Sad Men

I was SOOO excited for Sunday’s Season 3 premiere of Mad Men (if you don’t watch it, please crawl out from under your pop-culture rock and read this recap immediately).

Being the MM veteran that I am, I Mad Men’ed Myself right into the offices of Sterling Cooper -- and yes, I stand by my decision to wear a pink polkadot party dress. I quizzed myself to find out Which Mad Man Am I? Turns out, I’m Betty “How’s Therapy Going?” Draper -- which says nothing good about me AT ALL, but whatevs. And I made a phone date with my mom to watch the show together, like we always do.

Except, I didn’t love it.

In fact, I didn’t even like it!

And it’s NOT because the subtle nuance is lost on my thick skull (yes, yes, I GET IT, the London Fog client is a metaphor for the smoke and mirrors in Don’s personal life, or the ad biz in general). And it’s NOT because the overt messages try too hard (pitting Pete and Ken as the dueling head of accounts was just plain silly, even though that actually happened to me once in real life -- and PS: I won). And it’s NOT because of the politically incorrect way they depict life in the 1960’s (that ballpoint pen in Sal’s shirt pocket sure was happy to see the bellboy, huh?).

It’s because it wasn’t entertaining. And that makes me sad.

Last year, I gave you 5 reasons I would miss Mad Men. Now, here are 5 reasons I'd like to forget Sunday’s episode entirely:

1. Warm Milk and Gross Feet
Warm milk is just disgusting, and I could REALLY do without that shot of the gloopy skin that forms on top. But more disturbing was the sight of Don Draper’s feet. If those Flintstone hammertoes were his, please require him to wear two pairs of socks. Simultaneously. At all times. I’m sure they revealed a lot of important backstory in that scene, but all I could think was… eeeeew!

2. Enough with the Screwing Around
Won’t Don EVER learn? I’m starting not to like him. At all.  As if banging a random stewardess that looks an awful lot like his pregnant wife, Betty, wasn’t enough, giving said stewardess’s silver airplane wings to his daughter, Sally, as a souvenir from the road was just too much. Stop being slimy.

3. Not Enough Roger Sterling
Now THIS womanizer with a bum ticker needs to be in every scene. Having the Silver Fox breeze thru for like 30 seconds was cruel and unusual.

4. Peggy Olson Needs to Chillax
I understand that she’s a woman in a man’s world and if she could turn her boobs into balls she would. But why is she so freaking uptight?

5. Pull Up Your Diapers, Whiny Pete
You can just picture Pete Campbell whining, “But Daddy, I want an Oompa Loompa nooooow!” Can we PLEASE see how he dealt with the news that he knocked Peggy up and she gave their kid away?! Nobody cares about his new desk accessory that boldly declares, “The Buck Stops Here.”


Oh! And in the “You Can’t Be Serious” department, um… lemme get this straight: Did Dick Whitman’s mother really name him after a…? Geez. No wonder he switched his name to Don.

Anyway, I kept watching. And kept waiting for it to get better. 52 minutes later, and no dice. But I did enjoy the BMW commercials!

So, did YOU watch? Did you like? And, seriously… can anyone tell me what the hell was UP with dreamy Don Draper’s feet??

18 (x2)

Happy (belated) birthday to me!

On August 3rd, I officially turned 18 (x2). I say it this way because I can no longer say my actual age. I know, it’s silly. I mean, how hard can it possibly be?

Thiiiirrrrtttyyy ssss… nope. Can’t do it.

Anyway, aside from thinking I’m a total freak, you’re probably asking yourself why I waited until now to blog about it (or perhaps you’re just waiting with bated breath for my musings on bellybutton lint).

Am I just lazy? Well, sort of, yes.

But really, I waited to write this post until I finished celebrating! I mean, I don’t just celebrate my birthDAY -- I celebrate my birthWEEK (sometimes TWO if I’m feeling frisky!). Which, is interesting because I while I hate the idea of aging, I really do heart my birthday.

Now, I won’t bore you with 36 things you should know about my birthday (although it IS tempting). Instead, I will submit 3 critical birthday facts for your review:

1) I never work on my birthday.
Being a summer baby, I never had to go to school on my birthday. In fact, I never had to do much of ANYTHING except open presents and eat cake. So, imagine my dismay upon graduation to The Real World. I began my very first job in Parsippany, NJ, a week before my 22nd birthday -- and I had to WORK on the Big Day! Nobody even knew my name, much less that it was my birthday. I was stuck in the photocopy room all day and can still vividly recall jabbing the collate button with my index finger, while grumbling, “This totally sucks!” So, on August 3, 1995, feeling lightheaded from the overwhelming scent of toner, I vowed never again to work on my birthday. And I never have.

2) I always have a cheesecake birthday cake.
Some people like cupcakes. Some people like ice cream cake. Some people are birthday Grinches and eat broccoli instead. Me? I like cheesecake. But ONLY creamy New York-style. Not that crappy, lumpy, gross-tasting Italian kind (as much as I love the Itals, ricotta does not a cheesecake make). And I am a purist -- just plain cheesecake, maybe with strawberries on the side, please. This is the best cake to make a proper wish upon, in my opinion.

3) I always buy myself a gift.
I love buying gifts for people! So it stands to reason that in the days and weeks around my birthday, I find just about every excuse possible to treat myself. Usually it’s small things, and one big splurge. This year, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really gotten myself anything yet, which I happened to mention to my mom. She replied, “You already got a gift. From a BOY. Who you are not related to. Quit while you’re ahead.” Actually, she may be right about that one…

So, do YOU have any favorite memories about MY birthday??

Kidding, kidding. I’ll also take your favorite kinds of birthday cake…

All Points West

This past Saturday, my brother and I trekked back to the Mother Land. Yes, we went home to the Jerz.

You gotta get back to your roots every now and again.

We originally had tickets last summer to the first All Points West music & arts festival at Liberty State Park. We were hoping to see Radiohead. But as luck would have it, our tix were for the same weekend that we wound up helping our parents move down to Florida. I think we were somewhere in Georgia by the time Radiohead took the stage in Jersey City.

So we couldn’t hear them very well.

This year, I promised my brother we’d get to the festival for reals. And get there we did! Here are the highlights…

BEST BAND: Gogol Bordello
While we came to see Tool, (and the Arctic Monkeys were pretty great too), this crazy little band stands out to me above all the rest. They had an amazing energy, you could not stand still when they were playing, and they used a trippy smorgasbord of instruments (banjo, accordion, electric guitar, violin, PLUS a bongo-playing man in a wrestling mask and two tambourine-playing dancing nymphs -- oh my!). It sounded unexpectedly awesome. I didn’t even realize until the end that the songs weren’t all in English. Whatever. I’m a fan.
Download this: Tribal Connection and Mala Vida

WORST BAND: My Bloody Valentine
This band should be called My Bloody Ears. The guitars were so loud and distorted, it was just screechy noise. A sonic assault. Apparently their POINT is to be loud and all the Kool Kidz totally get it, but never have I seen so many people standing totally still during a concert. Everyone was just dumbfounded, I guess. Or deaf. And while I swore I saw the band’s lips moving, there was not one discernable lyric in their entire set until they said, “Goodnight.” I say, “Good riddance.”
Download this: Don’t Bother (no, seriously, don’t bother)


BEST FOOD I ATE: Funnel Cake
I love funnel cake. It’s really just as simple as that.

WORST FOOD I ATE: Tiny Meatballs
Tiny meatballs freak me out. Actually, don’t love the big ones either. Especially when they have giant chunks of bread in them, or weird ingredients like nuts and raisins. Blech. But, I do like meatballs on my pizza… go figure. I am a riddle wrapped in an enigma.


BEST FOOD I DIDN’T EAT: PB&J
I sprung for VIP tix because that’s how I roll. Ok, that’s how I LIKE to roll. Ok, ok… it was a treat for my brother. But regardless, the first thing I saw when we entered the tres chic VIP tent was a make your own PB&J sandwich station. I kinda loved that.

WORST FOOD I DIDN’T EAT: Burritos
From the APW message board: “By any chance did you have the burritos?? My friends ate burritos. I didn't luckily, and my stomach is acting kind of weird but not as bad as my friends who both have explosive diarrhea. Maybe some parasite from the feces we were all submerged in might have contaminated the burrito stand, and maybe the fact that we were submerged in it for three days may be why we are all sick. I hope its not some bird parasite.” I think that speaks for itself.


BEST DECISION: Taking the Ferry
This was a great way to get to the festival -- out on the open sea. I felt like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, minus the shoulder pads. Just ignore the ridiculous price ($25?!), and the fact that the walk to the dock was a good mile away from the main stage, AND the fact that the ferry tix weren’t transferrable from one day to the next (an expensive lesson I accidentally learned when a robust woman named Chantal informed me that I’d purchased tix for the wrong day). But… it sure was pretty!

WORST DECISION: Wearing Flip Flops
Rain + Grassy Knoll = Mud. Sure, Saturday was gorgeous, but the damage had already been done. Not sure what I was thinking when I decided to don a cute pair of flippers. The stench coming off the wet mulch was also something special. I can only hope it was poo. Incidentally, I did hear that APW was letting Friday's soggy ticket holders into the Saturday and Sunday shows for free, so that’s a pretty cool gesture (as long as you push aside the greedy motive of just hoping to sell even more $7 beers and $5 slices). If only they were offering a foot decontamination service. Then they’d truly be golden.


BEST ATTRACTION: Twix Misting Tent
While it wasn’t super hot out, the mist was cool and refreshing, and they served free Twix. I kept waiting for something awkward to happen so I could chew it over with Twix.

WORST ATTRACTION: Beer Gardens
Forget the 7 beer limit for the whole entire day -- you could only consume them in designated drinking zones (and yes, I GET it, we were in a state park). So I felt like we had to pound every beer in order to get back to the show. Hmmm. Maybe that was the point? Or maybe I’m just too old for that. Not sure. But I wound up being so full on yummy festival snacks (see above), that I only drank 4 of my 7 beer rations. Yes, it’s official, I am getting old.


BEST CELEB SIGHTING: Adrian Grenier
In the beer garden.

WORST CELEB SIGHTING: Courtney Love
At the falafel stand.


All in all, it was a blast. And a mess. It was a messy blast. Can’t WAIT to go again next year! (Seriously… wanna come??)

Off the Market

I really never thought I’d be writing a post like this.

I try to be as honest as I can be in this blog. It’s not like my manuscript -- which is actually fiction, despite the fact that it resembles my life and the people in it.

This blog isn’t loosely based on my life over the last year -- it kinda IS my life. Here, I try to push aside feeling stupid, or random, or neurotic, or whatever, and just tell a story that I’d be amused to read. (YOU can be the judge of how successful I’ve been in that endeavor!)

So if I’m being honest, I should tell you that I feel like I’ve spent my entire adult life celebrating other people’s milestones. And I’ve been happy to do it! I just couldn’t ever help feeling a little left behind, as my +1 was generally a giant handbag instead of a boy -- over, and over, and OVER again.

When I was able to focus on me -- to whip up one or two milestones of my own -- I shared my indecision about jumping into the scary online dating pool. I took you with me as I waded through thousands of freaky FREAKY profiles. And I recounted the ridiculous dates that followed (FLOSSING… um… seriously?!? I still can’t get over that one). There were actually more where those came from, but they were SO boring, even I couldn’t find the funny.

As you know, throughout this whole online dating process, I have been… selective. I didn’t dismiss 4 out of every 5 guys who contacted me. Or even 9 out of every 10. Oh no. It was actually closer to 99 out of every 100. (I know!!) But with each guy I actually did respond to, it became abundantly clear why THEY were still single (nevermind me… I’m perfect). Inevitably, within the first week or so of emailing, I saw SO many red flags I swore I was running in Pamplona with the bulls.

Which made my decision NOT to meet most of these guys very, very easy.

For the handful that I did meet, it was always One & Done. I didn’t particularly want to see them again, or they didn’t want to see me, or it was mercifully mutual. And it’s not like I was out looking for a husband -- I wasn’t delusional enough to set the bar THAT high! I was just looking for a guy I’d want to spend more than an hour with, without fantasizing about gnawing my own arm off to get away.

I mean, let’s face it, ANYONE can get a date, or even a boyfriend for that matter. But I didn’t want just ANY guy -- that’s not my style. I wanted to meet the right one for me. My match. Besides, I didn’t make it ALL the way to 35 only to settle for some schmuck (which is exactly what I would have been doing with any of the clowns that crossed my path). The pickins were SO slim, I very nearly pulled the plug on all of it back in April.

This just isn’t for me, I thought.

In total, over a 6+ month span, I was matched with a staggering 6,000+ guys, and of that, 700+ contacted me in one form or another. (I know, I can’t even believe it.) And I KNOW what you’re thinking -- who DO I think I AM? Should I be that picky at my incredibly advanced age? Especially when faced with a near-certain future of becoming a tragic spinster with 14 cats??

The answer is yes. I should have been that picky.

Because amidst the freaks and losers, I truly found a gem. A one in a million kind of guy. The needle in the proverbial haystack. I know I told you I didn’t believe in The One. And maybe I still don’t. But I did meet my match, perfect for me in every way. Which makes me a very lucky girl, and makes the final chapter in my online dating saga a very happy one, as I officially -- and quite publicly -- take myself off the market.

I should probably send Match a muffin basket to say thanks, wouldn’t you agree?

(PS: He is the only other person on the planet that doesn’t eat eggs either -- now if THAT’S not a match, I don’t know what is)

Et Tu, Jersey?

Ok. Let me start by saying, you know I love New Jersey.

I repeat: I LOVE NEW JERSEY.

Of course, this sentiment is not universally shared. My home state has a (largely undeserved) negative reputation across our nation, generally surrounding the notion of being smelly.

Fine. Funny, even.

Each day when I wake up, before my sock-covered feet even hit the floor, I check my work email. Sure, I also check it before I go to bed, but you just never know what happens overnight! And I hate to come into the office and be hit with any surprises. Today when I awoke, a breaking news bulletin from WNBC made it crystal clear that The Jerz would take one on the chin...

The email was entitled, “Dirty Jersey.” Hmmm, I thought. That can’t be good.

Actually, it was quite bad. Did we REALLY need to architect a government-sanctioned scheme that involved -- among other gems -- laundering money from the sale of black market KIDNEYS through a charity run by rabbis? (Incidentally, if you were in the market for this organ, a cool $160,000 was the asking price.)

I mean, come ON!

Hoboken Mayor? Arrested! Secaucus Mayor? You too! Jersey City Deputy Mayor? Cuffed and stuffed!

Unreal. Sure, there were also some arrests in Brooklyn as part of this undercover sting operation, which involved over 300 federal agents. But it’s a small detail lost in the almost giddy news coverage.

The NY Daily News sums it up, delivering the boom, boom, pow. First, they quoted an FBI official, "New Jersey's corruption problem is one of the worst, if not the worst, in the nation." Then, just incase you missed the point, the US Attorney's office chimed in, "The arrests underscore 'more than ever the pervasive nature of public corruption in this state.'" Finally, they rubbed editorial salt in the wound for good measure, “The takedown is stunning in its breadth, even by New Jersey standards.”

EVEN by New Jersey standards. Awesome.

A Tan with a Plan

Did you miss me? I missed you!

SO sorry I’ve been MIA -- it’s been a blur of a month.

A good chunk of July was spent visiting my parents in Del Boca Vista, FL -- aka The Villages -- home to 30,000 crazy retirees off-season, and 70,000(!?!?) in-season. It’s sorta like if Disneyland and Cocoon had a baby. Luckily during this visit I did not receive any unsolicited advice on my love life from well-intentioned, but very VERY wrinkly, strangers.

It was pure relaxation.

Anyway, the #1 mission during my week-long stint as a retiree was to get a tan. And tan I did! Even my feet are tan, which is nice because tan feet are infinitely better than pale feet (also, tan fat is better than pale fat, but I digress).

Now, of course, the challenge is to keep it going without looking like an Oompa Loompa (doopedy doo!).

I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t you just GO OUTSIDE? The answer is… I don’t know.

So, I thought about hitting up a fancy department store for some kind of expensive tanner (I hear Clarins Self Tanning Instant Gel is great). But I don’t actually want to be that much darker -- I just don’t want to get that much lighter. So I decided to give my wallet a break in these troubled economic times and hit up CVS instead. How prudent.

After much deliberation under fluorescent lights that made my new tan look slightly green, I decided to go with Jergens Natural Glow Daily Moisturizer. My thinking was it would serve a dual purpose -- 1) it offered a gradual tan, which should kick in just as my real one was starting to fade, and 2) it would provide a merciful end to the peeling/flaking/leprosy that is now happening all over my body as a direct result of said “real tan.”

As an unexpected bonus, it also claimed to be firming -- and frankly, who among us couldn’t use a little of that?

Of course, my decision was further complicated by the product being offered in a variety of shades. I was unclear which shade to choose (Do I go with my normal skin? Or my tan skin? And why don’t any of them actually LOOK like skin?). So, I wound up buying two -- Medium and Medium Tan -- to be on the safe side. Sneaky sneaky.

The verdict? PU!!

This moisturizer stinks like a sunless tanner. You know that musky rotten molasses smell that’s a dead giveaway? Yeah. So now I stink like fake tan, which isn’t even showing yet, when I actually have a REAL tan.

Awesome.

Has anyone EVER found a self tanner that didn’t stink? And, while we’re on the topic... did anyone catch the news about an Oompa Loompa getting arrested in a shopping mall in FL?

King of Pop

Right now, as I type this, I am sucked into a marathon Michael Jackson music video retrospective on VH-1.

I am on hour #4. I am officially middle aged. And I am helpless to resist the lure of Billie Jean.

Honestly, I didn’t think that much about his passing on Thursday. On the one hand I was totally shocked to get the series of breaking news alerts in quick succession -- first cardiac arrest, then coma, then dead -- and on the other hand, I wasn’t surprised at all.

Over the years, he certainly taught us to expect the unexpected.

His life had been… questionable. Actually, that’s an understatement. He passed quirky and eccentric miles ago. Jacko was bat-shit crazy. But his musical talent is undeniable. Does that excuse his behavior, alleged or observed? I don’t think so. But hopefully his songs will be his legacy.

Here are my 10 faves:
1979 - Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough
1979 - Rock With You
1983 - Beat It (also love Fall Out Boy’s version featuring John Mayer)
1983 - Billie Jean
1983 - Human Nature
1983 - PYT (Pretty Young Thing)
1983 - Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’
1984 - Thriller
1988 - Man in the Mirror
1988 - Smooth Criminal (also love Alien Ant Farm’s version)

Each one of these songs has some great memory tied to it, and instantly takes me back to growing up in NJ. It was the ‘80s, I had (really) big hair, my beloved Ronnie was in office, and all was good in my world.

Watching these videos that span a 40-year career, particularly The Jackson Five with 10-year-old Michael performing “I Want You Back” and “ABC” on American Bandstand, makes me so sad. It’s probably how my parents felt when they heard about Elvis. One of my college roommates used to call MJ “magic.” And I guess he was. While he WAS the King of Pop, he was very clearly also the King of Pain.

I hope he rests in peace.

Umbrellas Are the New Pants

Rain, rain go away. I’m one soggy little muffin.

You wouldn’t leave home without your pants, right? Well, these days the same holds true for the old umbrella (ella, ella). It can rain at any moment! You need to be prepared!

Ever since NYC relocated to Seattle, everybody’s talking about this gloomy weather.

And NO, this isn’t the rainiest June ever (that happened back in 2003), but it’s pretty damn close. We might even end up breaking a record set in Ye Olden Days (1903) for the coldest June ever. Which means everybody’s cranky.

I think the best line I’ve heard so far came from a friend’s Facebook status.

She said: “I want to punch this weather in the face.”

I’m SICK of the rain too. And don’t even get me STARTED on the havoc it’s wreaking on my hair. I may just skip showering entirely and shampoo on the streets. Would be more efficient.

Here’s the Top 10 things I’d rather see in the sky, instead of storm clouds:
1. Jellybeans
2. Purple unicorns
3. Spencer Pratt’s flesh-colored beard
4. A disco ball
5. A million bats
6. Smog
7. The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man
8. Killer bees
9. Dandruff
10. Um… the sun

Feel free to hurl insults at this never-ending low pressure system in the comments below…

The Headless Horseman

You may not have noticed, but I only blog about dates with guys I know I’ll NEVER see again.

Why?

Well, I think it has a little something to do with the notion that a guy I’m actually interested in may not be too keen on the idea of me broadcasting my opinions about him on the Internet. I mean, do you really want to read a review of yourself? On a first date??? I know I don’t.

That’s almost as much of a buzzkill as telling these guys the name of the website I work for (hint: it has to do with weddings). Based on the general reaction so far, it would be less disturbing to say I work in a leper colony.

Anyway, I held off for 2 months on writing about the guy I call The Headless Horseman. I thought we might meet up again. Mainly, because he said, “Let’s meet up again!” But that ship has sailed… so away we go!

He was from Chemistry. He was 37, lived in CT, never married, no kids, no pets. Had an MBA, worked in finance (Again? Really? Seriously? I need to diversify my portfolio. Then again, maybe I don't.). He claimed to be 6’2”, with brown eyes and brown hair. I say “claimed,” because he didn’t have any photos posted. Not a one.

Now, I KNOW what you’re thinking. No photo? Are you CRAZY? He must be married, or horribly disfigured, or 1 of the 10 Most Wanted. I should really know better.

It’s true. He might have been all those things, but I plowed ahead anyway. SO unlike me.

We emailed pretty regularly for a few weeks. ONLY email -- he never gave me a phone number, and never asked for mine. And while there was a definite formula to his responses -- roughly 4 paragraphs long, with exactly 2 questions every time -- the substance of his emails was both nice and normal. The only oddball thing was that he still would NOT give up the photo, even after I explicitly asked for it! It was too personal, he said. Okaaaay.

Eventually, he did ask me out. I secretly wondered if he'd be wearing a bag over his very private head. When I met him, I didn’t even know who I was looking for. Not smart, I know. But could I really get killed at a Starbucks in the Waldorf? I’m thinking no...

And, turns out he WAS normal looking. Totally, average-ly, middle of the road-ly, normal looking. Forgettable, even. Like a piece of dry toast. I was like, what, no tan line from where his wedding band usually is? No droopy eye so I can’t tell if it’s staring at me or my boob? No giant scorpion tattoo on his face from his stint in the Joint?

Nope. Nada. Normal.

We spent about an hour and a half talking -- conversation was easy breezy. I even laughed. On purpose! And for the first time during this whole miserable online dating process, I thought, here’s someone who’s NOT horrible! I just might like to see this not horrible person again!

When we parted ways, he shook my hand to say goodbye (karma for Costanza?), which I didn’t take as a good sign. But he emailed me a few days later saying he had a nice time and wanted to do it again. Which I DID take as a good sign. Over the next 6 weeks, though, The Headless Horseman drifted from potential to pen pal to poltergeist.

As you know, I’m not terribly forward, so I waited for him to make our next date. We emailed back and forth for about two weeks, but not a peep. And these weren’t dead-end emails where he was just too nice to come out and say he wasn’t interested. He always asked me MORE questions. So I answered them. Until I got fed up with being pen pals.

I decided to be bold.

I told him I’d be in CT visiting my brother and sister-in-law before their baby was born and it would be great to meet up for lunch on my way back to the city. Lunch on a Sunday. Sounds casual enough, right? Non-scary? He responded about an hour later saying he’d “very much look forward to meeting” but he was golfing with his old boss. Ok, that’s cool. He said he expected to be back in the city in the next 2 weeks for work and would let me know once he knew the exact date.

Well I certainly wasn’t putting another date out there. So I waited. He kept emailing, so I replied. And then waited some more. Tenth email’s the charm, right? Wrong.

After that, he disappeared. Poof, like a ghost. Until this past Friday.

Pumpkin Head popped up out of the blue. Right there in my inbox! He changed his email formula too. Two paragraphs, NO questions...

Work’s been crazy, he said. I’m sorry, he said. Hasn’t had time for dating, which was the “story of his life.” Blah blah blah. Whatevs. I didn’t want to be totally rude so I sent him a short note today (5 days later) to wish him the best, and say I hope he makes time to enjoy the summer (if the sun ever comes out again). The end.

And so, here we are. What do YOU think happened here?

Was his job REALLY such a drag? Or was he just not that into me? I’m thinking the latter… which is ok by me. Because at the end of the day, I want a guy with a head. And some balls.

Cuckoo for Nosferatu

I’m on this vampire kick.

I was helpless to resist the marketing machine behind Twilight. I broke down in March and bought the DVD alongside millions of “young adults,” for whom the series was originally written. Luckily I look younger than my advanced age of 35 (being plump = no wrinkles!). So I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, went to Best Buy, and tried to blend in. (I stopped short of popping in my retainer, mainly because it cracked about 20 years ago, when I actually WAS a young adult.)

Well, the movie was the gateway drug that lead me to the Stephanie Meyer books… which reminded me how much I liked True Blood… which then turned into a quest to find the mysteries by Charlaine Harris that inspired that series… which made me re-watch season 1 on DVD… which now brings me to HBO to watch season 2 that just started on Sunday night.

I think I’ve been glamoured.

Someone recently asked me which I liked better, Twilight or True Blood? It was as if they’d asked me the meaning of life. I really couldn’t answer. It’s not a Coke or Pepsi (Coke, but shhhh don’t tell my bro), Yankees or Mets (Yanks), Blair or Serena (Blair, all the way) kind of a question.

So, here’s my attempt at driving a stake into the heart of the issue -- in the hopes of finding my FF (favorite fang):

Fan Investment:
>> Twilight: 4 hardcover books (2,560 pages), plus a movie franchise
>> True Blood: 7 paperback books (2,179 pages), plus a TV series
>> Winner: Twilight, those fans are lunatics
Score: Twilight – 1, True Blood – 0

Spooky Location:
>> Twilight: stormy Forks, Washington
>> True Blood: swampy Bon Temps, Louisiana
>> Winner: True Blood, what’s better than voodoo in the bayou?
Score: Twilight – 1, True Blood – 1

Moody Theme Song:
>> Twilight: “Decode” by Paramore is haunting and intense
>> True Blood: “Bad Things” by Jace Everett is southern and supernatural
>> Winner: Twilight, but only by a smidge
Score: Twilight – 2, True Blood – 1

Vampire Legends:
>> Twilight: They live among us, but in secret. Can’t be seen in sunlight or else their skin sparkles like diamonds. They don’t sleep, ever. While most drink human blood, more evolved vamps consider themselves to be vegetarians by drinking only from animals. And they join forces with werewolves to fight crimes.
>> True Blood: They are out of the coffin, so to speak, and are a known part of the general population. Can’t be seen in the sunlight or else they burst into flames. They do sleep in coffins. While they prefer human blood, in order to mainstream with society they mainly drink synthetic bottled blood (flavored Type O, A, B, AB) from Japan. And they join forces with shape-shifters to fight crimes.
>> Winner: True Blood, seems more real, in an impossible kind of way
Score: Twilight – 2, True Blood – 2

Lead Vamp:
>> Twilight: Edward Cullen, born in 1901, turned vampire at age 17, looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ
>> True Blood: Bill Compton, born in 1840, turned vampire at age 28, looks like he stepped off the pages of the Farmer’s Almanac
>> Winner: Twilight, I know he’s underage, but I'm all about Edward
Score: Twilight – 3, True Blood – 2

Damsel in Distress:
>> Twilight: Bella Swan, a clumsy 17 year old high school student
>> True Blood: Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic 25 year old waitress
>> Winner: True Blood, Sookie kicks ass
Score: Twilight – 3, True Blood – 3

Most Influential Secondary Character:
>> Twilight: Alice Cullen, Edward’s “sister,” who can see into the future
>> True Blood: Tie between Eric Northman, a vampire sheriff, who owns the local bar, Fangtasia; and Sam Merlotte, Sookie’s shape-shifting boss, who owns the local bar, Merlotte’s
>> Winner: True Blood, those boys are cooler
Score: Twilight – 3, True Blood – 4

Getting Down to Business:
>> Twilight: No sex until marriage
>> True Blood: All sex all the time
>> Winner: True Blood, for obvious reasons
Score: Twilight – 3, True Blood – 5

Getting Lost in the Story:
>> Twilight: When I wasn’t reading these books, I was thinking about reading them. I’m pretty sure I got thru 2500 pages in about 3 weeks.
>> True Blood: While the books are good, the show is better. I tried stockpiling a few episodes at a time, but I just couldn’t wait to watch.
>> Winner: Twilight, I could not put them down
Score: Twilight – 4, True Blood – 5

Staying True to the Story:
>> Twilight: Incredibly faithful retelling of book 1 by Catherine Hardwicke
>> True Blood: Incredibly creative retelling of book 1 by Alan Ball
>> Winner: Tie, they’re both true in their own ways. No points here.
Score: Twilight – 4, True Blood – 5

Feeling When it Ended:
>> Twilight: Totally sad
>> True Blood: Totally hungry (it was lunchtime)
>> Winner: Twilight, I really didn’t want it to end
Score: Twilight – 5, True Blood – 5


So sue me. I can’t decide. I love them both equally. Like two (blood-thirsty) children.

Anyone else having a Dracula moment? Or is it just me?