The Question Currently Keeping Me Up at Night

This stupid fucking high-school-vampire-wolfman book series is the number one reason why I haven’t posted anything on this blog in over a week.

I admit it. It got me. I’ve been sucked in. (Pun totally intended.)

The first book’s been sitting on my shelf for months and I really had no intention of reading it, mostly because I enjoyed feeling superior to all those sad, silly women who were getting off on teenaged girl fantasies about vampires. I belittled them in my blog comments, laughed at them behind their backs.

Those silly, sad, silly women.

I was one of the COOL KIDS, like my blogging heroes Queen of Shake Shake and FADKOG. Edward, Schmedward! Who needs ya? We don’t NEED no stinkin’ Twilight!

And then I had lunch with the BFF, who admitted (reluctantly, because she knew I’d make fun of her) that she, too, had jumped on the teenaged vampire bandwagon. And I knew I’d have to read it then, for no other reason than to make EDUCATED fun of her, because that really is the best kind.

So, with the sole intent of belittling my BFF, I read it.

And re-read it.

And then I read the sequel. And then I read the next sequel. And then I read the last one.

And now I am completely in love with Edward and I want to be a vampire and I think werewolves smell bad and I both hate and fear the Volturi and I wonder what MY special vampire power would be and I’ve Wikipedia’d it and gone to the web site and I’ve pre-ordered the DVD and GODDAMMIT Stephenie Meyer, you BITCH. I want my life back! The life where I’m still a normal 36-year-old wife and mom who is blissfully unaware of what it would be like to be seduced by an eternally 17-year-old rock hard vampire.

Was it written well? Actually, no. Did Bella get on my nerves? Um, yes. Am I thirteen? Not the last time I checked.

So that the hell is WRONG with me? It’s pathetic! Stephenie Meyer has some kind of evil magic skillz that paralyze and hypnotize her victims. She bit me and spit her gross vampire venom into my blood stream and turned me into the very thing that I once ridiculed with great delight.

It’s so fucked up.

You are an evil, evil woman, Stephenie Meyer. Because of you I am now in love with a fictional character who is half my age but also three times my age and I’m all worried about how well I’ll take to being a newborn vampire on the day when Edward springs to life in my kitchen and falls madly, passionately in love with me and turns me into an immortal so we can live forever, together, in vampire paradise. Will I want to murder my parents? What color will my eyes be? And if Edward’s entire body is solid as marble, how will he get an erection to satisfy my new vampire sexy needs?

Like I didn’t have enough to worry about, Stephenie. Thanks a LOT.

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