Yesterday I grew tired of doing mountains of tedious library school homework (and visions of imperfect dresses danced in my head) so I begged OMC to drop his extremely interesting writings on Chiefdoms in Belize, or whatever, and go on a superfun date with me to West Mifflin, haven of all things cheap. “We could even,” I suggested, with flirtatious eyelashes,” see if TWILIGHT is playing at the Dollar Theater!!!” (which of course it was, because I’d already checked).
Very much against his will, lured in only by the promise of popcorn and a Coke all to himself, OMC succumbed to the beauty that is Twilight. I say that thickly, with a heavy sense of sarcasm, because unless you are 12, a girl and foolish (or, well, 23 and a girl and still pretty foolish) this movie is Bad. Capital B Bad. That didn’t stop me from loving it. I loved it for a myriad of really embarrassing reasons, but for the sake of maintaining any coolness I might appear to have, I will say that I also loved it for these reasons:
- Edward has THE BEST wardrobe. I don’t know anything men’s clothing, but he wears a coat that is dreamy and grey and tweedy and fitted and fabulous. Bella’s wardrobe sucks. She dresses like the bulk of her clothing came from Gap Body (essentially what I am saying is that she wears pajamas, or some incarnation of pajamas for the majority of the movie). What does Edward see in her? Find a woman who can dress like you, boy.
- Edward’s bedroom is practically the essence of awesome. I know even less about furniture than I do about clothing, but holy hell, his day bed/couch/Eames thingie: I want it. I need it. And a cuddly vamp to share it with. His bookshelves! SWOON.
- (Library dork time) Bella’s information-seeking habits pleased the nerd in me to no end. She perfectly demonstrated what a gazillion boring SPEC Kits and ARL papers took pages and pages to “show” me: teenagers like Google! They use it for everything! Shock! The. End.
- The scenary. Hello, Pacific Northwest. You are gorgeous. You are full of moss, and fog, and rain, and moody teenagers. Sign me up!
An armful of imperfect Anthro dresses, a bellyfull of Dollar Theater popcorn and one grumpy, bored OMC later, I was satisfied. In case I wasn’t clear enough (I wasn’t), OMC is the best, most tolerant, kindest boyfriend ever. I owe him at least three viewings of Mad Max and maybe even some terrible choose-your-own-adventure Dragon Lance viewings. An excellent Sunday of postponing so much schoolwork.