"I've never wanted a movie....so much...in my life."

I swore, I would not, under any circumstances, until the very deepest recesses of hell froze over...go to the midnight premiere of New Moon. I am far too in love with the Saga to share it with the following people, who I am 100% positive will ruin my virgin New Moon experience:

• The three drunk thirty-somethings who will show up in the middle of the previews with fake bite-marks that the one with the muffin top drew on their necks with eyeliner pencil while they ate sushi, drank Cosmos and sent sexy texts to their doctor husbands

• The "cool mom" who dresses like a college co-ed in her pink Victoria's Secret sweats that will allow her 8-year-old (and her 8-year-old's BFF) to sit right in front of me and bounce up and down...giggling through the entire movie while they debate aloud whether RPatz is cuter than Zac Effron and then wonder aloud how jealous their friend Kylie will be at school tomorrow

• The horde of a dozen or more brace-faced tweenagers wearing their "Team Edward" t-shirts from Hot Topic with hi-top Converse and mini-skirts that were previously hidden in their coat sleeves, but they changed into them in the theater bathroom after their moms dropped them off

• The two skinny goth chics who show up with their gay male friend and proceed to whine and criticize through the entire movie that Stephenie Meyer's "vampire mythology" is SO WRONG and TrueBlood is so much more accurate and they're only here because of "Chad's" sick man crush on Taylor Lautner, blah...blah...blah. (PS - I like "Chad" - it's the girls I want to bi*&@ slap.)

I am serious as a cardiac arrest when I tell you that I considered approaching my local theater owner to see if they'd be willing to reserve one theater for 25+ viewers only...and then I remembered that the drunk thirty-somethings would still be able to annoy the crap out of me.

So, I made a plan. I was going to medicate myself with several bottles of Moscato, stay under the covers in bed listening to the New Moon soundtrack and reading Fan Fiction the entire weekend.

Then, (since I fortuitously scheduled my last week of vacation for the week after the premiere) on Monday, I would move into the theater for the remainder of the week, kinda like Tom Hanks in "The Terminal". You know...washing up in the theatre bathroom, making a complete meal from popcorn, Butterfingers and Ju-Ju Bees and catching naps in that mysterious area under the movie screens where the curtains would provide a perfect camoflauge.

It was a genius plan, really.

And then, these images surfaced and swiftly took control of all the executive functions of my brain:

Damn you Edward and your signature "hand in the hair" kiss that weakens my knees and clouds my ability to be rational.

Are you serious Charlie? Come on! You sit on her bed to console her in lieu of an awkward offer of pepper spray? Well aint this just craptastic. I'm falling. HARD.

What's that sound? Yep...that's what I thought. It's my resolve crumbling like a wrought iron headboard in Edward's fist. I can almost smell "Chad's" Abercrombie cologne now.

And then, the final nail in my coffin...

Chris Weitz, you are the devil incarnate. You just had to highlight the happy trail, didn't you? Well screw you and your manipulative, cinematic genius that results in a raging fire in the loins of millions of women.

I'm just sayin'.

Needless to say, off to Fandango.com I went, in a picgasm induced trance, where I bought 4 midnight premiere tickets and then ducked underneath my computer desk where I sucked my thumb and rifled through my purse searching for my therapist's phone number.

So, I guess I'll see you all at 12:01 a.m. on 11/20. And then again at various showtimes from 11/21 until either the theatrical run expires or the DvD is released...which for the sake of my mental health cannot be more than 30 days apart. I have a doctor's note.

Please Scummit.

Please.

It's the least you can do for making me feel like your puppet.