Twilight's last flight of fangless fancy

So I've had the second half of the last Twilight flick sitting on my printer for a month now. Meanwhile, the two sides of my conscious loitering on my shoulders are stuck in a perpetual Just-Watch-it / Don't-Listen-to-her....Go-Watch the Grass Instead conflict or sorts.

Sorry Netflix members with no taste (and before anyone implicates me in that bad-taste crime, it wound up on my list by mistake and arrived without my knowledge). I've just been so busy.


I wanna see it, sort of, just to see how it ends, but honestly, the first half was so painful to get through. It's like the movie makers wanted to drain every last drop of sparkly milk from this cow, with a ten-minute movie that was drawn out for the sole purpose of beating a long-dead horse with its own heel. It's like the entire first part of this two-part deal was all about her finding out she's preggers, and us being forced to suffer her pain in real time.

So again, busyness aside, I'm trying to psych myself up to watch this longer-than-it-needed-to-be movie about things that have historically gone bump in the night but that instead, apparently sparkle in the day, have no fangs and play softball as they giggle away their bloodless hunger for all things Bella. God, it's like watching Leave It To Beaver Bling.

And don't get me started on the book. Or should I say the first book. I swear, I couldn't get through the first fifty pages of it. It was like a torturous lesson on how to write the worst characters and dialogue imaginable.