The Cougar's Den

Happy Birthday Soul Sister! - The Press Box

2011-07-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

If any event could haul my sorry, lazy ass out of bloggy oblivion, it's this day.

That's right. Leaked Breaking Dawn footage? Meh. Pap photos of Rob's semi-erect junk under thin sweatpants? *YAWN* Whatever. Stealth video of Kris and Rob dry humping on a hotel balcony? Epic eyeroll.

But this event?

The day set aside each year to commemorate the birth of my one and only Soul Sister, 17ForeverLisa?

I'M ALL OVER THAT SHIT LIKE SPARKLES ON THE PEEN.

"Because Lisa, your birth is definitely something to celebrate." -MC

Like so many of us Twi-besties, Lisa and I met through the Twitarded blog, a few months before New Moon came out on DvD. We discovered our relative geographical closeness (although we both agree that even three hours is MUCH too far), that we were both sports fans, are close in age, and our husbands share a name. But most of all, we discovered our unnatural, bordering-on-obsessive addiction to some very pretty boys and a series of books & movies called The Twilight Saga.

And the rest, they say, is Twistory.

"To us, she'll always be THIS. Frozen. Never moving forward." - MC

I invited Lisa to my New Moon DvD release party, and by some miracle of faith, she agreed to haul her happy ass to my house in the middle of fucking Nowheresville to hang out with strangers. I think it took all of three seconds before she became a part of our family.

"Bitch, I love you. You don't know how long I've waited for you." - MC

"Whorebag, you are my life now." - Lisa

Since then, we've had some of the most memorable adventures two old, crazy Rob/Jackson lovers could ever imagine. We traveled North to meet the Twilight Junkies Anonymous...

"Pssssst. Lisa. I think they're as crazy as we are." - MC

"I know, right? SCORE!" - Lisa

We shared in the glory of Eclipseward on the IMAX, and then proceeded to spend 2.5 hours looking for a fucking Chili's. Three beers later, we were reduced to trying to catch each other farting & tweeting the .wav files to the masses. I woke up the next morning to discover the bitch had ACTUALLY taped me snoring and put it on her blog. And HELL NO, I'm not linking that shit. If you're that excited about my sleep apnea, you'll have to wade through Lisa's ~~colon~~ blog.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm your number one fan too, asshole." - MC

We traveled together to the promised land of FFFOOORRRKKSS with the Twitarded gals and I learned more about whale/water phobia than I ever expected to, when Lisa clung to me for dear life on the Ferry. Truth? It kinda turned me on.

" And so the lion falls in love with the lamb."-Lisa

"I'd better be the fucking Lion." - MC

Our next adventure was my Eclipse DvD release party where my girl agreed she needed to spend the entire weekend in my den so she could enjoy a couple of good ole' fashioned bean flicks to all my TwiPorn.

"Sure, MC....I 'went to my happy place' in your guest room, but I brought my own Clorox Wipes, so there's that." - Lisa

"Ummmm......Lisa? That's NOT the Golden Onion." - MC

"There ya go. Although, I really did enjoy the boob grope." - MC

Our next adventure brought us to New York City where we got in some quality, creepy Rob-stalking, attending both the Water For Elephants Red Carpet Premiere as well as Rob's appearance on Live! with Regis & Kelly.

"We are SOFA KING cray-cray, but Godammit, I love us." - WFE h00rs

Our most recent Twi-scapade took us to the Windy City where we enjoyed some quality time with our favorite Texan, Jackson Rathbone and his fabulous 100 Monkeys in concert at the House of Blues. Lots of Twitards in attendance and Lisa winning a private meet-n-greet made the evening so full of fucking WIN that we spent the next several days smiling like a couple of cats shitting razor blades.

"Yeah, House of Blues ain't ready for this jelly." - Jude

"Jelly? Fuck that shit. We're bacon & eggs." - Mandy & Nic

"OH MY GOD it's Lisa's Birthday!" - Jax

So dear Lisa, all kidding aside, I want you to know what meeting you has meant to me. It's meant finding that rare soul with which you can share a deep passion and understand its roots. It's meant knowing that the very moment that awesome photo or video clip hits the interwebs, three hours away someone who "gets you" is squeeing just as loudly as you are. It's meant having a person....that person, your person. The one who doesn't make you feel ashamed, or silly...who doesn't belittle you for loving what you love and pursuing your passion.

Lisa, you are MY person.

"Bitch, I love you. Let's get eaten together." - MC

"You had me at eaten." - Lisa

"Word." - MC

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LISA!

Here's to many, many more adventures in Twi-fuckery with my one and only Soul Sister.

Love Always,

Keep Lisa's party going and visit these other ballpark venues:

Batter Up - Rathgasm

Starting Pitch - The Cold Shower

Home Run - DangrDaphne

First Base - Robmusement

Second Base - Twilight Junkies Anonymous

Shortstop - Pattinson Post

Third Base - SoTwired

Home Plate - TwiBite

Extra Innings w/ Grand Slam - TongueTwied

The Dug Out - TwiKiwi

7th Inning Stretch - RobzSinger

The Beer Vendor - Musing Bella

The Outfield - MoonDance with Rob

The Derelicts Under the Bleachers - Twitarded

The Locker Room - Edbrella

Spring Training - Starlit Violets

The Expendables

2010-12-09T13:00:00.000-08:00

I love shit.

I love to stir it.

I am a shit stirrer.

So yesterday, while working super hard at my office (and***coughtweetingcough***), I stumbled upon this HUGE, absolutely vile smelling pile of shit that is Lainey Gossip's blog.

WARNING, do not click on this link unless you want to land your bare nekkid feet in a massive steaming mountain of putrid excrement and feel it squish between your toes.

You clicked on the link, didn't you? You're fucking incorrigible.

Fine, but don't blame me that there isn't enough brain bleach in the world to clean those Breaking Dawn Spoilers out of your head.

Well, as long as the pile of shit is just sitting there, and you've managed to step in it despite my warning, I might as well stir.

Because that's what I do.

I stir shit.

WARNING: I am going to expand upon and invite discussion on Lainey's supposed script spoilers. If you're trying to keep your BD twymen intact, leave NOW. Go. Shoo. GTFO.

*******

****crickets****

*******

You're still here? Well, ok then.

Commence shit stirring.

I don't normally read Lainey's blog because I'd rather spend my nine hours a day in front of the computer working very hard at my job, being a dilligent, dedicated employee and making myself indispensable in the workplace.

Well, that and the occasional tweeting, blogging, reading fanfic, surfing Tumblr, online shopping and social networking.

But yesterday, someone dangled the sparkle peen in front of my face and I did what any self-repsecting h00r would do. I chomped. And I'm not sorry.

First, it was interesting to learn that Lainey hated the book Breaking Dawn as much as I did. Stephenie Meyer should have named this book Freaking Yawn. Aside from the honeymoon and the 12 or so pages of vampire sex in the cottage, IT. WAS. BORING. I forced myself to keep reading in hopes that Edward would crush Jake's larynx with a smile on his face and say something like :

"I've been waiting four fucking books to do that, you pedophilic pussy."

I plowed through the second half of Stephenie's word vomit, literally praying that there'd be a vicious, venomy battle where Edward would exact his revenge on Felix for the Volturi chamber beat down, and Bella would torture Jane by yanking out that fucking ridiculous bun hair by hair.

And until the final page, I held out hope that Bella would sprout a pair of testicles and tell Edward to cheer the fuck up or she'd suck the joy out of him through his Penis De Milo. And that he'd take her up on it.

Wow...that's ummmm.....disappointing.

As you all know, none of that happened. What we got instead was the vampire equivalent of the final courtroom scene in A Few Good Men. Lots of political posturing, mental manipulation, shouting and in the end, nobody really won. Only ONE vampire dies, and no one actually gave two shits about her anyway. Irina who?!?

The penalty for being a tattletale in the vampire world is death, apparently.

So when Lainey said in her blog:

"VAMPIRE SEX ...they start mashing up against each other without restraint. Especially him. So there are a lot of accelerated motion quick cuts – him on top, then her on top, the camera’s speeding around them, they’re speeding around each other, like porn on 30x"

I died a thousand fucking blissful, euphoric deaths.

Please, God (Bill Condon), I beg you....let this be true. PLEASE!

And this:

"I’m told there will be a battle. You will “see” a battle. A vicious battle. And ...Some Cullens die. Wolves too. It’s total carnage."

I love carnage. Carnage is my friend. But wait one fucking minute. Cullens will die?!? Which Cullens?
I love the Cullens! And Wolves?

Well...I'll have to be honest and admit that both Jared and Embry have "expendable" stamped on their foreheads. They were marked for death from the day Condon got his hands on that script. Yep...in my mind, those two chicken-chomping, muffin-sucking hairballs are already dead and buried.

Sorry, boys. Aro's bustin' a cap in yo' asses.

But which Cullens are expendable?!?

It took me exactly 1.77245 seconds to figure out which Cullen falls victim to Condon's red pen of death. In fact, to me, it was ridiculously obvious. C'mon...you're thinking the same thing.

You know you are.

Tits to the tile ladies...you have to know it's gonna be:

KAPOW!!!

And if you really think about it, Emmett too. Because what would the ending be without a few tears?

So...what do YOU think? I'm very interested to hear your thoughts and theories. If it goes down like this, what kind of uproar will occur in the batshit crazy fandom? Protests on the steps of Summit HQ? Rioting in the streets of LA at the BD 2 premiere?

***Pulls spoon out of shit pot and stands back to watch the chaos unfold...***

GO. And don't hold back!

FFFFOOORRRKKSSS Fuckery at it's Finest!

2010-10-06T07:42:00.000-07:00

R to L: Standing: Myg, JJ, Me, LKW, VitR & Snarky. Kneeling: CCC & TM.

Holy Amazeballs batman - Who the hell are these certifiable h00rs?!?

Can you even believe that bucket full of crazyy?!?
Well, I can't either!

I just keep repeating to myself,
"I actually met Jenny Jerkface."
"I said hello to LatchkeyWife."
"I hugged SnarkierThanYou. HARD."
"I loved Myg with all my heart."
"I motorboated VitaminR70's bewbs."
I really, really did all that.
What a fuckin' lucky bitch I am!"

What kind of VagSlice would I be if I didn't share parts of my adventure with all of you? So of course, I bring you not one, not two, but three new Cougar's Den Episodes!

Episode #40 was shot in the Hoh Forest just outside Forks.

Hoes Mama Cougar, CullenClanCrazy and TatooMickey all up in the Hoh babyyyyyy!

Episode #41 takes place on Second Beach at LaPush after newly anointed Cougars CullenClanCrazy, TatooMickey and I drank a bottle of Vampire Cabernet on the beach. (***CoughAndMaybeaBottleofWhiteZinCough***)

(Sorry about the rough audio...turn your speakers WAY up - it was windy & shit.)

This third vid is a "quickie" - shot as Mama & TatooMickey, in a moment of true Twitardedness, underestimate the incoming tide and take an unplanned plunge in the Pacific, thereby ruining Mama's cell phone and drenching us both so thoroughly that we had to ride back to Forks in our skivies. Unfortch, Charlie didn't pull us over, because we were totally ready to do nasty stuffs to the Police Chief.

Chief Swan, we've been very bad. We may or may not have committed a felony. I think we might need a cavity search. By the way Chief, we're huge fans of your womb broom. Pornstache FOREVA.

For an album full of more ridiculous still pics, CLICK HERE.

More to come (gigglesnicker - I said "come") as soon as I recover from what was truly a life-altering experience.

Twiporn Tweeting

2010-09-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

I got an e-mail the other day, from a friend of my oldest daughter who works at the "Family Video". Think a moment about that franchise name and then as you continue to read, let the irony wash over you.

The email said:

Dear Mama, (all the kids call me Mama)

I was sorting in the "back room" yesterday and you'll never guess what I found. Did you know there is a TWILIGHT PORN MOVIE?!?!? Have you seen it? If not, I could bring it to your house and we could drink and watch it. Let me know.

Love,

Well, as it happens "B", thanks to my lovers at Twitarded and my soul sistah 17ForeverLisa, I was acutely aware of the existence of said porn movie, but no, I've never seen it.

I just......can't.

Just.......no.

Can't. Dew. It.

"Hey, Fast Eddie, didn't you say you had two brothers? 'Cause I don't have a hole in my chest, but I do have three other orifices just waiting to be filled."

Before you start to imagine me all stuffy and prudish, let me remind you that I used to make my Barbies perform oral on each other as outlined in this previous perverted post. I've seen plenty of porn in my day.

I'm sleazy, lewd and a completely depraved.

Hell, I regularly visit the website for the Tantra Chair because I'm fascinated by the erotic demo videos.

Well....go ahead. You can click the link. I'll still be here when you ~~wake up~~ get back, h00rs.

But the very thought of anyone else pretending to be a manwhore Edward, fucking a Bella with a meat curtains the size of Montana makes me wanna smother kittens. I just can't go there. There's something sacreligious about it...in my warped, deviant mind.

Rob is my only Edward and Kristen is my only Bella.

End of story.

What's a porn lover to do?

EUREKA!

Let's turn the real Twilight movie into porn!

Because in my ill, twisted grey matter, Robward and Krisella can be as hardcore horny and kinky as my mind will let them, as long as they're still my Edward and Bella.

So, in that vein, I bring you my apparently popular (based on the amount of times they were retweeted and the 50 followers I picked up) TwiPorn Tweets!

B - I know what I saw."

E - "And what exactly was that?"

B - "Your massive meat rocket stopped the van. You pushed it away with your rod."

B - "Are you gonna tell me how you stopped the van?"

E- "Yeah. I had an erection. It's very common. You can fondle it."

B - "I've considered penis pumps, and Viagra."

E - "What if it's not a boner? What if I'm the limp guy?"

B - "You're not. I can see what you're trying to jerk off. It's a dick."

E - "I feel....very....erect for you."

B - "So you swallowed me?"

E - "I don't have the strength....to stay out of you anymore."

B - "I know what you are."

E - "Say it. OUT LOUD."

B - "Porn star."

E - "Are you afraid?"

B - "No. Where are we going?"

E - "Up the poon tang, into the stank tank. You need to feel what I can do in your behind!"

E - "And so the Lion fell in Love with the Lamb."

B - "What a horny lamb!"

E - "What a sadomasochistic lion."

B - "About three things, I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was hung. Second, I didn't know how dominant he wanted to be. And third, my anus was unconditionally, and irrevocably shredded by him."

E - "I don't want to have a monster cock. I mean, it's like I can't fully satisfy you."

B - "Come to visit or fuck?"

Billy - "Actually, we just came to visit your flat chest. First pole dance of the season. Jacob here wanted to see it."

E - "What did you expect? Cock rings and floggers and ropes?"

B - "Not the ropes."

E - "Not the ropes."

E - "Yeah, this is my room."

B - "No porn?"

E - "No, I,...I don't wank."

B - "Ever?"

E - "No, not at all."

E - "You'd better be tight, spunk monkey."

E - "How did you get in here?"

B - "I came on your window."

E - "Do you....do that a lot?"

B - "I like to watch you queef. It's kinda fascinating to me."

There's so much more where this came from. (No pun intended.)

Just think - I haven't even explored the porn possibilities in New Moon or Eclipse!

Come on....I know you VagSlices are just as corrupted as I am. Get creative and share your favorite TwiPorn lines with me in the comments.

PS. FFFFFFFFFOOOOOOOORRRRRRKKKKKKKS!

Ode to Mr. Marshmallow

2010-08-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

In November 2009, somewhere on a quiet airport tarmac in Paris, Kristen Stewart clutches Robert Pattinson's hand before boarding an airplane. Rob smiles.The Twitter whale was nearly speared and the internet imploded as the hearts of ~~delusional~~ hopeful women around the world were shattered.

Let's give 'em something to talk about.

For the next nine months, the pair are hounded by the paparazzi. Despite Rob's desperate pleas and Kristen's attempts to blind them with the lasers she can apparently shoot from her middle fingers, the little picture-snapping parasites were relentless in their pursuit of THE photo. That photo. THE ONE that would bring the Twifandom to it's knees in either elation or despair, depending on your "Robsten/Nonsten" status.

And finally, in August 2010 on a street in Montreal, one of the heinous little bottom feeders finally captured the money shot.

Fuck it. I haven't seen you for two weeks and I WANT that mouth.

You had me at "fuck it".

Meanwhile, on a Holland America cruise ship bound for Alaska, occupied by approximately 1300 geriatric patients fresh out of hip replacement rehab and 500 batshit crazy Twilight Fans, Michael Welch is spotted canoodling repeatedly with a girl I can only describe as cuter than a newborn baby's bottom, and nobody...and I do mean, not ONE single person gives a flying fuck.

What? No love for Mr. Marshmallow? No illicit photos sold to the highest gossip site bidder?

Jesus Mama, what's with the huge rack?

I put the good bra on for you Mike.

SOLID.

Mike will be the first to admit that he lives in the deep dark shadow cast by the behemoth star power of Robert Pattinson. He even mentioned at our Q and A that he'd seen comments on videos and pictures of himself that stated, "He's handsome....just not swoonworthy."

Well Mike darlin', I beg to differ. I saw your sweet lil' buns in those dark wash jeans while you were chatting up the concierge at the hotel, and I'll be damned if I didn't choke on my Starbucks. Then, you turned around and smiled with those piercing blue eyes and I thought, "Bella, your prom night had serious hidden potential and you blew it. Newton totally would have popped your cherry and it would have been GOOD."

Mr. Welch, you have been agrediously underestimated.

Not "swoonworthy"? Are you girls fucking blind?!?

In all seriousness, I want you all to know that Micheal Welch is a true gentleman, and a real, genuine nice guy. He was brave enough to agree to be trapped on a cruise ship with rabid (occasionally emabrassingly immature) Twihards and he pulled it off with a grace and dignity that I'm not sure many men could muster.

His ridiculously sweet girlfriend tolerated a week of women staring, screaming, and ogling at her man. She was remarkably patient with those trying to monopolize her boy's time and attention. Did I mention she was adorable?

Plus - the dude has a healthy sense of humor. He knows he's riding a massive tidal wave that may never roll in again, and damnit if he doesn't plan to shred that wave all the way to the shore. He's not afraid to laugh at himself. He's self aware enough to know that if his acting career falls flat, he has a future as an '80's Karaoke performer.

Bohemain RIPsody

Every Twilight actor has a "signature move". Rob's is the sex-walk-paired-with-fuck-me-stare. Taylor's is the dazzling-smile-shirtless-ab-flex. Kristen's is the blinky-lip-bite.

Mike's is the "Bow-Chica-Wow-Wow" dance. It's genius, really. No special training or tree required.

Before I close, I just want to share a few more adorable "Mike" moments that have turned me into a lifelong Welch fan.

* While playing a serious, Forest-Gump style round of ping-pong with his girl on the deck of the ship, an obviously starstruck teenage boy asked if he could play and Mike shook his hand, introduced himself and said "let's do this". What followed was one seriously badass game of ping-pong that had Mike dripping with sweat. I didn't ogle. I swear.

* He very dutifully signed the absurdly silly t-shirt I brought along. He concentrated on his very best cursive handwriting, despite the fact that the fucktard behind me actually asked him if he'd be willing to sign her boob. I really, really wish I was kidding. Bitch is lucky I wasn't close to anything sharp or I may have ended up in the ship's brig or walking the plank, clutching said boob.

* On our departure day, SeaTac airport was an asylum. Papa, Lil' Cougar and I wandered around for 30 minutes looking for a table to crash at so we could eat, and who did we stumble upon but Mike and his sweet pea girl as they were absorbed in one another, whisper-giggling. He leaned in and kissed her temple. I suppressed the "awwwww" threatening to escape my lips, when they looked up and recognized as as fellow Twi-Cruisers. Fighting what must have been an overwhelming urge to haul ass out of there, instead, they said "You can have our table...we're headed to our gate." We helped them clear the garbage, Mike thanked us and smiled, and we wished them a safe trip home. A normal exchange with a normal guy who just happens to have appeared in three of the biggest grossing films in the past two years.

Lil' Cougar and I give you a run-down of the Twilight Fans Cruise

Will we do this again? I don't know. The next Twilight Fans Cruise is scheduled in June 2011 and is a 10-Day Mediterranean jaunt that departs from Rome and features a post-cruise land excursion to Volterra AND Montepulciano.

I have two kids in college and one still at home.
And a mortgage.
And car payments.
And an impending pilgrimage to FFFFFOOORRRKKKSSS.

It's not looking likely, unless I hit a jackpot of some sort or win an out of court settlement in my current "emotional distress" lawsuit against my RV dealer.

So Mike, if you go on this one, I'll miss you. But don't worry, I'm a Welchaholic now. I'll even go see your creepy-ass new movie.

Deal?

Deal, Mr. Marshmallow.

My very first fORksGY!

2010-07-20T18:01:00.000-07:00

I am a fan of The Twilight Saga. I've read the books (4 times), seen the movies (10, 10 & 6 times), immersed myself in the fanfic. I have dogs named Riley & Bella and an entire room of my home dedicated to the glory that is Edward Cullen.

I've thrown DvD Release parties, made You Tube videos, and started this blog. It's a safe bet that the Batshit Crazy Train rolled through my life, and I hopped on, got comfy and ordered drinks from the club car. It was all nice and safe until....

Before I knew it, the train's conductors,

Snarkier Than You

and

Jenny Jerkface

blew the whistle and shouted

"AAAALLLLL ABOARD TWATWAFFLES!!!"

And it was decision time.

Shit, or get off the pot. Take a leap of faith. Run with the big dogs or tuck balls and sit on the porch. Haul ass off the train or buckle up for the ride.

So, when my bloggy besties VitaminR70 & 17ForeverLisa started a campaign to keep me on the train, it took about 1.77245 seconds for me to decide that like Bella, I simply had to go.

Where's the final destination, you ask?

FFFOOOOOORRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKS!

I am going to Forks. I am going to Freaking Forks. I am going to Forks, Washington. THE Forks, Washington.

I am making a pilgrimage to the MarthaFarking Promised Land.

Me, and 70 or so of the craziest TwiTard faithfuls in the known universe.

From September 30th to October 3rd, 2010, Forks, Washington will host a Twi-Revival the likes of which has never before been witnessed.

We will sing ~~Jimmy Buffet~~ hymns.

We will pray ~~that we don't get arrested~~.

We will cleanse ourselves of sin in the ~~hot tub~~ baptismal font.

We will drink ~~tequila~~ wine from the communal cup.

We will worship ~~the procelain Gods~~.

We will learn the Twilight Ten Commandments.

Some of us might even be inspired to ~~swap~~ speak in tongues.

My heart is open wide.

My soul is eager for enlightenment.

My spirit is ready to soar.

My liver is ready to filter.

IT'S ON BITCHES!!!!!

Breaking News! Breaking Dawn. Broken Up. Really?

2010-06-17T13:14:00.000-07:00

Unless you're rotting somewhere in a Turkish prison, you've no doubt heard the "official" announcement from Summit that the fourth installment in the Twilight Saga, Breaking Dawn, will be divided into two movies. Lots of other details are still being speculated....2-D or 3-D, PG-13 or R, yada fucking yada, yada.

Frankly, for me, the discussion is irrelevant. I will see both movies on premiere night, regardless of rating or whether Rob's hands appear flat or seem to reach out & grope my bewbs. And as history has shown, I will initially be so smitten that I won't see the inherent, unavoidable flaws and I'll rave for days about how awesome it was.

The honeymoon will be over after my 10th in-theatre viewing. I'll find little nit-picky shit I don't like, but I'll conclude that it doesn't matter at all because for fuck's sake, they are in the movie and they finally DO IT. I've been waiting since December 2008 for these kids to hook up. You could chain my double D's to an atomic bomb, but I'll still go to the theatre to see this gloriousness, as many times as my schedule will allow for.

That's the depth of my addiction.

"I'm totes looking down your dress."

"Yeah, I know."

Still, I wonder, how will there be enough content for two, full-length movies? Yes, Breaking Dawn the book was very long, but just about the easiest of the four to cut unnecessary content from. Here, let me help you by providing a synopsis, Mama Cougar Cliff's Notes style:

-Bella & Edward get married. Jacob "The Situation" Black is devastated, and the only person who cares is Leah because she's a wolf-woman scorned whose Xanax prescription has expired.

-Edward takes Bella to an island honeymoon and pops her ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.

-Having finally experienced the Glittergun first hand, Bella becomes a raging nympho. Begging, pillow biting, furniture destruction, and the shredding of sexy La Perla lingerie ensues.

-Natch, the lame ribbed Trojans they brought along were no match for Edward's gargantuan, granite, prism peen. Bells gets preggers.

-Edward goes all self-flagellating rageball & wants Carlisle to Hoover the vampbryo. Bella refuses and hires Rosalie to her guard her uterus. Alice books them all an appearance on Jerry Springer, and then skips Forks to bone some dude she met at the Rainforest Cafe.

-Bella gives birth to a bi-species baby and exsanguinates all over Carlisle & Esme's cream-colored shag carpet. Again. Edward noms on her and saves her life with his vampdrool. The ugly duckling becomes a swan. Millions die of metaphor overdose.

"Permanent semi, Edward? That's quite the irony."

-Jake dies inside and we all laugh sadistically at his pain. Tortured, he isolates himself and becomes a pedophile. Everyone knows, but seems to enable him. A follow-up Jerry Springer episode is booked.

-Law & Order, Special Vamp Unit is called in because Baby Renesmasupercalifragalisticexpialadocious is somehow a threat to inhumanity with her rapidly growing hair & weird face-stroking fetish.

-The Cullens and the Quileutes merge into one tribe called the Cullutes & get orange buffs. (Or was that the Quillens? Whatev.) Nobody is voted out at Tribal Council because Bella found the hidden immunity idol in her own brain.

-I fell asleep during this part but I think Dr. Phil showed up with Alice & talked everyone down from the meadow by reminding them that when they "choose the behavior, they choose the consequence".

-SVU tucked tail & slunk back to the precinct in Italy, Jake joined the Priesthood, and Edward & Bella dumped the kid with the g'rents so they could fuck like jackrabbits for a couple of weeks & let off steam.

"Bella, baby?" "Yes?" "There's a playroom in the basement." "I'll get the checkbook."

-Edward & Bella lived happily ever after in Snow White's cottage that they purchased after it went into foreclosure because the dwarfs all had to go to court-ordered rehab.

That's about it, right? Can that really be two movies?!?

The Eclipsalypse Cometh

2010-04-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

Holy Mary, Mother of Cyberspace, last Friday was a shit storm on the good ole' interwebz!! My twitter feed was ~~constipated~~ dominated all damn day by Twihards either excited beyond belief, or wicked disappointed in the "final" Eclipse trailer which premiered on The Oprah Show.

Wait.....whadda fuck?!? The Oprah Show?!?

Well...that's certainly a "cutting edge" decision from the genius folks in Summit's marketing department. And by cutting edge I mean so catastrophically stupid and devoid of common sense it's mind boggling to those of us with even a sub-par IQ. What the hell is in the water at Summit's corporate headquarters that causes what I assume are relatively intelligent human beings to make such epically idiotic marketing decisions?

I imagine the board room convo went something like this:

Marketing Genius #1: "Well, the New Moon trailer premiered on the MTV Video Awards. We shot pure Twi-adrenaline right into the arms of our target audience, whipping the fandom into a frenzied tidal wave that we rode straight through to opening weekend. As a result, the movie broke box office records and went on to earn eleventy-gaziilion dollars for the studio."

Marketing Genius #2: "Fuckity-fuck, we can't have that happening again, our actors might get huge egos and demand decent salaries! Let's try something new. Let's scare the shit out of the fandom by firing the editor while we're balls-deep in post production, and then start rumors that we don't like Slade's cut of the movie, and we need last-minute reshoots. Then, we'll threaten to hire Hardwicke to do them."

Pimply-Faced Intern: "But Sir, that's all true."

Marketing Genius #2: "SHUT IT you little pisstard - and refill my Jack & Diet Coke. Then, let's put together a trailer that has zero of our core story, angle it to attract men to see the movie by stuffing it full of action & CGI, and then premiere it on a show that airs during the day and to a demographic of almost exclusively women ages 25-60, therefore COMPLETELY missing our target market!"

Marketing Genius #1: That's absolutely brilliant. We are officially smarter than God. Do you think we'll get a raise?

Marketing Genius #2: Does Kristen Stewart smoke weed?!?

___________________

Okay, before you all crucify me, let me just say that I do love Oprah, and I didn't hate the trailer. I just wasn't blown away by it. And damnit, considering all the hype and secrecy surrounding the making of Eclipse, I wanted so fucking much to be shocked & awed. I was shocked, but not awed.

Here's my reaction vid from the YouTube Channel:

Natch, my hubby, being a testosterone-based life form, thought the trailer was "badass" and now he's more excited for 6/30 than I am. Apparently, Alice going all "Matrix & shit" is hot. Whatever.

As for me, I just wanted more of Edward and Jacob in a pissing match over Bella (cough*tentscene*cough), and more of deliciously horny Edward almost losing his shit and straight-up impaling Bella in his bedroom (ahem*leg-hitch*ahem) on that coppery-silk bedding which I am in LOVE with and of course, can't find anywhere.

Hence, my preference for the new "mash-up" trailer which makes me feel oh, so much better:

Oh, and let me just ring in on the ring.

I've heard many people say it's hideous and they hate it, yet it fits Steph Meyer's description from Eclipse, nearly exactly. You can't bitch that you want absolute, by-the-book authenticity and then whine like Jessica's New Moon zombie rant when you get what you asked for. Besides, something tells me that Kristen saw that ring and said "Hot Damn...that's so fucking ugly that I want it."

Hell, don't tell me that if Edward tried to slip that puppy on your finger you'd balk. The boy could offer me a plastic spider ring from a gumball machine at Wal-Mart and as long as it meant I was getting laid on Isle Esme, I'd be grinnin' like a cat shitting razor blades.

Just sayin'.

Hello Daddy, Hello Mom...I'm your Ch-ch-ch-ch-Charlie Swan!

2010-04-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, I blog infrequently. Mostly because I'm fucking lazy, but also because I share the "overexposure" fear with The Precious One. I write when I have something to say, and when I don't, I shrink back into obscurity and read fan fiction, other cool blogs or obssesively follow the cast. That's my dealio. Just so happens this week, I have shit to say.

Last Friday, I finally had the opportunity to see The Runaways, which is a biopic set in 1975 about the lives of Cherie Currie & Joan Jett, and the first all-girl rock band, The Runaways. I was nine years old in 1975 and the extent of my musical exposure was my mother's Neil Diamond & Barry Manilow albums and the occasional Roger Whittaker 8-track that rattled around the floor of my dad's 1969 Ford El Ranchero. (Which, incidentally was the locale for my first vehicular sexual experience, but I digress.)

Of course, since the movie starred Kristen Stewart & Dakota Fanning, both of whom I adore, I was excited when my normally lame local theater added showings for this past weekend, so I'd have the opportunity to learn more about the genesis of the female rockers. Plus, obvz....Joan Jett is a badass and I was curious to see just how Kristen would fill those enormous platform boots.

My review is short & sweet:

1 - Swiss-cheese script, so-so directing & the movie never gained a full head of steam

2 - KStew and DFann ROCKED the ever livin' shit out of their characters

3 - I was so impressed with Kristen's vocals I swear on my AC/DC Back In Black vinyl that I had tears in my eyes.

I mean.....SERIOUSLY.

The movie should have had a whole lot more of that and less of Michael Shannon playing a raging cokehead with bad dental hygiene. Of course, the director Floria Sigismondi didn't ask me, but she should have. (Her name makes me think of a sigmoidoscopy which is a medical procedure during which a tube in threaded through your anus so the ~~ass doctor~~ Proctologist can see your colon. Again, my digression leads us in strange places, but just go with me, ok?)

Final observation: Kristen and Dakota deserve to win "Best Kiss" on the MTV music awards, because that shit was HOT. If I'd seen this movie in my more formative years, prior to my exposure to peen, it may have convinced me that switch-hitting was the way to go. Just sayin'.

Also causing me to have a rampant case of the moisties this week is the panty-'sploding news that my favorite DILF on the planet, Billy Burke (a.k.a. Charlie Swan) will release an album this summer, and he's cool enough to let his fans preview an unmastered single from the album - song called "Removed". I'm not sure how long it will remain active, but as of 3:15 p.m. CST today, the free download was still available on Billy's new site at http://www.billyburke.net/ Go listen. The Burkemeister has pipes.

I have made no secret of my undying devotion to Billy Burke. To me, the man single-handedly made Twilight a palatable movie for those of us unable to survive on Rob's hotness alone. Billy brought actual acting chops to the movie and for the love of all that is manly facial hair, he gave us the Charlie Swan pornstache and a deep, abiding love for single law enforing dads struggling to raise teenage daughters with death wishes.

Here's an old vid from my YouTube Channel, an ode to the B-Man himself:

I'm sure by now, most of you know that the final cut of the Eclipse trailer will premiere on The Oprah Show this Friday. How curious. Really? I never would have guessed that Summit would choose that outlet to air this long awaited preview of the film, but whatever-the-fuck. Not much else they do makes sense either, so why start now? (Read: I'm still pissed about the dismissal of Rachelle LeFevre and yes, I'm the President of Grudge Holders Anonymous. We never have meetings because we just stay pissed off at each other.)

Yeah, I'll DVR Oprah, but I'm still trying to decide if I'll have the self control to refrain from watching it at work once it hits YouTube, or if I'll make at attempt at the more mature approach (questionable), and record myself watching the trailer at home & share it with y'all.

Stay tuned.....

MC OUT.

Robeanism - My New Religion

2010-03-24T16:57:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I've been MIA again. Whenever I drop from the face of the blogiverse, you can be sure one of two things is happening. I'm either monumentally fucking LAZY, or real life is being a total ass muncher. I can assure you, my excuse this time is the latter. After all, I DO work in an industry where our busiest time is March through July, I still have little cougars in the den, and I'm still hitched to a Papa Cougar who likes an occasional mating session, if you kwim?

There's all that, and then there's THIS:

That's right. This Mama has spent the last month preparing for the New Moon DvD release party I've been planning since November of 2009. And let me tell you, it was seriously badass. My liver is still recovering.

I'm not even going to attempt to blog about my party, partially because the Jell-O shots clouded my memories of just about everything that happened during our viewing of the movie, and partially because my new bloggy bestie 17ForeverLisa came to the party (crazy bitch drove over three hours which made me fall in love with her immediately) and she did a MUCH better job of capturing the essence of our epic fuckery in this blog entry: Mama Cougar's DvD Release Party Kicked Ass!

There....NOW do you see what I've been up to?

When non-Twi people ask me why I do things like this, I usually say something like, "Second childhood I guess" or "I have no earthly idea". But the truth is, I found the reason I truly love this fandom and all it's quirks this past weekend. I found it in the thirteen ladies and one brave man who came to my party. It's all about the amazing people I have met and our mutual addiction to The Twilight Saga.

I've lost track of how 17ForeverLisa and I hooked up except that we're both huge fans of JennyJerkface and SnarkierThanYou over at Twitarded and we're both huge Illini fans. I invited her to my party, and this very ballsy woman accepted my invite and then drove 3+ hours to come to a strange little town in the middle of corn and beans to hang with people she didn't know. Not only that, she brought me THE MOST FUCKAWESOME gift EVER, a real roll of New Moon trailer film cell. I seriously almost cried. But wait, there's more. Wether by fate or happy accident, we were watching the "bonus features" together when at precisely the same time, as Rob appeared on the screen wearing the "Beanie", we both squealed like stuck pigs. It was in this moment, that I knew I'd found my soul sister.

We've since discovered that we are not alone in our love for Beanie Rob, in fact, there's an entire underground movement of Beanatics who love, adore, and dare I say worship the Beanie. So, I've decided, it's time to come out of the winter storage bins and into the mainstream hat culture. The time for Robeanism has come.

Every religion has it's tenets. Today, I will outline them for you. First, of course, is our deity, the beloved Robert Pattinson, wearing atop his head, our Holy Relic, the Beanie.

Let us pray.

Most gracious and beloved Beanie, your adoring followers come to you in absolute reverence, for we understand that just as you can giveth fourth the sex hair, you can also taketh it away. Please, Dear Beanie, we beseech you to continue to grace the guilded locks of our beloved Rob with your glory and virtue. In turn we promise to always have faith in your ability to enrich our lives by delivering to us the most heavenly countenance (read jawporn) in the Beandom. Amen.

Holy day? Monday. Why Monday? Because, let's face it, Mondays suck smelly bawls and attending 10:15 Beaniemass can only be an improvement.

Our communion shall consist of:

Stoli shots
and

Unlike other religions, however, you need not attend mass or kneel at the altar to receive your sacraments. You're welcome to help yourself to as much as you want, as often as you feel it's necessary to pay homage to the Beanie.

We baptize our flock in fonts filled with Heiniken, not so much to cleanse sins as to bask in the glory of our deity's favorite lager.

And finally, we follow only one simple commandment, as enscribed on the back of an In & Out Burger napkin:

Rob's Beanie is the Alpha and the Omega and thou shalt not put other false hats before it.

All hail Beanie, full of ~~grease~~ grace, we thank you for your many blessings and pray that we continue to be one with the Beanie, which we enthusiastically embrace and love to the very depths of our souls.

UNGH.

Amen.

"Gateway Drug"

2010-03-02T06:57:00.000-08:00

So I'm shopping the other day in "Metaphors 'R Us" and in typical Mama C fashion, the first place I head for is the clearance rack. I'm pawing through a bin of symbolism cast-offs when I come across an awesome one. "Twilight is Like Marijuana." You like? Good, because I bought it specifically to use for this blog entry. And damn, it was cheap...like 75% off.

Coincidentally, I ran into Steph Meyers there. She was trying to return the "Bella is Like Heroin" metaphor, but she didn't have her receipt. Pity. She's lookin' good though. Dropped a few pounds. She said to tell you all hello.

It occured to me while I was sorting through my list of recent DvD acquisitions, that Twilight really has been my "gateway drug". It's been harmless, really. Just a little, innocuous vice, like smokin' weed. I watch it once or twice a week and it relaxes me. Makes me all hooded-eyelids mellow & chilled out. Nothing wrong with that, I mean, nobody gets hurt, right?

Wrong.

Turn it over, and there is a dark, diseased underbelly to this seemingly harmless little habit. Initially just a recreational activity, Twilight has lead to some much more gripping addictions.

Sure, at first I rationalized that my need was under control. Yes, I have all of the books. I own the Twilight movie on Blu-Ray with a digital copy on my I-pod, and well....I talk about it on my YouTube Channel and then there's this blog. And my den. And my Cullen Car Collection. And my puppy I named Bella. And the wallpaper on my office PC. But that's it! That's all there is. It's not controlling my life or anything. I've got this.

Or so I thought.

Eventually, Twilight wasn't enough. I was constantly craving more. More of something. More of....him. Still, I couldn't admit it to myself. Instead, I went out in search of this:

I didn't have the capacity to understand it, and I didn't fucking care. I was literally trippin'. Straight up, hallucinogenic fantasies. Those lips curled around a cigarette...that perfect face in never-ending close-up shots, those ridiculously long fingers gripping bedsheets. Shit...I was on the Psychadelic Express train to Robtopia. But once I stepped off, I was confused as fuck. And not...not...satisfied.

Luckily, not soon after, came this:

Easy enough to get for a while...I mean, it was IN THEATERS. They wouldn't make it so legally available to me if it weren't safe, right? Until of course, it wasn't in theatres anymore. That's when I descended into the underground. I had to resort to a seedy torrent download to get my fix. I rationalized that since I had paid to see it 10 times on the straight & narrow, just a little tiny hit on my laptop meant nothing. I needed it to keep me focused. Sharp. On task.

Until this:

And with this....my soul spiraled down into the deep, dark, unsavory world of irreversible Robddiction. I hadn't expected to like this one as much as I did. But the temptation was irresistable and when I finally gave in, no one was more shocked than I was that I liked it. I liked it a whole lot. I mean...he man-snogs and touches himself for fuck's sake. I couldn't have stopped myself from repeated doses of that for all the lip-biting in Stewtopia.

By now, the dealers know me. My wallet and I are welcomed with open arms and wide smiles. "Why yes, Mama...we've got just what you need. In fact, there's a shipment of some exciting new stuff coming on March 12th."

Holy Mary, Mother of Rainbow Pretty Pharmaceuticals, it's a full on Rob Rave. Pass the blinky pacifiers and glowing necklaces baby, 'cause I am all over that shit like Calvin Klein's on Kellan's package.

Of course, eventually, even the X won't be enough. I'll need some hard stuff. Some rated "R" stuff. Some...the-boy-is-a-French-man-whore-and-fucks-a-woman-MY-AGE-on-a-chair stuff. The kinda stuff you just don't recover from without professional help. THIS, will be my ~~rock~~ Rob bottom.

Intervention time, you say?

I am telling you, I won't go.

EVER.

Because I really do have this under control.

I don't need help.

I don't want help.

Help me.

1-900-SEXYROB

2010-02-22T18:22:00.000-08:00

You know...if this acting deal doesn't work out, Robert Pattinson has always said that music is his "fall back" career. And then, of course, if that's a bust he could go back to modeling. And hell, he could probably sustain ten privledged lifetimes just on personal appearances and celebrity endorsements. But, if the unthinkable happened, and his career went the way of Kobe Bryant or Tiger Woods, I'm pretty damn sure I have his saving grace all lined up for him.

1-900-SEXYROB.

Because that boy's voice is a fucking GOLD MINE. It's like warm honey....the softest velvet, and it just wraps around you, infiltrates your pores and melts you to your core.

Ready?

I feel very protective of you sound bite Twilight sound bites

I mean, really...if you still have dry panties, you're either severely dehydrated, have profound hearing loss, or a you're a corpse.

Just imagine if you will....

You pick up the phone and with trembling fingers, you dial....1-900-SEXYROB.

"Hello, you've reached the Robert Pattinson phone sex line. Please listen carefully to all of your options as our menu has changed. In fact, it will change everytime Mr. Pattinson takes on a new role."

"For Robward, Press 177245. For Tybert, press 911. For Georges DuRob, also known as Shagbert, Press 69."

And hell, I'm going to go bankrupt and try them ALL, so let's just go ahead and digit 177245.

"Hello, love. You don't know how long I've waited for you. Since my existence is based on your pleasure, please consider your needs and choose one of the following options:"

For the Simply Sweet Virgin Meadow Mingle - Press 1.

For the Third Base Thrills in Edward's Bedward - Press 2.

For the Cherry Bomb Isle Esme Adventure, Press 3.

I'm cyclin' through the whole damn menu. Multiple times. How about you?

But wait, don't hang up now, there's so much more!

Let's try Tybert. He's all young & angsty and....repressed. I'll bet when he opens up, it gets all steamy up in his bach pad. I'm pressing 911. HARD.

"Hi, baby. Ghandi once said that everyone you do in life is insignificant, but it's very important that you do them. I'm waiting to do you. Let's eat our dessert first."

For Tybert's Wet N' Wild Water Wank - Press 1.

For Tybert's Foreplay & Fellacio on Polyblend Bachelor Pad Sheets - Press 2.

And finally....

For Tybert's Kinky Pinky Sleeping Bag Shag - Press 3.

3.....3.....3.....3....3 (ad infinitum)

And after I've recovered from my Tygasm, wild fucking horses could not keep me from pressing 69 to hear Shagbert.

Oh God...Oh God...that voice in a French accent...I'll just mortgage my house and sell my firstborn child NOW, because I'm calling Georges DuRob EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY G'DAMNED LIFE.

"Bonjour mon ami. I want you. Here. Now. Always."

For the Christina Ricci Floor Fantasy, Press 1.

For the Uma Thurman Cougar Chair Tryst, Press 2.

And Sweet Jesus...

For the Shagbert Eiffel Tower Tonguegasm, Press 3.

***THUD***

$9.99 per minute you say?

Of course I'll pay it. Because....

I don't have the strength to stay away from you sound bite Edward Cullen sound bites

Look, But Don't Touch

2010-02-07T12:01:00.000-08:00

As a little girl, I LOVED to play with dolls. I had them all; Dressy Betsy, Mrs. Beasley, Baby Alive, Raggedy Ann and Holly Hobbie.

As I got older, I acquired practically every Barbie, Ken and Skipper in the known universe, along with their corresponding homes, vehicles, wardrobes and accessories.

I'd spend hours setting up elaborate and innocent scenarios like "school", "office" or "hospital". Ken would always court Barbie properly, taking her on fancy dinner dates in his sporty red car, and the evening would end with a chaste kiss on the doorstep of Barbie's Penthouse or a sweet hug as he safely returned her to the site where her camper was parked for the weekend.

Then, when I turned 12, my endocrine system was flooded with raging adolescent hormones. That's when shit got real in Barbie's world. Ken started noticing her enormous perky rack and the junk in her trunk - and I'm not talking the trunk of her bubblegum pink Camaro. KWIM?

Inevitably, Ken morphed from a chivalrous silicone gentleman who was content to accompany Barbie on an afternoon of romantic beach-side horseback riding, into a lacivious, panting, plastic-peened manwhore whose goal in life was to bend Barbie over the roll bar of her hot pink Jeep and pound her mercilessly whilst Skipper did a strip tease on the hood.

One day, my mom invited her infamously pretentious friend Constance over, along with Connie's daughter Chrissy who was roughly a year or so younger than I was. While our moms engaged in catty gossip about the other ladies at the Country Club, the primped and pigtailed Chrissy and I were sent off to play. (Before you get any ideas, I should inform you that my mom was the bar manager at the Country Club and Connie was a bonafide "member". You HAD to know I would work the word member into this post somehow, eh?)

Having just recieved Barbie's awesome new Olympic Gymnastics set for my birthday, I was excited to show it off to Chrissy. We were having a grand 'ole time, until that is, Connie arrived on scene and caught Ken 69-ing Barbie on the balance beam while a second Ken (whom also happened to be black because my mom believed in multicultural toy exposure) was orally pleasuring Skipper as she hung from the uneven bars.

Chrissy and I froze.

Connie was rendered speechless.

In an effort to preserve her relaysh with my mom (and I suspect her half-price top-shelf drinks at the Country Club), Connie paused for about ten seconds, pondering about how she should react to the Pornstar Barbie & Friends scene that was lain out before her.

After what seemed an eternity, she calmly told Chrissy it was time to go and led her from the room. Then, she smiled a Cheshire Cat smile over her shoulder at me while apologizing for missing my birthday and promising she'd be back in a few days with my gift.

That may have been the first ever "WTF?" moment of my relatively short existance.

She and Chrissy left without so much as a single word to my mom about how flexible Gymnast Barbie could be when she really put her mind to it.

Three days later, Constance showed up with my birthday gift while Chrissy was at piano lessons, or ballet class or maybe even gymnastics, which I suspect she was seeing through a whole new set of eyes.

I opened the gift and it was a "Collectors Edition" Pretty Princess Barbie. I was ecstatic. Ken adored Barbie in lavish dresses because they played into his Sleeping Beauty fantasy. However, when I went to open the box, Connie swiftly swiped it from my grasp, shouting "STOP!" just before I broke the seal.

I was like, "whaddafuck?!?". Only in my head, of course. I'd clearly already done enough damage to my rep without adding potty mouth to the list.

Her explanantion came in a sickly-sweet, sacharrine voice. "Sweetie, don't you know what this is? This Barbie is not meant to be played with. It's for looking at only. It's a collectors item. It's only valueable if you leave it in the box."

I was willing to bet my Pet Rock that Ken would disagree with that shit wholeheartedly.

"Oh, ummm....okay." I replied reluctantly, and unceremoniously plopped the pristine, Mint-In-Box Barbie on my shelf. I told myself I'd wait until she left, and then Ken would be all over Perfect Princess Barbie's lacy-clad ass like white on rice.

I politely thanked Connie and she went on her merry way, thinking she'd very cleverly cured my perversion by introducing a bit of upper class culture into my otherwise lewd, headed-for-the-gutter life.

I went back into my room and looked at the Barbie, all pretty and virginal in her untouched state inside the shiny box.

My fingers twitched.

Ken sprouted a wicked woody from his spot inside my toy chest.

Skipper was whispering to him, "Ken....baby....think about how hot it will be to tie THAT to your four poster bed with the belts from our Ken & Pals Karate outfits."

Who knew Skipper had such a naughty Dominatrix streak? I did.

In the end, I just couldn't do it. This particular Barbie was just too pretty, too entirely flawless to be touched by human hands. Before long, the very idea of any type of physical contact with this Barbie absolutely mortified me. So much so, that my mom bought a glass case so that I could put her inside and protect the box from dust or fading or anything that would sully her undefiled perfection.

What's the point of this story, you ask?

It's simply this.

THIS is the adult version of my Pretty Princess Barbie.

When this picture hit the internet yesterday, my gut reaction was...animalistic. Raw. Instinctual.
Safe to say, Mama Cougar was gutteral-growling and poised to pounce and explore the mind-blowing possibilities as this image painted the canvas of my fantasies.

But once the initial visceral reaction receeded, the very same cataclysmic shift occured in my mind as had occured 30 years ago when I was presented with the Collector's Edition Pretty Princess Barbie. What remained was an overwhelming desire to protect The Precious One; to preserve forever his perfection...locked in the polished glass display case of my brain.

Plus, I wanted to find the lighting director for this photoshoot and gift him or her with a life-altering orgasm courtesy of the TwiFandom. Seriously. Man or clam, it doesn't matter, because he or she deserves it, and I'm always willing to take one for the team.

Whatever happened to my Collectors Edition Pretty Princess Barbie?

Ken's patience paid off. In 1986 when I hosted a Spring Break college party, my drunken friends and I stripped her naked and let Ken pop her cherry in a "hot tub" which was really a punch bowl full of Everclear and Hawaiian Punch.

I'm sorry Pretty Princess Barbie. I am.

**whispers***

Not really.

PS. Connie is currently married to sleaze #2 who has cheated on her multiple times. Perhaps if she'd thought "outside the box" a little?!?

I'm just sayin'.

The Day of Deflowering is Upon Me

2010-01-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

There are days when I feel closer to my virtual friends than my RL besties. Today is one of those days...because, frankly, my RL friends would laugh their asses off at me and I'm too emotionally fragile to deal well with that kind of ridicule. In the immortal words of my RL sister Natalie, "everybody has their shit". Today, bloggy friends, you are downriver and you know which way the shit flows, correct? Okay then. Saddle up.

I lost my virigity at age 17.

BAM!

(I'll give you a moment to recover.)

Are we all good? Mmk. I will proceed.

This may be shocking.

IT WAS TOTALLY PLANNED.

I am the product of super liberal parents who begged me from age 14 or so to "come to them first" when I felt that my hymen was in danger of imminent breech. So, when I starting seeing a guy on a pretty regular basis, got the moisties and knew that his "itch" was also beggin' to be scratched, my mom hauled my ass to the gyno faster than RPatz grows facial hair. I came home with the little pink "wheel o' freedom" and showed the new boyf that we had exactly eight days of me ingesting these little magic baby-blocking pills until blast off. He literally marked the fucking calendar in red ink.

The day came (no pun intended) and his horny ass was on my doorstep with a shit eatin' grin on his face. My mom, after giving me the "this-is-gonna-suck-for-you-but-it-gets-better-I-promise" talk, had arranged to be "out to dinner and a movie" with my little sister and my dad was at work. I'm seriously surprised there wasn't some sort of checklist on my nightstand or some shit.

#1...Wash your girl bits

#2...Remind Sparky that you've never ridden the lightning ~~rod~~ before

#3...Foreplay is your friend

#4...Take a Tylenol

#5...Change your sheets

You get the idea. I mean...this wasn't your "backseat of a Pacer with steamed up windows/use an ancient glovebox condom" type of encounter. I pre-gamed with some softcore porn on HBO Late Night. I did a full leg shave. I gargled with Minty Fresh Scope. It was highly structured. Planned to the last detail. I was SO prepared for this life-altering event.

And yet, it still sucked.

So you see? No amount of planning made it better. This is why I am spending my day today, ingesting copious amounts of paxil/coffee and trying REALLY hard not to think too much about the impending event, and yet it is the prevailing thought weaving through my twisted, tangled grey matter.

My "Little Ashes" cherry is being popped today.

And I am seriously more nervous than that day back in November 1982 when the bumping of the uglies lasted all of 45 seconds and I ended up wondering if I'd ever get a chance to experience an orgasm before Sparky went all spastic on/over me.

For those of you wondering why on earth I haven't succumbed to temptation before now, the answer is simple. I simply could NOT bear to watch The Pretty One do man-on-man unless it was displayed on my vivid high-def 57" Sony Bravia. It just seems dirty...seedy....WRONG to watch it all condensed and grainy on my cheap Toshiba laptop. The infamous "tuck" is something that should only be allowed to exist in brilliant 1080p, kwim?

So, I remained "Little Ashes" chaste until today, when it became available for purchase on DvD in the 50 contiguous.

Still, I am as nervous as Jim Duggar hopping into bed on ovulation day.

Why?

It's not the gay secks. Hell, I watched the Tudors all weekend and it turns out that King Henry the 8th's court did more fudge-packing than the folks at Cadbury. I wasn't the slightest bit squeamish about that part. I found it...interesting. Sweet, even. Except when it got animalistic. Which was almost every time. And then I found it...strangely, ummm...hot?

All I know is that tonight, at about 7 p.m. CST, I will be huddled in front of the flat-screen with nothing between me and SalvadoRob Dali except my contact lenses.

And I'm scared shitless.

Somebody, anybody....please hold me.

And be prepared to help me change my sheets when it's over.

The Robert Pattinson / Pat Robertson Dichotomy

2010-01-13T18:06:00.000-08:00

This may surprise some of you, but I am not an overtly "religious" person. I am honestly not even sure what the term "religious" means...except that like most words, it means different things to different people. So for the sake of clarity, let's assume "religious" means regular attendance as well as financial and personal participation in some denomination of worship.

I was raised a Mormon. (This may explain my adoration for Steph Meyer up until I felt Breaking Dawn was a bit too preachy re: virtue/premarital sex/approach to unplanned pregnancy/etc.) Still, even at the tender age of ten or so, I knew in my heart that there was something in the doctrine of this "religion" that I couldn't quite embrace fully. I never attended again after I left for college. Plus, they expect you to tithe 10% of your income and I was a poor, starving college student who worked at McDonald's for my beer money, so it seemed somehow hypocritical to stand/sit/kneel/sing/pretend when I wasn't about to fork over my Happy Hour coinage to the suit with a unibrow carrying the silver collection plate.

"And so the Lion fell in Love with the Lamb." Steph - you totally stole that from the book of Mormon.

I converted to Episcopalian 25 years ago because it seemed harmless enough to follow in my husband's denominational footsteps, plus it turns out that it's a very well-kept secret that the Episcopalians know how to party. I was pleasantly surprised that during one of our first church functions, beer in many varieties was made available right alongside bottled ~~holy~~ water and Diet Coke. The dude with the collar even drank a few and became shamelessly red-cheeked. The gal that played the pipe organ got downright WRECKED and started to play the Peanuts theme in the sanctuary and everybody thought it was hilarious. THIS, I thought, was a "religion" I could dig. Plus, you didn't get the stink-eye for getting a divorce. Always a plus.

Alas, after two decades or so of blissful regular church attendance, during which I ACTUALLY taught Sunday School to little lamb-faced preschoolers, something bad happened. Something that sucked the "religion" right out of me.

The dude with the collar announced he was a gay man.

This declaration shattered the very foundation of the church and cracked the throngs of the faithful in half. For the most part, the younger half thought it was no big deal, and accepted the admission for what it was; a gay man choosing to come out of the closet. I mean, it wasn't like he started skipping around the altar or wearing Village People costumes under his vestments. He was the same collar-wearing, beer drinking dude he'd always been. Commited to the church. Faithful to God. Compassionate and kind. He just made it known that he preferred Nathan Lane to say....Christine Baranski. No big deal, right?

WRONG.

The grey-haired people were appalled. This smiling, quiet man who had gently laid hands on them and served weekly wafers & wine, whispering "The body of Christ, the bread of heaven" was suddenly an abomination against God and a disgrace to the red-doored church. And let's be real. The grey-haired people have the majority of the money. Whole bunches of it. And they aren't beyond using that fact to manipulate people to carry out their agenda. This unholy, twisted, charade of a collar-wearer had to go.

And so did I.

I simply can't live in a world where tolerance and acceptance don't exist.

And so I decided four walls and a pipe organ just aren't my cup of tea.

Do I believe in God?

Of course. I mean, COME ON. There HAS to be a God if THIS:

is a REAL person, right?

This level of beauty is simply not possible without divine intervention of some kind. In fact, I would contend that God was the architect of this flawless face that was meticulously sculpted by angel-artists that were hand-picked by The Almighty One himself.

So when I say my nightly prayers, I give thanks for the gift of this:

to all of womankind (and perhaps certain collar-wearers with a penchant for argyle socks and vacays on Rosie O'Donnell's Cruise Line).

So today, when another grey-haired man-bully who equates money with power & status in the eyes of God, started spouting hate around the globe, I flipped shit. Why? Because his name could confuse dyslexic Twilight fans everywhere. And we just can't have that. I'm here to clear this shit up once and for all.

THIS is Pat Robertson. Today, he told the world that Haiti brought on it's own destruction by making a pact with Satan back in the 1800's.

And he's a crazy, deluded hate-monger.

And THIS, is Robert Pattison.

God's reminder that he exists in this crazy, fucked up world we live in.

Please, don't EVER confuse the two.

The Conception of The Immaculate

2010-01-04T17:58:00.000-08:00

We're well into the great Twi-drought of 2010 and the desperation amongst Twihards is palpable. The bitter, lonely longing is the prevailing emotional climate. The absence of him is everywhere you look. Facebook is desolate. Blogs are full of angst...unrequited yearning. The Twitterverse is a sucking black hole of unquenchable, burning desire. This, as Aro would say, is a sadness.

And just as we're all about to drop to our knees in anguished despondence, our salvation is miraculously delivered to us via email in the form of a simple JPEG file...

...and all is right with the world again. At least for a little while.

When photos like this innocently find their way onto my desktop, they are invariably accompanied by profanity muttered under my breath and then lightheadedness, chest heaving and copious salivation. It's a simple Pavlovian response these days. The Pretty One = Intense Eyegasmic Pleasure. I've learned to accept it.

Go ahead, I dare you to look at THIS, and have no physical reaction whatsoever.

You couldn't do it right?

It's okay. Don't chastise yourself. I basically set you up to fail.

Turns out, this level of lusciousness is impossible for a mere mortal to witness without setting off some sort of autonomic physical response, usually originating in the nether regions.

It's not your fault, it's just a base reflex, like blinking or breathing.

This one...

...buckled my knees, and all but incapacitated me for nearly three days. The smirk, the finger porn, the suit....hell the very notion of red wine on his breath was enough to cause my coworkers to break out the damn defibrilator. Shit got real.

Now, shocking my chest is routine for them. They do it while nonchalantly chatting and drinking their morning coffee. They've grown so accustomed to watching me fall unconcious in front of my monitor, that it's a routine part of their work day to revive me and isn't given any more stock than making copies or answering the phone.

It goes something like this:

I mutter "Holy HELL" followed by a loud thud as my body goes limp to the floor beneath my desk. Coworker in the nextdoor office shouts down the hall, "Denise....it's YOUR turn. I got her yesterday, twice." Denise rolls her eyes but knows that if she doesn't save me, the next time she crashes her hard drive there will be no onsite computer geek to save her sorry non-technical ass, so she does her thang and minimizes the photo (to save me from a quick relapse) and shocks me back to life, shaking her head and propping me back up in my $500 leather, urine stained office chair.

At least THEY think it's urine.

This whole cluster of fuckery started me thinking...exactly WHAT is it about this boy? I mean, let's be serious for a moment. He's a skinny, 23-year-old, self depricating British smoker with a slightly squishy nose, a crooked bicuspid, chronically messy hair, overgrown eyebrows and super lazy grooming habits.

And FMUDIACC* if every single damn one of those things about him doesn't make him infinitely more sexy and desirable. Exponentially hotter. It's just NOT natural. He's a freak of nature.

I can only conclude that something magical...ethereal...otherworldly is at work here. Something at the root of humanity. Something that occurred, like most genetic anomalies, at the very moment of his conception.

Something....like this:

It's simple statistical science. Sooner or later, the ultra rare sparkle sperm was going to find it's way to the once-in-a-lifetime shimmering ovum. The occurence of their meeting is so infinitesmally rare, that humans are lucky to witness its glorious outcome even once in their lifetime on this earth.

So, thank you Dick and Claire Pattinson.

Thank you for this.

THUD.

Beeeeeeeep.......Charge to 300......CLEAR!

*Fuck me Upside Down in a Clown Car

Mama's got a brand new Den!

2009-12-28T11:35:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know....I know. I've been gone. Absent. Unaccounted for. MIA. AWOL.

Where have I been, you ask? It's a simple call of nature my bloggy friends. It's animal instinct, no sense in fighting it.

I am a Cougar.

It's winter.

I hate fucking winter.

What do warm blooded, forest dwelling, Twilight-obsessed mammals DO in the winter?

We Twibernate.

For the last two weeks, I've been curled up on my futon wrapped in my Edward blankie,

Wearing my new hoodie:

reading Fanfics & Twiporn and scanning the interwebz, poised to pounce on any teeny, tiny amount of Twilight related info, including but not limited to Robsten's holiday plans, New Moon box office news, Eclipse info, Justin Chon's second cousin's Korean birthday party...hell, at this point I'm scraping the bottom of the Twi-Coke bag people! This post New Moon drought has left a painful, aching void in my life and I'm desperate to fill it.

As a sort of therapy, I banished my son to a vacant basement bedroom and turned his former room into my new den. Whenever I start to feel withdrawls, I retire to my little slice of heaven on earth and listen to my scores & soundtracks on repeat:

or I watch my collection of Rob & Kristen's "other movies":

or I recruit some poor sap to play one of my Twilight games, play with my Cullen Car Collection, and in moments of total desperation, I read my magazines and Twilight books, AGAIN.

I'm even debating adding a mini-fridge for my wine and the new beer hubby bought me to try:

Hell, last night, the withdrawls were so bad, I just sat there all Bellatonic as the words "January", "February", and "March" encircled my head! You think I'm fucking kidding, right?

SO. NOT. KIDDING.

I need a distraction people, and NO, I don't want to eat pizza in my garage and rebuild two-wheeled death machines with a stacked 17-year-old.*

All I know is that this Twi-drought had better end soon, or I may resort to diving off my roof into the damn snow drifts in the hope that my brain will freeze and be cryopreserved until Spring, or at least until the Twi-crack flows freely once again.

Find me on Twitter, because Mama needs some help.

*I would however, consider ANY activity in my garage or elsewhere that includes a certain 23-year-old with facial scruff, unruly hair and delightfully nommable happy trail.

The Twelve Days of Twismas

2009-12-12T06:18:00.000-08:00

Well, Hello Sweets! Yeah, it's been a week. That's about the extent of my abilities. Let it be known that IFHRL (*see last week's entry for the translation) and if anyone would like to volunteer to pay me redonkulus amounts of coin to stay home and read Fanfic & write blogs, I'd leave my gorgeous almost-corner office faster than Rob can incite a riot. But, as reality would have it, this Mama still has three cubs to support, a real life hunting job, and a den that I keep obessively clean. So...once a week is all I can hit ya.

This week, we're going caroling. We're visiting all the other bloggy sites and they will welcome us with open arms, enjoy our holiday serenade and then serve us Edward/Jake cupcakes and warm Isle Emse cider. Are we ready? Sopranos...move to the left, altos to the right, baritones, in back. That's perfect. Now, open your songbooks to page one.

The Twelve Days of Twismas

On the first day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

A Robsten in a pine tree.

On the second day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Two homo lovers....
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the third day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Three French pap pics...

Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the fourth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Four cast members calling...

Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the fifth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

FIVE GLORIOUS FINGERRRRRRRRS!

Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the sixth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Six "Geese at Twilight" shoes...(OMG, you'd be amazed at the shit that pops up when you Google "goose twilight")

Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the seventh day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Seven Swans fail at swimming...

Six Geese at Twilight shoes...
Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the eighth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Eight ways to milk Rob's popularity...

Seven Swans fail at swimming...
Six Geese at Twilight shoes...
Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the ninth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

On the tenth day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Ten Lautner's Leaping...

Nine wolves-a-dancing...
Eight ways to milk Rob's popularity...
Seven Swans fail at swimming...
Six Geese at Twilight shoes...
Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the Eleventh day of Twismas, Twilight gave to me...

Eleven hits on Kristen's (hash)pipe...

Ten Lautners Leaping...
Nine wolves-a-dancing...
Eight ways to milk Rob's popularity...
Seven Swans fail at swimming...
Six Geese at Twilight shoes...
Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...
And a Robsten in a pine tree.

On the twelvth day of Twismas, Twilight sent to me...

Twelve strummers strummmg...
(Well...eleven strummers and one PFach bum...yummm)

Eleven hits on Kristen's (hash)pipe...
Ten Lautners Leaping...
Nine wolves-a-dancing...
Eight ways to milk Rob's popularity...
Seven Swans fail at swimming...
Six Geese at Twilight shoes...
Five Glorious Fingers!
Four cast members calling...
Three French pap pics...
Two homo lovers...

Aaaaaaaaand a Robsten in a pine treeeeee!

Twi-Acronyms 101: The Art of Twi-Tweeting

2009-12-03T15:24:00.000-08:00

Well...hello there, you 27 28 people who read my randomness! Sorry I've been a little MIA; I've basking in the post-coital bliss of New Moonness and for the past three days, my brain was hijacked by two new fanfics rec'd by my tweeples @LolaShoes and @KStew411.

Have you ever read something so incredibly alluring that it's like words, phrases and fictional characters are feeding you champagne-dipped strawberries and then making sweet, passionate love to your gray matter? Someone? Anyone?

***crickets***

La Canzone Della Bella Cigna

You can come back and thank me later for that little literary love-nugget.

Conversely, have you ever had your heart heave lustily and your pantied-parts pucker painfully while delicious porn prose whispers naughty nothings into your ear?

Master of the Universe

I'll expect MORE than thanks for that one. I expect eternal, ceaseless devotion and outright fucking worship.

Enough of my diversionary sucking up. The real reason for this post besides shamless Fanfic pimping is to edumacate my little pride of cougars in the fine art of Twilight-related acronyms. So...everyone go grab a notepad and pen (JJ and Snarky...I see that neither of you have managed to find more than a red crayon and a Tide pen...WTF? We'll wait. And VitaminR? You can't write this shit on the paper towel you're using as a coaster under your beer can...go get some damn paper please.)

All set? Good. Let's do this.

For some odd reason, there are ~~103 people~~ 109 inmates on Twitter who give a shit about what I have to say. It turns out we have a little TwiTweet family going on which is both amazingly dysfuctional and highly addictive.

What's funny is that unless you puss out and use TwitLonger, you only have 140 characters to work with. I'm somewhat of a Twitter purist. Only pussies who aren't smart enough to embrace brevity, but instead insist on violating the spirit of Twitter use Twitlonger. If you can't say it in 140 letters are less, you're a TwitFail in my book.

To this end, a very interesting collection of Twilight-based acronyms have been developed so that we can commuicate random, often convoluted thoughts via Twitter, while still sticking to our 140 character, "brevity-is-the-soul-of-wit" Twitter Law.

Here's where your pencils and paper come in handy.

#1) HWMNBL - He Who Must Not Be Laid. This refers to Edward Cullen and is a parody of "He Who Must Not Be Named" Voldemart moniker from the Harry Potter Series. Be careful using it! It ONLY refers to Edward Cullen, and NOT Robert Pattinson.

RPatz is referred to as TPO a.k.a. The Pretty One or TSO, The Sparkly One, or HWMBLR, He Who Must Be Laid Relentlessly. They are two entirely different and often oppositional beings, trust me.

#2) In the Twitiverse, there are a million ways to express suprise, anticipation, or incredulousness and they almost all start out with FM, or Fuck Me. Variations include FMR - Fuck Me Running, FMS - Fuck Me Sideways, FMaMWTS - Fuck Me a Million Ways to Sunday and FMUDiaCC - Fuck Me Upside Down in a Clown Car. See? The possibilities are endless for complete and utter fuckery of the English language. Leave your best FM's in my comments!

#3) Kristen Stewart is ripe for acronym assigment, but the most popular ones are TW - which stands for The Want (because of the constant "wanting" expression on her face), QoBA - The Queen of Badass and TLBIAKU - The Luckiest Bitch in Any Known Universe, which refers to the fact that she's boning HWMBFR.

And now...for the rapid fire portion of this lesson. Perhaps making use of cut-n-paste is a better option than the ole' paper-pencil method here:

#4) DHLtEB - Dry Hump Like the Energizer Bunny (as in MY GOD, his face makes me want to DH him LtEB.)

#5) SPCCBJ - Sweet Pink Chubby Cheeked Baby Jesus ( like SPCCBJ I saw that happy trail and wanted to DH TSO LtEB)

#6) BRB/BGB - Be Right Back/Boss Going Batshit

#7) IFHRL - I Fucking Hate Real Life (as in IFHRL, BRB/BGB 'cause he caught me reading MoTU)

and finally....

#8) HSDIRJTTOL? - Holy Shit, Did I Really Just Tweet that Out Loud? (example: @DanielCudmore tweeted "Packing for Florida" to which my fingers, in the absence of a proper Tweet filter, indiscriminately responded "Yes, Daniel...you are certainly packing. HSDIRJTTOL?"

Now...who among you is brave enough to follow me on Twitter? TAG - you're it! Come & find me, and hit me with your best Twinacronym!

@Mama_Cougar

I'm being Lily Bean-i-fied!

2009-11-25T07:40:00.000-08:00

Okay girls....since it appears I'm gettin' rather serious about this "blog" thing, I've followed the lead of my friends at Forever17 and got my hooks into Lily Bean to give my blog some graphic lovemaking. Be patient, Lily's makin' me look awesome and awesome takes time. I mean, do you think Edward's messy mop hair REALLY looks like that without time in the stylist's chair?

While you wait - go watch my rambling, sober YouTube Vlog with my thoughts on New Moon after my fourth showing and the high from premiere night wore off.

See you again soon, after Lily Bean is done with her magic!

Mama Cougar

Sobered up Monday

2009-11-23T06:10:00.001-08:00

Yup. I saw it three times this weekend. Yup. Still love it. And Yup. I want to take Chris Weitz into the Den and do deliciously naughty things to him to show him my appreciation.

"Wow....ummmm...that's not what I had in mind when I said "roll it" but hey, who am I to judge? You go for it Mama. I'll just watch."

Of course, now that the high has abated, I did find a few nitpicky things I want to blog about, if only to get them off my chest so that I can go see the movie again tonight with my Unicorn at 8:30.

#1 - "Critical Reviews"

Dear Media-Type, "Professional" Movie Critics,

PLEASE STOP REVIEWING THIS MOVIE.

Now, I know your Ivy League educations and overinflated egos make it damned near impossible for you not to make your opinions known. But conversely, the audience this movie was made for does not give a fat rat's ass what you think about it. Your thoughts on the movie (which are more often than not, based more on how you will look to your movie reviewer peers than the wild concept that you may have actually read the books) mean as much to the Twilight fan base as Sarah Palin's thoughts on just about anything mean to the ~~Republicans~~ Democrats. So, do us all a favor, and go see 2012, Avatar, or Men who ~~screw~~ Watch Goats and write reviews on that. We don't need you and we will speak with our wallets. In fact, I think we already have. Let me give you a number you will understand. $250+ million worldwide in it's opening weekend. Review that you marionette butt monkeys!

"New Moon sucked. What is New Moon anyway? I think I ate Chinese there once. It gave me the trots so it must suck. Let's go with that."

#2 - The Frolicking

This appears to be the biggest complaint of the fandom. Alice's vision of Bella as a vamp was shared with Aro to placate him and make it possible for the trio to escape the Volturi chambers alive. I for one, was REALLY stoked and praying what we would see would be Bellaward embracing in the garden of their cottage while they both sparkled, all happily-ever-after like. Instead....we got the forest frolick.

"Dude...you run like a penguin." - Bella
"Yeah, well that dress makes you look like Laura Ingalls Wilder." - Edward

Yes, Chris. You got this part wrong. Or, there's some yummy extras on the DvD that will explain this and we haven't seen them yet. Whatever. Too late to fix it now, so we'll all just squint during this part and see if we can make Bella look voluptuous in a blue silk dress and Edward will just lean against a tree in jeans and an unbuttoned white oxford and marvel at her speed.

PS - Summit, since you fired Rachelle, maybe you could see your way to bring her back to teach RPatz how to run properly before you start shooting BD. That woman is a straight-up badass runner from every angle.

So that's it for my sobered up Monday. I'm on my way to buy turkey brining supplies and will then come home and chain myself to a fence post to keep from going to the theater before my scheduled 8:30 showing. Tomorrow (if YouTube will quit being a crotchblocker), I plan to Vlog about my favorite lines by each character, as well as the one line that made me wince. C'mon....you KNEW there had to be ONE. Twilight had it's "spider monkey" and New Moon has one too. Can you guess what it is?

2009-11-20T14:45:00.000-08:00

Mama's New Moon Movie Review

No worries - it's spoiler free, I promise. You can trust a Cougar.

OK....what can I say? I'm exhausted and my fingers are not connecting with any part of my brain that is capable of logical thought process, so you'll just have to watch my review, because typing it out is not an option right now. Or maybe ever.

I am aware that I look like I've been ridden hard and put away wet...and well, that's pretty close to what happened. Essentially, Chris Weitz made sweet, sweet love to me for two hours and as you can see, I'm basking in the post-coital bliss.

So now, I bid you farewell so I can take a nap and dream of the hundreds of torturous ways I'd like to maim the annoying Uggs-wearing twit that sat behind me last night in the theater. You knew there had to be one, right? I totally called it.

See that fake-blonde head in the lower part of the picture? That's Uggs girl. She possesses the single most annoying voice on the planet and my only recommended treatment for her chronic diarrhea of the mouth is a full frontal lobotomy. Trust me, she'll never miss that part of her head.

But on a happier note, here's my friend Dana and I all stoked in front of the theater. We're excited about Avatar. Bahahahahaaaaaaa.

Or not.

Nuckin' Futs

2009-11-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

I have officially lost my already-screwed-up-from-too-many-Everclear-Jello-shots-in-college MIND. My muscles are twitching underneath my skin and I'm squirming in my office chair like a toddler enjoying the feel of a fresh mess in their Blue's Clues Underoos. Long & short? I am a certifiable, committable pile of fuckin' NUTS. And if you have to ask why, you're dead to me.

THESE right here, are worth more to me today than:

1 - the entire contents of my numerous Swiss bank accounts
2 - the balance on my Victoria's Secret credit card
3 - that awesomesauce neumatic wine bottle opener I want from Sharper Image
4 - all the ~~tea~~ nuclear arms in China
5 - I'd say my firstborn child, but she reads this shizznit, so I won't (***coughfirstbornchildcough***)

THEN.

NOW.
She ain't all that cute anyway, right?

Anyway....I'm just checking in with you all to let you know that I have no energy to be witty or funny today. NONE.AT.ALL. In fact, I am only participating in "real life" today inasmuch as is necessary to maintain my facade of sanity and keep me outpatient from the psych ward so I can:

SEE NEW MOON TONIGHT!!!!!

And yes....I'll review it, but I'm not deluding myself that I'll be coherent enough to do it via the written word. You'll just have to tune in to my YouTube Channel to watch me go all batshit fangirl.

The Cougar's Den on YouTube

Mama Cougar

PS. The Twibernation is SO OVER.

Let the Twibernation begin....

2009-11-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

Ask any woman on this planet and she will unequivocally comfirm..."There is NO SUCH THING as too much foreplay." For estrogen-based life forms, foreplay starts with a wayward glance, a hand placed gently on the small of our backs while we're loading the dishwasher, a wink while we're folding clothes.

It continues with a snuggle on the couch while we're watching Dancing with the Stars, the cute way you brush your teeth AND floss prior to the goodnight kiss, and the thoughtfulness of tucking two clean washcloths under your pillow when you finally join us join us in bed.

In general, foreplay=A VERY GOOD THING. We likey. We likey a whole lot.

There is one noteable exception, however.

Summit Entertainment and it's prodigal franchise, The Twilight Saga.

Summit has been whispering sweet nothings in my ear and running their hands along my trembling thighs for weeks on end now, and even hardcore, pregame-lovin' ladies like myself are beginning to lose patience as our netheregions turn a hundred shades of blue in reaction to the deprivation of the "real" thing.

Just in the last two weeks, we've had the Vanity Fair Spread (no pun intended), The Harper's Bazaar porn, endless YouTube leaks of New Moon scenes, a bazillion blog posts with embedded vids and pics from press junkets and Mall Tour appearances, and don't even get me started on Twitter. I mean, Twitter is so close to sexually suggestive, all it takes is a one letter mistype and well....you know. Let's just say that I've been sufficiently "tweeted".

"You sure about that Mama? I could tweet all day if you wanted."

(To which my bits break out in a Hallelujiah chorus and lay out directional signs and a welcome mat in my panties.)

As a result, in order to ensure continued capillary refill to my treasured lady parts, I've made an executive decision. I am going into Twibernation. I spent my day today like a bear...getting my fill of all things New Moon so that I will have enough sustenance to last for the next 9 days. My gray matter is now filled to the brim with Twi-propoganda. I watched press interview videos, looked at stills from Robsten and Jaylorbait in Paris, and of course, like the true addict that I am, I read fanfic. (If you haven't read Twice As Long As Yesterday by hopefulwager, you are failing epically at Ficwhoring. GO. THERE. NOW. Trust the Mama.)

And so, I take my leave of you TwiWorld. I'm ducking under the covers, taking the Ambien and checking out of this big-top circus until opening night. You all can stay behind and watch the elephants pitch the tents if you want, but not me. I'm done.

Except for listening to my New Moon Soundtrack.

And playing with my Cullen Car Collection.

And blogging this Twitarded Blog Meme that is incredibly late due to the aforementioned activities. Sorry 'bout that EdBrella!

1) What is the craziest/most stupid thing you've ever done (that you would be willing to share!)?

Two of my high school besties and I once stole a bottle of Vodka from my parents liquor cabinet and mixed it with grape Kool-Aid. We proceeded to drink said SatanPunch while driving around my friend's pig farm in what could probably pass as Bella's truck. I don't remember much, except hosing vomit off of the side of my friend's house the next day.

2) One of my personal favorite games: Fuck, Marry, Kill. With the Twilight cast. I can't wait to read these! (Or "Eff, Marry, Kill" if you don't have my potty mouth.)**

Fuck: Seriously? You have to ask? The Sparkly One....hands down. Hands on. Hands moving. Just hands. Everywhere. On me. Because his hands are eroticmazing.

Marry: The Want. (a.k.a. KStew). NO LIE. The girl is everything I'd look for in a marital partner. Smart, gorgeous, well spoken, and BADASS.

Kill: Jacksper. His hair alone sends me into a murderous rage, but add to it the constipation stare and I'm over the edge Dexter on that man.

3) What is your favorite band/type of music?

James Morrison, Adele, Paulo Nutini. UK Musicians kick American artist's ass.

4) What is your favorite movie besides Twilight?

The Color Purple with Oprah Winfrey, Whoopi Goldberg and Danny Glover. Used a whole box of Kleenex and aged about 10 years when I saw it. It was the first time I'd ever seen two women kiss on screen. It was the first time I'd seen true evil and how it can shape redemption.

5) Do you RL life family/friends know you’re addicted to Twilight? A blogger?

Hell yes. The damned bunch of enablers. God love 'em.

6) How many hours a week do you spend doing Twi related things? You know, blogging, looking at pictures of the cast, reading fan fiction, etc.

I have a developmental delay that prevents me from having any sense of time. Yeah...that's it. I'm timetarded. So I have no idea. But it's lots. Whole bunches. Tons even.

Well...except from NOW until 11.20 at 12:01 am.

Mama Cougar....over & out.

(radio silence)

Five Twilight Things that Twerrify Me

2009-10-30T17:25:00.000-07:00

It's been a rough week in the TwiUniverse. So many different stimuli comin' at me from so many different directions...blah blah blah....BREAK UP SCENE...blah..blah...blah...KISS ME clip....blah blah blah...Jaylorlbait on the SCREAM Awards...and what was nearly my undoing...The Pretty One's Vanity Fair spread. It's like being shoved up against a brick wall and kissed roughly every single day without the follow through.

So, to lighten the mood a bit and take my mind off of the fact that in just 20 days, we will all finally have our well-deserved climax, I've decided to share with you five of the most disturbing, frightening things about the Twilight franchise.

5) Catherine Hardwicke

Need I say more? If you're not convinced, watch your Twilight DvD with the Director's Commentary turned on. Listen carefully during the "Gazebo Scene / Neck Kiss". THAT, my friends, is scary shit.

4) Screaming, Rabid, Twihards

For me, an ear-splitting throng of tween fangirls who a) still wear "days of the week" underwear, b) are labile enough to mention Miley Cyrus in the same breath as Kristen Stewart and, c) are missing an orthodontist appointment to attend the New Moon Mall Tour are truly and absolutely horrifying.

3) Pattinson Panties

You'd be hard pressed to identify a less controversial, less debated piece of Twi-merch. Since the gals at Twitarded revealed their Edwarundies earlier this week, there's been a shitstorm of commentary, ranging from "revolting" and "tactless" to "the most epic undergarments ever made" and "where-the-hell-can-I-get-me-a-pair-uh-them-thur-drawers?" Personally, I find them amusing. I'd love to have a pair but I could never chance wearing them because no way could I resist the ovepowering urge to run my fingers through The Pretty One's hair at every opportunity, therefore making me look like the ultimate Master(bater). I suppose what's so frightening is that for one one-hundredth of one second, I imagined RPatz's face enveloping my girl junk. ***shivers***

2) Truly Tragic Photo Manips

The stars of the Twilight saga movies are without question, the most photographed celebrities on the planet right now. This means that floating in cyberspace are thousands upon thousands of digital images that, in the hands of haphazard amateurs (see #4) who took one 6-week course in Photoshop, relentlessly torture the rest of us with the likes of this:

KStew looks like effin' E.T the Extraterrestrial with that neck. It's just a hundred shades of spine-chilling scary. Please...for the love of all that is sacred...back away from the computer and go back to tweeting your besties with your pink cell phone.

Really? Really? The idea that Edward and Bella would be pacifist, peace-loving tree huggers gives me the serious ba-heebie, ja-heebies. I mean, he yanked a damn tree out of the ground once and he regularly sucks the lifeblood from mountain lions. Are you people reading the same books as the rest of the world?

And then there's this one....so disturbing that I had to have a partial labotomy to prevent it from crossing over to my long-term memory and searing itself into my grey matter for all of eternity.

This is absolutely the apex of the anti-hot. When I first saw it, my chick bits dried up like the Sahara Desert. I mean, these look like the very unsexy carpenter cut jeans and it even looks like he's still wearing socks. EWWWWWW. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

1) Twilight Overdose

There's just TOO much Twilight. Everywhere. Rampant Overexposure. I mean I'm even assaulted at the grocery checkout:

***cough***theseareminebutIamloathetoadmitit***cough***

Then there's fanfiction, a myriad of Twilight fansites and Social Networks, Twilight YouTube channels, more Twilight blogs than you can ever read, Twilight Tweeting, hell....I hear there are even people naming their pets after Twilight characters and...err...uhhhh....

Ummmmm........

Shit.

This is my boxer puppy, Bella.

(Hangs head.)

Double My Pleasure?

2009-10-22T12:33:00.000-07:00

I was asked via Twitter today, if I planned to see the Twilight/New Moon "double feature" on opening night 11/20. I had to read and reread that request about ten times before I fully understood it, because frankly, it never occurred to me that Summit Entertainment would be ballsy enough to play the two back-to-back to the very same audience.

Now, I ~~loved~~ liked Twilight. I really did. It was a good* movie...a relatively decent adaptation of a book that I love and have read cover to cover at least half a dozen times. (*disclaimer - minus the meadow scene and the "spider monkey" line - which I just retyped about 20 times because even my fingers refuse to believe that ridiculous drivel made it into the movie).

And frankly, when the big screen is constantly inhabited by the blinding prettiness of RPatz

or KLutz,

they could be monologuing from the damn Webster's Dictionary and I couldn't have cared less.

But, alas...Twilight is a "hot dog" movie.

Hot dogs can be very good. Add a little ketchup, some thinly sliced red onion, toast the bun with butter and you've got yourself a tasty little treat. You can probably eat more than one per meal, too. (Which explains why, on multiple occasions, I have watched it twice in one sitting.)

Now...New Moon?

Summit has been teasingly naughty enough to post various scenes and trailers all over the internet - including a seriously badass looking Paul-to-Wolf transformation yesterday, and just today, part of the fight scene in the Volturi chambers that literally had me stuttering, trembling and losing bladder control. From what little I have already seen, it's apparent that New Moon is going to be a big, fat, juicy Filet Mignon. Please God...let it be big and fat. And juicy. Please...juicy.

So...in response to the "Double Feature" question, my answer is unequivocally, HELL TO THE NO.

I can already tell that watching the two back-to-back will magnify the painfully apparent flaws in Twilight, and damn it...I just wanna enjoy my hot dog without guilt or shame, even if I do fast forward every time Edward throws Bella onto his back for that ridiculous trip "up the mountain, out of the cloud bank".

I like hot dogs.

I LOVE steaks.

But the two should never occupy the same plate.

EVER, you say?

No, not at all. (Cute sideways smile - an ode to Edward's bedroom scene.)

It's just not fair to the hot dog.

An EPIC F.M.L.

2009-10-12T14:46:00.000-07:00

Just had to share with my fellow "mature" Twihards.....

So I'm sittin' at my desk this afternoon in my cushy corner office just typin' away and doing really important, indispensable work. Because I am basically irreplaceable like that. (Yeah, I had my Facebook, FFFW, and FanFiction.net minimized...you wanna make something of it?!?)

A clueless co-worker of mine who thinks Twilight is a sin against God sauntered in and asked me to take some pics off of her digital camera. She's leanin' over my shoulder makin' idle, mindless chit-chat, when she spies my PC wallpaper, which is this:

And then she says to me, 100% SERIOUSLY...."Are those your kids?"

I did not respond for a full 39.276 seconds. I think drool started to drip from my mouth because it was hanging open in sheer disbelief.

FFFF. MMMM. LLLLL.

HARDCORE FML.

I just said "yes, yes they are."

To which she responded..."Nice lookin boy!"

Good Lord.

Yeah, he's my Edward

2009-10-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

I am one lucky, lucky girl.

I'm talkin' hit-the-Mega-Millions-Jackpot-of-life-partners for the last 22.5 years lucky.

Yeah, yeah....you think you're lucky too, right?

So your spouse picks up his dirty underwear once in a while and mows the lawn. Heck, he took you to an expensive restaurant and endured a chick flick for your anniversary. He even held your hair out of the way once or twice when you had morning sickness.

Sure. You're lucky.

But not as lucky as I am.

And here's why:

Last year, my daughter and I threw an EPIC Twilight DvD Release Party.

Hubby was fully aware that our house would be invaded by Twihards, that we would likely be heavily under the influence of our

"Isle Esme Punch"

for most of the evening and swooning over other men. Still, he took one for the team and waited on us hand and foot all night, bringing drinks and cleaning up our

mushroom ravioli dinner

while we played TwiTrivia and descended into Twilight induced stupors.

And then he held my hair out of the way for me.

And that's just the tip of the Twiceberg.

I came home from work once to find this:

on my dresser.

If you don't know what it is, do us all a favor and go back to Twischool.

Did I mention that when he bought it, it was pine green and he painstakingly taped off the tires, windows, tiny little lights, etc. and painted it yellow for me?

The man is an angel I tell you. Sent to me straight from heaven.

And that's not all.

He didn't bat a single eyelash when I told him that I booked myself and my daughter on the Twilight Fans Cruise, to the tune of $3000. Instead, he shrugged and said "Can I come along?" to which I kissed him madly, said "HELL YES" and then informed my daughter that she had better find a friend on the cruise because daddy and I would be requiring privacy in our stateroom quite often.

You want more? Can you handle more?

Okay, you asked for it.

When I came home from a jewelry party wearing this custom made bracelet:

He held my wrist up to examine it and said, "Babe...we need to get you a wolf charm." I wanted to spread him on a cracker and eat him.

One day, he came home from buying work shoes for himself with a present for me. It was not a dozen roses, or a box of chocolates, or even pair of cubic zirconia earrings. It was this:

Enough said.

In fact, just yesterday, my angel was sitting on the couch and I was in my chair. We were just chatting about our pre-gaming plans for the night of the New Moon Midnight Premiere when he looked at the bookshelf behind me, squinting and wrinkling his nose.

So, having been properly baited, I said, "What is it honey?" To which he replies, "Hmmm. Your Twilight books. They're out of order."

Yes, my man knows the order of the books, because he has read them cover to cover twice.

He gets up from the couch and approaches the bookshelf, and does this.

"There, that's better." he says.

We almost didn't make it to the bedroom.

And then this morning I'm at the sink cleaning up after breakfast when he approaches me from behind, all smelling good from the shower which in and of itself is enough, if you know what I mean. But then, I feel him pull my hair away from my neck and his warm breath on the back of my ear. And then, he says this:

"Hold very still."

(A heavenly pause during which I literally cannot move.)

"Don't move," he whispered in my ear.

And I bet you can probably guess what happened after that.

Like I said, I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Are you lucky too? If so...tell me about it. Because hubs reads my blog and although he does pretty well on his own, new ideas are always welcome!

Premature EJakeulation

2009-10-07T11:46:00.000-07:00

Okay....it's honesty time.

Who among you has the C.O. Jones to admit that you find Taylor Lautner just a tiny bit attractive, despite being old enough to be his mother?

Well not me. Not now. Not ever.

In fact, I find the kid downright repulsive. Skinny. Revolting. Not the least bit endearing or cute. I mean, somebody obviously beat this boy senseless with the ugly stick, right?

Evidence? You want evidence? Okay...I've got evidence.

Ummmm....eeerrr....well, maybe that's not the best example.

But trust me, Taylor is repugnant....ahem...in a "Mama's playin' opposite-day" kinda way.

The kid is just hideous and frankly, I just don't see what all the fuss is about.

I mean...what self-respecting grown woman would admit that she gets just a tiny bit breathless everytime she sees little Mr. Sharkboy shirtless?

It's sick. That's what it is. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.

It's just all kinds of registered sex-offender wrong.

At least until the kid is legal.

Which is in exactly:

Until then, I just keep repeating "Jailbait....jailbait...jailbait" to myself.

And I'd advise you all to do the same.

Moving along....

See below for video evidence that I'm just not right in the head.

And I'm including all three of my actual blog followers in my contest - if you leave me the most creative comment, I'll send you the prize. Contest ends whenever I feel like it. Void where prohibited. See inside my head for details. Wait...on second thought....bad idea.

Crap. They're on to me.

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

2009-10-05T11:25:00.000-07:00

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.

Tempting, Tasty Twilight

2009-10-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

I've said it before, and I stand by my assertion that Catherine Hardwicke made some monumental mistakes in the adaptation of the Twilight book to the big screen...the most notable being the awkward and unsatisfying meadow scene that robbed us of the intimacy Stephenie wrote about in her book.

Even typing about it almost a year later, I can feel the void...the desperate longing clawing at my insides. It's the same empty feeling I get when I realize the pimply-faced kid at Mickey D's forgot the extra tartar sauce on my Filet O' Fish. At times like these, I clutch my dog-eared paperback to my chest and re-read the meadow chapter so that I can have my "satisfaction".

Or...I look at this photo.

There...that's better.

That having been said, Catherine's casting was nothing short of genius. Every single cast member brings a unique brand of beauty to the movie, and there's something for everyone. The Cullen boys are the perfect example. Each one has their own flavor, and heck if there aren't days when I just want a smorgasbord. Hitch me up to the buffet girls...Mama's hungry and here's what's on the menu!

Jackson....Jaxson....Jax. Ladies...Jackson is my appetizer. His creamy, flawless complexion and riveting eyes just really whet a girl's whistle if you know what I mean.

Peter is a fresh, healthy, tossed salad slathered in rich, delicious dressing. So many textures, sinfully yummy and yet so good for you. Feel free to eat all the salad you want with none of the guilt!

How could Kellan be anything but a thick, juicy, delectable piece of man-steak? I mean seriously...don'tcha just wanna carve that up, sink your teeth into it and feel it melt in your mouth? Just hearing his name uttered causes me to salivate like a Pavlovian dog.

And then there's the mouthwatering, luscious dessert that is Robert. Sweet and sinful...and you know you shouldn't have it, but it's just too alluring and irresistable to pass up. So you eat it; indulging yourself as your eyes roll back in your head at the sheer ecstasy when the ambrosia bathes your tongue and tastebuds in culinary rapture.

Thank you, Chef Hardwick, your menu was impeccable. The ambience was tolerable and the service could have been better. But the meal was mind-blowingly scrumptous.

What's your pleasure? Are you a salad lover? A snacker that could make an entire meal from the appetizer? A meat & taters kinda gal? Or are you one of those who skips the meal and goes straight for the dessert cart? Me? I'm an equal opportunity glutton and I want a ten course meal.

Next up? I'm critiquing the food at Chez Weitz. I've heard its much more upscale. My plan is to slip the Maitre'd a $20 for a table by the fire and cleanse my palate between courses with a nice glass of Alex Meraz...ahem....sorry.....Shiraz.

I Cheated on Twilight

2009-09-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

In December 2008, after a whirlwind two week romance, The Twilight Saga and I were united forever. It was a simple ceremony, just family and a few close friends...and then we honeymooned in Antigua where it gave me days...weeks...months of rapturous, blissful pleasure beyond my wildest imagination. Everyone tells me we're a handsome couple, and I believe it. I mean, there's no denying that The Twilight Saga is a total hottie.

I'm not quite sure when it crept up on me, but mid-summer, I started feeling the 6-month itch. Something was missing in our relationship. I had a need that wasn't being met. How many times did it honestly think I could read it? It got too comfortable...complacent. And so it began, as many affairs do, in the Adult Fiction Section at Borders. I wasn't going to buy anything....really. I was just looking. I mean, our vows didn't say anything about reading a simple synopsis or "appreciating" another book cover. But then, my eyes fell upon this:

It wasn't really cheating. I mean...it was the same author and everything. Right? It was more like kissing my husband's cousin after one glass too many of Pinot Grigio.

We went to couples counseling and eventually, The Twilight Saga forgave me and we moved on.

Don't get me wrong, there were still trust issues. I was being watched carefully. Once, I found Eclipse on the back of the toilet seat and New Moon regularly perched itself on my nightstand. Still, I did my best to remain faithful.

Until, one day, I was feeling weak and vulnerable. The Twilight Saga had been my constant companion, but it was away visiting some friends and I was lonely. My daughter, who was unaware of my tenuous commitment, inadvertently left this:

in my car.

It was impossible not to stroke the cover...it was so shiny and colorful and "graphically gifted". It even had a movie...just like my beloved Twilight Saga. One thing lead to another and before I knew it, I was ten chapters deep. The Twilight Saga returned home, but it was too late. I had become a Master of deception. My new mistress and I stole moments in the laundry room, the garage, the walk-in closet...all while The Saga was tucked away, unsuspecting, on the bookshelf.

Unlike my previous affair, this one was deep, hungry and passionate. Like a flash fire to my eyes and heart, it lasted only a weekend and then it abandoned me, leaving my soul aching, desperate and alone. Needing more.

The void was unfathomably deep. And so I filled it with this:

which was by far, the most intellectually stimulating of my seedy exploits. The Saga started to get suspicious when it heard me using words like "hardscrabble" and "equivocal" in daily conversation. It hacked into my computer and checked my browsing history to find that I had Googled the author, Michael Palmer, and placed a few more of his works in my "Wish List" on Amazon.com.

The Saga confronted me and we had a huge blowout. There were raised voices, hurtful exchanges, tears...heck, I think there may have been a torn jacket cover. I'm not sure. It's all a blur now.

The Twilight Saga finally acquiesced that perhaps expecting me to be exclusive was unfair. It agreed that it had underestimated my literary needs. We parted amicably and thanks to a generous prenup, The Saga is living comfortably in a two-bedroom condo just a few miles from my house. We still see each other on occasion, and we share custody of the fruit of our loins....Fan Fiction.

And now, I'm at last at peace. Uninhibited and free to indulge my insatiable hunger for words and wit, plot twists and loveable characters. But alas, The Twilight Saga will forever have a special place in my heart as the lover that brought a passion for reading back into my life. Thank you Twilight Saga - I will always love you. Forever.

The Pride of My Pride

2009-09-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

Cougars are solitary animals. Female cougars are fiercely protective of their kittens, and have been seen to successfully fight off animals as large as grizzly bears in their defense. Copulation with males is brief but frequent. And yes, I got this shit directly from Wikipedia.

THIS Cougar, however, enjoys the company of like-minded cats:

17 Forever

Twitarded

Twi-sted

Kristen Stewart Wants IT

Rob My World

Lily Bean Designs

Plus....this cougar enjoys prolonged AND frequent copulation. WINK!