How to Watch a Horror Movie

Remember that scene in The Evil Dead where that regular, everyday douche-bag suddenly turns into a terrifying, supernatural douche-bag? You know, this guy…

holy-crapballs

Well, every time I watch that scene I do this:

aaaaargh

Every.single.time.

Over the years I have noticed a common trait in horror movie buffs – nothing really scares them. I know there must be others like me – horror movie buffs who crap themselves through each and every scary movie – but I think we are definitely the exception. In fact, most people I know who crap themselves watching horror movies tend to avoid watching them.

My husband, daughter and I are all horror movie buffs, but they belong to the former category and sit through every horror movie looking incredibly relaxed, if not slightly bored. I am the exact opposite to them and have developed a variety of ways to get through horror movies without too much trauma; some of these include:

Not actually watching.

eyes_shut

Using husband as protection.

hold_me

Making the most of visual impairment.

no_glasses

One night a few weeks ago we were all watching a particularly scary horror film. I was doing my usual thing, feeling unbearably anxious and trying to somehow watch without actually seeing anything.

 

pillows-will-save-me

 

fingers

Tired of my endless fidgeting and my constantly asking “What’s happening – is the scary bit over yet?” my daughter handed me one of my son’s toy guns.

gun

I know it was meant to be a joke, but I took the toy gun and aimed it at the television. Immediately something came over me – a feeling of calm, a sense of, dare I say it… power.

From that moment on every time some demoniacal monstrosity erupted on screen I would shoot at it like my life depended it. It became fun and after a short time I found myself looking forward to the scary parts just so I could shoot the television.

power

Naturally, as the movie got scarier, I had to get a bigger gun.

nerf

So, if you’re a major scaredy-cat like me, try arming yourself the next time you’re watching a horror movie…trust me, it works.

Oh, and as for my zombie apocalypse nightmares, I reckon I’ve got them beat.

come_get_me

Why Winter Sucks

Winter is approaching again and I am absolutely dreading it. Soon I’ll be rugged up on the couch, covered in blankets, while my whole family will be getting about in T-shirts and annoyingly insisting that, “It’s not that cold”.

For the entirety of the winter months my hands become like ice blocks and my skin turns to permanent goose flesh. In fact, I’m pretty much like that during the autumn months as well. Give me a hot, humid, summer’s day any day.

Here are some more reason why I think winter sucks:

My shoes don’t fit.

socks

The torturous decision each morning to end a steaming hot shower.

shower

The atrociously unsexy nightly attire.

romance

Getting into bed.

bed1

Getting out of bed.

bed2

Excruciating foot cramps brought on by the cold.

cramp

I did manage come up with one good thing about winter…I always win at “icicle hands”!

icicle_hands

The SpongeBob Costume

It all started when my son, Daniel, brought home the latest school newsletter. They were having a costume day and the children were to come dressed as their favourite movie or television star. Having never made a fancy dress costume in my life I was immediately consumed with all-too familiar feelings of guilt and inadequacy.

1

Then I had an idea. Surely there must be a way I could make a SpongeBob costume without sewing!

2

So I jumped online and searched…

3

It was going to be brilliant!

4

I was so excited about the costume and my son and I were going to have a blast making it!

5

Yep, I was pretty much the most awesome mother in the world. (Even if I can’t sew.)

6

I couldn’t wait for school to finish.

7

At first Daniel was thrilled. He loves doing arts and crafts and was really keen to get started on a project.

8

I explained the project to him…

9

but was totally unprepared for his reaction.

10

I tried to sell it.

11

But I knew he wasn’t buying it when he said:

12

I didn’t let go easily.

13

It was brutal.

14

15

Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Without my Cat and Dog…

Our pets drive us crazy from time to time, but things are never boring with them around. Recently I got to thinking, what would life be like without them?

Without my cat and dog…

who would stalk me and make me feel important?

stalking_cat

 

who would kill the really big spiders?

big_spider

who would create an obstacle course for me when I come home from grocery shopping?

obstacle_cat

who would kill the giant rat I didn’t know I had?

dead_rat

who would make my yoga practice more challenging?

cat_yoga

who would alert me to the fact that a car door has been closed, somewhere?

barking

who would prevent the house from being overrun by plants?

houseplant

who would make our boring clothes look like expensive fur coats?

cat_in_dryer

…and, goodness knows, those tissues aren’t going to tear themselves up!

tissues

Yep, life would be pretty crap without them.

IMG_9791

Hypochondriac

I’m a hypochondriac. This basically means that when I get sick, or something weird happens with my body, I become completely unbearable to live with. It’s not that I am unaware, I totally get that I am ridiculous, but knowing this is not enough to prevent me from spiralling completely out of control into a crumpled mess of histrionics and self-pity.

It’s all about perception. For example:

Hey, I’d love to be one of those people who is totally stoic, never complains and just grins and bears it, but I’m not built that way! Can I help it if I’m just super aware of my fragility, my physicality, my mortality? I’m a control freak, so when my body starts behaving in ways I can’t control I pretty much curl up into the foetal position and await death. I’m hoping by exposing my craziness in a light-hearted manner that my long-suffering husband will perhaps understand me a little better and maybe someday forgive me for the weeks of sheer hell that I’ve just put him through.

It all started about a month ago with a sore throat and earache. After some Googling, I discovered it was most likely throat cancer. This knowledge prevented me from going to the doctor when I should have; I just wasn’t ready to hear my death sentence yet – it was nearly Christmas, for crying out loud. Just let me get through Christmas!

About five days before Christmas my husband made me go to the doctor (not my regular doctor, either, so I really didn’t want to go). I was told I had laryngitis (but I didn’t believe the diagnosis was correct) and was given antibiotics. I started feeling nauseated and dizzy towards the end of the course and blamed it on the antibiotics. A week after finishing them I had vertigo so bad that I could barely move my eyes.  My extensive Internet research told me that the ongoing nausea and dizziness must have another cause (as antibiotics don’t stay in your system for that long). The fact that the antibiotics hadn’t made me feel better only proved to me that the original diagnosis was wrong.

My regular doctor was away over the Christmas/New Year period and when she finally did come back to work she was immediately booked out for a whole week. Why didn’t I want to see another doctor? Because I’m loyal, dammit. I love my doctor. I trust only her and will never leave her (barring some kind of restraining order). Anyhoo, I made an appointment for a week’s time and spent the next seven days trying to find a cause for my symptoms like some kind of obsessive House wannabe.

It wasn’t long before my husband couldn’t take it anymore and marched me off to the walk-in centre. I didn’t want go, I wanted to wait and see my regular doctor (who is some sort of squishy, lovely, angel doctor with the logic of Spock, the patience of Buddha and the sweetness of Shirley Temple). I waited for two hours and paid forty dollars for a consultation that literally lasted less than two minutes. The doctor didn’t even sit down; he looked at my throat for less than a millisecond, said, “Yes, your throat is very swollen”, gave me a script for Stemzine (medication for the dizziness) then told me, and I quote, “If the dizziness does not go away in six weeks, get a brain scan because it might be a brain tumour.”

Might.be.a.brain.tumour.

My husband and I had quite different reactions on hearing this. It looked something like this.

It was just what my husband needed at this point. A doctor telling his totally manic, hypochondriac wife that she might have a brain tumour.

This is my perception of how the consultation went down.

I was absolutely horrified. What kind of doctor tells you that your throat is swollen and then does absolutely nothing about it? What kind of doctor tells you that you might have a brain tumour based on almost zero information? Walk-in centres blow. Big time.

The appointment with my squishy, lovely, angel doctor could not arrive soon enough. She put me on a course of stronger antibiotics and reassured me that I don’t have a brain tumour as the dizziness is most likely due to my hayfever and throat infection. I felt comforted and happy when I left her office. Everything was going to be juuust fine.

Or, so I thought. I woke up this morning with my right ear completely blocked and my left ear throbbing painfully. But it’s okay, I’ve narrowed it down to vestibular neuritis, Menier’s disease or referred otalgia due to a decaying tooth that desperately needs looking at.

I really should go see my dentist.

Socially Inappropriate Security Guard Guy

I’m pretty sure we’ve all met someone like him. He’s the guy who approaches you with what, at first, appears to be a simple, friendly greeting. You respond with an equally friendly greeting because, well, it’s polite (and you’re not a total bastard). However, after about four minutes of mind-numbing small talk, interspersed with disturbing, uninvited insights into his personal life, you realise you’ve been tricked. But by then it’s too late – you’re in a one-sided conversation with socially-inappropriate security guard guy.

I recently visited country Victoria to spend Christmas with my parents and my sister and her family. I was warned by my sister that a large number of inhabitants of a nearby town (which shall remain nameless) seemed to be “not quite right”. Intrigued by this information, my husband and I jumped in the car, and took our son and nephew along for the drive.

When we arrived we bought the kids some bakery delights and sat at a table on the sidewalk of the main street.

table1

This also happened to be the exact moment that socially-inappropriate security guard guy went on his smoke break. (I know back when I was a smoker and went outside for a cigarette, the first thing I always did was find some young children and light up right next to them.)

table2

Now, I tell you with no exaggeration that this man proceeded to talk non-stop for fifteen minutes. After what we thought was just going to be a pleasant (and brief) greeting we suddenly found ourselves held captive by a man who apparently had millions of things to say and not enough people to say them to.

table3

He didn’t care that we had stopped listening. He didn’t notice our uncomfortable body language. He didn’t see my husband and I exchange glances of disbelief. He was even oblivious to the fact that my son had somehow managed to swallow his loose tooth.

Socially-inappropriate security guard guy just kept on yammering while my husband and I attended to my son’s emotional distress. I eventually had to interrupt him, “Excuse me, my son just swallowed his tooth”. He barely even skipped a beat. That’s right, he just kept on telling us things while I tried not to vomit at the thought of swallowing a mouthful of chocolate eclair mixed with blood and tooth.

table4

Eventually we said goodbye to the insane, annoying security guard and drove back to my sister’s house to relay our adventures of the town nearby. The moral of this story? Don’t drive to the next town over in the hopes of finding people who seem “not quite right”, because you might actually find them.

Oh, and it is my firm belief that this is what happened after we left.

table5

Happy New Year!

Happy_New_Year

I don’t normally do the whole New Year’s resolution thing, but there are some pressing things that I know I need to work on, and I figure that the coming new year is as good a time as any to start. So, here’s my list (which is subject to change at my whim):


1. Stop Googling my symptoms at 2 am

2. Do more yoga

3. Leave my house occasionally and mix with the other humans

4. Turn 40 in November with some sense of grace and dignity (not likely)

5. Get back into my size ten clothes

6. Drink fewer White Russians (which will help with #5)

7. Produce more art

8. Read more books

9. Grow my own vegetables

10. Try harder

Happy New Year, everyone, and if you want to share your resolutions with me I’d love to hear them!