Charlie Bartlett

So, I feel kinda hot when I go to movies by myself. Well, on a weekday. It gives me this feeling of empowerment, and independence. And since I attend the local (radical!) independent film house, isn't independence like, the point?
I always get way the hell dolled up, so that guys attending can look at me and wish I were with them, and I can sit there and emit this "but I don't need OR want you" vibe. It's fabulous.
So, it was on one such occasion that I saw an advanced screening of "Charlie Bartlett," and it was awesome. The film is hilarious; Robert Downey, Jr (gorgeous) is in it; there is a totally hot bad-a high school guy in it who looks like my junior year boyfriend; and I can oddly relate to Charlie Bartlett, who serves as a kind of psychiatrist to his friends. Being a sort of amateur counselor myself, I liked his bathroom-stall counseling sessions, and plan to incorporate that setting into my own r'epertoire.
The movie was excellent, but my experience at the cinema was perhaps even better. I am alone, and am sitting next to this other cute girl who was also alone, who I will call Mimi (us indie-film goers are a lot cooler than most of the population, instead of feeling lame or sad, things like this make us even more confident). One the other side of her is this old couple. On the other side of me is this older lady, probably in her 50s, who is babbling on and on. I will call her Stella. She is really quite colorful, and I enjoy her seemingly random dribble.
The old couple next to Mimi has this giant tub of popcorn and a huge drink. As we are sitting waiting for previews, (we are there really early, the advanced screening was first-come, first-served, so we have like 30 minutes to wait) the old lady starts tucking all these napkins into her shirt. I am blatantly staring, and Mimi is trying to face forward. But it was unavoidable, Mimi and I made eye contact and just burst out laughing. Mimi struggles to whisper, "I was trying so hard..." Oh, my gosh! why would you do this? And in public? It's only popcorn, not soup! It made my night.
The other awesome detail has to do with Stella. There was a young man who worked for the theater standing a few rows in front of us, passing around sign-up sheets for movie-related mailing lists, reserving seats for a guy (who was in the movie) and his friends, talking about "Charlie Bartlett" tee-shirts (which I really wanted, but they ran out), and answering questions and stuff. Stella needed to get his attention a few times, and she would just holler (and I very specifically used the word "holler" instead of "shout," or "call," because it suits so much better what she was "hollering") down to him "Young 'un! Excuse me, Young 'un!" I haven't heard anyone say "Young 'un" since, well, maybe ever, aside from on such classic television series as "Little House on the Prarie," or perhaps on movies about the Deep South.
It was hilarious and awesome, and when I am older, I fully intend to call younger people "Young 'un."