I saw Moulin Rouge three times in the theater, bought the soundtrack, memorized it, bought the second soundtrack, memorized it, listened to and watched both over and over and over again. And I've been in love with Ewan MacGregor ever since he flashed that grin and belted out "Your Song." Seriously. Love. True love.
And, inspired by the look of the film, painted my bedroom in college purple with lime green trim, and sprayed glitter on the trim, too. Seriously. Glitter. Lime green trim. It was pretty awesome.
I've never even made Matt watch Moulin Rouge because I am afraid that he will mock it and then I will have to divorce him. I mean, I can understand how he would mock Center Stage--Center Stage is dumb. But Moulin Rouge is art, and Matt has neither the eye for the visually stunning nor does he have attention deficit disorder, so he just wouldn't appreciate it. Plus, as far as I can tell, he's not so much into dance like I am.
But I am into dance and critically acclaimed films and handsome men who sing songs. So, whenever Moulin Rouge is on TV, or whenever I'm feeling like a pisspot, I watch it. And I smile, and I sing the songs for days.
And then, when either Matt or Mitch are annoying me in any way, I, in the most dramatic voice with the most horrible British accent, scream at them: "Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!"
And they don't know what I'm talking about, and then they ask me to get them a treat.
Me: This movie made me want to paint everything with glitter. It was all so sparkly! And then I wanted to be a whore and live in an elephant and die of consumption!
Matt: You know that consumption doesn't mean that you eat a bunch and then die, right?
He's no Ewan, that's for damn sure.