I am like an eight year old child when it comes to watching anything remotely in the “thriller” or “horror” genre of movies. “Suspense” is usually acceptable but only if most of the scenes take place in the daylight. To put it simply, I’m an officer first class in the chicken army. And my imagination? is exceptional.
When we were in “the cult” I actually underwent deliverance (read exorcism) for my fear issues. (That was a horror movie in and of itself so I’m gonna skip the details for today.) Basically the people who were in charge of my “ordeal” told me to NEVER watch another horror movie as long as I live.
Fast forward a few years to my favorite experience: the Texas Chainsaw Massacre viewing of 2004 (ish). I tried to google the DVD release date, but I got too scared of all the images that came up on the goog so I’m just guessing. I literally watched the whole movie with my face buried in Jimmie’s chest and peeked out every few minutes for a split second to see if Jessica Beal really was as hot as all the asshat men I was watching the movie with claimed she was. (She was.) When the movie was finally over I fled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet sobbing for forever. When Jimmie came to check on me I told him I thought he was a terrible husband for even bringing that movie into our home what with my condition and all. He so sweetly tried not to laugh at me (yah, right.) and then followed me around for the next two days because I told him I’d divorce him if he left me alone for even one minute. It was the worst movie experience of my life.
So yesterday, as part of my twelve step recovery process for the holiday hangover, Jimmie and I watched four and a half movies. It all started after the kidlets went to bed and we turned on Red Riding Hood. Mock me all you want, but I was afraid it would be too scary for me so I posted a question on facebook asking those who know me best if I could handle it. They agreed I could so I proceeded. I actually loved that movie. There were a couple of scenes where I jumped a little or hid behind my pillow, but mostly it was just GOOD. I am surprised at how much I liked that movie. And even though it didn’t scare the bejezus out of me, it did leave me a little jumpy.
So when Jimmie told me he was running to the corner store really quick, I was mildly apprehensive. I knew there was no werewolf waiting to pounce on me, but still. I don’t like being home alone at 11 pm on a good night. Suddenly, the wind was howling, rain was pelting all the windows and strange noises were coming from the front door. The dog went nuts and when I picked up my cell to call Jimmie to see when in the hell he would be home my battery died. Well, of course. Obviously the fates waited for me to watch a horror movie so they could send a werewolf to kill me while my hubby ran to the store. DUH. Luckily he returned about three minutes later so I only had mild panic attacks.
Then we began movie number four. A psycho thriller following a serial killer who looked like what I imagine an albino meth addict would look like. It did me in. I watched the last third of that movie behind a pillow.
The last half of a movie was to help me recover from the previous two so I could fall asleep without curling up in the fetal with my special blankie and thumb in my mouth. I told Jimmie I needed to watch cartoons or a kid movie to bring my heart rate back to normal. I feel asleep on the couch halfway through the movie so it must have worked. It was one twisted movie though. Have you seen Scott Pilgrim vs The World? Holy crap it was made for a night of mushrooms and marijuana. (I had neither. For the record.) Even though it was a whack job movie, I really need to finish it because no matter how bad a movie is, I have to see the end. I have never started a movie and not finished it. I just can’t.
I’m reasonably sure that after yesterday’s movie marathon, I’m well on the way to recovery from the holiday hangover. Tomorrow I might even have it in me to take the tree down.