You can Rudo me any time

After seeing a friend for lunch in the city, I decided to meander (see: waddle red faced through lunch time crowds) over to the cinema to see if I could find a film to watch to get out of the heat for a few hours. I’m not minding the heat too much – I spent long enough complaining about the two wet, cold, grey non-existent summers we just went through in England to know not to complain when I finally get what I ask for. Plus, it’s never as hot as say Chicago or the south of France (though I am missing having a giant lake or sea to jump into – don’t think I’d take my chances swimming in the river Trent).

I settled on the Mexican film Rudo y Cursi - it was between that and My Sister’s Keeper, and while I have no problem going to the movies by myself, I do have a problem with being a pregnant woman sobbing uncontrollably in a darkened room full of strangers.

Only me and another man had the idea to beat the heat by watching two of Mexican’s finest male specimens duke it out on the football pitch in the cool, dark of the movie house. So I got to sit with my feet up, slurping on my giant sprite and ogling Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal. Y tu Mama Tambien, the movie that launched Diego and Gael’s international career (yes, we’re on a first name basis) is one of my favorites. While Diego was too baby faced for my tastes, I instantly fell for the shocking eyes and lop sided smile of Senor Bernal. I was very excited to see him again on the big screen. And so it was much to my surprise that I found myself lusting over the no-longer baby-faced Diego Luna more than Gael in Rudo Y Cursi. Now I don’t know if it is just down to the fact that our little Diego has grown-up a bit or perhaps it is my pregnancy hormones affecting my attraction (I’ve also had lustful thoughts towards Russell Brand and Samuel L. Jackson recently which is a divergence from the norm) but I think it probably has a lot to do with the ‘70’s ‘stache that Diego sports in this movie. For those of you that know my Frenchman, it will come as no surprise that I have a penchant for facial hair (he is rarely sans beard as per my preference). And lately I’ve found that I’m a big fan of moustaches.

I’ve tried to convince the Frenchman to sport one, but he usually only lasts a day or two until someone makes a 1974 porn film reference and he succumbs to the razor.



A rare picture of him with the moustache. Until I convince him to keep it, there’s always las pelliculas.


NB: The Frenchman is not going to be happy that I am posting this pic, but it serves him right for not reading my blog!