If You Belonged Here

Twilight, the Movie

I am freaking in love with this movie. I just can't help it. I know it's not what you, she, and her thought it would be. I know you can't stand Bella because, like, you're jealous. I know that you had this perfect idea of how everyone would be and it wasn't exactly like that but c'mon, people, this movie is my favorite.

I can't help it.

The Model claims that the people responsible should be charged with criminal negligence. She may have a point. Somewhere in the real world someone might be able to prove that in a court of law but as for me and my house, we will be going to see that movie again.

And maybe again.

I haven't gotten that far in the plan yet.

Anyway, the thing is that Edward, who is Rob Pattinson in real life, sings a couple of songs for the sound track and they totally slay me. I haven't been so head-over-heels in love with a new artist since sometime back in 1994. Also, the rest of the sound track is ridiculously killer.

So there's that.

And the whole thing was barely held together. I get that. It was a movie for people who read the book. I kind of think of the Harry Potter movies that way, too. I mean, sheesh, while reading about night after night of snuggling and coming out of class only to find Edward waiting for me--ummmm, I meant to type Bella--is compelling enough reading, it's not exactly big screen magic.

I could have done with more sex. I said that about the book and I'll say it again about the movie. More sex was in order. But at least there was a serious kissing scene in the movie and I, for one, was convinced that Bella came within thirty seconds of throwing her virginity to the vampires. Not everyone I attended the movie with was feeling the chemistry of undying love the way they had hoped, but I was at least feeling the give-hell-a-run-for-its-money, scorching lust of a couple of way-too-hott-and-bothered seventeen-year-olds.

So, again, more that.

I'm sure that going into the movie with, ahem, adjusted expectations didn't hurt but, all in all, I have to say that my biggest problem with the movie was, much like the original book, production value. There was something off about the sound, you know, like it was television quality or maybe it was that I could hear the "quiet on the set" silence beneath the dialogue.

I got used to it.

Also, there were times when the scenes were a little unevenly paced, but I chalked that up to some scenes were requirements and could not be skimped on and other scenes were not-so-much and so that kind of dictated a bit there. I mean, I would have sat through a four hour movie, gladly, but I just don't think that's done anymore. Maybe they should have made it a mini-series, kind of like how Stephen King had to go back and remake The Shining to get it all in because sometimes two hours just wasn't enough.

Whatever.

The thing is that even when this movie was off for me, and there were plenty of times it was:

• Jasper had an Edward Scissorhands thing going on
• Overall the hair on the male vampires was just way too sculpture
• Alice was supposed to have a Winona Ryder circa 1993 thing going on with the pixie hair
• Rosalie should have been played by Scarlett Johansson
• Kate Winslet was Esme, there's no way around it
• Charlie was supposed to look like the sheriff from Eureka
• Edward was more emotional than I would have imagined

...didn't matter. I got past it. Because I know how to suspend disbelief. I'm really good at it.

Long story short, I freaking loved this movie.

And it broke my heart. Because I'm never going to be seventeen again, people. I know that as a thirty-three-year-old adult hobbit, this just shouldn't be news. Yet it is news. Unwelcome news. Downright disappointing, nasty, almost-as-bad-as herpes news. Because as much as being seventeen sucked hardcore,

well,

there was that.

 

Whoa Is Me

Sometimes a typo is just a typo and sometimes a typo is nothing short of a keyboard stroke of genius. Just yesterday a friend of mine with a life any hipster would envy emailed me. He caught himself wallowing in the mud of self-pity just a little and dragged himself out of the puddle with the phrase, "I don't want to be all 'whoa is me.'"

I know where he was going with it but, people, you know how I love a good old fashioned Freudian slip. And it got me thinking, I can't think of anything better to be than all whoa is me. Seriously. Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight, whoa is me.

Maybe that's what inspired me to buy that fire engine red lipstick.

You might remember that a little while back I took a seminar and came home feeling better. Well, this weekend I'm taking the advanced course and I'm planning on coming home feeling invincible. As in bullet proof. And maybe a little whoa is me.

Have you ever considered how fabulous your life could be if only you could get out of your own way? I mean, imagine what life would be like if you just did all the stuff you put on your list of New Year's Resolutions and stopped hesitating, hedging, and hoping. Imagine being the best possible version of yourself.

Seriously, even Oprah isn't quite managing it. She can't be. If she was she wouldn't have so many latest, greatest diets to endorse. Unless, as I've mentioned before, it's all part of her master plan. If that's the case, then I beg your pardon, Oprah.

But I don't want to be Oprah so much. I just want to get out of my own way. I just want, you know, everything and all of that and, maybe, some of the other stuff I've been putting off until tomorrow.

Yeah. I'd like to be a little in awe of myself. And also, I'd like to spend more than my fair share of time laughing. I figure, what with all the people in the world who have real tragedy in their lives, there's got to be room for one person who is just over-the-top giddy.

I'm volunteering for that job. Someone has to do it and I really think I'm your woman.

Because, hey, whoa is me, right? And, if I'm going to go there, I don't see the point in not having some extra to spread around.

If I'm going to be the change I want to see in the world, well, this may sound simple, but I think it starts with smiling more, and maybe some giggling. I think giggling would be a great change to see in the world. Almost as great as people taking a little time at the end of the day to reflect on their accomplishments and come up with an overwhelming sense of whoa is me.

 

Hotter than Christmas

Sheesh. It's been eight-eight degrees each and every day around here. The wind is too windy. The hot is too hot. November is not what it used to be.

I wouldn't complain except that I keep having to scan the horizon to make sure stuffs not on fire. The scrub is starting to look a lot like tinder and, hey, I don't want to be one of those grudge-holding types, but it's not like there isn't a history.

There's something about this time of year that prompts me to take a mental inventory of what I would grab if I had to go, go, go. Of course, the chicadee and Mr. Poppins, although quite frankly I'd prefer it if he'd do his own locomoting as I am not exactly sure how my spine would react to hauling him across the living room. I'd have to take my computer. And my iPhone. A snack would be nice, and maybe a change of underwear, although it might be fun to have an excuse to go commando. 

I'll have to think about that.

The point is that the very idea that fire could swoosh down those mountains at any time keeps me on my toes. It also makes me restless. I've never been one for suspense.

But today was a little cooler, mid-seventies and not so dry, so maybe we'll get past the fire season without it becoming personal. By personal, I mean, it won't become a fire I can personally see by looking out of my window. At the risk of sounding as callous as I really am, if your house catches on fire it's just not going to be as inconvenient for me as having my own house go up in flames.

I don't like to think of it as me being selfish so much as I just want to be able to have a guest room to offer you if you should need it. Believe me when I say, I would rather you not need it, but that's a distant second to me still having it. Even if it goes empty.

Otherwise, I'm just about bored to tears with the internets. This past weekend I thought I was excited but it turns out is was just a phase and a swiftly passing one at that. Ever since Obama won the election, I feel like life is little more than a prologue to his impending presidency. Nothing I do is going to matter. I already voted.

Now I just gots to waits.

Sheesh.

I feel like an eight-year-old on the world's longest car ride. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

How about now?