Friday, April 29, 2011

Twitarded Trauma Triage Opens November 19, 2011

In general, I tend to have low expectations of things, whether its people or books or movies. It's simple really - if I think something is going to suck hairy balls and it's only mildly lame, I consider that a win. Call me a pessimist, a negative Nelly, whatever -- I've just learned that having high expectations of things generally leads to being highly disappointed and I don't enjoy disappointment. There's just something to be said about keeping the bar so low, even the shit rises above it.

I've made no secret about the fact that I think Breaking Dawn is going to be approximately two hours of complete and total mind-fuckingly ridiculous suckage. I don't want it to be - don't get me wrong. If I had my way, in some whimsical world where Summit spent their energy focusing on the movie rather than racing around the interwebs attempting to sue the pants off of their fans, then Breaking Dawn would be Awesome. The costumes would look great, the cinematography breath-taking. And the sex scenes! Actually, if I had my way, there would be full frontal nudity of all the Cullen men. For two hours.

Hey Summit - stop worrying about those pictures you leaked and use the money that you're paying your lawyers to find a wig-maker that won't make Jasper look like he's got a fucking Shih Tsu glued to his head, m'kay?

Jasper's wig.

 I have to admit I got a little excited when I saw the leaked pictures. Headboards, feathers, moles and naked bodies... I dusted the dirt off my bar and raised it up about an inch. Then the thought occurred to me that maybe those leaked pictures were of scenes that were cut from the film. The bar was lowered. Again.

I wonder if they realize there will be fucking riots if they cut the fade-to-black. Is that even possible? If it is, Summit will accomplish it. I think they might even be handing out chastity belts at the premiere or something.

Anyway, I know that a few of you share my skepticism about Breaking Dawn. You're worried that they're going to fuck up and ruin the magic that is the Twilight Saga.

I have a feeling you're right.

Does that look eggs to you??? Yeah, me neither.

Because I've heard some mutterings of discontent among the twi-masses regarding this upcoming movie, we've decided that Twitarded is going to be a refuge center of sorts come November 19th**.  We want your disgruntled masses! Hated that they dressed Alice like a douchebag again? Appalled by the stark contrast between Rosalie's black brows and blonde hair? Come here and spill in the comments!

In the meantime, let's keep trying to convince Summit that they should hire some of us as counsel. I have a feeling they're going to need it.

Regardless, I'll be there on opening night, decked out in my twi-gear with my flask safely hidden in my purse, ready to watch the first half of Breaking Dawn. I think the full title is actually Breaking Dawn: Before the Spawn. But I'm not sure.

** - The first person who calls us out on completely forgetting about this by the time November rolls around will win a prize. It's called an upper decker. We'll just need your home address in order to send it to you...

Comment Spam: We Can't Make It Stop!!!!

Twitarded is getting a comment face lift. We are currently updating the format of our comments so you may comment on a specific comment. [And now I think it will be fun to see how many times I can type the word 'comment' in one post about comments.]

Please bear with us... unfortunately we can't figure out how to turn off the part that allows you see all the comments and Blogger is projectile vomiting old comments into your boxes. I like a lot of things in my box but eleventy billion old comments was not what I had in mind.

We sort of feel like this little guy right now. Please don't be angry!

We apologize for spamming the shit out of you today! We are desperately trying to fix it. If there's any way for you to turn off the alerts from your end, you may want to do that for the rest of today.

Hopefully Jenny Jerkface will make up to you later...

Happy Friday!

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Dear Breaking Dawn, Is It November Yet? [Warning: Spoilerific!]

I've been getting worried these last few weeks... Everyone - wherever you looked (including here!) - was going completely bonkers for Water For Elephants. Twilight was virtually banished! It was as if it never existed... God forbid someone had shown up at a WFE event brandishing a copy of Twilight and screaming "BITE ME EDWARD!!!" (uh, maybe it's for the best that I sat out last's Sunday's festivities...).

But while Robward had been busy circling the globe and lighting panties afire while promoting WFE, things have been heating up on the Breaking Dawn front, too... And I'm just going to come out and say that when I saw the "official" images from the set, my stomach did flip-flops. This movie is going to be a hot mess, but I can't WAIT to see it! Summer's not even here and I'm already hoping for November...

Where to begin??? By now, you've all seen Wetward, doing re-shoots in some tropical locale, halk-nekkid and making me not give a whit that he doesn't quite live up to Stephenie Meyer's chiseled-from-marble Adonis. 

(all pics from ROBsessed and Popsugar)
 He looked pretty damn good before he got all wet, too... Is it wrong that I'm secretly happy that he's not all waxed and uber-buff like any number of hot Hollywood types???

No shoes, no shirt, we'll service... [thanks VitaminR!]

*Happy traaaails to youuuuu, until we meet again...*

And then came the Entertainment weekly shots - and I got that same feeling in my chest (and a little lower) that I had when I first stumbled across Twilight several years back. Hey - who says you can't rekindle that flame??? Not me, folks...

Hopefully the first of many, many covers...maybe we'll even get one with the "very strange baby"?


Yes, please - I want to watch him making breakfast. Preferably for me, but I'll take what I can get. I'll even pretend that he knows how to do more in the kitchen than have hot sex on the counter nuke hot pockets.

Even Jenny Jerkface would let Wetward come in for a grope. Did I mention that I recently discovered that JJ hates--HATES!--the feel of wet skin against her skin??? And yes, I did follow her around for the rest of the night, touching her with my wet mitts and squiffing her out. I gotta be me.

And this paparazzi pic? - sorry I know i shouldn't be looking - but THIS pic stops me in my tracks and makes me think very bad things. Or very good things. Depending on how you like your things. I couldn't even bear to shut down my laptop because every time I clicked to this window I found myself gasping for air... Oh hell - I know all you twats would sell your souls to be on the receiving end of this look, in private, just before the spanking begins...Myg has indicated that this image - together with Mama Cougar's first-hand description of what Rob smells like - might be the beginning of a sordid little story called "Citrus and Tweed" (please feel free to badger Myg on Twitter until she relents and agrees to write this for us. I NEED this story.)

Clicky to feel the full intense burn of Angry Rob... I'm sorry, but really - you MUST view this image in all of it's smoldering full-size glory. I can smell the citrus and tweed from here. It smells like delicious. Mmmmm... Please, Myg???

So were you able to tear yourself away from handsome, red-carpet suited-up movie-premiere WFE Rob to appreciate a lil' Edward goodness??? Did it get you as hopped up for the it'll-be-here-before-we-know-it release of Breaking Dawn or is it just a distraction at this point?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Hangover Continues... A Donnersun WFE in NYC Adventure

And now... introducing the one and only @donnersun for more hijinx and hot Rob action in the Twitarded mini series -- WFE in NYC! After she told me exactly how fucking close she got to him, I was thisclose to licking her face. *sigh*


Well hello there, Twitardia!! *waves and spills vodka all over Team Hot Doctor Daddy Cullen shirt* For some reason that still eludes me, LKW asked me to write a post about my trip to New York for the Water for Elephants premiere. I can do it in 140 characters or less: Rain. Line. No Sleep. OHMYGODROB! Still no sleep. Home.

*ducks and runs from LKW* haha! Ok, ok. Here’s the real story. Only two weeks late… feel free to pat me on the back for that. heh

So I decided to head to NYC for the premiere after talking to Amber and a couple of the girls from Thinking of Rob who said they were going. I live on the East Coast, so it wasn’t a long trip, and I figured why the hell not? How often do you get the chance to go to a movie premiere and meet the dude you drool over on a daily basis? *nods* Done deal.

We all booked our flights (I changed mine about four times in a month. I’m not entirely sure why I wasn’t hauled off by airport security and strip searched since I ended up booking two one-way tickets) and booked hotel rooms (these too were changed approximately eleventy bajillion times before we finally settled on the Hilton). The studio tried to pull a fast one and change the location and date of the premiere about a month out, but luckily decided to stick with New York once all us idiots who had already booked tickets pitched a royal fit. That was the first hint at how fucking awesome Fox was going to be to us throughout this whole process. I’d give them all big sloppy kisses if I didn’t think it would end in a restraining order.

I got into New York at around 9:00 a.m. the day before the premiere. I took a cab to the hotel, dumped my stuff, and then got back in a cab and high tailed it to the Pearl Diner. In case (like it didn’t with me…worst fan ever) that name doesn’t ring a bell, it’s the diner where they filmed parts of Remember Me. The girls were already there waiting for me IN ROB’S BOOTH (!!!!) so I pranced on over and rubbed my bum all over the seat where Rob undoubtedly rubbed his bum. Bum-to-bum contact FTW! I may have wiggled a little more than socially acceptable.

From the diner, we took a Remember Me tour of NYC…from Ground Zero, over to NYU, to Strand (we got an employee to show us the exact row where Rob’s scenes were shot) and then to Central Park. It started pouring down rain and since we didn’t want to get soaked (this proved to be a very ironic decision later in the evening) we headed back to the hotel.

I was told that Rob barfed on the street somewhere along here. I tried to locate the exact spot so I could get someone to take a picture of me standing in it, but apparently no one had the foresight to mark it with a plaque.)

Months before the premiere, I was part of a small group of people who were all planning on going and we thought it would be nice to all get together for drinks Saturday night. Somehow (awesomely) our little get-together turned into a pretty cool cocktail party that included TONS of amazing fans, studio execs, actors, and even Sara Gruen. I got to meet a lot of really great people in the half hour that I was at the bar before we hauled ass outside to get in line for wristbands.

People started lining up at around 6:15. I spent the first two hours of The Great Wristband Line of 2011 in dress pants, flats with no socks, no coat, and a sweater/wrap thing that cost more than I’m willing to admit publicly. Good times. Anyway, this story could go on for hours. Believe me, the night did. It rained the entire 16 hours we were in line. Ponchos, umbrellas, vinyl shower curtains, and screaming at the heavens had NOTHING on the deluge that fell out of the NYC sky that night. I have never been so cold and so wet (shutup) in my life. Fox, God bless ‘em, brought us pizza and kept us updated on plans as best they could.

Sara Gruen came out several times and signed books—she was under a Twilight umbrella and couldn’t have been nicer or more sincere. As the sun started to come up, they brought us coffee and doughnuts and kept telling us to hang in there. At around 9:00, some bigwig execs came out with wristbands, but they weren’t numbered. We told them that they HAD to number them or there would be a riot. They listened to us and came back a few minutes later with numbered wristbands. I was number 27. We crawled back to the room and got about two hours sleep before we had to get back outside for the red carpet.

We stood in the pen across from the red carpet and theater for about two hours before someone from Fox told us that Rob had arrived and was down at the other end of the line working his way towards us. We didn’t even realize he was there because people weren’t acting insane and screaming like lunatics, which was pretty cool. Everyone seemed to be completely respectful of him, and when he got to me I could see why.

For all the shit talking we do about humping his face and other nonsense like that, when you’re face to face with him, you really can’t help but be in awe. He’s just so humble and so sweet. He took his time with each and every person standing in line (to the point where he didn’t even make it through the entire line of press because he ran out of time). And let me tell you, pictures do not do the man justice. It’s sort of creepy how beautiful he is. It could have been the fact that I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, but I swear to god he sparkled in the sunlight.

**Latchkey Wife has flat lined.**

Reese came along right behind him and she was really, really nice too. She actually stopped and talked to us for a few minutes about where we came from and how great the movie was.

It was a pretty fucking amazing experience. We were hoping to get in to see the movie, but the theater was full and the people at Fox just couldn’t pull it off. I was honestly ok with that, considering I hadn’t slept or eaten anything in two days. We headed out to Times Square and grabbed something to eat, I got kisses from a carriage horse (it doesn’t take much to make me happy) and we all crashed again for a few hours. I had planned to go to the Today Show Monday morning, but was just too wiped out.

It took me about a week to recover from the whole thing. I’ve never been so exhausted in my life, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. This sounds really weird, but I’m so proud of myself for pulling it off. Months ago when I started planning the trip I made a promise to myself that come hell or high water I was going to meet Rob, and I fucking did it! Out of all the millions of fans in the world, I was number 27 in line. And not only that, but I got the chance to meet so many amazing women who I would consider to be some of my best friends. Plus (and this is the most amazing thing) I didn’t throw up, burp, pass out, or fart on Rob. Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.

Now on to Forks 2011!!! *packs heavy duty raincoat*

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

If the Pretty Shoe Fits

This is a story about a tiger trying to change its footwear, er, stripes. I am a prissy, picky bitch. I have very particular tastes and about a millionth of the income I need to support those finicky cravings. I feel sorry for anyone who tries to buy me a gift. Giving me a present can be a full-contact sport. Thankfully, my bloggy partners in crime know me well. They bought me a gift card to Zappos for my birthday so I could feed my shoe fetish. Gift cards always go over well.

Thank you, JJ, STY, LKW, VitR & Myg!

I literally did jumpy claps and sang, "I'm gonna get somethin' prettah!" Then I had a sobering thought. Maybe I should buy some sensible shoes for Forks. I only own one pair of flats (and those are about to have a date with the trashcan since they feel like wooden tissue boxes on my feet). I like heels — the funkier and/or girlier the better. I wear heels of some sort with everything. I try to vary my shoe wardrobe whenever I shop, but I always come back to the pretty, pretty heels. It's like a sickness. A pretty, pretty sickness.

I promised myself I wouldn't buy another pair of shoes unless they are fit to trudge through the rain forest. I really, really meant to keep that promise. Honestly, I did. I only went shoe shopping once last month and I may or may not have slipped up a teeny, tiny bit.

I blame Shoewhoreninja for this mess. One pair does have a heel lower than 4 inches. That counts for something, dammit! Oh, and I never make my bed. Obviously.

Ok, I might have fallen off the wagon a for a minute. I got one last hit and I was going to get serious about finding some "sensible" shoes. How hard can it be? They just need to be comfy, with no heel and somewhat water resistant.

This is the sole (no pun intended) reason I didn't go into the nursing profession.
That and I don't like people.

The Zappos gift card seemed like the perfect opportunity to buy something I wouldn't normally buy. You know, like ugly shoes normal people wear. I spent hours looking. I checked out flat boots and boots with low, chunky heels. I liked several of the wellies, but I couldn't narrow down my options there. I'll have to save that purchase for another day. I ended up with a bunch of sandals in my cart at one point because I'm clearly under the impression Forks has relocated to Texas. I took the sandals out of the cart and started from scratch. I remember taking a quick peek at the heels — only for the sake of curiosity. I was just going to look at them for a second. Honestly. Things got fuzzy after that. The next thing I knew, I got a notification that these babies were being shipped to my doorstep.

Yes! I don't have any gray pumps that look exactly like these! How could I pass up L.A.M.B.? I'm only human, after all. My willpower has its limits.

All right, I might have fallen off the wagon again. (Can you fall off if you were never on it in the first place?) Next time I will buy something befitting the wettest place on the continental U.S. Probably. Maybe. I'm open to suggestions. And the first person to utter the word "Danskos" will get bludgeoned to death with the above shoes.

Monday, April 25, 2011

The Hangover: New York City Edition by Mama Cougar

Twitarded is pleased to present a guest post by @Mama_Cougar. If you don't follow her, you must. She's one funny bitch. So grab a bev and some snacks, sit back and enjoy her play-by-play of one amazing WFE premiere weekend in NYC!


It all started with a text.

A short, sweet text from my friend Sandy (Tatoomickey) that said, “OMFG. I’m driving behind a car with a license plate that says ‘RED CRPT'. WE HAVE TO GO!”

Now, I’m not a religious person, but I am spiritual. The universe speaks to all of us, if we listen. And this… THIS was clearly the universe telling me that I needed to be in New York City the weekend of the Water for Elephants premiere. And then, of course, Southwest Airlines spoke to me with a $250 round trip fare from Chicago and I replied, “FUCK YES, how can I NOT do this?”

And so, our NYC/WFE Adventure began.

My good friends 17ForeverLisa & MrsKassieCullen jumped on board our crazy train, along with Tatoomickey’s crazy-ass, no-filter-whatsoever sister, Donna (now known as RedCarpetNinja) and the five of us formulated a plan. We had two very simple goals for our WFE weekend:

1) Somewhere, somehow, at some point, to have our boobs within a 5 foot radius of Robert Pattinson.

2) In our zealous pursuit of goal #1, NOT to end up incarcerated in a holding cell with the New York City Department of Corrections.
Upon arrival, we quickly ascertained thanks to Tatoomickey’s madd interwebz stalking skillz, that our hotel was directly across the street from the theater. Excellent locale, but since my boobs are a D cup at best, we were going to need more intel on how to achieve goal #1.

Phase One Recon. Entrances, exits, queue lines & the like. We are educated stalkers.

First stop, Planet Hollywood. Where we ran into THESE bitches:

“Ohhhh look, girls. It’s Double_Dippin and Latchkey Wife. This roughly QUADRUPLES the likelihood that we’ll fail at Goal #2. Excellent. I hope they brought the Twitarded Bail Fund money.”

As we’re waiting in line for dinner, we spied Precious’ hands cast in acrylic. You’d think, by our squeeing, that we’d discovered the Holy Grail. Natch, we had to touch. Some with hands, some with boobs, and of course, Latchkey Wife went 100% classy and used her tongue. You know, like she always does. It turns out she’s very orally skilled.

“Jeebus LKW, do you know how many hands have touched that?” “Yes. I do. But I’ll bet I’m the only tongue.”

Later that evening, we’d been invited to attend a “Team Rosie” cocktail party in the hotel lounge, where we’d have a chance to meet the Water for Elephants author, Sara Gruen, as well as Mark Povinelli, the actor who plays Kinko/Walter in the movie. So, we arrive wearing our “Kneel, Open Your Mouth, Smile & Pray” shirts and get in line to meet Mark, who incidentally, was super sweet and YES, I’m going to go there….he was a definite LPILF. Dashing good looks, very cordial, and actually enjoyed speaking with fans, taking photos and signing books. Poor guy didn’t know enough to be afraid. Very, very afraid.

“So Mark, what was it like bunking with Rob?”
“You ladies DO realize we didn’t actually spoon on the cot, right?”
“Mark, humor us, please.”
“OK, ok. He smelled like Camels & Heineken. Happy?”

After chatting with Kinky…umm…oops, KinkO, we grabbed our $10 cocktails and found a booth, where we planned to plant our hineys and await the arrival of Sara, so we could get our books signed. All of a sudden, my ass pocket started vibrating wildly with an all-out Twitard h00r alert. I looked at my screen and the text read “DO NOT TWEET THIS. GET YOUR ASS ACROSS THE STREET.” A casual glance out the window, and I noticed that approximately 50 people were already lined up for one of the only 200 wristbands being offered by Fox for the Red Carpet VIP viewing area. It was 7 pm and the coveted wristbands wouldn’t be distributed until 9 am the next morning. Fourteen fucking hours standing in line. Did we really want to do this?


We abandoned our overpriced Alabama Slammers and left a dust cloud the size of Texas in that lounge as we raced back to our room to grab everything we thought we might need for an overnight wait in line. It was a shitstorm of throwing on long underwear, grabbing camp chairs, umbrellas, snacks, handwarmers, hats…anything.

We scrambled our asses out the door, were almost flattened by a NYC cab, and ran as fast as three 40-something bitches could run into the barricaded area, laughing our tits off at our own absurdity. After claiming our spots, we sent Donna on recon to count how many people were in line and it looked like we were 99ish through 101. We definitely had a decent spot, but could we brave the entire night?

“We are SOFA KING crazy.”
“Eyes on the prize, Mama. Live in the moment. Goal number one. Stay focused on goal number one. Boobs close to Rob.”

We did pretty well for a couple of hours. Laughing and joking with our line mates, glancing across the street into the warm lounge we had just abandoned and thinking about which lucky bitches drank our full cocktails. (STY, that abandoned Jack & Coke you drank? MINE. You’re welcome. Note from STY: I don't do Jack & Coke--I'm strictly a vodka gal--but I'll tell Mr. Laxplays he owes you one.)

And then, it started to rain.

COLD rain. Buckets of rain. Forks-style, FORTY-EIGHT degree rain.

EPIC, torrential rain of biblical proportion. We’re talking, Noah’s building a fucking ark and leading in the circus animals two-by-two, RAIN.

In line, we heard someone quote Mike Newton, “How you likin’ the rain, girl?” We almost ruined goal number two by assaulting that very UNfunny person.

People in the line started dropping like flies. We watched sadly (NOT) as many younger, stronger Rob fans fell. We had rain dripping into our ass cracks and soaking every inch of us to the bone. We even bought an extra umbrella from a vendor and huddled close together for warmth, but that didn’t help our dear Donna, who told us after 3 hours, she couldn’t do it and left the line to become our support person.

We just kept huddling close and repeating to each other, “Goal number one. Boobs close to Rob. Eyes on the prize. Live in the moment.” We never even once considered giving up. It was cold. It was wet. It was fucking miserable. But we knew, even as we were made aware that our beloved Snarkier Than You was watching us from the warm lounge; that Twitardia was counting on us. We felt the warm, dry thoughts from all of you and there was no way in hell we were going give up.

At around midnight, Water for Elephants author Sara Gruen “walked the line”. She was shocked and very deeply grateful for our dedication to her book and the film. She signed books, took photos and even sent pizza. We didn’t have the heart to tell her it was all about boobs and Rob. Goal number one, kept secret, for now.

“I can’t believe you ladies would do this!”“Yeah, Sara. Neither can we, frankly. Thanks for the lap warmer….um…errr, the pizza.”

Throughout the night, it rained, and rained some more. We huddled, snuggled and waited. “Eyes on the prize, boobs close to Rob. Goal number one.” Over and over, we chanted our mantra. At around 3 am we were served donuts and hot chocolate, reportedly sent to us by Rob and Reese. Honestly, we were so cold and wet, Hannibal Lecter could have sent that shit and we’d have been thankful enough to blow him.

Finally, after 14+ hours, 9 am approached and the natives got restless. We had since heard that Latchkey Wife & Double Dippin’ had fallen and gone back to their warm hotel room. 17ForeverLisa and MrsKassieCullen had also bailed out. TatooMickey and I, along with Donnersun and her contingency, were the last Twitards standing. Victory was in our sights!

Giddy. Gleeful. Pissing ourselves. Because of a paper bracelet with #92 & 93 on them. We are insane.

We were released from our barricaded hell on earth and allowed to go back to our rooms, eat, shower, rest and asked to report back to the gates of Hades at 3 pm We ate, we showered. NO fucking earthly way we could sleep. Goal number one kept us WIDE awake.

At 3 pm, once we had been lined up, clusterfucked, and then lined up again, we were released like rabid cattle into the VIP viewing area where we may or may not have scared the shit out of a few people by chanting “Boobs close to Rob!” as we scampered to secure a spot in the front row, right against the barricade. Bitches snooze, bitches lose. You stop your running to listen to some crazy Twitards, we take your spot. Every woman for herself. That’s exactly what the security guy told us as we ran in. And so, we staked our claim on “the wall” and it looked like goal number one would be achieved.

After two more hours of standing, we started hearing little squeals and screeches from the front of the line. And then…..this.


I actually took this picture with my iPhone. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, but HOLY FUCK. I was breathing the same air as Precious himself. And it was pure, unadulterated GLORY.

Just LOOK at him. LOOK. Christ, it’s like looking into the sun. He is insanely, unbelievably gorgeous. Even without camera filters. IN THE FUCKING FLESH beautiful. And he smelled wonderful. Like tweed and citrus. GAH!

And then THIS:

Rob - “Thanks for coming out ladies!”
Us – “Uhhhhhh. Uhhhhhh. Oh God. Oh God. Can we (read: our BOOBS) have a picture with you?”
Rob – “Of course!”


And we’re left standing there, incoherent and incontinent.


The rest of the weekend is just a blur in the wake of our boob’s encounter with Rob. We also met Reese:

“Are you ladies ok? Maybe you should sit down?”

We made it into the Regis & Kelly taping the next morning:

“Seth – can you have Security escort me out? I recognize those two women over there.”

We even ran into THIS crazy twatwaffle who, natch, works near the Sex Museum.

JJ - “Girls! I totally almost got arrested in Atlantic City last night.
Us - “Fuck….we need to buy this bitch lunch and GTFO of here. Our association with her is jeopardizing goal number two.”

Finally, we took a quick trip to Times Square, just so we could feel like we had actually visited NYC. 17ForeverLisa may or may not have been leg-hitched by The Naked Cowboy.

Naked Cowboy – “Lisa, stop trying to take your clothes off.”
Lisa – “Did you want to do that part?”

Would I do it again? Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. A million times yes. Zero regrets. I loved every moment of this experience, even my soaking wet bra and nipples so frozen they could cut glass. Even almost getting in a bitch fight in the Regis & Kelly standby line. Even the mind-altering sleep deprivation. Every. Single. Moment.

So, who’s in for the Cosmopolis premiere? [Note from LKW: {{raises hand}} oooh, oooh, ME!]


Sunday, April 24, 2011

Water for Elephants - A Review

This weekend, ML had all sorts of adult shit planned for us--cleaning the house, weeding the lawn, preparing the garden so we can plant all sorts of awesomely yummy vegetables that our special-ops, ninja deer will somehow find a way to eat. I was all for this weekend of drudgery, until Snarkier Than You mentioned she was going to see Water for Elephants and she was gonna do it whether I was with her or not.

Our garden is going to look like fucking Fort Knox by the time we're through...

Around noon on Saturday, I kissed ML on the cheek as he stood in the kitchen, wearing a confused expression and a pair of rubber dish gloves, and hustled out the door and hopped into the STY's car.

Because there was no fucking way she was watching WfE without me. Fuck being a responsible adult.

I have to admit I was a little surprised that the theater wasn't very full when we arrived but it was a matinee on a holiday weekend. Another thing I didn't expect was that most of the people who were in the theater were actually older women and couples (and the stray single guy)--there weren't very many teenagers at all.

STY and I whispered and snarked our through the million coming attractions (I am so fucking glad I will never have to sit through that goddamned Letters to Juliet preview EVER again) and then it was go time. Except... well, it wasn't. Apparently the guy who presses play in that little room in the back went out for a smoke or had to take a shit or something because we all just sat there, staring at a frozen screen for a few minutes until the women behind us started plotting a revolt. I swear its impossible for STY and I to actually go to the movies without some kind of issue. At least this one didn't end in me yelling at some pimpled teenage boy.

Overall, I really enjoyed the movie. I thought the cinematography was great and the costumes realistic. It was really a very visually stunning movie. Of course, that might have had something to do with the Pretty himself. If anyone asked me if they should go see this movie, I would respond with a resounding "yes."

Tai the elephant and Christoph Waltz really stole the show. As the brutal but charismatic August, Waltz really commanded every scene he was in. Tai was just such a beautiful, endearing creature she nearly broke my fucking heart. There was definitely some real affection between that pachyderm and both Robert Pattinson and Reese Witherspoon.

I was pleased that the movie stuck relatively close to the book, with only a few necessary variations.

Early on, STY had told me that she didn't really think that Reese and Rob had a whole lot of chemistry. After watching WfE, I have to agree with her. There was just something off and a little boring about the love scenes between the two. Those scenes would have been much more fiery and hot if I had been his costar instead of Reese.

Uh huh. Sure.

Now on to Robert Pattinson.

He did a good job. In the scenes he played with Waltz, I think that Christoph Waltz tended to overpower RPattz and it was sort of apparent that RPattz needs a little more work to become a stronger actor, which is totally understandable. After all, he is still young; he has a lot of amazing energy and talent. I'm not worried.

Or maybe I was just completely distracted by how obscenely attractive Robert Pattinson is because, holy shit people... he was beyond s-m-o-k-i-n' in this movie.

At the end of the day, I really loved this movie. I will admit that originally I became interested in this movie only because I was looking for something to pass the time until Breaking Dawn finally comes to the theater. However, Water for Elephants is a wonderful story of following your heart.