Thursday, March 31, 2011

Water For Elephants Premiere: Are You Going?

I know it's still a few weeks away but I'm so excited to be going to the Water for Elephants premiere, I'm having a hard time sitting still these days. It's funny... up until the whole Twilight/Robert Pattinson thing hit me like a freight train, I never would have thought twice about trying to attend a movie premiere. And now... I want to go just for the chance to see him in the flesh (preferably a lot of flesh, but I think I'd have to follow him to the rest room for that chance! That would surely land me in the clink.)

Ahhhhhhhh, what's my name again? Amazing WFE wallpapers found here.

Mr. Latchkey thinks I'm actually going to NYC to see the movie - like I did last June for Eclipse with JJ, STY and Myg. He says, "that's a long way to go to see a movie." I just nod my head and say very little. If he knew Double_Dippin and I were going to spend $200 a night to stay in the City to stand in an enormous crowd of women just as foolish as us for the possibility of seeing Robert Pattinson strut his stuff down the Red Carpet for all of about 37 seconds, he'd probably flip his lid.

Am I the only one who wants to see him dressed like this for the Premiere? If that happens, 37 seconds is all I need!

What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? And there's a LOT he doesn't know. [Dear Husband - if you happen to stumble upon this post, please know that the "LOT" of stuff you don't know does not include a torrid affair. Although if RPattz offered up his services for said affair, I'd have to take him up on it. Sorry.]

I don't have a lot of information about the WFE Premiere. But here's what I do know. The premiere will be happening in NYC on Sunday, April 17th at the Ziegfeld Theater located on West 54th Street. The Red Carpet event starts at 5pm and will last one hour, with the screening to start at 6pm. And beyond this, I know nothing except that the chances of getting in to actually see the movie are pretty slim. So I propose we form a human chain around the entire theater to make sure that Rob doesn't escape out some secret back door. Our Twitarded web will capture him!

He'll never make it out alive... or at least untouched... and unfondled!

I need to know more... I need to make sure I get my spot to view this Red Carpet event without having to stake my claim at 4am and stand there all day. I have shit to do people! I have sights to see... a certain wax figure to molest... people to see... and food to eat! If anyone knows what the hell the schedule of events is for fans, please let me know in the comments! I'm a movie premiere virgin...I need hand holding.

Twitarded will be represented - Snarkier Than You and I will absolutely be there on Sunday night. Jenny Jerkface is a big question mark although there are a few of us trying to guilt her into it. I think it might be working. It won't be the same if she's not there. And I'm planning to attend the "Cocktails with Team Rosie" event at the Hilton on Saturday night.

I wonder if Tai will be attending the Red Carpet? Maybe she can carry Rob and Reese in on her back!

So are you making the pilgrimage to NYC for the premiere? What are your plans? Where are you staying? Let us know! And remember to visit the Twitarded/WFE store on Zazzle for your very own "Kneel, open your mouth, smile and pray" gear. Don't be caught on the Red Carpet without it!

This is what I'll be wearing! Click HERE to order your stuff!

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

A Rant and a Purpose

I'm going to warn you ahead of time — this is going to be a weird post. I'm all over the map tonight. Pour yourself a drink, make a snack and listen to me ramble. Work is sucking out the minuscule vestiges of my soul. Just to put in in perspective for you, a normal person in my line of work can only handle about 50 files per month before they try to slash their wrist with a pack of Post It Notes. I've had over 200 files this month alone. I am so burned out I can hardly see straight. I took the wrong exit driving home the other night because I couldn't remember where I lived. I was supposed to have a vacation this month, but I had to cancel it. Then I got sick — like delirium level sick — and wore myself out even further. I am tired. I am grumpy. I have access to the internet. This is a bad combination.

This is so me right now.

To top off my ridiculous month, I was involved in an "altercation" at work yesterday. Every office has at least one crazy person. I usually try to avoid these crazies, but they flock to me like moths to a flame. I still really don't have any clue what happened, but crazy people tend to be... crazy like that. All I know is that I was sitting at my desk one minute, begging the day to just end already, and the next I had a deranged person in my face, yelling about I-still-don't-know-what and spittle hitting my cheek. I managed to survive without getting punched in the face. Barely. I think her bloodstream was just so clogged with malted hops residue, it has slowed her motor skills. I expect a facepunch sometime next Monday.

Bella, you only had to sit between a pukey dude and a werewolf. Try walking in my shoes for a day. Whiner.

By the end of Tuesday, after sitting through two formal interviews about "the incident," I was ready to tie this week to a tree and put a bullet in its head. I pretended today was Friday just so I could make it through hump day. I was determined to leave on time and not stay until the moon was high in the sky. Unfortunately, we had a super angry client visit the office, cause a scene the likes of which I've never seen (that is saying something right there) and he had to be physically thrown out of the lobby. Then we had to go on lockdown until it was determined he'd left the premises. So much for leaving on time. I fucking hate this week.

I like to play 'just the tip' with my problems.

Throughout all of this, I've had this sinking feeling I was forgetting something important. I haven't left my child anywhere (I don't think), so I really had no clue what I was overlooking. Thank goodness I actually wrote it down for once. My brain is controlled by a monkey jacked up on Marlboros and energy pills.

This is an actual CT scan of my head.

I was supposed to remind you about the Fandom Gives Back Autism Speaks fundraiser. I am a moron. And an asshole. I was so wrapped up in my asinine problems, I forgot about people who have real ones. I might be whinier than Bella. At least I've never owned an ankle-length khaki skirt. But I digress...

Please consider donating to this great cause. A contribution of as little as $5 will get you a compilation of stories by a ton of fantastic authors. I wrote something that sucks — as per usual — and it will only be published in the compilation.$5 is a really inexpensive way to make yourself feel like a better person.

I had a point when I started this post. I lost it somewhere in my rambling. I think I was trying (and failing in an epic fashion) to convey that life can be a real asshole, but it can always be worse. Leave your rants in the comments and then click this link to leave a donation for Autism Speaks.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Hidden Gems and Turds of Twilight

I like to think of the Twilight saga as a comfort food of sorts, or maybe a blanket/article of clothing/porn magazine that I turn to when I'm feeling blue/stressed/homicidal or just plain off. It's something you read not just because you like it, but because it feels safe and homey. Shitty day at work? Read Twilight. Getting over a break-up? Pop Eclipse into the DVD (actually, maybe New Moon instead?), curl up in your Edward blanket and be prepared to feel better. If the Twilight saga is keeping you from kicking puppies and small children after a bad day of work, then more power to you. Same here.

Wine: The Other Comfort Food...

Unfortunately, every once in awhile I come across something in the books and movies that gives me pause, causes me to wrinkle my nose is distaste and possibly lob the entire book across the room (here's looking at you, Breaking Dawn). Maybe its something blatantly obvious (this goes for the movies mostly, but also applies to that fucking demon spawn known as Renesmee) but usually it's something totally random and really inconsequential that drives me fucking nuts. The exception to this is imprinting, which is a big part of the saga and makes me crazy and kind of creeped out.

The Cullens welcome Renesmee to the world. Jacob declares his undying affections shortly after he stops puking.


The irony of this post was that I had every intention of bitching about a scene from the Eclipse movie, but something else irked me even more. When I got home, I had to go drop the kids off at the pool and naturally picked up my trusty Twilight novel to pass the time while I passed the gas.

I have read this book more times than I care to count. Yet never before had I noticed something in a particularly important passage--when Bella is confronted by the very mean man who plans on doing dastardly, horrible things to her. Maybe it was the prospect of the sparkly, brooding hotness of a vampire coming to the rescue that overshadowed this particular paragraph. Or maybe I've blocked it from my memory. Whatever the reason, there I was--skirt hiked up, tights bunched down around my knees--thumping a book angrily against the wall and wondering just what the fuck Stephenie Meyer was thinking when she wrote this:
"Hey there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He fjkldjoe odiufnl dl;ijnre...
Sorry, can't remember what the last sentence was because my vision was blurred by a sea of red rage.

Cut-off jeans.


Stephenie Meyer dressed a possibly evil, would-be rapist in a pair of fucking jorts and sandals.

I know, I know. This shouldn't be a big deal. I get that, really I do. But when I'm mentally conjuring up images of the characters, I expect someone as threatening as this guy was supposed to be NOT dressed like some fucking hippie in Birkenstocks and mother fucking jorts.

Seriously, I always had this sort of mental picture:

I eat bone-marrow for breakfast and floss with the guts of my latest victims...

Maybe wearing a pair of these:

But after tonight, that image has forever changed. Instead of a dangerous man, who Bella is prepared to stand up against, I see this dude:

Hey, let's hug it out and go dance to Phish, man. Grooooovay!!!

Wearing these:

As far as footwear goes, sandals are the least threatening footwear she could have chosen to attire the "bad guy." Okay, that's not true. The only thing worse would have been a pair of bunny slippers or something.

Suddenly, I feel like the whole scene has lost its edge. Edward rolling up in his Volvo, all growling and menacing and yummy seems like overkill.

Bella should have just stepped on the dude's foot. I've stubbed my toes before and it felt like a thousand deaths. I'm pretty sure that our sandal-footed thug would have at least winced long enough for Bella to suck in that big ol' breath and scream. His goddamned toes are exposed, for fuck sake.

Look, I know I'm being a nit-picky jerk, but I just can't help it. I was just as appalled when SM wrote Edward into a sleeveless fucking button down for the hike, or dressed Bella up in a long khaki skirt for her first meeting with his parents.

And let's not forget about this (even if it wasn't Stephenie Meyer's fault):

I mean, seriously, let's face it - if some dude showed up in a speedo and pool shoes looking to mug/rape/fuck-you-up wouldn't you kind of laugh? The intimidation factor just isn't there, ya know? As shallow as it is, outfits matter when it comes to shit like this. What do you think?

Monday, March 28, 2011

If I Can't Have Alice, I'll Settle for Clinton Kelly.

I don't watch a ton of television. But I've always has a soft spot for make-over shows. In particular, "What Not to Wear" has been a long-time fave of mine. The hosts are snarky but never condescending, and for the most part, everyone ends up looking amazaballs and virtually unrecognizable from their former frumpy/slutty/goth/outdated selves when it's all said and done.

Judge me. Please, judge me!

Over the years, my love for this show has resulted in massive wardrobe purges of huge, over-sized and shapeless sweaters, clunky, square-heeled shoes, too-young-for-me logo tees (Twilight excluded, natch), anything in an odd-sized number (helloooo, shopping in the juniors department) and all garments with elastic waistbands. I forced myself to stop pretending that some of my favorite garments didn't have a tiny stain here or a missing stitch there... I've donated more than my share of "I Give Up" dresses (you know the one - it is shapeless and long and has a weird floral print and you convinced yourself it looks ok on you) and a slew of long, rectangular skirts made from bad fabric.

I spent a season or two a few years back really putting some effort into what I was wearing. I regularly wore heels with trousers, snappy blazers with dark-rinse jeans, and actually tried to accessorize with a nice piece of jewelery and an occasional scarf (note: I am terrible with accessories and usually end up taking off whatever it is I've put on out of sheer frustration and uncertainty). I pushed the boundary of my fashion comfort zone by buying things that were not black or gray. I used to pick out my work outfit the night before; things were ironed and shoes were polished. I shopped as if Clinton Kelly was on one shoulder and Stacey London was on the other. My efforts didn't go unnoticed; I got a lot of compliments in the process. And it was good.

But then I got lazy. I remembered that I hate ironing. And drycleaning is expensive. Heels can be uncomfortable and changing purses frequently is a pain in the ass (and almost guaranteed to make me leave something I need at home). The final nail in my semi-stylish coffin came when my company changed their dress code to be "casual dress" all year long. Since then, I've pretty much been wearing the same jeans and sweaters repeatedly all winter. I'm in a bit of a rut, to put it mildly, albeit not as much of a rut as the guy in IT who wears the same pair of sweatpants to work every day (note to you, guy in IT: buy some jeans).

I googled "sloppy IT guy sweatpants" and look who popped up.
Um, I'm having a problem with my hard drive...please help???

Maybe it's the end-of-winter doldrums; maybe it's that feeling I get towards the end of every season where I feel like I hate every garment I own and am craving something new... But then I break out my clothes that have been in storage for a few months and wonder what happened to all the good stuff. In fact, I am a total failure when it comes to shopping. I buy random stuff on sale that doesn't go with anything else I own and then wonder why I can't put an actual outfit together.

My own lack of style has not stopped me from judging the style of others, though. I have told JJ many many times that one of these days, she will be forced to defend my boring jeans-and-black-top wearing ass from some unsuspecting person who has went off on me after I wasn't able to help myself from giving my alcohol-lubricated unsolicited opinion on their litany of fashion faux-pas... After all, I have an idea of how I SHOULD be dressing, even if I am not doing it. Thus far I have managed to keep my big yap properly shut, but it's only a matter of time until the right fashion disaster pushes me over the brink.

It won't be you I accost, but it should be.

While I have definitely slacked in the dressing well department lately, I shared a good chuckle over What Not to Wear host Clinton Kelly's uber-snarky tome "Oh No She Didn't," which Sister Snarky bestowed on me this past Christmas. We had a few self-deprecating laughs over our most tragic fashion transgressions, past and present - scrunchies, clunky shoes (referred to as "Monica Shoes" in the book with a nod to "Friends" - although "Elaine Shoes" would have been just as appropriate), VPL, platform flip-flops - sadly, the list does go on... It's actually a little depressing how many of Clinton's fashion "don'ts" I have committed. I am clearly still a work in progress.

Yes, I did. You might have, too...

Nevertheless, because I have made my way through this book and absorbed - I swear! - all 100 errors and sworn on a stack of Women's Wear Dailys not to commit them again (admittedly, I still own scrunchies but they are for the sole purpose of getting my hair out of my face to wash), I'd like to pass it along to one of you. I can't be the only person who is capable of benefiting from the sage, sassy advice from a gay man who is all too willing to inform me that my wardrobe needs the occasional tweak or perhaps another full-on self-imposed intervention. Plus he includes his very own haiku about Xanax (aka "the good pill," as opposed to bad kind on that sweater you keep meaning to get rid of but can't seem to part with...) -

You take the edge off
Fewer calories than wine
Generic's nice too.

So share a fashion "Don't" you've overcome - or need to! - or a tale of your own wardrobe maladies, malfunctions, or mishaps in the comments by midnight Pacific time on Tuesday 3/29 and I'll pick a random winner by Wednesday night. Winner will be notified in the comments and will need to email me their address within 48 hours (ish) so I can get this blatant reminder of my fashion failures awesome book off to a new home. Awesome wardrobe tips also accepted, but know that I am a 10th degree black-belt ninja when it comes to covering my gut. Almost always.

P.S. Dear Sister Snarky, when you read this - and I know you lurk around here! - please don't be insulted. I loved the book, pored over the whole thing and snortled along the way, and am now ready to pay it forward. For better of for worse (note: I am coming for your collection of mid-calf skirts one day). Clinton would be proud. OK, he'd probably prefer that everyone just go out and buy their own damn copy of his book, but you can't have everything.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

An Ode to Rick Springfield

Let me just preface this post by saying out of the four of us, I'm probably the least music-y. I love music, don't get me wrong... but I'm fairly certain my taste in music would make Jenny Jerkface wretch uncontrollably.

Since we love to talk about our unhealthy obsessions for things here at Twitarded, I thought I'd relive some of my early days of lusting after Rick Springfield. Although I'm not sure if lusting is the right word since I was in middle school and honestly, I probably didn't know what lust was. I did know what kissing was and I may or may not have practiced on a poster veeeery similar to this one.

A few weeks ago, someone *cough*MamaCougar*cough* was talking about an upcoming Rick Springfield concert in her area. Of course I immediately had to go online to see if he was coming to New England. Nope. Fuck. The closest he'll get to me is the New York/New Jersey area which is just a little too far for me to go for even Rick Springfield. JJ said I could come and sleep on her couch but she refused to attend the concert with me. Pffffft...

If I had "the list" when I was in the 7th grade... if I even knew what "the list" was, Rick Springfield definitely would have been on it. Not quite the top because that was reserved for guys like Rob Lowe and Matt Dillon, but he definitely would've been included. I loved him. I had every single one of his albums and I listened to them on my record player incessantly. I watched him in "Hard to Hold" over and over again.

Oddly enough, I never watched him on General Hospital. In fact, I never watched GH growing up. Which now that I think back, it seems almost un-American. I honestly have no idea why I didn't watch it just for the mere fact that I could rush home after school to see Dr. Noah Drake every day and drool my fool head off over him. Maybe my mother poisoned me against any soap that wasn't Days of Our Lives.

I saw him in concert once. When I was in the 8th grade. It was magical. I remember being just riveted to the stage, unable to speak or move. If I had known what a blowjob was at this point in my life, I might have waited by his bus and offered him one. And holy shit, I had this t-shirt. I wore it so much, the damn thing was fucking threadbare by the time it met the rag pile.

As with anything I'm obsessed with, my love for Rick Springfield has waned over the years. I was happy to see him make a (sort of) come back in 2008, but that was somewhat short-lived. And that same year he popped back up on GH for a bit. He still looks pretty good for 6o-ish.

But nothing made me happier than seeing him in Season 3 of Californication playing himself. If you don't watch this show, you need to start now. The first three seasons are available on DVD. It's one of the most well-written shows I've ever seen. What is it with the writers for these Showtime shows? So smart and witty and fucking hysterical. Pure fucking genius.

I'm not sure if his portrayal of himself in this show is accurate, but holy fuck, what a douche... and I love it! The other characters only call him RickSpringfield - like it's one word. Every single time they referred to him, it was both names. I've included a little clip below of the magic.

[WARNING: This is from season 3 so if you haven't seen it yet, or think you may want to watch the previous seasons, you may not want to watch. Although it's not too spoilery.]

I know we love to talk about our crushes around these parts. But I have to know... Did you want to be "Jessie's Girl"? Did you take his "Don't Talk to Strangers" advice? Did you want to just "Love Somebody"? How many times do you say to your significant other "I've Done Everything for You"? Well, I always wonder "What Kind of Fool Am I?" for loving Rick Springfield. Are you a fool too?

Friday, March 25, 2011

Water for Elephants. Pretty Pictures for Us.

The latest Entertainment Weekly came out today. Since I don't watch television and I see about 2.3 movies per year, I've never subscribed to the magazine. Despite the fact that I am the worst. Twilight. blogger. ever, I happened to be anticipating this issue. A certain someone is on the cover looking quite dapper. I figured I could just pick it up at my neighborhood Target. Wrong! They don't carry it. Tar-jay let me down. I can't even process that. I need your help.


This is me throwing the Twitard Bat Signal up. I need this magazine in my hot little hands immediately, if not sooner. Consider this a Twilight emergency. We are at Defcock 5 here. (See what I did there?)

I couldn't find a picture of a giant sparkly cock in the sky. This will just have to do.

If you don't understand why I am so desperate, please continue reading. The cover story is on Water for Elephants. There are some verah prettah pictures inside. For example...

OMG I NEED THIS FREAKING MAGAZINE!! (images jacked from Robsessed)

Robert Thomas Pattinson, stop looking at me like that before I lose my mind. And my panties.

I'm not sure which one is prettier. I've had a girl crush on Reese Witherspoon for years. She could poop in my cereal and I would still love her. Where can I get that dress? I bet if I could get a copy of the mothertrucking magazine I could find out.

I've only read snippets of the article. It's like a cruel tease.

''There's something about her. She's just this genuinely nice person. I don't know if she puts an effort into creating a nice aura, but her mood dissipates over the whole set. It was a completely different environment from when she wasn't there. All the kids and the animals were just drawn to her.'' —Pattinson talking about Witherspoon [No one will ever say this about me. Assholes.]

Holy crap! How did Jenny Jerkface get on the set? Oh wait, that's a different horse's ass. (You didn't seriously think I would pass on that joke, did you?)

Lions, tigers and leg hitches, oh my! This movie has everything! I want to see it nooooowwww!

Reese's costume is so phenomenal, I almost didn't notice The Precious standing next to her. Did I mention my girl crush? I would wear that costume everywhere.

Shut the front door, those heels are fabulous. I want to bust into Ringling Brothers and recreate this entire photo. (Bring your plaid suit, Rob.)
''That was the other thing about Water for Elephants. There was something about the posture of the '30s, something that I felt my body could fit into — it was quite languid, which I find easier. I think modern-day things generally, I don't understand. I can watch actors move and there's something, there's some kind of snappy thing to it and I don't... I'm not snappy. There is a lack of snappiness." —Robert Pattinson [I can think of something else your body could fit into. Sorry, I was channeling LatchkeyWife.]

I have no caption for this. Let's just sit and stare...

Do you see why I am in such dire need of this issue? Have any of you read it? Please share with the group. Then tell me where YOU BOUGHT THE DAMN THING!

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Taintlight: A Movie. Sort Of.

The other day I was lurking around Twitter when this particular tweet caught my eye:

A redneck shitting in the woods??? Needless to say, I was very intrigued so I inquired as to what, exactly, LindsayRae114 was watching.

Her response? Taintlight.

Judging from her ensuing tweets, this was a movie that was clearly not Oscar worthy but that was cool with me. I happen to enjoy bad movies--after all, I do write for a Twilight blog. I tend to go out of my way to watch movies that will either a) scare the ever loving fuck out of me b) gross me out or c) are just so campy they're actually pretty good in their awfulness.

I suspected Taintlight was going to fall into the C category. It was going to stupid and make me laugh and be thankful that no one was around while I was actually watching it. It couldn't be that bad, right?

FUCKING WRONG. There is no category that this movie falls under, except maybe jeezus-jumping-Edward-on-a-shit-stick-is-this-movie-BAD.

I punched myself in the taint watching this. Repeatedly.

This movie is a total fucking travesty. I haven't seen cinema (I'm using that word very loosely) this terrible since my sophomore year of high school when my friends and I made a half-assed attempt to recreate scenes from Suburbia, which was a B rate movie to begin with. I think it involved me in a pair of jorts, a plaid shirt (fuck off, it was the 90's) sitting on a hood of a car and throwing sneakers at people.

I would have been the one in the shorts, minus those fuck-awful sandals. Doc Martens, all the way...

Actually, Taintlight is even worse than that. I officially have never seen anything as ridiculous as this movie.

Even Stella is horrified by this movie.

I'm not going to bother with the plot because you all basically know the plot - it's Twilight dumbed-down (yes, it is possible). Just add in shoddy acting, an endless parade of the lamest potty and sex jokes I've ever had the displeasure of being subjected to, and a bunch of tattoos and you have Taintlight in a nutshell.

It's the story about Stella something-or-other (I was too busy groaning loudly to get the name and NO WAY am I watching this movie again). She basically moved to a town full of socially stunted jackasses that possess a similar mindset of... well, fucking idiots. It was obvious that to these people "acting" actually meant "behaving like the biggest asstwat you possibly can." I can't remember what the name of the town was because after the fifth "finger-banging" reference in under four minutes, parts of my brain spontaneously combusted into dust in an effort to forget what I was watching.

I got nothing for this. It's disturbing when you're all "awwww" and then you actually read the caption...

The poop jokes are poor at best. Seriously, they should have hired me and I would have been able to bring this sham from a Total Failure to just a Mostly Failure because I've heard funnier shit humor from a fucking corpse.

I will admit that some of the jokes were mildly entertaining but mostly I wanted to stab my eyes out with a rusty fucking spoon. The whole creeptastic incest thing that is going on between Stella and "Charlie" is actually plain old fucking disturbing and kind of made me cringe and roll my eyes at the same time. Getting a colonoscopy while awake would have been more enjoyable than sitting through this movie.

Even "Charlie" looks a little disturbed by his role as the "sleep-jacking" creep...

And when "Victoria" opened her mouth to speak my ear drums began to bleed and dogs two counties over suffered seizures from her high-pitched, keening, obnoxious voice. I imagine that's the way an alien sounds when it orgasms. I hope I never have to hear it again.

The only funny line I recall (again, I may have been slamming my head against the wall and missed a few) was after Stella complains about hating the wet, Edgar Mullen (c'mon people, I don't need to elaborate on the characters here, do I?) asks, "Do you beat up your vagina when you get turned on?"


The best line in this movie is at about ten minutes in when Stella says, "just kill me now".

Mainly because I couldn't agree more.

That being said, this cinematic clusterfuck did get me thinking: if something this fantastically shitty can actually somehow be produced and end up on Netflix streaming, then I still have a chance at being a movie star.

Seriously, this was the movie equivalent of me smearing fecal matter all over the wall and proclaiming myself a modern day Poocasso** or something. Or running up to random old men on the street and beating them mercilessly over their heads with their own canes/walkers and declaring it a new competitive sport.

Quick! Give me my beatin' stick. I've been practicing for awhile now... c'mere, old man!!!

In short, it sucked. Also, being the asshole I am, I still think you should all try to watch at least fifteen minutes of this flick. You can get it on Netflix streaming. Feel free to curse me out in the comments.

And if you make it all the way to the end, I commend you. I also question your mental stability.

**I can't take credit for that but I'd really like to.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Where In the World is Edward Cullen's Hair???

I have some very serious things to discuss tonight. Well, one thing. It's regarding something that we all love (and lust after), and dammit, it's gone missing.

Who stole the Edward-y-ness from Robert Pattinson's hair???

In the beginning, there was Twilight Edward Hair. And it was good.

I'm just going to come right out and say that I miss the bouffant.

Yes. Just YES. Yes please.

I miss the gloriously tousled sex hair that he sported while traveling the globe promoting Twilight's release. Rome Rob still makes me weak in the knees and has a definite physical impact on other parts of me as well.

I'd let him drive me to school any day.

Or take me to Rome...

Twilight Edward gave us many, many sex-hair pics, and life was good.


OK, fine so it's possible that Robert Pattinson didn't really like the long out-of-control look or what is was doing to every woman who laid eyes on him, as witnesses by this backlash (which probably caused his agent to have a melt-down) -

Nice try, but you're still the top of the list. I want to touch it.

Then came New Moon. This was probably my least fave Edward hair - possibly hadn't grown back in to an Edward-y length and was definitely not-tousled. I get that they were going for an old-world feel (which was stupid! Love you Chris Weitz and all your recent mad tweeting, but FAIL), but they got it wrong with the hair.

Hello, I'm stodgy. And brown. Someone get me highlights, stat!

My hair and I just smelled something bad.
And don't all seventeen-year-olds wear tweed jackets?

Eclipse hair was...decent. Again, I missed the wild, long bed-head, but it was passable. In fact, I came across a set pic tonight that's damn hot - hair & all! Sure, too brown, but I'll take it...

You - on the right - get out of the frame! You're ruining it!

But then, well, I don't know what happened...

Don't get me wrong: I think Robert Pattinson looks mighty fine with his current 'do - but it's not really Edward-y, you know?

These days, any time I see a current photo of him, or a video - and knowing that they're filming Breaking Dawn - I get a a little concerned by his lack of Edward Hair. Honestly? Breaking Dawn Edward's hair has my a tad worried (well that and the fact that Peter Facinelli asking him why he was reading his lines like Christopher Walken, but I'll save that for another time). It's very...not bronze. Or wild. Or just-shagged-looking. Which is a crying shame, considering...

My hair's not the right color - I must drown myself!

I know it's hard to focus on his hair here, but work with me. Don't be like the dude leering at Kristen - with his finger in his mouth! - who clearly isn't thinking about Edward, either.

What the what, Edward hair???

I would love to know how many times Stephenie Meyer referred to the color of Edward's hair throughout the Twilight Sage. A LOT, I know that much. And you know what? I don't think the words "dark" or "brown" where ever used. I don't recall the passage that went "Their dark brown tresses intertwined and..." Oh wait, that would be fanfic. Smutty fanfic. But you get the general gist.

I don't recall Edward and Bella having the exact same color hair.
Maybe I need to re-read. It's been a while...

I felt a little hope when he showed up at the Golden Globes with some distinct auburn hue added to his tresses - it was like Stephenie Meyer had finally said "Enough!" and chased him with a box of Nice n' Easy "Reddish Brown" and had her way with him -

But really? It seems like too little, too late. Maybe. For me, messing with Edward's hair is like taking liberties with Harry Potter's lightning bolt scar - sacrilege! Um, or it would be if I was as invested in HP as I am with Twilight, anyway...

Please for the love of all thing holy let him look more Edward-y when he's in Breaking Dawn and cradling his little monster half-breed spawn.

What say you: are you worried that the lack of uber-awesome Edward hair might leave you feeling deprived come November (and November 2012 - sigh...)??? Vent with me in the comments! Or tell me this is the most ridiculous thing to whine about since Volvo-gate...