I spent part of each day this weekend enjoying the dark coolness of a movie theater, and I'm feeling a little sick, as if I spent too much time eating candy. Um, and that was, in part, because I actually did spend too much time eating candy...

On the docket this weekend were You Don't Mess with the Zohan and Kung Fu Panda.

Zohan was a cotton candy movie: light, attractively artificial, entertaining in a way that hit hard with a none-too-complex sugary burst and then dissolved into nothingness. I laughed loud and long all the way through the movie at typical Adam Sandler penis centered humor, and as I walked out of the theater, found that I couldn't remember a single funny moment.

I actually had a hard time with the movie for two sex addiction related reasons, which contributed to my queasy dissatisfaction afterwards.

The first was Zohan's crazy oversexed behavior, which ends (in a fantasy as unreal as peace in the Middle East) when he meets the right woman. That particular codependent/addict fantasy (that change is easy and bad behavior can stop cold for "the one") is one that always cuts close to home and makes me particularly irritable.

The second was a bit more personal and specific to my situation. My husband had an affair (and hit his bottom as a sex addict) with a woman from Israel, and in spite of the fact that I know my feelings are bizarre and irrational (after all, he acted out with Americans and I don't have a problem with my own country because of it), all things Israeli now make me (at best) uncomfortable and (at worst) sick with rage.

I used to see news reports about terrorist attacks on Israelis and scan them for her name. (Yes, I admit it. I'm a self-proclaimed pacifist, and I was secretly, in my heart of hearts, cheering for terrorists based on my husband's philandering. Is it any wonder we're so far from world peace?) I've made progress on this front. I've forgiven the woman for her part in what happened. And I now pray that she'll find healing instead of have her arms ripped off by a car bomb.

Even so, the mention of Israel still has the potential to send me spiraling. Just a few weeks ago I was out shopping and found I was unable to buy a piece of clothing I liked as soon as I noticed the label "made in Israel." So, needless to say, Israeli music and women frolicking on Mediterranean beaches sent me spinning into a few post-traumatic flashbacks of details I know of that relationship. And that probably contributed to me feeling cranky enough when I got home to go sleep alone on the sofa.

Today (after some Tylenol took care of sofa-induced aches) we took the kids out to see Kung Fu Panda. We spent more on gas and incidentals than we spent on the actual movie, unless you calculate the cost on a per hour basis, in which case, the movie itself was really, really expensive. Our first mistake was not buying tickets ahead of time, online. We are experts at the online movie purchase, so I think our brains were simply addled by trying to get four people out of the house at the same time.

We got the kids all geared up for the show, drove to the theater and found the showing we expected to see was sold out. So, we bought tickets to the next show, and my son headed for meltdown mode because it was (ack!) a change of plans. A quick decision to blow some allowance money at the toy store averted that disaster and we headed home for a snack before a return trip to the theater. Because outings with my son are iffy, we took two cars (yeah, double the gas, good times) in case an early emergency escape became necessary.

Ordinarily we time our outings to avoid the previews, but the crowds were such that we would not have gotten seats together, if we waited. So, we were right on time. My son sat attentive through the first preview, asked "when is it starting?" for the next, and slumped in his seat for the remainder. My daughter, fortunately, was happily captivated by M&Ms and popcorn.

The movie started with a dream sequence in which the animation style was different from the commercials the kids had seen, leading my son to wail, "Why is this a different panda?!" When the dream sequence ended he squirmed and made noises for 5 or 10 more minutes before my husband took the emergency escape option. My daughter made it for another 15 or 20 minutes, when, having eaten her fill of popcorn and M&M's she said, "I'm all done watching this movie."

So, my review of Kung Fu Panda is, um, I didn't get to see Kung Fu Panda. I'll rent it sometime and let you know. I still have some Milk Duds left.