Last night, Tom, my brother and his wife and I headed to see a movie. My sister-in-law, Sophie, had her heart set on seeing Twilight: New Moon, a movie I oppose on principle alone. (The principle of…Mormon vampires? What?) My brother agreed to see it with her (HUSBAND OF THE YEAR!) and I suggested to Tom that we see “The Road”, the adaptation of the Pulitzer-prize winning Cormac McCarthy novel which I knew nothing about.

“This is going to be intense,” said Tom, before the movie started.

“Is it?” I asked, disinterested, twisting my hair, staring at Ginnifer Goodwin who was in the concession line ahead of me.

“Um, yeah,” Tom said.

“Whatever,” I replied. “Beats Twilight: New Moon.”

UM?

YOU GUYS?!?!?

I WISH I SAW TWILIGHT: NEW MOON.

I don’t know what is with me and picking movies lately. I guess I was high on the Oscar buzz and the promise of Viggo Mortensen being a ridiculously amazing actor and OH, I sort of neglected to look up a plot summary about how the movie follows a man and his son as they WALK THROUGH THE APPALACHIAN WILDERNESS, after a CATACLYSMIC EVENT pretty much ENDS LIFE ON EARTH and they are on a mission, on THE ROAD, get it? RIGHT? THE ROAD!? to find FOOD and GOOD PEOPLE while trying to escape GANGS OF BAD PEOPLE who are CANNIBALS and who RAPE AND KILL OTHER HUMANS AND KEEP THEM TRAPPED IN A CELLAR SO THEY CAN EAT THEM LATER FOR DINNER OHHHHHHHHHHH YOU GUYYYYYYYYYS.

I was clutching Tom’s arm and whispering MAKE IT END MAKE IT END MAKE IT END which, as you can see, makes me a VERY enjoyable movie companion.

At one point, I leaned over and hissed, “WHO CHOSE THIS MOVIE?!”

And Tom hissed right back, “YOU DID, ASSHOLE!”

Such a good point.

By the time it was over, I was nauseated and shaky, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, murmuring something about ponies and glitter and milkshakes.

We met my brother and sister-in-law in the lobby.

“How was the movie?” my brother asked.

Unable to form full sentences, I blurted out phrases in short bursts.

“CANNIBALS. DEATH. EARTHQUAKE. WANT TO KILL MYSELF.”

“Oh,” said Paul. “My movie sucked. But only because it was geared toward teenage girls and the acting was horrible.”

“VIGGO MORTENSEN,” I spat. “RUNNING FOR HIS LIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!!!!!”

“Oh,” said my brother. “In my movie, none of the guys were wearing shirts.”

“So, I should’ve switched places with you, is what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It was so cheesy but at least you wouldn’t be frothing at the mouth and staring vacantly off into space like you are right now.”

“Fantastic point. Can we please get out of here and do something that makes me happy so I don’t have to think about the apocalypse?”

“What makes you happiest?” asked Tom.

“THAI FOOD!” I screamed.

So off we went. Drunken noodles and Thai iced tea and a live guitarist who sang covers of 1980′s ballads. And all was well again.