Fuck you, Hope Floats.

HBO's Women's Empowerment seminar continues today with Hope Floats, the Sandra Bullock 1996 shlockfest that people like me still watch because we once got dragged to see it when we were in high school, but now we're old and home in the middle of the day on a Tuesday--plus our rheumatism no longer allows us to properly use the remote. (Hope Floats, if you'll recall, also gifted America with Garth Brooks' repulsive Make You Feel My Love which I'm humming right now because this song is a disease, I have no idea why, fuck this movie.) Also, Harry Connick Jr. wears incredibly tight clothes and Gena Rowlands wears a bunch of stupid hats. These are important plot points.

Resume skills: stupid hat wearing, bizarre amateur taxidermy

This "lady driven 90s movie," like all "lady-driven 90s movies," portrays a woman who "truly finds herself" only by finding herself the right man. Because at the end of the day, all a woman needs in her life is to be loved, like a dog, queue sunset and flowers and Harry Connick Jr.'s tight abs and Garth Brooks who will MAKE ME FEEL HIS LOVE.

Resume skills: stupid hat wearing, being beautiful, desperation to be loved

Birdie Calvert is down on her luck after leaving her philandering husband and taking her eight year old daughter to go live with her eccentric mother. Which means the only solution for Birdie Calvert now is to go back to college and set herself up for a steady career find comfort with a nice, hot Harry Connick Jr. type.  Birdie is beautiful you see, which means she must also be vaguely incompetent, which is a typical trope of 90s romantic comedies; that ugly girls are smart because men don't like them and pretty girls cannot be smart or capable because men find them desirable. So basically you can't have both, ladies. It's either brains or boobs. Skills or sex appeal. Modern man simply cannot handle both, so choose or perish. These are the rules! Do not get mad at Hope Floats for knowing the rules!

Despite the many allusions to Birdie's needing a decent job, despite the many references to Birdie's rekindling a passion she once had for photography, Birdie doesn't really do anything at all but focus on whether or not Birdie will find love again after her failed marriage. Will she succumb to Harry Connick Jr.'s tight, tight shirts and tight, tight jeans? (Yes.) Will she fall victim to his piercing eyes, his dumb hats? (Yes.) Will she allow him to carry her off into the sunset? (Yes.) Because that is literally how this stupid movie ends? (Yes.) With Birdie literally carried off into the literal fucking sunset? (Yes.) Because women will forgive a movie anything as long as it ends in a literal fucking sunset?

My tiny lady brain is enthralled with this! Oh, if only my tiny, tiny brain was not so filled with sunflowers and glitter and tiny pink hearts and Garth Brooks begging me to let me feel his love.

(No.)

But here are some more 90s romantic comedy rules for women: Women may only be hysterical or manic. They may at times be charming, but only in a manic, hysterical sort of way.  Women must be desperate for love at all times and should not entertain any other thoughts (Unless those thoughts concern plotting against other women as a consequence of falling in love, which is also cool.) Also, ugly girls should remember that their smarts will only get them so far if they're not endeavoring to be beautiful and loved. And beautiful girls must remember that they're not really meant to be smart; they're meant to be hood ornaments. But really, the most important thing for all women everywhere to remember is that regardless of aesthetic beauty, we are all of us only fuckable for a very, very short period of time. (FYI: Hope Floats was filmed during Sandra Bullock's prime fuckable years. Peak Fuckability, if you will.) So really, fuckability should be our focus, ladies; Enjoying said fuckability and turning it into love before we become old maids and die of feminine hysteria. Hooray! Also, Fuck you, Hope Floats.

That said, I present you with another gem from Amy Schumer's toybox called "Last Fuckable Day," which features lady powerhouses Julia Louis Dreyfus, Patricia Arquette and Tina Fey. Give it a watch while you can, as these ladies won't be fuckable for long. (Which of course means they will be jailed and then set on fire, as is tradition.) Happy Tuesday, everyone.