Twilight is…

…Porn for Desperate Housewives.

That’s right, I said it. Yes, I read them (they’re written hardly above the Harry Potter maturity level). No I didn’t read the failed book online. No I didn’t read the booklet she wrote for charity. No I didn’t read her little sexual alien book. No, I didn’t identify with them. I was guilted into reading them (long story). The only part of any of the books I liked was when Edward was nowhere to be seen for so much of the 2nd book. Then I didn’t have to read the only dialogue on God’s Green Earth that’s worse than anything George Lucas can come up with (“I love you.” “I love you more.” “No, I love you more.” “I’d die for you.”). Gag me with a spoon, chainsaw, whatever.

Let me lay down my premise. Men watch porn to get what they don’t have, but what they really want. They look at pictures, watch videos, wait with bated (I’m so surprised that’s how it’s spelled) breath for the sexy parts of movies and HBO series, some go to strip clubs, and more. We frown on all this behavior, but of course, it’s how the world works. For every man who doesn’t do any of the above, there are 10 who wait to see the sexy parts of movies, and 100 who do all the other stuff. I’ve seen it all, and it always left me feeling less than before. So I choose not to partake.

But the fact remains that men do this, and generally speaking women do not. I once heard that the same thrill a man gets from seeing a woman topless (clarify: a woman you’d want to see topless), a woman gets when a man walks up full of confidence (thank you yet again David D! — married men, stay away from his stuff!). So, women, try to relate when you know it’s that thrill we get from the opposite sex.

Now, I was once married to a diehard Twilight fan – a Twihard. That’s right – reading all the books. Reading all the books again right before the movies come out so you don’t miss anything. Hosting Twilight parties on the opening night of every movie. I stood in line (and I’m not begrudging anyone for this) from 5pm till 11pm for the first three movies so I could hand off the place in line to all of the Twihards at her party, and then blissfully walked off to have a quiet evening alone. So I have real Twihard cred.

Women see in these books the different flavors of men they want – youthfulness with (strength? maturity? perspective? creativity? artistry? wealth?). Fill in the blank depending on which flavor of man you really wish were at home with you. They see the girl with all her weakness on her sleeve, and then of course she has all the strength no one could have seen by looking at her (the stupid magic power, and the strength no other young vampire had). Women who qualify as Twihards are getting their sexual rocks off reading about these men and the relationships they give these women. If you have any tendrils into this silly crowd, you just know so many who had to calm themselves down reading the mystical sex scene in book 4.

Here is where there’s a similarity between women and men. In an earlier post, I told the story of the guy who drove around with his car door unlocked so at any time a random stranger (beautiful) woman could jump into his car and offer to have sex with him. Of course it never happened. By watching Twilight, women who know they’re plain-looking (or past their prime) get to imagine they’re with the man who never grows old and always looks 17, and of course screws like a 40 year old with vigor and vim. Bella is plain. Bella is a wallflower (as my bride likes to point out). Plain wallflowers never get the hot guy. Plain wallflowers are reading these books (and they may be perfectly beautiful on the outside, but inside they fit the bill and we all know perception is reality to these people! – see Jessica’s blog for more about perception). Both views are equally silly.

These books are clearly satisfying everything for women that porn satisfies for men. And it’s oh-so-ironic that the books were written by a fellow Mormon! I think it’s because she can get away with it, that there’s a veneer of innocence by being a member of my church. But it’s just a veneer, people. She clearly identifies with her own characters, writing the heroine as this ridiculous woman-child who (in the end) gets to stay woman-child forever.