New Moon Midnight Show

First I would like to begin by saying I have a hardcore reputation for falling asleep in movies. Give me a glass of wine, followed by a dark room and a comfy chair -- and I'm out. Cold. And I'm not just talkin' 15 minute power naps -- I'm talkin' really really good, quality naps.

So, the idea of me going to a midnight show -- forget the movie -- is ridiculous to begin with. And when the opportunity came along to buy midnight tickets to the biggest teen film of the year (back in September) -- I knew this would definitely be some serious shit I'd never do.

I am definitely a 100% fake "Twilight" fan. I attempted to read the first book but stopped 65 pages into it. However, I did see the first movie -- and after seeing it, completely "got" why teenage girls were freaking out. It's like "90210" on a hallucinogenic and did make for an enjoyable Blockbuster rental night. I mean, Pattinson is totally like a Dylan McKay, only with fangs and a permanent model runway face.

So, in order to pull off my fake fandom, on my lunch break Thursday afternoon I headed to the one place I knew would have the goods -- Hot Topic (a place I haven't frequented since Friday nights in the 8th grade). I walk in and immediately see the shrine of Twilight merch. Ian, the overly enthusiastic teen working there (I just couldn't say no to his pitch to sign up for the Hot Topic frequent customer card) asks "You going to the midnight show? (in an attempt to rate my Twihard-ness). I proudly reply, "Hell yeah! You need to hook me up!" Ian proceeds to try to sell me an incredibly discreet Team Edward hoodie but I knew if I was going to do this -- I gotta do it right -- gimme Edward & Bella across my chest, Kid!

Ready for the show -- I drag the BF (no, Steve, this is not the "Shit I Make By Boyfriend Do" blog), along with friends Rachel and David and we head over to the AMC 16 in Burbank.

I arrive at the theater and there are, I kid you not, 8 different lines for 8 different showings wrapped around the block. Everyone is decked out in Twihard garb -- complete with blankets, sweatshirts, hats, and, let's not forget, the handmade, puffy-painted "Team Jacob" headbands.

The 15-year-old girls at the front of the line tell me they skipped school, not telling their parents (of course), to set up camp at 9 AM. Seeing as I'm of legal drinking age and have a full time job, I head to Buffalo Wild Wings (next to the theater) for dinner and drinks knowing full well my seats will suck. At about 10:45 PM, I walk back to the alleyway where the line is formed, and find my spot in line ...

... at the very end.

The attendance is made up mostly of girls, except for a few pissed-off boyfriends/husbands, creepy 60-year-old grandmas (with flashing light vampire jewelry), and freaky Goth teen misfits who wear trench coats and have huge earlobe-stretching gauges. It was quite a cast of characters.

Team Edward friends.
This is Carlos. He had a sweet shirt.

The pissed off BFs.

The helpful AMC employee who said "The doors are opening! Have your tickets ready!"

And the trash the Twihards left behind. I guess vampires don't care about the environment.

As they open the doors, the Twilight Hysteria Brigade parade into the theater with full force! "Team Edward!" "Team Jacob!" "Shut up, Bella is Hot!" Everyone runs for their seats (mine is surprisingly in row three, not row one, as expected), and the chants continue. "Team Edward!" "Team Jacob!" "Why can't the movie just start?!"

Third row, bitches! Everyone jets off to the bathroom (tweens due to being outside for the past 6 hours, Stephanie due to an IV of Diet Coke in every attempt to just make it to the 12:01 AM start time). In the bathroom, I have to mention, I received some serious Twilight street cred. "OMG I love your sweatshirt! Where did you get it?" "Ooooo that's the new one!" "You look so cute!" Yeah. My hoodie totally dominated.

Back in the theater, a beach ball somehow shows up, and suddenly I am transported to a deranged high school pep rally. The random shrieks continue for the next 20 minutes as I wait for my impending death -- not from this movie experience -- but from Steve ...

wanting to kill me for taking him to see it.

Finally, the previews start, and every tween in the theater feels the need to yell their response to each upcoming movie (all vampire/romance-themed -- except for the Meryl Streep/Alec Baldwin one, which was clearly to amuse the moms (who were not there). Then, it began ... [SCREAMS!] 120 minutes of never-ending screaming.

Experiencing this insanity is kind of like attending a rock concert -- except instead of girls cheering for guys holding guitars, they're screaming for shirtless, prepubescent boys. Every time one even enters the frame, the crowd explodes. "You're HOT!" "I want your body!" "Kiss Her!" And, of course, throughout the movie, I hear the occasional "Shhhhh!," "Shut up!," "You're ruining the movie!" Steve makes the mistake of laughing at the wrong time, and we're scolded with a "Fake fan alert!" shoutout. I am SO embarassed. I am now having visions of tweens attacking us with their Pattinson action figures and kicking us out of the theater. I don't want to be outed!

So, with all the continuous shrieking -- was the movie actually any good? While Jacob's abs were unreal and Pattinson did sparkle in the forest, I'm sad to say, the movie totally sucked. Unlike the first movie, there's really not much of a story arc, I didn't believe for a minute that Bella was even crushing on Jacob, and, what I found most confusing, there is no explanation whatsoever as to why wolf boys don't like clothes.

And of course, Steve absolutely hated it way more than me.

I get home around 3:30 AM and run to my bed clocking in 2 hours of sleep for a feel-good Friday at work. All day long, my ears are buzzing from the screaming.

As I type here now, I can still hear them. Make it stop. Please make it stop.

New Moon Midnight Friends

Just got home from the 12:01 showing of New Moon. Pretty much -- it was the craziest shit I've ever seen. Meet Carlos. We met in line. Carlos is just one of many friends I met tonight.

The full report will be up tomorrow. For now, gotta go take a two-hour nap before work (and pop an Advil b/c my ears are ringing from shrieks of "Jacob, you're HOT!!!!").

Night, Twihards ... and Twihardlys.

Medieval Times

Hanging out with creepy, role-playing fantasy nerds posing as kings of the court and swine-flu infested tourists is not exactly how I like to spend my Saturday nights. I don't do 17-hour "Lord of the Rings" movies, understand "Spamalot" boy-humor, or frequent dirty Renaissance Fairs. And I definitely do not use language such as "morrow," "yonder," and "merry!" in daily convos. For all these reasons and oh-so-many-more, I knew this would be some serious shit I'd never do.

Merriment. Majesty. Manure. It's Medieval Times. "Raise Your Voices!!!!"

Before storming the castle, my 'court' (ie Marissa, Steve and Rose) had mixed expectations of what would come from this little adventure. Steve expected the best night of his life, Marissa expected men in tights and Rose expected unicorns. I expected a freak show straight out of "The Cable Guy" -- 0h, and a lot of alcohol (I called ahead to make sure they were stocked -- do you blame me?).

So, we roll up -- first passing a rival tourist trap called The Pirates Adventure. Ooh, family dinner show row! But just a few feet down the road, we see them -- a ba-zillion "royal guests" dressed in jean shorts, black sneakers (with white socks) and Disney Land t-shirts -- all invading a huge, honest-to-god castle. A castle which seems a little less majestic when you realize it's opposite a restaurant called PoFolks.

So I enter and am crowned team Black & White Knight (which I felt was the classiest of all teams -- no way was I gonna cheer for the Burger King Red and Yellow Knight). Before we can go any further, I'm pulled into a room by a demanding girl with a bad perm named Princess Leonore, and a "serf" who takes our picture. Who here thinks that picture's free? Me either. Then, I walk into this room ...


The Hall of Arms -- aka the petri dish. The purpose of this room is to cram people together, force them to buy overly priced neon swords, and wait in a very long bathroom line. People use this opportunity to get drunk as fast as possible. Which would explain the mega-sized souvenir alcoholic beverage containers (with a crown of whipped cream) ...

... and also explains why it takes ages to get a drink. I did my best to send sweet smiles to Mitch the bartender, but he was distracted by the drunk strangers yelling at each other -- "Green Knight!!!!" "Red Knight is gonna kick Blue Knight's ass." Ugh!

Finally, with a tiny watered-down drink for each of us (no whipped cream) ...

This failed actor told me to "Enter Fair Maiden!" I pass through the mists of time and enter the festive spirit of ...

... the overwhelming smell of horse dung. Yum! Time to eat! First, I meet our Wench ...

She explains no utensils (haven't been invented yet) , one napkin per person (with the menu printed on it), and you gotta wait another 30 minutes till the cocktail waitress shows up (so, go to the bar again now). Thank god for her honesty.

Then ... like a defender of the ancient shrine of At Santiago de Compostela ... in tights sparkly, in looks plain, and in hair grease-nasty ... our hero arrives ...

... and locks eyes with only one fair maiden in the crowd ... yours truly. He's swept up in the passion of the moment, pulls out a single precious rose ... er, carnation ... and presents it to me. Chivalry truly is not dead. I am his lady. (All of which happens while Steve is in the bathroom.)

Wait a minute. Are the vodka tonics kicking in, or is this truly the most magical place in the world?

We slurp.

We gulp.
We feast!
We are entertained by fancy horses ...


...throwing up all over the field.

After our four-course feast (tomato soup, roasted chicken, spare rib, half of a baked potato, and a 'pastry of the castle') which was not only edible, but kinda sorta good, the tournament begins! Oh wait, hold on, the king's gotta get through a very long list of birthday, anniversary and divorce (yes, divorce) announcements first.

And now it's time for the tournament to begin!!!! Who will be named the brave champion to hail over King Phillip's Realm??? "Raise your voices!!!!" "And lower the safety nets!"


The energy in the arena was electric!

Black & White! Black & White! Black & White! Black & White!

My noble warrior priest has chosen to go first! This is so exciting! Black & White! Black & White! Black & White! Then ...

... That crappy ass knight DIED!

WTF????????!!!!!!

Farewell sweet knight. You sucked a big one.

Just when all hope is lost, a white light appears ...

...and the cocktail waitress returns.

So, despite risking swine flu, smelling horse poo and having one hell of a shitty knight -- The Medieval Times experience was well worth my $37 discounted ticket via Goldstar. I didn't go in as a fan of medieval pageantry, but get a few spirits in me, put a rose in one hand, a giant turkey leg in the other, and hell yeah I'll watch grown men play dress-up on vomiting horses.

Meet The King, The Princess, and The Converted. Part of me hopes I get divorced so I can come back!

No Choice Sushi

There's a notorious sushi place on Ventura Blvd. called Sushi Nozawa I have been afraid to go to for over 5 1/2 years. As legend goes, there is a scary "Sushi Nazi" who forces you to eat whatever he wants, heckles inexperienced sushi eaters, and kicks out anyone who orders California rolls. For all the sushi I have consumed while living in Los Angeles (reaching Piven-like mercury poison levels), I've never had the guts to bring it to the big leagues -- until tonight.

Meet Chef Nozawa ...


He's intimitdating. He's all business. He's exactly what I expected him to be. Today's special is "Trust Me" -- every day. Steve (the bf) and I walked in and were immediately given the choice of table or sushi bar. We decided to go bar, and as we approached, The Master sternly said, "Sushi Bar. No Choice." No choice? Really? Oh shit, it's true.

After yellow tail, halibut, tuna, albocore and so much more -- we scarfed down one yummy bite after the next -- barely peeping a word. Two ladies sat next to us and made the HUGE mistake of specifying no octopus or eel. Finally, The Legend was shaken from his slumber. Sushi Nozawa had fire in his eyes, sternly scolding them. "No choice!"

After witnessing that, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to brave asking for a glass of water.

All in all, the meal was unbelievably delicious and after racking up quite an unbelievable bill, Steve and I rolled ourselves out the door.


Proud to say, I no longer fear the Sushi Nazi.

Creeped Out on the Queen Mary

I stayed on the haunted Queen Mary. Alone. On the lower deck. I felt water beneath me.

Please take note of the button to the left of the toilet. It requires using your foot to stomp and flush.


No, that's not my dad's college dorm room -- it's my amenities.

Might I remind you, I am still recovering from the haunted house my parents took me to in the 4th grade. A high school boy chased me with a Jason chainsaw. My father laughed with delight.



I am proud to have survived the night.

Flashing a Passport to Get Into a Bar

Lucky me, my wallet (with all my IDs, credit cards, cash, etc.) was stolen a few weeks ago. Sure, getting the call that my Amex was being charged at Louis Vuitton sucked and sure, having to prove that I didn't write checks to Gucci for thousands of dollars sucked but, what I wasn't ready for, was the awkwardness of getting carded at the front door of a bar ... and having to flash my passport (with my totally sweet 10th grade photo).

I mean, hey, a stolen drivers liscense wasn't going to stop me from hitting up happy hour.  Of course, my friends don't want to go out with me again until my new ID is sent but come on, the confused look on the bouncer's face was an unexpected perk.

SNL's Gilly Wins Halloween Costume Contest

That's riiiiight, you're looking at the BIG winner of last night's Halloween Costume Contest at Maeve's Residuals bar and popcorn poppin' party house. Okay, so, normally I am not one of those crazy Halloween people who plan a year in advance for the opportunity to break out the alter ego and post photos all over the internet but this year (oh, and maybe this year too)-- I knew exactly who I wanted to be ... Gillyyyyyy. If you are lucky enough to have an exceptional Saturday night social life and/or continue to forget to set the TIVO to SNL, Giley is Kirsten Wiig's hilarious and evil-havocking character.


So, I forced the BF Steve to go as Gilly's teacher and after a few too many glasses of chardonnay, a full-out dance performance of Gilly's jig, and one too many "sorries," I ended up a winner with 100 bucks ... cash! Talk about some sh*t I should totally do again!


Although, to anyone who ever decides to follow suit and go as Gilly -- you must be warned. Far too many people will say your name in that creepy, child-molester-type voice and freak you out all night. Also, you'll get at least one drunk super-creep who will think you're Italian and/or the star of that classic Affleck/Lopez flick and call you Gigli.