I'm going to list the hilarious titles of these 'ABC After School Specials' and you try to guess what they're about:
Please Don't Hit Me, Mom (1983)
Daddy Can't Read (1988)
Just Tipsy, Honey (1989)
My Dad Lives In A Downtown Hotel (1973)
Don't Touch (1985)
She Drinks A Little (1981)
Sometimes I Don't Love My Mother (1982)
My Dad Can't Be Crazy... Can He? (1989)
If you knew how hard Dottie and I laughed at 'Daddy Can't Read', you'd know we are truly horrible people with no chance for redemption. But we're okay with that, because we have each other.
Kal Penn forever.
One night this summer, out of sheer curiosity, I found myself on one of those sex offender database websites, where I discovered there's a rapist living on my block. He showed up as a big yellow dot on the map, because yellow dots are for rapists, while other colors represent different crimes, and when viewed from the right distance New York City looks like a giant Twister board of deviants. (Left foot, child molester - spin again.) If you click on a dot, it brings up a nifty list of stats on each criminal and their crimes, complete with a profile picture, like the world's worst dating site. I was surprised there was only one convicted pervert in my area, because there were some neighborhoods where the map looked like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting. They were everywhere. And rooming together like models, apparently.
Welcome to Brooklyn.
Anyway, my neighborhood rapist is a middle-aged Asian man with a lazy eye who lives in the building next door. I don't recall ever seeing him on the street, but maybe he's shy when he's not raping people. The sad thing is that he's nowhere near the creepiest looking person in my neighborhood. Not by a long shot.
There's a little triangle of benches at the top of my block, situated around a thatch of uncut grass and a tree, and during the summer you can always find a group of men sitting there at night, drinking beer and talking. I've nicknamed it 'Murder Park' because every guy on those benches looks like a serial killer. An established serial killer, I mean. There's the Richard Ramirez guy, with his heavy metal t-shirts and crazy eyes, a Henry Lee Lucas lookalike with wild, uncombed hair, and the obligatory Jeffrey Dahmer clone in his wire-rimmed murder glasses. They are rounded out by a heavyset guy with long white hair and a full beard who looks like a deranged Santa Claus, ready to climb down your chimney and disembowel you for the holidays. I imagine they've bonded over their mutual creepiness and sit around all night discussing the best way to prepare human flesh burgers for the end of summer block party.
There's also a woman on my street that I'm pretty sure is a Terminator, but that's neither here nor there.
These are my neighbors. I have many locks.
TWILIGHT: BREAKING DAWN, PART 1 - Mix recreational drug use, boredom, and the fact that I'll pretty much watch any piece of crap if it's on cable, and what you'll end up with is this review. So I apologize in advance and you're welcome, because this movie is as batshit crazy as I am.
For those not in the 'Twilight' know, the story centers around a teenage girl named Bella who meets and falls in love with a vampire named Edward. This might be exciting if either character were even slightly interesting or there was a drop of sexual chemistry between them, but it's like watching paint dry for five movies. They mostly just cuddle and talk about how in love they are in that annoying teen way (2-getha! 4-eva!) - and that's when I get bored and try to picture Edward looking his real age, which is like a hundred, just to amuse myself. That rotting corpse is dreamy! I love his milky eyes! This isn't weirdly pedo at all!
The only drawback to their insipid teen/corpse love is that other vampires keep trying to kill Bella because she's human and they're not down with 'Monster Fever' - or whatever they call it when vampires hook up with regular folk and break those crazy racial barriers. Turns out... vampires? Not that tolerant. Bella's always missing important school functions and lying to her parents because she's running or fearing for her life. Gee, wish I had a vampire boyfriend. Tweens are idiots.
Not to mention, Bella and Edward can't have sex. And the reason why is my favorite thing ever.
See, they get married in this one, so it's expected that they're finally going to the do the dirty interspecies deed, and everyone is really worried about it because Edward is vampire strong and it might be too much for poor human Bella. That's right, a major plot point of this film is that Edward might lose control and KILL HER WITH HIS VAMPIRE PENIS. It's discussed. At length. By multiple characters. And it's hilarious every time. Whenever poor Bella tries for a little premarital nookie, Edward just sighs and says, "You know we can't. I don't want to hurt you." And cue me laughing for five minutes because that's every guy's dream line.
This is the crap my niece was reading when she was eleven? Because that could be really confusing for a young girl. Basically, "A boy can kill you with his penis. It can happen. Sweet dreams now. Stay a virgin forever." Ugh. As if young girls aren't already scared of sex and imagining their first times as a mixture of agonizing pain and more blood than Carrie at the prom, so let's go ahead and add lethal genitalia to the mix. I mean, I read Flowers In The Attic when I was eleven, so I knew more about sibling incest than I ever needed to in this lifetime, but at least there were no homicidal penises involved. Times have changed.
Anyway, Bella and Edward get married and the vampire sex doesn't kill her, but she does get vampire pregnant. This is where I called bullshit on Stephenie Meyer and her whole fang-less vampire world. Anne Rice is rolling over in her coffin right now. (Not that she's dead, I'm just pretty sure Anne Rice sleeps in a coffin.) Meyer's vampires can live in daylight, just not direct sun because they're house plants or something, and they sparkle like disco balls. They attend high school (?) or have day jobs (vampire doctor!), refuse to drink human blood, and except for being really pale and climbing the fuck out of a tree, they're basically human. And incredibly dull for supernatural beings. Still, whatever. I'll buy it. But vampire procreation? Come on. No wonder tweens love this stuff, Stephenie Meyer is obviously twelve years old. I fully expected Bella to give birth to a vampire unicorn.
Turns out the vampire baby is slowly killing Bella and when she goes into labor, Edward rips the baby out of her stomach with his teeth. I'm not kidding. It's shot in this weird, light flickering way where's she's screaming and he's at an all-you-can-eat placenta fest and you're just like, "What the HELL am I watching?" Then you remember. And you're ashamed.
There's also a bunch of stuff having to do with Jacob, Bella's werewolf ex-boyfriend (because she's only a gillman, mummy, and Frankenstein away from having dated the entire Monster Squad), but since the werewolves are ridiculous CGI cartoons that talk to each other in human voices, it's probably best not to mention them at all. Except for this weird scene where Jacob 'imprints' on the baby, meaning he knows in some psychic way that she's his future wife, which was very 'Japanese Geisha movie' and creepy. You made out with her mother, dude. Not cool.
It mercifully ends with Bella dead and being made vampire - which involves Edward injecting a tube of milky liquid he calls 'his venom' into her chest. Because guys are always trying to put their venom on women's chests. It's a thing. I had no idea it made you a vampire. Maybe Stephenie Meyer has a sense of humor after all.
Thanks to it's utter insanity, I didn't totally hate this movie. But I am a little worried about my niece.
ME: Going for drinks with the ex tonight.
MY SISTER: Thought he was history.
ME: We're friends.
MY SISTER: Your exes always come back around. Do you have magic in your vagina?
ME: No, just a bunch of scarves knotted together.
They are, Liz Lemon. They SO FUCKING ARE.
I read this book in one sitting. Couldn't put it down. Loved it.
SO MUCH TO SAY. Sadly, I find myself under the weather again this weekend with The Cold That Will Not Fucking Die, which is something like consumption except slightly less lethal and I'm pretty sure it's caused by exposure to the boy band 1 Direction. Because I was exposed to A LOT of 1 Direction this holiday season, thanks to my obsessed teen niece, and got sick almost immediately afterward. I'm sure there must be some connection, but my head hurts too much to figure it out. I'll leave that up to the boy band scientists.
Anyway, as you can clearly see, I am in no shape to post. Between cold medicine, my throbbing head, and my inability to sit upright for longer than five minutes, I'm pretty much useless right now. But I have a mountain of stuff to post about and once I'm feeling a little better again, I will.
See ya later.