( I seriously need to take more pictures.)
I am officially announcing my true and utter distaste of teenage vampire fiction/movies/posters/my name is Edward and I glow in the sun. (Perhaps a little too much fake baking there Edward? Skin Cancer hello!) last night as I was celebrating the last night in the bungalow I had to take back a movie back to Hastings. For your information it was not Twilight. Being a tad bit bored I decided to take a gander around the store to see if there was anything worth reading in the future. (Budget small dreams big!)
Walking up and down the isles the newest books were all vampires this and vampires that. If this is the new idea of love a glorified hickie? Seriously? I get the whole fantasy of having somebody imortally loving you but if you aren't immortal that's going to get a one sided ugly. Fast. Before you think that I am blasting vampire fiction I have you know that I did read Ann Rice and I enjoyed it. Tried to read the whole Edward/Bella/Jacob/ whoever else but I just couldn't do it.
But perhaps this bitterness of vampire fiction comes from a darker place. Moving. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate to be visually reminded about how much crap I have. I purge and it grows back. I have materialitis maybe? Why is it we need so much? Why do I need so much to feel secure? Plates/dishes/ clothes/ artwork. This time I'm moving back in with the mother till I have enough saved to get my own apartment.
Which will be soon.
But with out vampires.