Twi-soft

My girls and I have been doing Sunday Dinner for a couple of years now. Yes it started with the first season of True Blood and me being the only one with HBO at the time. No, I'm not ashamed of either of those facts.

Actually - no it didn't. It started with Flight of the Conchords...and me being the only one with HBO at the time, so shut the hell up.

We don't always watch something. Sometimes we actually go out into the world...and sometimes we just drink limeade cocktails in someone's backyard. But without fail (almost) we ignore the fact that we see each other all the time and hang out on Sundays until stupidly late, drinking and laughing much too much. It's my favorite thing.

But this Sunday...we sank to a new low. And it was awesome. Tonight we watched Twilight: New Moon while simultaneously playing the Rifftrax, eating pierogies and washing it all down with German beer (you see, it was a poorly executed theme). If you don't know what Rifftrax are, then I'm sure you know what Mystery Science Theater 3K is. Well it's those guys, only they don't have a show anymore. They record themselves talking through the movie and then you download the track and play it on your ipod whilst the movie is viewed. It's genius.

Anyway - we made it through the entire movie. And we may or may not have rewound and watched that bit where the underaged/overdeveloped bronze god of modern day musculature tore his shirt off to blot a small cut on no-talent-hack Kristen Stewart's brow three times. Maybe four, it's all a bit fuzzy. But that is not my point. I have now seen two Twilight movies and read one of the books (couldn't get farther than that one) and still, I come away from them perplexed. I don't get why they're so popular. I really don't.

I think about the movies and books that defined the combined romantic ideals of danger and love for me in those formative early teen years...and even how much I loved that gothic vampire stuff (seriously, you don't want to know how many times I watched Brahm Stoker's Dracula. It's where the whole Gary Oldman obsession started). But I'm convinced that if I'd picked up and read Twilight when I was 13, I would've wanted to throw it across the room as much as I did at 29.

First of all - who's all like "I want you. We're connected. Why fight it. I can't live without you." at the creepiest guy in school when you're 17 and the new girl? I think Bella and Edward's fourth conversation was about how much they love each other...with a little "but I may kill you" thrown in to keep things lively. Young people don't move that fast. They have to analyze everything to death with their friends and then send a few vague emails or texts before any big decisions are made.

And what teenager in this day and age gets seduced by Claire de Lune? Come on. I'd be all..."um, you've been alive since before jazz was invented and THIS is what you're rolling with?" Weak.

So with this second book (well...movie...) it goes all sorts of through the roof. Edward is gone, but he comes back as a ghost(?? - not explained) to tell her not to do stupid shit she does anyway. Then she almost kisses a SIXTEEN year old a million times (um, that's a sophomore, friends. Did you think they were hot when you were a senior? Men, don't answer that). And then when she's done stringing the well-built puppy along, she jumps at the chance to marry Edward? At EIGHTEEN?! I mean, she's not even going to try to find a guy that isn't dead? Doesn't she understand that's what college is FOR?

What all of this says to me is that the author, Stephanie Somethingorother, grew up in a cave believing in unicorns with a Victrola, Debussy greatest hits and one worn out VHS copy of Sixteen Candles, without ever meeting any other teenagers.

Regardless... this young man is uncomfortably good looking.

Sorry it's been so long. I've missed you, my pretties.

You Ask Me ONE More Time...

Everybody’s pushing me to vote. Don’t fucking rush me! I do my voting like I do my taxes…at the last possible second. I thrive under pressure.

Oregon may “decide” the democratic candidate. I may decide it by pushing over one of those Hillary Clinton sign holding crazies standing in the bike lane on the Burnside bridge. Up until now I’ve just been narrowing my eyes at them as I pass. I doubt this has much of an effect as I’ve also been wearing sunglasses. But I like to think they can feel the steely gaze. But we have something like 200 super delegates, so “they say” that by the time we have our primary…if Obamyomama wins Oregon, whatever unimportant states that are left won’t have enough super delegates to make a difference. That makes us awesome. And not to be fucked with. If only for the fact that we have killer beavers here that can devour your face in two seconds flat if you look at them funnilly. Saw it happen once. Still have nightmares.

But enough about politics. This shit bores me.

It doesn’t actually, but I like to wear nonchalance like an accessory.

The Waif, ty and the Face move out this weekend. I’ll miss them. I’m sure they won’t miss my cramped little place but it’s been fun having them here. Quality time with the Face is always appreciated…especially since I taught him the In Living Color Men on Film snap and he’s freakishly adorable when he does it. But now that they’re leaving, I’ll be missing out on these kinds of little precious moments brought to you by the letter W, the number 8 and my sister feeding the Face olives:

theWaif: My god, Beckett…you’re just an olive whore, aren’t you ?
Me: Laura, you just called your son a whore.
theWaif: Well he IS!

Precious fucking moments.

And in case you don't know the snap I am referring to because you're either too young or living in a box in the middle of the Gobi: