Oh Interwebz, I’m all in a tizzy. Today is a big day…a huge day…a momentous day! Yes folks, at midnight tonight, New Moon is playing just two blocks away from me at the Hoboken Clearview Cinema. Now the question is, am I nerd enough to go? I have a reputation to maintain, you know. The next question is – do I really have the restraint to not go? Oh what to do?!?!
On the one hand, you might say my cover is already blown. In fact, here’s a little transcript of the voicemail I received from my Dad this morning:
I called on your cell phone because I figured you weren’t home. But I can’t pick you out in the crowd on the Today Show where that weird guy with the 5 o’ clock shadow and the vampish hair was. I figured you were there even if you didn’t necessarily wait overnight like all of the other people did. This has got to be at LEAST on the same level as Rent. (That’s another dark chapter in Elly’s obsessive past that will have to wait for another day.) Oh well, I guess I just don’t know my daughter as well as I thought I did. Love you.
Right. So. I’m pretty sure that if my Dad in Virginia is already mocking my obsession via satellite, it’s possible I’ve prattled on in far too much detail for me to ever regain my cool, aloof status. Doh.
To my credit (or possible discredit), I’m pretty sure my ancient, lazy ass would have one hell of a time staying awake late enough to make the midnight showing. I’d probably doze off on the sofa while waiting for the doors to open and miss the whole damn thing. It seems the Clearview peeps already thought of that, though. That’s why they are further tormenting me with the equivalent of a carrot on a string to my stubborn ass; they’re playing Twilight at 9pm. (It’s ok, don’t be shy. I squealed when I found that out, too.)
Take a moment to process that, girls (and strange men). A chance to watch Twilight immediately followed by New Moon, all on the big screen, just a hop, skip, and a jump from my little apartment. It’s a little too perfect, right? There would probably be just enough time between shows for me to run home and change my underwear. My heart is all aflutter just thinking about it! I’m sure the euphoria would keep me floating in a cloud of dreamy vampire goodness well into next week, distracting me from my upcoming appointment with Dr. Doom. Though do I really have enough time to fully apply my “Team Edward” body paint?
Then there’s the other hand…damn you other hand. I keep trying to figure out where that line between mildly (yet still healthy-ish) obsessed and bat-shit-crazy-restraining-order obsessed is. I’m worried this might be that line. (I will completely ignore the possibility that I crossed that line a long, long time ago.) I mean, it would be one thing if I was thirteen and doodling “Edward” on the pristine white vinyl inside my Twilight Trapper Keeper. Two decades later I’m feeling a little bit like a pedophile. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since I saw Harry Potter naked on Broadway.
I need some sort of peer reassurance, people. But I can’t convince anyone to be my enabler and sit through nearly six hours of heart stopping Edward with me. That’s partially because I’m too embarrassed to call anyone and ask if they want to go, and partially because most of the people I know have lives. Do I go by myself? Does that make me lame? If I were a Magic Eight Ball, I’m pretty sure I’d be spitting up a “YES!” right about now.
Oh the dilemma! Back to the hand I like – if an outing so simple and cheap would bring me so much enjoyment, why wouldn’t I do it? It is way less expensive than a massage and way less caloric than cheesecake. Really, I can’t think of a single way such an adventure could be classified as “bad” for me. If you’ve thought of a way, I’d really rather you not share it.
Back to the icky hand — it’s a horrible idea because the next thing you know, I’ll be rockin’ my star fleet commander uniform at some Trekkie convention out in the desert. It’s a slippery, slippery slope, Interwebz. If I ran into a former boyfriend or future employer, I wouldn’t have any trouble telling them I’d spent the evening getting a massage or eating a piece of cheesecake. I might, however, be hesitant to admit I’d spent the evening pining for a fictional character from adolescent literature. I have my pride…sort of.
What the Forks do I do? Maybe it will be sold out and I won’t have the option. That thought just struck terror into the core of my very being. Well, shit. Now I’m going to have to go see if I can get tickets…and a burka to hide beneath. I think I might need an intervention.