"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.