Cheney. Your unbalanced vision continues to settle on the low-cut, short skirt, police woman in the corner. Drunken courage at it’s peak, you approach her. The conversation is one-sided as most of your concentration is focused on properly timed nods through blurred vision and the spinning room. You manage some witty, sexually-charged comments through it all. She laughs responsively and moments later you’re heading out the door. Your friend and ride grab your arm and ask if you’re sure you’re alright. Of coarse you are! You never never felt better! And why the hell should you listen to The Situation? You vomited one more time, before or after the car ride. You stumble into her apartment and to the bed. She waves the novelty handcuffs around before slapping them around you wrist, shackling you to the headboard. Her kiss is more teeth than tenderness. So jarring is this mastication on your face that you start sobering up. You begin to realize your mistake. Judgement clouded by booze and your affinity for a lady in uniform, you now find yourself trapped in this bedlam with the Kraken.

Easy A was a pleasant surprise. Women of her genre (teen comedies) tend to be a vacant lot like a habitual stoner. There’s nothing wrong with stoners, they have their place and amusement. You just never expect them to really be capable of wit and charm. Easy A was a welcome exception in so many ways. Her words and actions were all carefully chosen showing a cognizance and awareness the drug addled minds of her peers rarely muster. It’s also noteworthy that Easy A’s parents are some of the most reasonable and entertaining parents I have ever had the pleasure to meet. She’s a smart girl for smart people. My only complaint is she left me wanting a bit more.

When I pitched this idea to my friends, they cringed at the idea of using the format I chose to review Toy Story 3 with the obvious fear of it becoming pedophiliac. The thing about a movie like this is that although the target audience is children, it’s not solely devoted to them much like a delightful elementary school teacher. Though her work is child focused, there’s nothing wrong with finding her attractive. Not our first encounter, but our franchised rendezvous’ were brief, yet memorable. She grows in surprising ways each time I see her. She has all the familiar quirks you’ve come to love about her. Her laugh, her smile, but now she can say just the right thing to make you step back in profundity.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall was the exact opposite kind of experience compared to my last date. Instead of a thoughtful recollection of past relationships, she was all reaction. She would not stop going on about how she was wronged. It was daunting and I lost all sympathy for her. Instead of looking back on the human mistakes she made which could have lead to her breakups, she would go off on her exes. Worse, I could read between all the lines she that couldn’t and see exactly how she caused the breakup. It was amusing as she tried to naively pass off her inequities as funny little whimsies.  Admittedly she was entertaining but ultimately unfulfilling.

Some dates are spent awkwardly rehashing past relationships. These are usually painful, annoying and an altogether regrettable night. Hearing about Definitely, Maybe, I was convinced it was going to be one of these kinds of dates. To my surprise, I found the evening witty and very entertaining. Yes, she did talk about her history, but with so much charm and heart that I instantly fell in love with her. The way she told me was so relatable, it was a welcome departure from the usual wacky antics (with at least one pratfall) I have to stomach when others divulge. She has the sensibility to know that there are rarely villains in a relationship. Even better, she lets you know that through all the mistakes and pain, there’s always hope when it comes to love.

Alice in Wonderland seemed like such a good idea. She was like a student at a college with a bad reputation but studying something so interesting, she must be entertaining. Girls from there had burned me before; they play the pretentious artsy type while possessing little substance. Immediately into the date, I felt lied to about her background. She was studying an artist I was familiar with and was expecting a classy throw back. Instead, she rehashed a modern approach to him to be more relevant and utterly failing. She also decided to throw on the latest fashion despite it not suiting her at all. This was a shame considering that she was genuinely pretty.

A friend suggested I go back further into my library and review a classic. Few films radiate more class than The Godfather. Though I must qualify, watching this film is not a fling, it’s a relationship. You spend time thinking about her long after your first time together. You go back and see her again and again on those special nights to remind you each moment of why yourself fell in love in the first place. A relationship with The Godfather is different from other movie relationship. She does things in ways that have been analyzed to exhaustion but it’s the enigmas at her core that draw you in. She’s quiet even when she’s talking. She’s most definitely foreign despite being overwhelmingly American. She’s sweet in her brutal violence, tender in her backstabbing betrayals. The conflicts in her are so unmistakably evil, yet undeniably human. I love her for her complexity and hypocrisy. I love her for her depth and primal nature. I love her.

Inception is the gorgeous girl you see walking down the street from afar. Everything you see about her is stunning. Her gait of confidence and attire imply more than superficial beauty, but intelligence as well. The way you admire her, hoping your daily routes through the city will lead to a random casual conversation, is a little creepy in level of infatuation. Another look dispels such misgivings. She is worth the stalker-ish pursuit. Finally you manage your courage into sentences, and low and behold she accepts a date! The intervening days feels like years. You prep yourself hours before. You ask yourself, can she be the one? Is this finally it? After years of waiting for a good Science Fiction movi…er… woman, is the long wait over? You check your watch while sitting at a table at the agreed restaurant . Okay, she’s a little late, but I guess that’s fashionable. Thirty minutes roll by before she shows up. She doesn’t ask for an apology, no, she doesn’t even mention that she’s late. As the date progresses, you realize this was only a precursor. She babbles on about topics, which seem intelligent at first, but the conversation goes nowhere. There is a veneer of intellectualism but it’s easily scrapped away. Halfway through the date, you desperately search for any positive qualities to shine through. They’re there but your still distracted by random declarations that seem like they may go somewhere but are altogether fruitless. Then there’s the action. I won’t lie: it’s fantastic. But the emotional connection just isn’t there. All the mounting anticipation at this point is totally deflated. You walk away with a betrayed sense of anticipation. Hopes rendered worn and swearing never to want something so badly again. Yet, you can’t help looking at Dark Knight Rises walking toward you. You cross your fingers.

Fight Club is another relationship movie to me. In fact it’s one of my top ten favorite films, almost akin to being married. She was a tough one to describe, just seems to stroll into town every once in a while. She’s violent, even sadistic about it. The funny thing is I find myself becoming a masochist around her. I don’t even know if she has a job and I find I don’t really care. She makes me feel worthless and important at the same time. She reminds me that I’m not special but that I can be part of something better. I’m trash, but she says I have potential. Then I remember she’s insane, but I still can’t help but like her and what she has to say. She doesn’t make me question my sanity but she makes me question whether it’s a good idea to be sane in the first place.