"Twilight" (Or...the Reason I Have Been Missing-In-Action)

Ok. We need to talk. I’ve been aloof. I’ve been neglectful. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me….I’ve…met someone else. I want to love you, Blog; believe me, I do. I DO love you, Blog; I’m just not IN love with you…not right now, anyway. I’ve found someone else…the *Twilight* series.

[Yelling] “Dammit Twilight! I wish I knew how to quit you!” [sobs]

I wanted to write about my hilarious yard sale…about the Clemson football players FIGHTING
over who would buy the $0.25 Snoopy Snow Cone machine I was selling (and me standing there…flummoxed, flustered…stuttering… ),
about me almost THROWIN’ DOWN with a little ol’ bitty lady who thought my Pottery Barn Kids crib bumper, matching sheets, blanket and crib skirt should be marked A DIME (“I don’t think so, BITCH!”) I want to show you my new sunglasses…

I want to write about all the funny shizz happening At the Edge of the Map…but I can’t. Not with Edward dazzling me every night.

Before I go on, let me set the record straight: I am a happily married (stress: HAPPILY married), mother of two. I have close friends, an unfathomably enjoyable part-time job that doesn’t take me away from my kids at all (and if you know what I do, you’ll understand the double meaning…heh heh… “kids.”), several satisfying hobbies…and yet…I am obsessed with a work of fiction. Specifically, an 80-year old vampire, frozen forever as a 17 year old dreamboat. It’s not the first time this has happened either. There was the Great Spike Crush of 2005…he was WAY better for Buffy than Angel was….and WAY cooler.

And now I feel like my entire day revolves around Twilight. I’ve started planning my daily workout around reading-friendly individual cardio activities like the tread-master and Precor elliptical, rather than non-book welcoming “group” classes. Instead of giving my kids a nice leisurely bath with ample play-time, they are subjected to the equivalent of a 2 minute “Prison Hose-down” in the shower

(complete with a lice-repelling dash of baby powder…ha ha…I kid, I kid…) so I can get back to my book as soon as possible; full glass of chardonnay, dimmed light and comfy blankets in full effect!

Nevermind that the series was written FOR TEENAGERS. Forget the fact that based on the aforementioned target audience, the book has more plot holes than swiss cheese, and I have sentences larger than Meyer’s in my stool…but Edward is so damned dreamy, all is forgiven, all bets are off. And so I ask…WHY? For one thing, Edward dazzles the woman I am today, not the 17-year-old teenager I was…and here’s why…

As I mentioned before…I am a happily married, 32 year old, mother of two…and reading about Edward is like hanging out with one of my unbelievably attractive gays. I mean, what happily married woman is complete without her gay confidant? And I’m not just talking male. I’m talking male OR female. Edward may as well be Samantha Ronson, the way Meyer describes Edward…
and let’s face it…my secret girl-crush on Sam Ronson confuses me, too...

In “real life” a pale, teeny-tiny VAMPIRE boy would probably be at the butt-end of my forked-tongue of ridicule. I mean, I must agree with Khandi Alexander when I say “tiny men DROWN in my shit!” so sayeth she in the ground-breaking theatrical masterpiece that was “CB4.”

Or maybe not. Who knows? All I can say is, so far, no sex. None. Not even a rated-PG grind. Not even a hint of a boner. Bless.

But I mean, shouldn’t I be “creeped out” by the fact that Edward is only supposed to be 17? Or should be take comfort in the fact that because he is *really* a vampire, that he is actually older than my Grandfather? But then…shouldn’t I be “creeped out” that he, as an OLD MAN, is like, “Hey Baby…” to a 17 year old girl? And really, people…CLEARLY, Bella is infatuated with Edward in the first love/puppy love way; and Edward is attracted to Bella like Fred Flintstone was to a dinosaur...

sizing her up in his mind’s eye like a gigantic t-bone steak? Or is it all a huge metaphor for male/female sexuality…that aren’t we ALL viewed as “slabs of meat” at some time or another in our lifetimes? Is Edward really no worse than James? He just got to Bella first. I mean, he ADMITS it! He’s basically like, “Damn Girl, you smell like a really great chili-cheese burger!” And she’s all, “Yeah, I love you, too!” Girls are SO DUMB!

I LOVE to read, but I have to say, this is the MOST obsessed I’ve been with a book since VC Andrew’s series, Flower in the Attic.

However, the main female character, the one you were “supposed” to identify with, HAD SEX WITH HER BROTHER. Let’s just say that again…She BONED her brother. Flowers in the Attic was a FANTASTIC gothic horror novel for so many reasons, but seriously? The thought of effing my brother is probably the most HORRIFYING thing I can write down on paper. So um…yeah…no…I was into ballet Catherine, but sorry VC…you lost me at “…but first, I HAD SEX WITH MY BROTHER.” Ha ha. Pffgdg [stifles gag.]

To be honest, I love my husband for being everything Edward is not…honest, logical, hard-working…and…manly. I feel the Bachelor of English showing her (gorgeous!) head, but I think I *heart* Edward for being more like me. Sensitive, impulsive, impetuous, passionate, devoted. How narcissistic. Twilight never appealed to me because I identified with the heroine, because I don’t! I’m not clumsy, self-sufficient or brunette even!!! I am family-oriented, head-strong, fiercely loyal and a fighter. I think the series appeals to me because I identify with the HERO and not the first-person heroine.

Twilight is a pulp-fiction vampire romance novel thinly veiled as “Teen Lit”…and I am eating every bite…every morsel, up with a damned spoon…and LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT!

About three things I was certain.

First, I *may* need to “get a life.”

Second, there was a part of me, and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be, that would rather read Twilight than eat, sleep or breathe.

And Third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with the Series!

"I mean, why does it have to be 'Frankly?' Why can't it be 'Tommy Lee?'" - Big Daddy

Motherhood from the Edge of the Map has been a bit quiet these past few weeks

For one…I’ve been super busy, which cuts into my writing time and B) nothing really “effed up” has happened, which is pretty much the “theme” of my blog…“we’re not perfect, we don’t want to be perfect…and here’s why.' On a sidenote…I know a few people who go out of their way to point out how perfect we are to believe their lives are, but no one wants to hear about it because there is nothing interesting about “perfect,” and also because their effort is transparent…but I digress…

The Gospel According to M:

“Momma…I have something very exciting to tell you!” M exclaimed, full of his usual excitement and 5-year-old joie de vivre…

“There is a new kid in my class today, and do you know what? (he queried, but continued speaking without leaving me space to answer…) He’s from COLORADO, that’s VERY far away (pulls a map out from behind his back…) it’s HERE (he points…correctly) and do you know what else? (again, continues…no chance for me to speak) His name is “Lewis” (name changed to protect his privacy…Lord knows how many Toms, Dicks and Harrys in this County read my blog…) and he lives in a…

DE-PARTMENT.”

However, prior to announcing the arrival of “Lewis,” I noticed that while V napped peacefully on my bed (well, I don’t know about peacefully, she fell asleep watching TV on her stomach, and when I “found” her, she was in the “bear skin rug” position…

supine, arms and legs flared out, head resting on her chin, staring straight ahead…eyes closed…asleep. Bless her bones…) M had “disappeared”/was-too-quiet. After several, “M, what are you doing?” ‘s and “M, where are you?” ‘s were answered with “You’ll see,” and “Nothing, Momma, nothing at all!” ‘s (the “nothing at all” added to the end is ALWAYS a bad sign. Always.) Since M has a perchance for “performing experiments and declaring that he is a “Scientist,” I went searching for him. At least he comes by it honest…one Grandfather is a Meteorologist, one Grandfather has a PhD in Physics and his Daddy is a Mechanical Engineer. So when I finally found him, and he didn’t know I was lurking; he reacted like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar…He may as well as been a (dare I say it?) teenager jerking off for the reaction I received…

He spun around fast, having been totally “busted” by his Momma, and yelled,

“YOUR BATHROOM IS MY LABORATORY!”

I looked around and found that several bottles of shampoo, “product,” leave-in conditioner and contact lens solution had been partially emptied into a drinking glass. There was some kind of “rig,” that was slightly reminiscent of the moonshine still Pierce and Honeycutt built together in “M*A*S*H”,



and the whole room smelled faintly of watermelon. I suppose my inexperience with kids has made a naïve Momma of me,

but I really thought I had some time before I had to have the “You may NOT perform experiments in my bathroom” speech with my 5-year-old. I mean, whatever happened to picking your nose and eating paste?

Medical Update

I received a phone call yesterday that was potentially life changing. To sum it up, I heard,

“Mrs. Brown, we received your blood test results and we need to see you in the office as soon as possible. The Doctor needs to talk to you.”

Of course, I interrogated the nurse until she finally folded and let me know it was one value, in particular, that was askew; and that no, I was NOT dying. Even still, hearing “we need to see you as soon as possible,” made me HORRIBLY nervous.

We have a saying in our house:

It’s all about NOT me.

In other words, I take care of everyone before myself, everyone ELSES needs come before my own. Sure, I sound like a martyr, but any other Momma will sing you the same song. However, Big Daddy FREAKED when I told him about my phone call, so they “worked me in” to the schedule this morning. I’ll keep the “why” and “how” to myself, but WILL say Big Daddy can be VERY convincing when he needs to be.

When the Doctor went over my results, she informed me that based on the indirect vs. direct conjugation of red blood cell lysis blah blah blah I have something called “Gilbert’s Syndrome,” a totally benign condition that basically amounts to nothing.

The only other thing about Gilbert’s Syndrome is the potential inability to detoxify certain drugs in my liver the way “normal” folks do, specifically Tylenol. You know what else can’t detoxify Tylenol? A cat. So in addition to Gilbert’s Syndrome, I am also turning into a cat. Meow.

Of course I IMMEDIATELY called Big Daddy (who was on “death watch”) to inform I was going to “live to be 1000 year old,” according to my physician, and that I have this thing called “Gilbert’s Syndrome.”

“DILBERT’S SYNDROME? Does that mean yer gonna be an engineer? Ha ha..” said my husband as he gets his NINTH patent (no, seriously NERD ALERT.)

“No,” I said, “GILBERT’S SYNDROME”

Silence. Pause.

"Ogre, you asshole." He said.

"Wormser designed the javelin for Lamar's limp-wristed throwing style," I replied.

“’What are you lookin’ at NERD?’

‘Well, I thought I was looking at my mother’s old DOUCHE BAG, but that’s back in Ohio…’” He shot back.

"Not the Moos!" I shouted!

"What the fuck's a 'frush?'" Big Daddy laughed (one of his favorite lines.)

“She’s not that kind of girl, Booger,” he said.

“Why? Does she have a PENIS?” I said.

PAUSE.

“We’ve got bush!” We said, in unison, and erupted in laughter.

Hey Guys, WONDERJOINT!

You want me to wear WHAT?!

The world of Kindergarten has opened up what is probably my most favorite time of motherhood, so far. I feel sorry for underestimating my own child, but after he came back from the first week of school writing sentences (not “sentence,” but SENTENCES) I was appropriately impressed. And after homework tonight, I couldn’t believe how fluently he was reading. And by “fluently” I mean, he is balancing my checkbook as I write this.

Now that about a month has passed since the first day of school, the parents are allowed to have lunch with their kids. The teachers asked that we wait a few weeks so the kids could establish their schedule, which is especially true for M since (according to my dad) the reason he is thriving is due to his love of “schedule and order.” But since M has informed me that his lunch room has already experienced MULTIPLE visitors (his words and emphasis…) I decided that I would make an impromptu appearance in the cafeteria tomorrow at approximately 11:00 am. Cue the paparazzi.

That being said, and to honor M’s love of “routine,” I informed him, in advance, that I would be “lunching” with him tomorrow (clearly 11:00 am is WAY too early for me, I will snack on a South Beach bar instead and subject myself to the whispers of the other adults present… “BITCH.” Ha ha. I wasn’t sure what the other mommies would be wearing since, these days, my “uniform” most consistently is comprised of “booty shorts” and a tank top, or pajamas (Oh, how I *LOVE* being a stay at home mom!) and I was pretty sure “Daisy Dukes” are on the “Do Not Wear” list for Elementary School, so I asked M, “What would you like me to wear tomorrow?”

M, as always, waxed pensive, and really thought my query through.

“A very beautiful dress,” he spoke, and paused…

Yes! I can do that! I JUST bought a “very beautiful” dress (from the Belk’s Junior’s Department) that is slightly conservative (it’s black) and would look really super cute…

He finished his sentence…

“…and UNDERWEAR.”

My Mother, Father and I (who were all at the table eating dinner with M and V) exchanged sideward glances…they, with a twinkle in their eyes…and me with a horrified, apologetic, shoulder-shrugging frown. Another lesson in life...if our kids can't keep us honest, who can? I mean, we can’t ALL be classy, can we?

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