It took me a while to decide to write about my recent, insanely reclusive, and somewhat disturbing weekend, wherein I canceled plans with numerous people and almost called out of work… all because of a couple of goddamned (literally) vampires. What eventually led me to believe it was acceptable to talk about it is my altruistic nature. I know that other people are going through the same thing, and I want for you to know that you are not alone.

I too fell in love with Edward. I too began reading Twilight innocently. I too thought I was simply following up after seeing the movie. I too never knew what hit me. I too read the entire Twilight saga in a three day period.

I too am ashamed to call myself a literary.

What. The. Fuck.

How did it happen? How did I go from a normal woman with a loving home and family to a woman who was willing to sacrifice everything: my job, my marriage, my physical being, in order to sit for another moment on my couch, learning the painful truths about longing to be bitten by your lover, to become an immortal. One minute I was an apt and developing creative director, helping people understand creative advertising strategy and the next minute I was balancing peanut butter Puffins on my belly so that I could read and eat at the same time.

And it gets worse. For a brief moment, one that I immediately regretted and wished had never, ever taken place, I wished that hubs was a brooding immortal. I mean, think of what a BEAUTIFUL vampire couple we would be? Finally my translucent skin would be the envy of everyone. The red rimming of my eyes complimenting the blue, people would be mesmerized by my stare. You want to disagree with me? Look into my eyes.

What really upsets me about The Twilight Trance is what it has done to the women of my generation. Sure, we’ve been reading Nora Roberts books on the sly for years, dreaming of some tall drink of water named Cade who has to take his shirt off to cook dinner, but that’s part of being a woman. The hubs isn’t named Cade and he sure as hell wouldnt see the practicality in cooking without his shirt, so I’m left to dream of prairie lands filled with cowboys who wear bootcut jeans and have soft tendrils of blond sweeping from under their ten gallon Stetsons. (But of course, because it’s Nora, these cowboys took a few years to move off the family ranch, go to Harvard, make a few million dollars, and return with a dark wound inflicted by a cruel woman… and of course only I can break the spell…) But Twilight, Twilight is something different. Now I feel like a sicko.

Sure, Edward is actually in his hundreds. But not really. Really he is in high school. He goes to chemistry third period. And gym class. And I’m having pseudo-sexual thoughts about him. Awesome.

Last weekend I was at a bar with a couple of my new friends. (Thanks, Bettis!) Somehow or another I realized that each of us was harboring the Twilight shame, and, being that I am as altruistic as I previously stated, I thought we should feel open enough to talk about it. Here we’ve been guilting ourselves for weeks about the dirty emotions and it’s not fair. Stephanie Meyer knew what she was doing. Fucking twisted Mormon. Yes, yes. I get it. I know know why your people accidentally marry 13 year olds. You’ve made your point.

Anyway, I looked up into the crowd of after work drinkers and spotted a tall, dark looking fellow with green eyes. I took my chances and looked at my group of new friends.

“Has anyone noticed that guy standing over there?”

Their eyes lit up and I could hear the faint clicking of women bonding for life.

“He’s a vampire.”

And then we raised a toast with our Bud Light Lime. Our souls a little lighter, our psyches soothed from weeks of convincing ourselves we deserved chemical castration and reform.

“To hot vampires.”