Sorry, everyone. It seems that I no longer have time for my family, my work, my friends, AND young adult vampire romance. Forgive me.
So, Audrey (Baby Daddy #2) moved into the house after Bryan left. As I mentioned before, she's been living in Costa Rica where she learned to speak the Espanol, and naturally she doesn't want to lose any fluency she might have acquired, so she's trying to read things in Spanish. Her sister gave her a copy of Crepusculo: Twilight in Spanish. And that led to the vampires establishing the partially benign autocracy that now governs our household.
Now, for as long as I remember, I've really hated the thought of vampires. To me, the idea of someone eating blood is revolting. Gag reflex stuff. So, I've steered pretty clear of the Twilight books in general because I thought they were about vampires. But after reading the first chapter of the first book, I realized something: Twilight isn't about vampires. It's about peddling lady drugs.
I believe it's well documented that I am kind of a for real lady. I like yoga, scented candles, rom coms, Anthropologie catalogs, pretty jewelry, Mr. Darcy, baked goods, being admired, etc. So, it follows that I also like romance, because hey--I'm a lady.
And Twilight's kind of like being hooked up to a romance IV. I'm on the 3rd book right now and EVEN THOUGH the writing itself is truly awful, even though the narrator is a sour, barely animated lump with what appears to be a mild case of cerebral palsy, and even though her smoking hot vampire boyfriend is at the very least bipolar, but definitely approaching a literary public service announcement for the National Domestic Violence hotline.... EVEN THOUGH all these things, the make-out scenes still make me feel kind of swoony. (Whatever, haters--it's romantic.) And I'm all like "fine, jerk vampires--I'll keep reading you and your romantic such and so, but don't think I don't know what you're doing...."
Because what Twilight wants me to believe is that I want a devastatingly handsome vampire to have such a boner for the smell of my blood that he actually climbs into my bedroom every night to watch me sleep. And while what he'd actually like to do is make a nice stroganoff out of my innards, instead, he'll settle for kissing me tenderly on the forehead and saying things like, “If I could dream at all, it would be about you....” Because he's an undead man of principles.
And seriously, if Bryan ever said anything remotely Twilight-style to me, I'd be all "What? Stop mocking me."
Addition, June 3, 2010:
Here: this video says what I cannot.