The Peanut Gallery

I've devised a most clever and ingenious bedtime routine for Peanut. It is absolutely no-fail. I felt it only fair to share my techniques for everyone else's benefit in case my readers are ever in a pinch.

Peanut's job: to claw and snap at me like a rabid badger. Kicking is also preferred, and some strained grunting is good to throw in there, too, all while he gives his every effort to break free.

My job: to hold him down like I'm about to brand a calf, and restrain him until he completely loses the will to fight and simply passes out from exhaustion. Then I gently and lovingly lay him in his crib until the blood returns to his brain and he regains consciousness. Ta-da!

In other Peanut News, the boy had his nine-month checkup not too long ago. Dr. Smart-alec is back to being his old jovial self, except he now laughs at absolutely everything I say whether I intended it to be funny or not. He shares family and personal stories with us and treats us like we're old friends. He is intensely interested in every single word I utter. Funny that he wasn't this attentive and caring before he nearly killed our kid. Ah...guilt. Is there anything you can't do?

As for Peanut's stats, he has gained weight certainly, but not enough to put him back on the chart. So he's still in the zeroeth percentile. But wait! For his length, in three months he went from the 5th percentile to the (wait for it)...35th percentile! Holy Mother of Hasselhoff, how did that happen?? At least I now know where all that food I fed him went. And since his checkup he's gained a pound in weight, so that's comforting. Here's to hoping he makes it to 20lbs before he's five! And before CPS takes him away!

Most people have to go a lifetime before finding their doppleganger, if ever. I found Peanut's twin in a Fisher Price catalog. Whew, glad that wait is over. I showed this picture to the Husband and we marveled verily. Now it's your turn to marvel. Marvel! I demand it!


Speaking of doppelgangers, I finally saw mine the other day as I was sitting in traffic. A woman who looked exactly like me was turning in front of me as I was waiting at a light. I was mesmerized by my own image before me. It's like I was having an out-of-body experience. My first thought accompanying the sight of her was not wonder at having seen my double, nor questions about where she came from or if she was related in anyway. My first thought, and I kid you not, was, "Huh. When did I get a silver car?"

Surprise! You Have No Friends!!

A most joyous and happy birthday goes out to my lovely friend, Stephanie, who is old today. For her birthday present, she is making me a birthday cake (what with my own, more special and joyous birthday looming on the horizon). The birthday cake will be a Princess Aurora doll cake, per my mother's instructions to her. Yea, verily I am giddy with anticipation. Forsooth.

I was talking to a friend on Sunday--we'll call her "L. Bowman" for anonymity's sake--about birthdays. I don't recall how we came to the subject of bad birthdays, but apparently she's had a few. Most of these bad birthdays occurred in her childhood. It's here that I would normally throw in a "that explains a lot" crack, but she's bad off enough as it is without me rubbing it in.

Shortly after she relayed the tale of her worst birthday to date, I informed her most seriously that she would be reading about it on my blog. She demanded to hear my version at that very moment but was disappointed to learn that I am hardly as articulate in reality as I am when I write. In fact, my version went something like, "Uh...your birthday sucked and your parents don't love you?" So this entry is specifically for Mrs. Bowman and no one else. The rest of you can go about your business.

Mrs. B. was about nine years old when the following horror was inflicted upon her. She (and the rest of her family I'm assuming; I'm hoping they didn't regularly force her out and make her move on her own) had recently moved to a new neighborhood where she had yet to acquire any new friends. Her birthday had arrived. Her mind only hinted at suspicious activity when her sister became anxiously engaged in keeping her occupied in the family van whilst her parents went inside the house and fiddled around. Finally Mrs. B was permitted inside and was met with any birthday girl's dream: a surprise birthday party! With absolutely no attendees! Well, that's not entirely accurate. In lieu of the friends she should have had, her parents summoned her stuffed animal collection and gathered them around the living room for the "surprise" part of the party. Said animals neither hinted at being surprised for her nor even happy to see her on this most special of personal holidays.

It is my understanding that surprise parties are usually considered a surprise in large part because the well wishers typically do not live in your house and have made considerable effort to not only be there for your happy moment, but have also gone to great lengths to keep their coming attendance a secret from you. It is also my understanding, which was also explained repeatedly by Mrs. B. in a most frustrated tone, that only three-year-olds would be both surprised and impressed that their stuffed animals had both kept the party a secret and bothered to make the arduous trek from her room to the actual party locale two rooms away. A nine-year-old is not nearly as impressed by such tight-lipped effort on the part of inanimate objects she likely no longer associates with on a regular basis; such really only reinforces the reminder that no living persons could be rounded up to attend her very real birthday party. "Surprise honey! You have no friends!"

Personally, I've only had one surprise birthday party in my life and my friends threw it for me as I was turning 16 (not precicely as I was turning 16, but around that time). I probably should have suspected something was up when I heard my parents arguing about something, culminating in my mother yelling, "JUST GET HER OUT OF THE HOUSE ALREADY." And so my dad took me to the mall. Now, as I said, I should have suspected something was up if only that were the first time someone was desperate to get me out of the general area of where he or she was. That the person was my mother was also not a surprise as in my teen years neither of us was much fond of the other's company in large doses. So her assertion that I be removed from her presence immediately didn't shock me in the least. Fortunately, when I returned I was greeted by many friends with many gifts and one birthday cake (made by the mother who wanted me out of the house). It was lovely. Now, you see how a surprise birthday party is supposed to happen, L. Bowman? We'll have to throw one for you one day. I'll be sure and invite the lawn furniture.

Got a Little Irish In You?

While I promised that I would make fun of my friend "Lisa B." in my next post, I decided that can wait at least until tomorrow. This is bugging me now and must be spoken of immediately before I get over it.

So I like Celtic Woman. I especially like Chloe Agnew, even if she does dress like your crazy, 68-year-old Aunt Toosey. She's, what, 8 or something? She's young. And very talented indeed. And I'm assuming Irish. Anyway. Good singer. The whole Celtic Woman crew is good and I enjoy their performances on TV and CDs in my CD players.

So was it any wonder that I would curiously marvel at the male version of Celtic Woman: Celtic Tiger, or Celtic Canine, or whatever the crap they're called. Celtic Thunder, that's it. Personally, I'm of the strong conviction that if you're going to rip off a group like Celtic Woman you might as well rip off the name correctly, too. I wish to assist them in this endeavor, so from now on I will only refer to them as Celtic Man. Being a somewhat regular viewer of PBS (what with me being in their target demographic of 87-to-89-year-olds) I was surprised when I first learned of the existence of Celtic Man and decided I must have a looksee. Their first number left me quite amused, until I realized that it wasn't supposed to. Then it left me exceedingly amused.

Five guys make up this group. First, there is Chloe Agnew, Jr., who I'm assuming is five or something. More shocking than his youthful appearance is his man-like singing voice. It's almost terrifying coming out of such a small boy. I told Husband that he had to come witness this aberration for himself, to which he exclaimed, "Holy crap!!" I'll let you "Holy crap" for yourselves:


Next on our list of oddballs is Depressing Old Guy, seen here:


Depressing Old Guy gets all of the weepy, depressing songs about kids and parents dying. He frequently conveys his depression over his lyrics by getting down on one knee and staring at the floor of the stage. He then rises, squints at the stage lights, moves to the other side of the stage, gets down on the other knee, and stares down. This goes on for some time.

Then there is Opera Guy, who is clearly a classically trained singer. That's fine, except when you're trying to take said singer seriously as he sings "Nights in White Satin." It's like listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing "Under Pressure."

Then there is some other Blond Guy who's actually quite good, so he has no place here.

And finally, my favorite guy in the group: Creepy, Leering, Future Public Sex Offender Guy. Not only is his musical delivery unsettling at best, but the songs he's chosen or been assigned are the worst songs in the entire group. My favorite of his horrific crafts is "Ride On," a mindnumbingly repetetive song that only has five words. Even with my idiocy still in tact I had the song memorized by the end and was gleefully singing it along with Creepy, Leering, Future Public Sex Offender Guy. I'll allow you the same joy here, mostly because I'm such a giver:



If you need to get that taste out of your mouth, here's Blond Guy singing a traditional Irish tune, "The Mountains of Mourne." Note how he can be Irish and not laughable at the same time. Creepy Guy, take heed.


Post Script: Celtic Man doesn't take kindly to Youtube posting their lousy crap so occasionally the videos posted here stop working. So as to prevent you from missing out on the intended fun, search Youtube for "Celtic Thunder Puppy Love," "Celtic Thunder The Old Man," "Celtic Thunder Ride On," and "Celtic Thunder Mountains of Mourne" in that order to see what I'm talking about above. Because you really, really don't want to miss any of that, particularly "Ride On."

Strangely enough, "Ride On" and the Creepy Guy who sings it has quite a fan following. I can only surmise that the following is largely made up of women who would otherwise fall in love with death row inmates awaiting execution but who have been temporarily distracted by this man's disturbing musical output. Speaking of which, I was reminded on a recent viewing of "Ride On" of one of my favorite parts where Creepy Guy is staring down the guitarist during a guitar solo as if he's wondering how best to decorate with his empty skull after he decapitates him. It's great.

Betrayal

It has come to my attention that my current interest in the Twilight Saga has not gone unnoticed by those who disapprove with this choice in reading material. I went to a wedding reception this evening where I briefly spoke with my friend, Ethel, upon entering the building. She warned me that her husband, Fred, had become aware of my recent readings and was most upset. She explained that he had come to believe I was one of the few non-crazy women in the world, what with my MST3K obsession and general interest in other "boy things" as Stephanie would put it (my friend, Bonny, pointed out that if he knew me was well as he claimed to, he never would have been able to reach the conclusion that I was less than insane to begin with; I concurred). The thought of me reducing myself to what both he and his wife call "pre-teen porn" was abhorrant to his sensitivies. Such amused me to no end.

To confirm Ethel's original assessment (lest I be deprived of humor if the answer changed), I checked in with her again before leaving the building. She further clarified that more than anything, Fred was "disappointed" in me. And as we all well know from our indoctrination via The Andy Griffith Show and Leave It to Beaver, having someone be disappointed in you is worse than being electrocuted while your murder victim's families witness your death.

As per the "pre-teen porn" angle, there were a couple of scenes I was surprised to see laid out in a book for 12-year-olds, too.

"My eyes narrowed as I clenched my eyebrows together into a single jagged line. "Hm. That was...saucy," I fretted to myself, convinced that the end of all that was good in my world had finally come to an end when the racy sentence concluded. My chest heaving, I wept openly for the rising generation of pre-teens who were willingly consorting with this brand of degrading literature. My only comfort in this time of uncertainty and misery was to turn to Edward, who was nearly--but not quite--as comfortable as a bag of brick bats in cement. I eagerly snuggled into his blindingly white arms and chest as his breath lulled me to sleep with its comforting and familiar aroma. His absolute-zero body temperature gave me hypothermia, but it was a sexy hypothermia so that was OK. He gently hummed the lullaby he'd written for me--composed no doubt during one of the hundreds of evenings he had illegally broken into my home to watch me sleep in a Ted Bundy-ish sort of "I love you so I stalk you" way. I suddenly felt his entire body tense and I knew that he was fighting his natural urge to kill me. Most people in my life had to fight the same urge on a daily basis, but with him it was different. It was different because he was hot.

"Sure, I had friends who hated themselves enough to hang out with me (I'm a bit of a Debbie Downer at times!), and even one kid who convinced himself that we were meant to be together, just because we "loved each other" and our relationship would be "normal" and "healthy" and "non-lethal." Whatever, screw him. "OH MY GOSH I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST SAID THAT GET ME THE PHONE EDWARD I HAVE TO CALL JAKE AND TELL HIM I'M SORRY AND I LOVE HIM AND WON'T HE PLEASE LET ME STRING HIM ON JUST A LITTLE BIT LONGER?" Edward, who loves being used and immasculated, dialed for me, apologized for me, confessed his love to Jacob for me, willingly continued the charade with Jacob for me, and hung up with a kiss and a fond farewell. Isn't Edward the best?

"Edward is absolutely everything I want, need, and dream about when I'm not wanting, needing, and dreaming about Jacob. I can't believe I just thought that! I instantly apologized to Edward, who immediatley, and appropriately, blamed himself and begged me not to feel even an ounce less than absolute and utter joy every waking second of my life. My cornflakes didn't taste quite right this morning, throwing me into a deep depression for the rest of the afternoon. Edward took full responsibility for my less-than-satisfactory cereal experience and attempted suicide. I honestly appreciated the gesture, even if it didn't rectify the cornflake-failure situation. Since then we've been as excruciatingly happy as any living being and corpse can possibly be together, and all because he was willing to take his own life the second the corners of my mouth even hinted at being less than electrically thrilled. His rippling pectorals and I are soulmates, and I will never again allow them to leave my side for any reason at all, including bathroom breaks.

"I just hope he doesn't ask me to marry him, because honestly, is there anything worse in this world than being married to the person you love, worship, adore, and want to spend eternity with? Marriage. Ew. If only there was some way to just bind our love together, officially, perhaps with some kind of ceremony. Of course we'd need some sort of official person to perform our love-binding ceremony, and we should probably get dressed up a bit for it. Maybe I should even throw on a dress or something. I'd love it if my family and friends could witness this love-binding ceremony, and oo! we could even have cake afterwards! I'm so glad I thought of this!" And...scene.

If it helps, Fred, I myself am surprised that I not only actually read Twilight to begin with, but that I found myself enjoying it despite its many shortcomings. Many, many shortcomings. It's fun, lighthearted fair full of mythical creatures like vampires, werewolves, and teenagers who are capable of rational thought. I can't always read books like biographies of General Douglas MacArthur (rivetting as that was for me). Twilight and all its silliness is the perfect balm when life walks the fine line between sanity and insanity, creating havoc and damage to your mind along the way. It reverts your memory to a simpler time when your only responsibilites were keeping a clean room and keeping your siblings out of your stuff. It's childhood all over again...but with fewer Indian burns and wet willies.

Ah, Twilight Squee

So I spent yesterday stalking the Twilight Obsessed Crowd over at the Twilight Lexicon to get more information about the upcoming film and cast. The first thing I noticed is that it was a mistake to go there, what with blatant spoilers being thrown about in post titles. Crap. Now that that was out of the way, the second thing I noticed were the abundant amusing avatars and banners. Rather than inundate Stephanie's inbox further, I decided to just post the ones I enjoyed the most here. I realize that if you haven't read the book(s) many of these will be lost upon you, but you'll notice that isn't stopping me.

And my favorite:

Are Your Kids This Cute? No.

Chunky Peanut Report: 15.5 lbs (on a good day)! Hooray for Fatty!

A Toast to the Happy Couple

All this talk of vampires has made me reminisce about my early teen years when a short-lived television series titled "Dracula: the Series" aired. Like every other female who watched it I fell in love with it. Actually, that's not entirely true. We easily forgave the predicatable silliness of the show with its largely poorly written plots and over-the-top characters all for the sake of getting to gawk at the show's main character, Alexander Lucard (Dracula spelled backwards, ha HA!). He is dutifully played by the jaw-droppingly gorgeous Canadian actor, Geordie Johnson. This very blond Dracula is still out and about and living large as the now-CEO of his own corporation based in Luxembourg. He is a sophisticated, shrewd business tycoon by day, vicious hunter by night. He is constantly thwarted and hounded by his personal thorn in his side, Gustav Helsing, descendent of the famous Professor Van Helsing, vampire hunter extraordinaire. Gustav is "aided" by his two young grand-nephews, Christopher and Maximillian, and his recently acquired ward, Sophie. Gustav's son, Klaus, had been transformed into a vampire by Lucard many years prior. Of course, Gustav has never forgiven Lucard for taking away his only child and is constantly seeking a cure for vampirism to bring Klaus back home. Klaus, after being bitten, became terrifyingly insane and is only occasionally loyal to Lucard and always dangerous to everyone else.

Naturally, Dracula has acquired several enemies throughout his years beyond just the Helsing clan and sometimes Klaus. In the series, Nosferatu is a German vampire who has had a longstanding feud with Dracula. Nosferatu's vampire girlfriend is one Dr. Cross. Both vampires have successfully eluded destruction by Dracula but have yet to defeat him themselves despite several attempts.


Geordie Johnson was born to play this part if for no other reason than his talented "Transylvanian" accent. In the original Dracula the Count's accent was supposedly very peculiar because he learned to speak English from reading rather than hearing the language. As luck would have it, Geordie Johnson is completely incapable of producing a genuine accent from any given locale or nationality on earth. All of his accents have a distinct and odd European quality to them, but the specificity stops there. This fact has not gone unnoticed by him and it has provided us with no small measure of amusement over the years.

And why do I bother telling you this? So when I mock the hundreds of trainwreck fanfictions that have since sprung up all over the internet dedicated to Lucard and this show, you'll know what I'm referring to. The pattern never varies: a gorgeous, intelligent, single young woman flies to Luxembourg for various contrived purposes and eventually somehow runs into the ever-perfect Lucard. He is instantly charmed by her and vice versa, but she resists him out of principle. Eventually she gives in after she realizes she's fallen in love. She's human of course, and yet he comes to love her so completely himself that he cannot be brought to harm her in any way. In at least two fanfictions I've read (both by the same hateful woman who should be banned from posting her thoughts where others can read them), Lucard actually marries the girl, complete wedding and all, living happily ever after.

Several years ago my Canadian friend (i.e., she talks funny), Alyssa, and I spent an entire summer making fun of these projects. One evening she dared me to write my own Lucard fanfiction, claiming I couldn't make it all the way through it. I rejected her assertion and set to work, attempting to write the greatest fanfiction of all time. I started out with the best of intentions, but those fell by the wayside after approximately two sentences. Despite that I still coughed up the story and she enjoyed it immensely.

Having enjoyed writing it and wanting to keep the good times rolling for posterity, I wanted to duplicate my fanfic here on my blog (with a couple of updates and edits of the original). Having recently completed Twilight, it seems all the more appropos now. You're more than welcome to read it if you have the time. Behold, the new and improved "Dracula: The Wedding Story."

As a single, long-legged, long-haired brunette beauty, who would have imagined I would one day become the object of love of the wealthiest and hottest man in the world? It all began when I took a plane to Luxembourg for no reason at all. I stepped off the plane, caught a taxi into the middle of town, and began aimlessly to wander the quaint streets of what would one day become my home (or so I was to find out later).

I had walked in a daze for only a short while before I literally bumped into my destiny. This "destiny" happened to come in the form of a tall, blond man, impeccably dressed in an Armani suit and Gucci shoes. He had a beautiful smile full of sparkling white teeth and eyes as blue-green as the heavens during hurricane season, with that distinctive touch of gray pollution in the air. While apologizing profusely to the man for accidentally bumping him and knocking him into a puddle of goo, I noticed something in his eyes...could it be?...yes. Yes, it was desire for the one and only me.

He eyed me closely, slowly perusing my gorgeous body, then my gorgeous face, my gorgeous hair, and listening to my better-than-gorgeous voice. I couldn't imagine what he saw in little ol' me, but there he was, desiring away.

He began, "I'm Alexander Lucard. And who is this treasure before me?"

"Anna Fantanasana. Pleasure to meet a hottie such as yourself."

He laughed a perfect laugh before responding, "I'm equally pleasured, Ms. Fantanasana." He had such a delicious, odd accent I simply had to comment.

"Your accent is so unique...so utterly unplaceable. Where are you from?" His demeanor changed suddenly to irrationally furious.

"My accent is perfectly placeable! How can you not tell where I'm from based on my accent?? I worked for MONTHS on this accent! YEARS even!! Can't you tell I'm originally from Transylvania and learned English from reading books?!"

Startled by his clearly insane response, I answered, "I do apologize Mr. Lucard. It's absolutely obvious to me now. You have a perfect accent, I promise. I've never been very good at these sorts of things, you know."

Placated by my lie, the blond continued on. "You are a vision of beauty Ms. Fantanasana, and I simply must have you," quickly adding, "over to dinner, I mean. Yes, dinner." Intrigued by his perfect posterior, and hoping to see quite a bit more of it, I agreed.

"Now, before I come tonight, I feel compelled to ask your intentions toward me. While I'm no pillar of virtue myself, I can't have everyone thinking I'm totally easy and a skank-ho, even if I am."

"My lovely dear, I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. Because of this, I feel I must tell you the truth. I am a vampire. Dracula, in fact. Yes, yes it's true. The one and only Dracula. Dracula himself, Dracula The Man. Dracula, the one who is worshipped by all women everywhere and most men, including myself. And although I should normally want to suck you dry, I have an inexplicable love for you. I've loved you ever since I met you two minutes ago. Yes, Anna, for that long. You never knew, but I've loved you from the start. Ms. Anna Fantanasana, you are my future, my destiny."

"Ha! Destiny? That's what I said! How about that!"

"Please shut up. I'm not finished."

"Sorry."

"Anna, I love you. You are everything I've ever wanted or needed in my life or unlife or undeath, or whatever the hell you call it. Anna...will you please do me the distinct honor," and getting down on one knee, "of being my wife (until I tire of you, kill you, and feed your corpse to the hounds)?"

"What was that last part?"

"Um, nothing."

"Well Alexander, while I also love you more than life itself, I don't feel right now is the best time for this. I'm currently dating two guys already, and trying to score with the bagboy at Albertson's on top of that. I simply can't be tied down to a husband right now. However, if you'd like to just go a round or two right now, I..."

Lucard interrupted, "NO! If I have you, I must have all of you all at once all the time every fricking minute. I'm just that possessive. Don't make me beg Anna, it isn't becoming of a man of my stature."

"Beg for it Blood Boy."

Transitioning from a kneel to down on both knees, and then on all fours, the vampire sobbed, "Please Anna! I love you more than anything! Marry me or I'll implode, I swear!"

"Damn, you're kinda creepy, even for such a hottie."

I turned and walked away, only to notice I was dragging an extra 170 pounds. A policeman stopped me, eyeing the spectacle before him, and calmly asked, "Do you need help ma'am?"

"No, I'm fine officer."

"But you've got a man attached to your ankles...and he's biting one of them."

"No, no, I've got the situation well under control. But I thank you for your concern."

With great effort, I struggled to make my way to my hotel several miles away, Lucard in tow via my ankles the whole way. I could hear him screaming behind me, "Please Anna! This is ridiculous! Surely you can see you love me and I love you and we should be married! And you're tearing up my suit and I look like hell! PLEASE!"

I stopped at the entrance to the hotel to turn and finally respond. But as I looked down on his dirty and bloody face, his eyes tearing up from the gritty gravel that had gotten in them, his hair full of dust from the streets, I saw before me the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

"Oh Alexander! I've been such a fool! Of course I'll marry you!"

He attempted to get up, but crumpled into a fetal position, groaning with pain. I waited for him to get his act together, and finally after ten minutes he struggled to stand before me. I giddily threw my arms around his neck, sending seething pain rippling through his entire frame. He cried out in agony, especially after I insisted he carry me home to his castle. We made it two steps before he collapsed and let out a disturbing, unidentifiable sound when my body landed on top of his, crushing two ribs. Thoroughly annoyed, but still madly in love, I called for a taxi, dragged his worthless ass into the car, and we sped off towards "our" home. He finally regained consciousness after the cabdriver helped me dump him on his front steps.
He managed to squeak out, "Darling, please stop kicking me there. I'm awake now."

Pleased my "helping" had done the trick, I picked up my cellphone and proceeded with wedding plans at once. In the mean time, Lucard's sad excuses for zombies had collected his tattered body and hauled it indoors, depositing on the kitchen table where it would be well out of the way. When he could walk again he made his way to the Great Hall, where servants, caterers, decorators, and flowererers were already well on task, all the while I was directing and demanding away.

"Alexander!" I squealed with glee as I rushed to his arms. Stopping me before I could full-body tackle him, he instead gently kissed my forehead.

"It looks lovely my dear. When is this blessed event to occur?"

"Two hours. You're going to stop limping by then, aren't you? It isn't sexy at all."

"I'll certainly do my best, my love. Who's coming?"

"Well, everyone I've ever met for my side, including my mother who hates Europeans. I had a bit more difficult time with yours though. However, someone named Gustav something-or-other helped me a great deal. He was just hanging around outside your place, so I assumed he must be a good friend of yours. He's your Best Man, by the way."

"Uh..."

"He was so pleased to be asked, too Alexander! He got very excited and ran home and returned with his whole adorable family, along with bags and bags of what he said would make the "perfect wedding gift for you." Wasn't that sweet?"

"Uh, Anna...."

"He also told me to make sure to invite your good friends, Nosferatu, Dr. Cross, and your coworker, Klaus."

"DAMMIT!"

"Don't swear in front of the priest, Alexander. Oh, and speaking of which, the priest here had a few more priests come by and exorcise the place. They said it was just riddled with evil things."

"AHHHHHHHHGGGGGG!!!!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake Alexander, you needn't be so melodramatic about everything. And take that silly stake away from your chest, you're not getting out of this wedding that easily. Besides, you could put someone's eye out with that. Now give it to me. Alexander, give me the stake. Give it to me. Now. GIVE IT TO ME!"

*POOF*

"Well darn.... OK then everyone, party's over. Get out."

And so ended my destiny with my love, my dream, my hottest-ever creature of the night. I shall never forget him for as long as another man never walks in front of m--oh hey there....

"Hey Klaus! Over here!!"

THE END.

Beer Makes Everything Funnier

"Sausages!"

Would You Like Some Whine With That Cheese?

I finally bit the bullet and started reading Twilight. Why? Because my firend, Stephanie, (Dora Cake Stephanie, not Twilight Stephenie, just to clarify) had a gun to my head. She's a jerk like that.

Anyway, here are my impressions 400-odd pages in. It's a good, quick read and entertains as promised. Oh, and for all those who have yet to read it and don't appreciate spoilers, I would stop reading at this point. For those who gave up because it was cheesy, not scary enough, just not their style, or who found themselves not reading it and not reading anything else because they wanted to finish it first, by all means continue to read here because I'll make all of your wildest wishes of spoilers come true.

Back to my impressions. Going into this I knew it would be cheesy on some level. I've heard nothing but about this book. That's cool, I'm fine with that as long as I'm forewarned. I was not disappointed in either regard. I really didn't mind terribly as it didn't seem too over the top and what was there was to be expected in a book with teenaged girls as its primary audience. I'd heard that one of readers' biggest complaints is Meyer's over indulgence in adjectives, particularly with regard to Edward's appearance. I found that to be right on the mark. First, how many times can you say a guy is perfectly gorgeous? Second, how many times is it really necessary to point that out in one book? In every other sentence seems a tad superfluous in my mind. He's a vampire, he hasn't suddenly turned fugly between the last time he was gorgeous to ten minutes after that. If he's suddenly ugly, by all means let us know, but until then we'll just assume that nothing has changed in that category. And third (you're welcome, you nerds), "gorgeous" and "perfect" and "inexplicably godlike" are all very subjective. Is it just possible that Edward is only perfectly beautiful and Adonis-like to everyone who's seen him SO FAR? Yeah, that's what I thought.

I appreciated that the romance was fairly slow in building. Romances that take off like a rocket are unreasonable and unrealistic. Plus, it builds the sexual tension needed in a good romance plot. By the time it really got over the top, I merely smiled and chuckled rather than puked on the book. So again, good on her for delivering the goods as well as could be expected.

What I did not appreciate, which is the point in the story I am in the middle of reading, is the sudden and painful onset of stupidity of our heroine, Bella. James, the tracker, has just kidnapped her mother, threatened to devour her if Bella doesn't ditch the protection of the Cullen Clan and come to him alone so he can kill her too, and she agrees to do it. She agreed to leave the safety and assistance of five good vampires who would risk undeath (ha! I kill me) and limb to protect her and her relatives from any harm to be a martyr. This is like a plot straight out of a bad 80s horror film. Does she not think James will still murder her mother even after she willingly gives herself over to him? Why didn't she immediately turn around and tell the two jerks who were there protecting her, and the three more who were on their way at top speed to be there with her, that James had her mom and possibly wasn't there anything they, with their combined centuries of experience, knowledge, and superhuman intelligence and abilities, could do to rectify the situation? That is what a normal, thinking person would do. But not this brain surgeon! No sir. Gotta get herself AND her mother killed, but not before writing a tearful letter of regret to her one and only love, begging him to forgive her for suddenly becoming retarded. Yeah. That's gonna happen. I hope they all take turns slapping the crap out of her (which might crush her skull, if Edward is to be believed, and she would totally have that coming).

By the by, I don't trust Rosalie for obvious reasons, which are not aided by the fact that this is a terribly predictable book. She either dimes Bella out or they wind up totally BFF! by the end of the novel. But more than her, I don't trust Alice. Wasn't it Alice who said it would be perfectly safe for Bella to join the game and practically insisted she come? Didn't she also insist on babysitting Bella once The Drama started? And isn't she just a little too anxious to be buddies with Bella? And is she not also the mystery woman with no memory of her past or who made her? Yeah, that's what I thought. If she doesn't turn in this book, mark my words she'll be the villian by book #15.

Final note. I cannot fathom dating something you simply cannot resist eating. I can only equate his predicament to my falling in love with a Duncan Donuts-brand Boston Kream donut. Even if my true love could actually carry on a meaningful conversation with me, which would be creepy at best, I don't think I could love him more outside my stomach than in. His chocolatey scent would overwhelm me and I would have to end his pitiful life. So Huge Props to Edward for keeping his true love in tact! That is, long enough for her to get herself et up by some other fool. We'll see how that turns out for her.

Flowers for Abigail

So it would seem I've become an idiot. "What else is new?" some of you are no doubt wondering. Those people are dead to me. For the rest of you, despite what you've read here, I haven't been terribly idiotic for many, many years. Sure, I've had my moments of sheer stupidity. Like that time I took my sister-in-law for a quick jaunt into D.C. by way of the Metro subway system. We bought our fares and I proceeded to lead her running around the entire train station looking for the turn stiles to get in before finally being directed right back to where we had purchased our tickets because the entrance had been directly behind us. Sister-in-law said, "I thought that's what it was." "Then why didn't you say something?!" "I thought you knew what you were doing." "WELL, CLEARLY NOT." Mind you, it had not been my first time to this particular station, either. But those moments were few and far between, relatively.

Lately, it's been nothing but. I constantly forget where I'm going and for what purpose, whether it be on the road, in church, or in my house. I'll walk into the bathroom to use the facilities and walk out without having done so because I forgot I had to. I leave food out because I forget I took it out. I misplace everything, which I had previously been fairly good about not doing as I'm one of those "If you put it in the same place every time you won't lose it" sort of people. I lock my kids in the car at the commissary on a hot day, because even as I watch the locked door shut, it doesn't register that it might be a problem until after the door's already closed. I never have anything intelligent to say to anyone anymore (some would argue that I never did--again, I hate those people) and my humor mojo has all but dissipated. I'm slow on the uptake and I can't sort my thoughts into comprehensible communication.

When I've shared my dismay with friends of becoming suddenly and incorrigibly stupid, they don't even argue with me. Their response to me is similar to an episode of "Family Guy" when Meg (the daughter) comes running into the house, bawling about not being able to get a date to the prom and stating she's going to kill herself because she's "fat and grotesque." Instead of disagreeing with her, Brian (the talking family dog) tries to calm her by saying, "Awwwwwwww. Awwwwwwwww, common. Awwwwwwww." That's pretty much what my friends do. They can all go to hell.

I subscribe to Ken Jennings's blog. No, not because I'm a huge fan of trivia or "Jeopardy!", but because he's painfully funny. He has a feature on his blog every Wednesday called Wordplay Wednesday (not related to The Funny, but interesting just the same). Lately I've just simply given up on those altogether. This past Wednesday (yesterday, right? I need a calendar. Oh, wait, I have three staring me in the face) he had a couple of wordplay questions he came up with. I immediately recognized them as simple (him calling them "easy" doesn't count--everything's "easy" to this genius-jerk) and thought I'd give them a quick stab to raise my self-esteem. It took the better part of an hour just to figure them out. And then I cheated and realized the second one was incorrect. Boo hoo. Again, I say BOO HOO. Pity me, immediately!

I feel like I did back when I was taking a particular migraine medication. Sure, it helped for a while but in the interim it inhibited my thinking, particularly the area of the brain that controls language and speech. I could never think completely clearly and it took considerable time to come upon the words I knew I knew but couldn't somehow get a hold of. However, back then it didn't bother me that much if for no other reason than I knew what was causing the problem and that it was only temporary. Now though, who knows? I could be an imbecile for eternity and I won't even have an outside source as an excuse! Although, really I'm just hoping it's the lack of sleep. When I was nursing Peanut I was getting at least 8-9 hours of sleep a night. Since he's been forced to the bottle, I'm getting 4-6 every night. Given that I'm constantly falling asleep during the day, pretty much anytime I sit and/or stop moving, plus the constant dull headache over the past month and a half, I'll guess that 4-6 is not enough. Gosh, I'm hoping that's it. 'Cause after that, I'm completely out of ideas. No, seriously.