If I had a nickel for every time I said “Well, that was less embarrassing than I thought it would be” or “..and no one got arrested!” or “Those jeans are so tight I can see your vagina” I’d have $3.45. Back in October of 2008, I preemptively apologized to the employees of Scotiabank Theatre for my crazy in relation to the first of the Twilight movies, based on the popular/cringe-worthy young adult series by Stephanie Meyer. At the time, I was pooping myself (and I don’t mean figuratively) with excitement over the release of Twilight. Because I thought/hoped/prayed it would be good. I needed it to be good. The people at Summit who made the trailer led me to believe it would be good. I now refer to those people as Master Bamboozlers and Grand Marshals of Emotional Fuckery.
As It turned out, we were running a little late so none of my predicted pre-movie crazy occurred. I hunkered down in my seat, in a warm cocoon of bourbon, movie nachos and a homemade Twilight-themed poncho.
I’m joking of course..about the bourbon. It was scotch. C’mon people, give me a little credit! This was the movies, not my niece’s baptism for pete’s sake!
The opening credits rolled. I held my breath in anticipation. Then I passed out a little. Then I regained consciousness, burped up my garlic pan bread from Jack Astor’s, and prepared myself for what was surely to be the BEST.MOVIE.EVER.
Then this happened. Oh, it was bad. So, so bad. And not in the ‘so bad it’s good’ way that Mandy Moore and Hilary Duff movies epitomize. It was actually bad. And unintentionally hilarious.
After seeing Twilight, I decided to read the second book in the series: New Moon. In my defense, I was pretty heavy into smack at that time, which may have led to my exceptionally poor decision making. And by smack, I’m referring of course to sour cherry blasters. Just to be clear.
After my eyes stopped bleeding from being raped by Stephanie Meyer’s horrible writing and blatant overuse of the words “sighed,” “mumbled,” and “ice-cold cock” (ok, that last one may be projecting a bit), I went into a self-imposed Twilight ban. I was done. No more Twilight-related anything for me (unless, they managed to produce Twilight-vodka or a Twilight rape whistle). Don’t get me wrong: I was hooked on the first book. It was totally readable in spite of the cheesy prose. New Moon, however, was almost unreadable.
My full-on Twi-ban lasted roughly 3 months.
One fateful night while I was in Vancouver visiting a friend, it happened. This happened. THE ENCOUNTER. I stood two feet from Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart in a restaurant. And Robert kinda talked to me, maybe? Or something? They were in town filming New Moon. So I have to see it. Because I am convinced that if Robert Pattinson looks a little less constipated this time around, it’s because he met me. Right?!
Since bonding for life with the new Moon cast (cough), I’ve prided myself on my ability to remain relatively unchanged by my encounter. I still put my leather chaps on one leg at a time like everyone else. Same old Jenn. I guess if anything’s changed, it’s that I’m just a teeny, tiny bit better than everyone else. But I don’t let it effect me, because that would be straight up ignorant. And ignorant people give me the sads. Sometimes, when I get a little moist reminiscing about that night, I feel a little blue at the thought that we only had that brief time together. I placate myself with codeine and photo spreads of Robert and Kristen. Those two are in every freaking magazine. A few weeks ago the Vanity Fair cover shoot with Rob hit the stands. All the photos were leaked in advance on the inter-web (what, you call it the internet? amateur). The next day, Harper’s Bazaar leaked the photos from the Rob/Kristen cover shoot. So basically, I spent two days at work alternately gaping at the photos and drying off my underpants.
And now, it’s New Moon time.
So what will my New Moon movie experience consist of? First and foremost: nachos. I’m a nacho queen. I bathe in cheese sauce (great for the skin and, as it turns out, very helpful for removing lipstick stains from Edward Cullen action figures who look a little like Corey Feldman – just saying). There will be no cardboard cutouts. The New Moon book was the worst of the series (then again, that’s like comparing shit to diarrhea) and the film adaptation does not warrant cardboard cutouts. But by god, there will be adult diapers. And Valium. So, to the employees of Scotiabank Theatre – let’s just get through this together. With extra cheese, please.
Full Twilight cast encounter in Vancouver post here: https://justsayjenn.wordpress.com/2009/04/17/twilight-encounter-a-tale-of-intense-embarrassment-and-amazing-outfits/