Thoughts on love, friendship, and vampire demon babies

Most of you know of my love of bad movies. There are few guilty pleasures I enjoy indulging in more than watching a Lifetime original movie or something equally awful (a low-budget rom com, anything starring the Olsen twins, etc.) and making fun of it the whole time.*

Luckily I know many people that can appreciate an ABC Family special as much as I do, and one Valentine’s Day some years ago my little sister and I hosted a girls night in which our single friends came over and we watched some of these choice flicks and had ourselves a good laugh (a wide selection of Little Debbie snack cakes were also involved. It’s a long story).

I remember thinking at the time how this was a great way to spend Valentine’s Day—no elaborate plans or high expectations, no need to get dressed up or stressed out. Just an excuse to spend time with loved ones while doing something silly and random.

Fast forward to this Valentine’s Day, when Mike and I decided we would celebrate by cooking a nice dinner together and watching a movie at home. On a whim I selected what I’d heard was one of the crown jewels of the “so bad it’s actually awesome” movie genre:

And oh my friends, it did not disappoint. Like the other Twilight movies that preceded it, Breaking Dawn is deliciously awful: Terrible acting, the cheesiest dialogue this side of daytime TV, and—heaven help us all—a handful of talking wolves thrown in for good measure. What more could you possibly want? Perhaps a total bloodbath of a childbirth scene involving a c-section performed by vampire fangs? Done and done.

The best part was that Mike totally appreciated the crappiness of this movie right along with me. Although he kind of scratched his head when I suggested watching it, he was a good sport and we both ended up laughing through Bella and Edward’s awkwardly long wedding makeout session, shuddering at the sight of R. Patz’s gnarly teeth, and continually marveling at the extent to which Stephenie Meyer drew on her Mormon roots to create that twisted little fantasy world of hers. I mean really, Bella getting married at a ridiculously young age, acting nervous beyond all reason about her wedding night (granted, homegirl was about to engage in some potentially deadly vampire sex, but still), getting knocked up on the honeymoon, and giving her child some fugly name pieced together from her family tree? Is this a fictional character we’re talking about or half of Provo’s female population?

I guess by most standards our way of celebrating Valentine’s Day was decidedly unromantic, but to me it was perfect. I’ve never really put too much stock in the whole traditional “red roses and candlelight” take on Valentine’s Day in the first place (although Mike bringing me flowers and an extremely thoughtful gift was definitely appreciated), which is why I enjoyed it even as a single gal watching crappy movies with her girlfriends.

Nowadays I just consider myself extremely lucky that the person I spend the holiday relaxing and laughing with is my husband. As odd as it sounds, I guess the whole “marry your best friend” cliché has never rung more true for me than when I realized my husband and I were both cool with spending a holiday devoted to romance collectively cringing at the sight of a pregnant-yet-even-more-freakishly-pale-and-scrawny-than-usual Kristen Stewart sucking down cupfuls of human blood (really puts my relentless snack pack cravings into perspective, no?)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, both Butch and I are Team Jacob. Although neither one of us really understands what that imprinting crap was all about.

*Why this has not translated into me jumping on The Bachelor bandwagon yet remains a mystery, but maybe one day I will join the rest of you guys and start watching that train wreck.

What I would have liked to blog about today

Today I would have really liked to post about how sweet it was to see the Patriots beat the Giants in the Superbowl. I would have talked about how yesterday’s victory almost took away the sting of the loss in 2008 and made me forget all about the conflicted feelings I have as a Patriots fan. I might have even included pics of Masha, Smeegs, and I (the only Pats fans in attendance at the Knaphus superbowl party, as usual), celebrating with plates of Leslie’s superbowl bread while images of Tom Brady hoisting the Vince Lombardi trophy played on the TV in the background.

But alas, that was not meant to be. And I’m guessing no one reading this really cares about the outcome of the game anyway, so instead of writing a sports-related rant I will just post some photos of my dog dressed up in the puff coat that makes him look like a small, furry version of a ‘90s rapper.

It even has the classy phrase “Pet Life” embroidered on the hood. Tupac would be so proud:

Now all he needs is a gold chain with a “Rigg Daddy” nameplate and his ensemble will be complete.

Oh and for the record, I am normally anti dog clothing and things of that nature, but when I found this little number for like 5 bucks at the Overstock.com store I couldn’t resist. Here's hoping this isn't a slippery slope.

Snips and snails and puppy dog tails

That's what little boys are made of:

Last week was the "big ultrasound" and it confirmed my doctor's initial assessment that our baby is a boy. And, more importantly, he seems to be healthy and developing well. I totally had a Juno moment (fingernails!) when the ultrasound tech went through and showed us his liver, kidneys, etc. We could even see all four chambers of his tiny heart. Even though I knew that stuff was there, seeing it on the screen made it seem so much more real. And we have less than 20 weeks to go until we meet the little fella. Crazy.