Twilight : Breaking Dawn: Part 2: The Review

Oops, I did it again. I’ve just stumbled in at 1:30 in the morning after taking my sister to see Breaking Dawn,Part 2. My reasons are pretty much the same as the last time. I owe her big.  This time, I had the added bonus of taking one of my bestest friends in the entire world with us, too. We had big fun, the three of us, especially since the nice theater people have finally embraced the notion that their target audience is a wee bit older than they once thought and offered a 10pm showing. I love them for that.

I’ll cut to the chase. Because I am tired but also because I know you are on the edge of your seat waiting for the review and impressions of what will be one of the highest grossing films of the year. But mostly because I am tired. I apologize for any spoilers.

Yes, I bought a t-shirt. I won’t apologize.

The opening is beautiful. And clever. Pretty!

Wait…what? Why did she just…huh?

Ohhh, that’s what I’m talking about! Pow!

Ick! Take it away! That is just wrong! NO MORE!

What? Seriously? That was awkward.

Mmmm! Sweet Tarts! I love these things!

Ooooh, I like how they did that.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! That was great!

What? Why..?.wait…

My Junior Mints are melting.

Wow. That was cool.

Huh? Okay, I see why they did that, but…

Awww. That’s so sweet!

Ick. Creepy! Make is stop!

Oh, he’s pretty. And so is he. I like that!



That was a lot of soda. I need to pee.


I really need to pee.


No way!


You have got to be kidding me!

I want my money back.

That’s it, we’re going home!


OH! Tee-hee! Good stuff!

I wish I had worn a diaper. I bet the restrooms are going to be packed. At least the ladies’ room will be.

Oh, that was well done.


Annnnnnd scene!

I do hope I didn’t spoil it for everyone.

Nearly Wordless Wednesday: Alternate Endings, Vol I


The role of Edward played most convincingly by Severus Snake


” Bella…so beautiful…so tasty…”


“Darn it, Edward! What’s the MATTER with you? There goes the franchise!”


Yes, it's my own battered copy. Sue me.


*** disclaimer: No rats were actually harmed in the making of this blog. It came out of our freezer. 

Here’s Why I Did It

My sister at the "Oh, Dear Lord, You Are OLD!" party I threw for her. You're welcome for the prunes, sis. Hope they get the job done.

You will have to excuse me this morning. I took my sister to the midnight showing of “Breaking Dawn” for her birthday. I got about three hours of sleep, and now I’m so tired that I can’t remember if the name “Edward” contains one “q” or two. Spell check doesn’t seem to like either variation, so it must not be working.

I’m not the kind of gal who would buy a ticket for a midnight showing for a Twilight movie. Truly. Because I am a grownup with three children. And it wasn’t Harry Potter. But I bought those tickets. Because my sister wanted to go. The woman who has not left her house after dark since I can remember. She’s kind of the anti-vampire, really. But the moment I reminded her that the movie was coming out soon, she said “We could go at midnight!” with a kind of manic glee usually reserved for a two-for-one sale on toilet paper. So I bough the tickets. Because I was a little afraid not to.

So here I sit, part vampire, myself. I cringe from the rising sun, have pale skin, dead eyes, and no blood running through my veins. It’s all coffee. But I am glad I did. Because I owed her. For all the things she had to put up with over the years. Taking one for the team for:


 The times I called her “fat face.” As though it were her name. It is not. Her birth certificate clearly states “Dear Little Dawn.” Or something like that.

The time I neglected to mention that she had chocolate ice cream all around her mouth. While she was talking to her former teachers. And trying to act cool. In the mall. At that marvelously awkward age of 13. She has never been able to eat ice cream in public since. Even with a spoon.

The times I may have forgotten to relay a phone message to my sister from the guy she had a crush on.  I’m sure that’s not a big deal. She didn’t even know they liked her in return, so she wasn’t missing anything, right?

The time(s) my puppy pooped in front of her bedroom door. I probably didn’t see it. Before she stepped in it. I swear.

All the undergarments of hers my dog stole and drug out into the yard. By the street. That were left out there for the neighbors to see. And guys who came to pick her up. Whoops. My bad.

The time I may or may not have forgotten to mention that she had tucked the back of her skirt into her panty-hose. As she was preparing to walk down the center aisle of our very large church to get to the choir loft. Where she had to sing. At the age of 14. Sorry, sis. I thought you knew.

All the times I may have insinuated that her make-up made her look like a transsexual circus clown. To my transsexual friends, I apologize. I was young and didn’t know how insulting that comparison might be. For you. And for circus clowns. She outgrew that stage, probably because of me. You’re welcome, world.

All the times I’ve called her “old.”  She is not old. Just much, much older than I am. And sometimes needs reminding.

That over-the-hill surprise party I threw for her last year. To remind her that she is old. Because that’s what sisters do. At least, sisters who know there is minimal chance of reciprocation.

So dear sister, if you are reading this, I apologize. I do not, in fact, hate you, although that phrase may have slipped out a time or two. Million. I would risk my life for you. Which I did last night. Those people were crazy. Happy Birthday, sis!





Nearly Wordless Wednesday

Consider this my advance directive. I want to be buried with my awesome travel mug. It came from Starbucks, but I don’t hold that against it. I call it Edward because it is cold and sparkly on the outside, but it makes me all warm on the inside. Chew on that, haters.

Okay, technically, it’s my husband’s cup. But if he’s burying his wife, what kind of selfish turd would he look like if he refused a little request like a coffee mug?

I was going to be cremated, but this cup weighs something like two pounds. When my ashes are scattered in Matanzas Bay, I would hate for that heavy chunk of melted metal to fall out of the sky and kill manatee or a mermaid.

Look, but don't touch. It's mine. At least it will be in the afterlife.

So please, please bury me with it. Please. But not until I’m dead. Thanks!

Things We Can Do Without

free wallpaper at You know you want one, too!

I thought I had seen everything, and then I went to Wal-mart. As I was looking through the pharmacy and trying to find my allergy meds, I discovered Twilight Hair-care secrets. Because this is something we need? For $29,99, I can look like someone who has been dead for 80 years? No, thanks. I’ve got that one covered.

This little encounter got me to thinking about other things the world really has no need for.

1) The continuous play option on children’s DVD’s. It hurts my heart to believe that someone out there thought it might be a good idea to offer parents and children an episode of “Bob the Builder” that never ends. Thirty minutes is more than enough for any man, woman or child. Personally, I forget that life is even worth living until I finally see the credits roll. What if I select the wrong option on the disc menu and my husband comes home hours later to find me with my head in the oven? “Can we fix it?”  Probably not this time.

2) Reality Television. Something of a misnomer, really. A group of anorexic girls living in a fab house, all-expenses paid, getting bikini waxes and unappreciated new hairstyles, and trying to survive super-modeling “challenges?” Whose reality is that? How many of us have been dropped off on deserted islands and forced to eat rats all in the name of television fun? Like Gilligan’s Island without Thurston and Lovey. Maybe we should call it “Stupid People Volunteering To Be Put Into Totally Bizarre Situations To See If They’ll Finally Crack and Kill One Another, Thus Cleansing the Gene Pool” television. We don’t need this stuff, do we?

3) The Sham-wow. This one comes from personal bitterness experience. So enamored was I of those lovely orange cloths and the magic they could work on a spill, I paid $20 for a set. The idea was to stuff them in the pockets of my baby’s cloth diapers to help catch the leaks and give me an extra hour of sleep a night. I was played a fool.  I might as well have stuffed those diapers with dollar bills.  Would have been cheaper and worked about as well. And you can’t actually get them completely dry, so once you use them, they smell like the undead. If you’ve got some unsightly messes, save your cash. Got a spill? Dishrag works just as well. Or your roommate’s dirty t-shirt.

4) KFC’s Double Down. Bacon. Sandwiched between to pieces of fried chicken. 32 grams of fat, which represents roughly half of the total saturated fat the average person should eat in a day. Perhaps it should be renamed the Double Bypass. We don’t need this. No one needs this. But I bet it’s tasty. I wonder if I could negate some of the fat and calories by washing it down with a diet Coke.

5) Memorial decals. I’ve said it before, but apparently I must say it again. Yesterday, I saw a tow truck whose rear window sported the words “Buying Junk Cars.” Underneath in smaller letters were the words “In Memory of Bobby.” Excuse me, sir? Are you buying junk vehicles in Bobby’s memory? And was Bobby actually your friend, or is this your sweet revenge because he went to Junior Prom with the girl you liked? So many questions, so little time.

6) Any Children’s Product or Program with the name “Einstein” in it.” Don’t get me started. Too late. I find the current push for parents to magnify their child’s intelligence incredibly disturbing. Poopsie is either a genius or she’s not. No amount of classical music, specialized toys or television is going to change a kid’s IQ. At least not for the positive. Is it too much irony that use of the “Baby Einstein” video line actually caused language delay? Actually, they may be onto something. For all you first-time parents out there, smart kids are much, much harder to keep up with. Do what you can to dumb them down a bit. Your life will be much easier. For both of you. And need I remind you that young Einstein himself was a mischief maker who dropped out of high school? You don’t need expensive toys to achieve this particular end. A few hours a day of Kardashians and “Teen Mom” ought to get you there, and it will cost you nothing. Expect those pesky brain cells.

I could go on, but I won’t. At least not today.  What do you think the world can do without?