"Nothing says Christmas like a good bourbon"

That is a direct quote from The Uptight Yankee, and illustrative of why - among many millions of reasons - I adore him so.

Christmas and the Sad Girl

From the day after Thanksgiving til the day after Christmas - or even New Year's if I can manage it - I gorge on Christmas music. This is definitely an instance where scarcity breeds desirability. The Uptight Yankee hates Christmas music. On December 13th he walked into our living room and said to me, "Christmas music again? Aren't we done with this yet?" Ummmmm.... is Christmas over yet? No? Then no. We aren't done with it yet.

Yet as part of my campaign for militant happiness this year, I've had to restrict my holiday music. Because some Christmas music is just... sad...: 'through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow'? That's sad, and I can't open the door to sadness, not even a crack. I can't indulge sadness at all, not even in Christmas music. This requires a keen ear and a quick trigger finger on the iPod's FF button. And it's led to some weird aural judgement calls.

"Miss You Most at Christmastime," "I'll Be Home for Christmas [If Only In My Dreams]," or "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"? No, no, annnndddd.... no. But: "All I Want for Christmas is You," "I Want You for Christmas," and "Meet Me Under the Mistletoe"? Check, check, and check.

"Silent Night," "Christmas Dreaming," and "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve"? Nopity-nope nope nope. But in the category of non-traditionals there's "Christmas Wrapping," "What Would Santa Say if He Saw Everybody Swinging," "Feliz Navidad," and, what the hell, "The Hannukkah Song." Bring it!

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," "White Christmas," and "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)"? Hell no. But: "Let It Snow," "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas," "Sleigh Ride," or "Winter Wonderland"? Done, done and DONE.

Then you've got your inappropriate songs: "Santa Baby," "Back Door Santa," and "Merry Christmas Baby." And rock seems to harbor only happy Christmas music: "Jingle Bell Rock," "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." Your proper-noun titles are usually acceptable too: "Frosty the Snowman," "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer." Can't go wrong with those guys!

This year I've chosen a Christmas anthem: "We Need A Little Christmas." This is the one that goes "HAUL out the HOL-ly...." and sounds like Judy Garland after a hit of methamphetamines following an overload of barbiturates the night before. Except it's not - according to my cable radio info, it's Angela Lansbury, "With Cast." Hm. Cast of what? At any rate, this song sports the perfect "Oh, I fully intend to have myself a merry little Christmas, motherfuckers" attitude that I'm after right now.

New Moon, Part 2: Undercover Twitard

Here I am with my book club. Why, yes, I DO feel like the Where's Waldo of Twitardia. Notice the carefully applied makeup, the subtly cute outfit... I am prepared for an event about which these gals know nothing: a Twitard's second viewing of New Moon.

I even have my Team Jacob button, although you can't see it - it's in my purse. Yes. That is disturbing on some level.

None of these ladies has ever heard of Twitarded. They don't share my obsession with the Internet Twifandom. As far as I know, they aren't even aware that fanfiction exists. Although I think one of them may have been infected with some kind of Twilight brain-snatching bug. She keeps plaintively asking if any of us have [the first book - no, wait...] [the second book - no, wait...] the third book* because she was supposed to save up the books for vacation but she can't stop reading them. [Knowing smirk...]

"Book Club" is the perfect cover for an undercover Twitard. It wasn't even my idea! When the chicas suggested taking the month of December off from reading, and going to see New Moon instead, what could I say!? I just batted my eyes all innocently and said, sure, sounds OK to me. Who am I to object??**

I almost blew my cover during the trailers, though, because at THIS showing of NM, they ran a preview for Remember Me. Um, it was kind of hard to maintain my cool while watching this trailer - also, it was perhaps a wee bit obvious when I whipped out my phone to text Lost Rose during the preview, all while trying not to hyperventilate. I was pissed that they hadn't shown it during the opening of NM, when I was with my fellow Twitards, aka people who would have given a shit. I was whisper-screaming, "Ohmigod, REMEMBER ME! It's Remember ME! Ohmigod!" and the book club gals were all, "Huh? What?" Jesus, people, are you BLIND? It's Robert Pattinson's face, 20 feet tall and without sparkle makeup!

Annnddddd... it's possible that it wasn't so cool of me to ask the usher to take our photo after the movie. *Shrugs*

Part B of my subterfuge included evading The Uptight Yankee. I can't take any more grief, not after what he dished out before opening night. ("Are you wearing your stick figure shirt to the vampire movie?" Smarmy bastard.) When he asked where Book Club was meeting, I could honestly say, "Wisteria Lane" because that is legitimately the neighborhood of one of our members. I just left out the part about meeting at a movie theater in Wisteria Lane. Thank God he didn't ask what book we were reading. I suppose I could have said we "read" New Moon - that's only a teensy, one-word-from-the-truth lie.

* I can't even help her out because I'm a Twi-mooch - I only own the 4th book. The rest, I mooch from Lost Rose's "bat brick" - what The Uptight Yankee named her Costo boxed set. Although I haven't re-read them in a while, I just listen to Lost Rose vent her way through them, and it's like I'm practically reading them myself!

** Apparently, I was supposed to object. After I texted Lost Rose about the preview, she sent me a very heartfelt text - if you consider a text containing the word "BITCH!" to be heartfelt. Hmph. I didn't KNOW she would consider it cheating on her, to go to New Moon WITHOUT her. I could hardly be expected to maintain my cover with Book Club if I had to tell them, "Sorry, can't go to the movie, I'm SAVING MYSELF FOR LOST ROSE."

You Know What I Really Love About My Blog?

The way the font, text size, and even color appear to change from post to post, no matter how many times I highlight all the text and attempt to correct it in the editing window. No matter how many times I preview the post before I publish it. I think that's just freaking awesome.

How I felt about New Moon: The Experience

Lost Rose bags on me for my use of hyberbole, but when it comes to New Moon: The Experience, I ....

LOVED IT!!

The movie may have been a little 'meh' for me, but seeing it with my friends was amazing. I honestly cannot recall the last time I felt so carefree - for reals. I was among fellow Twi-nerds, so there was no need to try to hide the depths of my Twi-depravity. My son was safe in the arms of his favorite babysitter, followed by his favorite superhero, "Daddy," so I didn't need to worry about him. Our tickets were pre-purchased, so no worries there. (And extra kisses to Lost Rose for taking care of that chore.) I got to have fun putting on silly purple eyeshadow and my carefully planned, casual, Twilight-worthy outfit. I got to eat yummy Rubio's takeout for dinner (which is not sarcasm - I do enjoy Rubio's).

How relaxing was it? I didn't even have to drive (OK, I drove to Lost Rose's house, but from there Still A Newlywed was our DD. You didn't think we were going to New Moon sober, did you?!).

Here we are in our Twitarded regalia. The baby-faced blond chick sandwiched in between Lost Rose to the left and me in the glasses prefers to remain anonymous, but we call her Stresser Mom. To her face. The gal on the right is Still A Newlywed, cause she kinda is - compared to us old hags.

I'm sure you see the Twitarded buttons, one on each side of my... chest... and I'm sure you can figure out where Stresser Mom actually intended us to wear them. I declined. And we have our respective Team [Hot Guy] buttons on, although a little tussle broke out between Lost Rose and Stresser Mom over who deserved to wear Team Edward. I settled that one by blacking out KStew's face with a sharpie on the Bella-and-Edward button, thus turning it into an Edward-only button. Shit, I'm brilliant!

We kicked off The Event by mixing up some mojitos and taking silly photos in Lost Rose's living room. We had Lost Rose's family as an audience, including her brother, who makes everything more fun just by being there. Then, two and a half hours before showtime and not a minute later, we piled into Still A Newlywed's car and roared off to the theater...

...where we were first in line and obnoxiously proud of ourselves! The chicks who ended up behind us *would have been* first in line, but they saw there was no line, so they went to get dinner. Amateurs!

Could we be any dorkier? I think not.

Stresser Mom and Still A Newlywed took off to pick up the Rubio's, and then we enjoyed a nice little picnic on the floor of the Edwards Cinema lobby. I can't explain why eating a lukewarm fast food burrito while sitting on dirty, psychedelic movie theater carpet was so fun, but it was.

Recipe for a good time: take four New Moon tickets, and add three flasks of rum.

We continued the drunkenness by adding rum from our flasks to our Diet Coke - thus leading to a bladder emergency for me later on.

A self-portrait of Lost Rose and me, in our actual theater seats, b-e-y-o-n-d excited to be there. You can't see it, but we're holding hands. OK, not actually in this pic, but we did throughout most of the movie.

Color me officially excited for Eclipse!

What I am is a really really really big mess

Bean is devoted to this one Laurie Berkner Band DVD of kid's music, so we watch it every day. I thought this would open the Pandora's Idiot Box irrevocably, but so far he is uninterested in watching ANYTHING else. Ever.

Anyway, the closing credits run over an a capella version of "I'm a Mess," a song that includes handclaps. I'm a sucker for any song that includes clapping - or random cheering for that matter, like "If You Wanna Be Happy" or "Double Shot (of My Baby's Love)." But I digress. I love "I'm a Mess":

I'm a mess! [clap-clap... clap]

I'm a mess! [clap-clap... clap]

From the north to the south to the east to the west,

What I am is a really really really big mess!

She's singing about kid stuff - splashing in mud puddles, rubbing your breakfast all over your clothes - but these days I'm singing it about me.

I kicked it off with a little barium milkshake and abdominal scan. Fine, so the gut's not going so well. Fine, so I was able to ignore quarterly episodes of obstruction and Excorcist-style vomiting. Fine, so I have to take a medication that makes me nauseous and sleepy on a daily basis. Ok, that part's not so fine. That part sucks.

What also sucks is the part about it suppressing my immune system, which it is supposed to do, thus leading almost immediately to pneumonia. I've discovered I'm not a fan of pneumonia. I mean... pneumonia? Really? C'mon, now. Let's not be ridiculous.

***Breaking news! Bust out the party hats and the streamers, because on Friday the pneumonia was [upgraded, like from coach to first class] or [downgraded, like from hurricane to tropical storm] to a mere sinus infection, which while still totally gnar, is so much less scary. And yes, I know, blogging is supposed to happen at the speed of the Internet: you have a thought, you post it... but in actuality I write a lot slower than that. So this post has been a few days in the writing. Sorry.***

And then... I broke my toe. Four Signs Your Toe May Be Broken:

- Your husband refers to said toe as "The Black Olive."

- The warm, yummy cascade of hot shower water flows over your body... and onto your toe, causing excruciating pain. In the shower! From the water! What the fuck!?

- Trimming the nails of the toes *on either side* of The Black Olive causes pain

- Out of your entire Imelda Marcos-ish collection of shoes, you can only tolerate wearing one pair. Even including your bedroom slippers, this is the only pair you can bear to have touching the foot that sports The Black Olive.

In general, the holidays are not a merry-and-bright time for me. I know this, and I try to prepare myself for it - wallowing in the things I do enjoy, like tree-trimming and cookie-baking. But even in the best years, when I am physically and mentally fit, I'd be lying if I said I didn't struggle even a little bit during the month of December. Here's what it includes: my birthday, and Christmas. Yay! Here's what it doesn't include: my mother. Boo! Some of you may be tired of me playing the dead-mom violin, but it is a loss that never goes away. Especially in December. But I know this, and I can usually just tuck it in my pocket and keep on walking.

But this year, I'm not at my best for dealing with December. I feel clobbered, disarmed by physical challenges. And while I am weak and struggling, I can feel sadness coming down on me like a heavy, dark curtain. It's made of cheap polyester and it smells of stale dry-cleaning fluid, and here's how I feel about it: I. HATE. IT.

Yes, that's right. If you envisioned me curled up on the couch, crying like a little girl, think again. My aunt accused me of being in denial ("like your mother," she said, if that doesn't take the fucking pumpkin pie...) but I'm not - I'm fucking furious. [Wow, two f-bombs in a row!]

I have two strategies for coping. #1 follows along the lines of 'your thoughts control your emotions, and your emotions control you.' I try to think happy thoughts - only happy thoughts - grimly, militantly happy thoughts. But rage bubbles up anyway like a volcanic vent on the side of an otherwise bucolic mountain.

Only play happy music - I can't get swept away by playing "Halleluah," "Angel in Montgomery," or "Wise Up" 17,000 times in a row. Don't judge - you know you do it too. Happy music only - early 90's hip-hop does the trick for me. Laughably dirty stuff like Naughty By Nature's Hip Hop Hooray, or OPP, that always perks me right up. Better yet: Rumpshaker, by Wreckx-n-Effect. Don't lie - you feel better already too! I know you do!

Strategy #2 is based on something my therapist once told me when I was ranting a little like this: 'But I feel so sad and I hate it, I hate it so much, and I fight it so hard, but I feel like I'm in a cage, and no matter how hard I try I can't shake it off...' She said: "Don't fight it." What?

She claimed that the harder I fought a feeling, the longer it took to pass. But if I just felt it, it would be done with me and on its merry way in no time. Oh. Hunh.

As you might guess from the "I. HATE. IT." part above, me not so good at not fighting. But I'm trying. Also, just so you know, my therapist's first name was Sally, and it's hard to stay depressed when you're talking to someone named Sally. I realize therapy isn't supposed to be a cult of personality around the therapist, but... c'mon. "Sally." You'd feel better too, you know you would.

So, to review: happy thoughts, Naughty By Nature, pretend you're talking to Sally. That's my plan. I know it sounds... crazy... but I've gotta go with what works. I've just got to, since it seems not much is working right these days.

How I felt about New Moon: The Movie

I wanted to love New Moon, but I kind of didn't. I just can't put my finger on *why* I don't love it. It wasn't a bad movie - I didn't feel 2nd-hand embarrassed for all involved upon leaving the theater. While this one was shinier and smoother than the first one, and thankfully was without any spider-monkey moments, in the end it left me feeling that it lacked something. Right before we got to the Votluri, I remember thinking, 'C'mon, now, let's go, this is dragging.' [That's also the point where my bladder hit critical capacity and I bailed for the ladies'. Note to self: lots of alcohol and Diet Pepsi for hours before a movie? Not bright. Not bright at all.] But I can't point to any one moment that I thought slowed it down.

It's not that I already knew what was going to happen, because we all knew the outcome of the first before we watched it, too. Somehow that 'creepy old vampire boy falls for passive nubile human girl' story still translated to film with tension and surprise intact. New Moon? Not so much. For me the book is the moodiest, the saddest of the series and I didn't think that Bella's internal pain translated that well onto the big screen.

Here's something else: I expected to cry. That's right, my two readers who have known me since college and know that I am more likely to laugh than cry at sentimental movies: I expected to cry, and I did not. Hell, I got more choked up upon watching the series finale of Prison Break than I did New Moon, although perhaps that says more about me than either of these two viewing pleasures.

Dude. RIP, Michael Scofield. RIP.

The movie had its bright spots, though, including Anna Kendrick as Jessica Stanley, picking up every scene she was in and just running off with it. I hate Jessica Stanley of the Books, but thanks to Kendrick, I love Jessica Stanley of the Movies. Her every eyeroll, heaved sigh, and vacuous Valley Girl rant is to be savored. In New Moon, Kendrick in her bit part outshined even the shirtless underage hunk, and that's saying a lot since I am a card-carrying co-captain of Team Jailbait. Kendrick's starring in Up in the Air with George Clooney, and I am so there.

Other moments I loved? Anything with the wolf pack. (Duh.) I thought the wolf transitions were thrilling, and the scene where Bella baits a pack member (sorry, can't remember who, 'cause for me the pack splits into Jacob... and The Rest of Them...) and sparks a fight between them was awesome.

Gratuitous Tay-Tay photo - what? Can you blame me?

As someone who identifies with the experience of having months of her life eroded by loss and despair, the scene where Bella sits at her window as time flows past, while the song I refer to as "The Wrist Slitter" [Possibility by Lykke Li] plays in the background was a clever way to translate Meyer's chillingly blank pages to the screen. That's one of the only times I truly admired SM's writing, and it was one of the few times the movie truly surprised me.

And let me state unequivocally: the ending? LOVED IT. The shock of that closing scene delighted me and gave me a reason to fall back in love with Chris Weitz. My people were not united in this though. While I was clapping my hands in glee, people around me were booing their disapproval.

I've got to give a shout out to Billy Burke's Charlie. His every utterance awash in an ocean of irony and sarcasm, I just want to eat him up with a spoon. I know you're not supposed to wantBella's DAD, for crying out loud, but, well, I am 35 and Burke is a DILF and I am only human. Sheesh.

Psssst! I think you're hotter than the dude who plays Edward! Shhh!

At the end of the day, does it matter if I LOVED New Moon, or only liked it? Does it matter if I think Kellan Lutz is dumb? Not really - in for a penny, in for a pound as they say. I devoured the books, and I'll be there for the movies. All of them.

Aw, crap, I posted this and then I was all, "FUCK! SOURCES!": Uhhhhhh. The Scofield one is from about.com, Jacob is watermarked with Twilighters Anonymous although it looks like official New Moon shwag to me, and Burke... Burke... um... Access Hollywood? FanPop? Fuck if I know.

I think perhaps I may have a wee bit of a problem...

***editor's note***

I was "supposed" to have this done and up before I went to see New Moon, but *everygoddamnmotherfuckingtime* I try to log on to Verizon's web site to access my phone pics, the password is 'invalid' and I can't log on. So I just got off the phone with Verizon... AGAIN... after changing my password... AGAIN... so I could get the totally delish photos to complete this post. And yes I saw New Moon and I don't know how I feel about it yet so you'll just have to wait for that post. Later.

***

A few days ago I was walking through Nordstrom, and I saw this:

FSE, still folded up and in his packaging

So I promptly took a photo and sent it to Lost Rose.

A few days after THAT I was walking through Nordstrom AGAIN when I saw this:

FSE, in all his FS glory

Of course, being the dedicated friend that I am, I immediately snapped a pic and sent it to Lost Rose, 'cause that's her boyfriend.

Then I noticed this:

Holy crap, it's FSJ! I didn't even know there WAS an FSJ!

MY BOYFRIEND!

Notice how he's SOOOO tall, I had to tilt my phone to fit all of his studly goodness into the frame!

[Is this inappropriate? Is this some kind of k***ie porn? I don't even want to type the phrase in case the FBI has some kind of bot scanning the Internet for it. But I feel giddy/icky when I see FSJ.]

But not icky enough to keep me from doing this:

I feel that this crossed some kind of line.

Oh yes, I posed for a photo with a cardboard cutout of Taylor Lautner as Jacob Black. The blonde lady who you see from the back in the photo of FSJ kindly offered to take it for me. After she confirmed that I wasn't photographing HER. [Oh, yeah, I totes wanted *your* picture - I wasn't taking photos of the TOTALLY HOT fake cardboard guys to your immediate left and right. No, not at ALL.]

I know that it seems like my problem might be going to Nordstrom too much - but I promise that's not it. The first time, I went to their cafe because I needed lunch and they have quick, good, non-junk food. And the second time, I had Bean with me and Nordie's has lovely restrooms with posh diaper changing facilities, as well as an elevator with street access. I'm REALLY not there shopping three times a week.

My problem is that I'm so stoked, so giddy at the prospect of seeing New Moon approximately 23 and a half hours from now, that my shame has totally dissolved into nothing. No shame! I stopped in public to take photos of cardboard cutouts and posed with one of them! What's happening to me!

Also can we pause for a moment and reflect on the weirdness of Nordstrom retailing New Moon goodies? It just seems kind of odd to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful - I might even go back just to visit FSE and FSJ! See what I mean about a 'problem'?

Sources: Me, me, ALL ME! Yay ME!

Is Kellan Lutz…. Um… A Himbo?

I don’t know … I mean … I’m not sure, but… what if Kellan Lutz is…DUMB? Could it be?

I don’t know about you but I have a hard time fantasizing about a freakishly hot total stranger who I will never meet and who is a full decade younger than me - if I think he’s dumb.

[Shut UP, Lost Rose, Taylor Lautner gets a pass ‘cause he hasn’t even graduated from high school yet! And I do not fantasize about him… I just slaver over his shirtless photos because That’s Normal!]

Shhh, Kellan, I know. It’s OK. You’re still smokin’ hot with a ridiculous body, a gorgeous face, and a wicked smile. You’re still, technically speaking, the most physically attractive of the Cullen boys. Cutie’s guest post on SLP pretty much sums it up. I mean, you’re still KELLAN LUTZ. It’s gonna be OK.

Hey babe, I'm off to the course for a round of the world's most boring game!

But, Kellan – really? The Purpose-Driven Life is your favorite book? You like working out with your dog? Your mom is the coolest person you know, and you aren’t happy unless you break a sweat every day? Next thing you know, you’ll be saying that golf is your favorite sport and you think playing video games is the funnest thing ever.

*Dies* --- > *Of boredom*

Hey, baby, wanna play some Nintendo?

I feel like I did when I read a million years ago that Chris O’Donnell plays the stock market for fun: “Ohhhhhhhhh… You were cute… and now… you’re not. Sorrygottagobye!”

[*whooshing air noise followed by sound of door slamming as I run away….*]

And so, Kellan, I’m sorry, but this just isn’t going to work for me. I need a little… complexity.

PS:

In putting this together, I forced myself to google images of Kellan Lutz. It was brutal. There were SO MANY literally stomach-droppingly-fine photos of the man, I got the shakes. The shakes! I almost trashed this whole post because I was like, he’s soooooo fiiiiiiinnnnnnne…. who cares if he’s dumb and boring! Almost. It’s like when Rolling Stone ran that cover of Brad Pitt, long-haired and shirtless for Legends of the Fall, and he said something like ‘I’m not particularly good in bed’ and we were all: Dude. No one cares if you’re good in bed. Just lie still! I almost don't care if Kellan's dumb! Almost.

Also on a final note of hysterical giggling, when I was researching the part about Chris O’Donnell thinking the stock market was fun, I found that at the end of the article I linked to, it notes that he is an avid golfer! He meets another criterion of boringness and I didn’t even know it!

Sources: Sources, sources, FUCK ME! OK - Images from start to finish - the bitchen motivational poster is from IllegalWolfLover via Letters to Twilight; the car one is from aussietwilightmums.com and I'd like to join THAT club, and the last pic is from mtv.com. The links are hopefully self-explanatory upon clickety-clicking.

I'm cheating on Edward Cullen...

... with Damon Salvatore.

That's right. I'm stepping out on this:

For this:

I can't help it.

I DVR'd The Vampire Diaries but then I couldn't bring myself to watch it. I had commitment issues which can all be laid at the feet of Angst Goddess and her Wide Awake Twilight fan-fiction masterpiece/time-suck. I got hooked, read it like a starving person gobbles food, and then.... And then. She didn't post new chapters FOR. EVER. Days, weeks, months... purgatory!!! But I was in luuuuvvvvvv!

Since then I've been a little gun-shy about falling in love again. And you know how it goes with TV - you find a new series, you watch it, you fall in love, and then it gets cancelled. There's no closure - Hello, Southland, I'm talking to YOU.

Which brings us to The Vampire Diaries. I had 5 episodes piled up in the DVR queue, and last week I took the plunge and gorged on them. And I LOVE IT. Specifically, I love Damon Salvatore, played by Ian Somerhalder, aka The Hot Guy from Lost. He's the bad-boy vampire brother and he looks like he's having a blast playing a bad dude. It's fun to watch. And did I mention he's hot?

The Vampire Diaries also beats Twilight: The Epic Saga because you don't have to WAIT MONTHS for a NEW INSTALLMENT to come out, because there's a new episode EVERY WEEK. [Every Thursday night on the CW at 8 p.m./7 central, you don't even need a TV, you can watch it online here!] I highly recommend Episode 6, Lost Girls, because Ian Somerhalder dances around without a shirt. Or maybe he's wearing a shirt but it's unbuttoned. I was too distracted by his abs, which were NOT airbrushed on, to note his exact state of undress.

The Vampire Diaries beats Twilight in one other important way: Ian Somerhalder is THIRTY. Not twenty-three, or twenty-four, or, sweet Jesus, seventeen. Legality is not in question, and at thirty, there's a chance he knows how to take care of his business AND my business, which automatically qualifies him as hotter than those other infants.

No need to worry about getting arrested for this:

When you have this:

I know, I know - go to your happy place now, it's OK.

Sources - OK I'm not really good with sources, because Google Images is like crack for me. But in order of appearance from top to bottom the photos are from: Gawker, spoilersguide.com, fanpop.com, and lost.cz. And aren't the links self-explanatory?

I've Got an Important Date Coming Up - What To Wear?

So what is my important date? My ninth wedding anniversary? The birthday of my beloved child? Nopity nope – in 32 days, The Twilight Saga: New Moon opens, and I don’t know what to wear.

This is an extremely pressing issue. I’m 34 – will everyone be able to tell? Is it going to be me, Lost Rose, and our third Twitarded comrade, StresserMomWhoDoesn’tWantToBeCalledThatBecauseSheThinksShe’sCalm, surrounded by shrieking 12-year-olds? If I wear my skinny jeans and my Chucks, will I look like I’m trying too hard? Should I wear a hoodie? I’ve been wearing hoodies (we just called them sweatshirts) and Chucks since before these Twi-twerps were born, but I’m kinda bogarting their movie. Sure, it’s my movie too, but it’s not the same: I can’t watch it and dream of Taylor Lautner taking me to prom. OK, I could, but that would be disturbing and weird. [Lost Rose, put a lid on it; I love to drool over his shirtless pics, but I wouldn’t want to make out with him in the back of a rental limo. Not worth the prison sentence. Although by prom season, he will be legal…Hmmm…]

After we clear the hurdle of the fear of looking like a total impostor, we are faced with practicality. Lost Rose has advance-purchased our tickets, so the only line we have to worry about is the one to get into the actual movie theater. But it will be November, and even in San Diego at night in November, it does get cold. OK, fine - moderately cool. We’ll be sitting on concrete, eating some fabulous take-out grease for dinner – so I’m thinking jeans and a hoodie make sense. Plus some sneakers so we can sprint to the best seats, throwing little girls out of our way as we dash.

I’m not alone in my dilemma – among others, the Twitards have covered it. Their approach is more combat-related which I can appreciate, but with Lost Rose and Stresser Mom on my side, I have no fear of some pre-teen gang of Rob Pattinson fans.

But I want to look cute, too. It’s important. It’s a milestone. I’m super-excited!

'Cause that's just how we roll...

A few days ago I was at SeaWorld, a fish-related amusement park, with Bean, my friend Caroline, and her Bean-age daughter. There's stroller parking everywhere 'cause you can't take your stroller into a lot of the exhibits. We took the kids through the penguin habitat once... twice... OK, three times... and when we staggered back out into the morning sunshine, this is what we saw:

Why, yes, that IS a stroller with ice-cold metal bottles of Bud Light in the cup holders, at ten-thirty in the morning! Caroline and I inhaled sharply before whispering reverently: ".... these people are our heroes..." I thought I would be all sneaky and snap a surreptitious photo with my phone but was totally busted in the act by the stroller owner. Oddly enough - maybe because she was two beers down before it was even lunchtime - she was cool with it. I didn't exactly tell her I would be posting the photo on a blog... but whatevs.

I've only been to SeaWorld a few times, but part of its mystique is that, until recently, SeaWorld was a valued member of the Anheuser-Busch corporate family! Yay, beer! It made for some weird juxtapositions: beluga whales and Clydesdales... waffle cones and margaritas... but I decided I was totally on board with an amusement park that sold ice-cold Anheuser-Busch products at *every gift shop*. What a great idea!

So I'm glad they have a new owner and all, and they're building a new dolphin show, and now they'll have dough for 'improvements' but I gotta say one thing: ohmigod totally keep the beer.

Jackson Rathbone Wishes He Had Hair Like This.

Just kidding. That's Bean's hair, blowing in the breeze. I love him.

Riddle: How Do You Take One Good Lookin' Dude and Turn Him All Fugly?

How do we get from this:

To this?:

From this [try not to lick the screen... I know, it's tough, but you can do it]:

To this crime against humankind?:
From this:
To this double-threat of unfortunateness?:
And just to help heal your retinas a bit, I leave you with this [and yes I *can* hear your big sigh of relief all the way across the Internet]:

In case you can't tell, it's clear the answer is: Add a really fucking horrendous wig.

This has been bothering me for a while... OK, fine, for months. I may or may not have started a blog *just* to post about this. I can't help it.

Jackson Rathbone

[sincetwoofmythreereadersmightnotknow:heplaysJasperintheTwilightmovies]

is a cutie. I don't know if I think he's the hottest shit ever - in fact after seeing Twilight I was like, 'who's the constipated-looking guy they found to play Jasper? Seems like they could have done a little better... [sorry, Jackson, but it's true! I did!]' and then I saw photos of him in real life and knew that a great wrong had been perpetrated.

So here I go: Jackson's a good-looking man with a heart-melting smile and a naughty twinkle in his eye and that's enough for me. He deserves BETTER than the assholes in the Twilight Saga costume department! He does! It's just not right!

There's the basic injustice of it: turning a beautiful man into... into.. I don't know what but it ain't pretty. And then there's the Twilight factual fail part of it: the vampires are supposed to be SO BEAUTIFUL - one might say SUPERNATURALLY BEAUTIFUL. Costume assholes, you're going the wrong direction with this wig issue.

My hairstylist has a hell of a theory: she hypothesizes that it's in Robert Pattinson's contract that none of the other guys can be better looking than he is, so they had to ugly up poor Jackson to comply. *giggle*

One of my fave Twi-blogs (which I can't remember for the life of me right now, I thought it was Letters to Twilight but I couldn't find it on there and now I just don't know...) explained Jackson's recent hand injury as the result of a scuffle with the wig department - if he did indeed open up a can of whup-ass on the wiggy bastards, I salute you, dude. Perhaps by the FOURTH movie, Summit's budget will be big enough to buy you some new hair.

The Bean has awoken and is repeating "Mom.Mom.Mom.Mom" relentlessly, my cue to wrap this bitch up and post it. *Sigh* There's just not enough Twilight time in the day.

PS: I'm pretty sure that as a blogger for the forces of good, I am supposed to list photo sources, but I just googled Jackson Rathbone images and cherry-picked away. It was almost too easy. I can't remember which pic came from where, but sources included scifiwire.com, eclipsemovie.org, Twilighters Anonymous and sofeminine.co.uk. Plus the first pic is tagged so there you go.

A Penny Fished Out of the Tape Player is a Penny Earned

So the other day, when I was Having A Day, I retreated from the penny-in-the-tape-player situation with great reluctance. I'd carted my tweezers down to the garage, attempted and failed to remove said penny, and gave up - but not before leaving this post-it note above The Uptight Yankee's toolbox:

"Do you have any LONG tweezers!??"

Because, of course, when I needed tweezers, I'd reached for my *eyebrow* tweezers. What other tweezers does a girl have, for crying out loud?

So The Uptight Yankee smirked and said, no, he didn't have 'any other' tweezers, and I steeled myself for the task of asking my neighborhood ghetto-fabulous car audio system installers to help me get the penny out. These people install sound systems in cars in which I'd be afraid to breathe, let alone turn on the radio. Can you imagine the mortification of asking for their help in getting a penny out of the manufacturer-installed tape player - TAPE PLAYER! - in my mom mobile? But my options were dwindling - the trip to LA with nothing but corporate radio loomed.

Then, this morning, I saw my husband had laid out his tools: his little halogen flashlight thingie that he straps to his forehead*, a metal skewer of the kind you might use to barbecue shish kabob, and some long, skinny, rusty, scratched-paint, never-been-near-an-eyebrow, needle-nosed TWEEZERS! Wh-WHAT!? Picture the cartoon character with the charcoal smudge of fuming thoughts above her head. That was me.

Me: I thought you said you didn't have any long tweezers?

Him: No, I don't, these are the only tweezers I have. [awkward pause] Why? Which tweezers did YOU use?

Me: My EYEBROW TWEEZERS. [in a 'well, duh, what the fuck tweezers was I supposed to use?' tone of voice]

Both: much crossing of arms, glaring of eyes, fuming of breath...

But I do declare, he went down to the garage, situated his headlamp, and operated on my tape player with his BBQ skewer and his *long* tweezers and he RETRIEVED THE PENNY! He is the bestest thing ever!

We drove to O'side to visit friends, to the sweet sound of a Car Talk podcast followed by Iron & Wine. I can't wait for the drive on Monday. Squueeeeeee!

*I'm sorry but exactly how cute is it that The Uptight Yankee a) owns a headlamp and b) uses it in total earnestness? Yes, it is the cutest thing you've ever seen. I totally ripped off the asterisk/footnote thing from JenniChicago, and I love it.

Last but not least, for the one other person out there that still watches Grey's Anatomy - dude, how come no one on the show could figure out that George O'Malley would have donated his organs? Are we for real here? The man jumped in front of a bus to save a total stranger. I'm thinking a cornea or two is nothing after that. All that quality season-premiere time wasted on blowing hot air about is he or isn't he a donor - HELLO? He's a donor, he's SO a donor. Morons. And if you're not a donor, sign up now. In CA you put a Donor Dot on your license; no idea how it works anywhere else. If DMV paperwork's not your thing, start now by telling everyone you know that when you get hit by a bus, you want to donate your goods. It's good for your karma.

I'm Having a Day

I set up my blog the other day - my 'fake blog' as my friend and I have been referring to our blogs - and then chickened out before posting. I wanted my first post to be funny... cool. But I'm Having A Day, and so I figure fuck it - there's no time like the present.

It's not that it's a Bad Day, necessarily - I've had worse for sure. People I love are having worse days as I type, and I know this. But here's how it went down. While I made breakfast, my almost-two-year-old Bean dumped an entire box of Cheerios on the kitchen floor. Honey-Nut Cheerios, people - the good shit. He didn't even mean to do it. He just pulled the wax liner out of the box, played with the box, and then picked up the wax liner... by the bottom... and took off for the dining room, Cheerios pouring out. When I yelled "Bean! No!" he turned around and looked at me like, "Hunh? What?" and as he turned, Cheerios sprayed out around him. He looked down at his feet in surprise, giggled, and started dancing around in the Cheerios like a mad leprechaun. I stood there frozen, arms reaching out as if to stuff 8,000 Cheerios back in the bag, and I couldn't even really be mad - I gave him the box, and I'd never even clipped the liner closed. I just shoveled the Cheerios into a heap in the corner of my kitchen and moved on.

I moved on to making yogurt, but my yogurt starter was moldy. Huh. I started to get a sneaking suspicion that I was about to Have A Day, but I tried to shake it off. You know, look on the bright side, think positively, blah blah blah.

So I shook it off and moved into my bedroom to straighten up. My mom drilled it into me that you always feel better if your bed is made up, and I'm all about feeling better. As I yanked on the cord to raise the blinds, there was this horrible 'screeee' noise and only one side of the blinds rose up. Not good. I tried to lower them, raise them, lower them... I yanked on the cord HARDER because goddammit I was NOT going to Have A Day. But alas, the blinds are broken. I called my husband, the Uptight Yankee, to ask if he wanted me to get new ones right away and he said, "Let me see if I can fix them tonight when I get home." Translation: they will hang there busted for a month or til I get sick of them, whichever comes first, and THEN I will go get new ones. *Sigh.*

What did I do next? You know what I did: I SHOOK IT OFF! I got Bean and me ready and out the door in record time, headed to the mall that has a car wash service so I could run some mall errands AND get my car washed at the same time! Super efficient! The car wash was closed. FUCK. I just did my stupid errands, rode the escalator up and down with Bean 8 times, and then drove all the way back to my hood to another car wash so - say at with me now - at least my car is clean.

When we got home, I let Bean play around in the car as he loves to do- he's my good guy and it takes so little to make him happy. He just loves to punch all the buttons and flip all the levers. And, as it turns out on this Day of all Days, he loved putting a penny in my tape player.* FUCKITY FUCK FUCK. But I'm cool, I'm on it, I can persevere - I grab my mini Maglite in my car and swivel it on... or try to... but its batteries are dead. Sweet Mother of God - I'm Having A Day. There's nothing left but to give in to it.

Several lifetimes later, after giving Bean lunch, chasing him around the courtyard, and talking him into a nap, I run back down to the garage, tweezers in hand, new batteries in the Maglite, motherfuckers, because I'm handling this shit. The tweezers are too short - I succeed only in pushing the penny farther back. I briefly considered going MacGyver: chewing up a piece of gum and sticking it on the end of a ballpoint pen in my car to try to fish the penny out but... I'm not sure, but I think this might be A Really Bad Idea. I really don't want to explain to the guys at the car audio place why I need their help in getting a penny, some chewed-up gum, and a pen out of my tape player. Let's keep it simple and stick with just the penny.

And here I am blogging about it. Bean finally fell asleep (or at least I don't hear him going "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom" anymore) and I *should* be cleaning my bedroom as part of my campaign to clean up my house after weeks of bingeing on Twilight fan fiction and neglecting my chores. But sometimes I think when I'm Having A Day that I should just sit real still and wait for it to pass.

*I can hear you, I can, I know you're going, "Why in God's name in 2009 do you have a tape player in your car? What the hell are you driving, a 1984 Toyota Celica?" No, actually, it's a newish car with a tape player so I can listen to my iPod using one of those tape converter thingies. And quite frankly, the tizzy over the penny in the player is caused by only one thing: panic. Panic at the thought of being without my iPod. I've got to drive to LA on Monday and... and... if I don't get this penny thing taken care of... I might have to... [gulp] listen to commercial radio all the way there and back! Noooooooooooo!!!!