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So, today I watched The Zombie Diaries, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning. The Zombie Diaries I recommend- it actually spooked me quite a bit with its realism. It’s always pleasant to be reminded that in a situation such as mass-reanimating-infection, the human race is fucked. Well, at least the UK is. For certain. Australia might make it. Maybe Hawaii. The TCM movie, while decent, wasn’t so much frightening as depraved and tiring. It was exhausting watching this movie. I’m not a fan of the “torture porn” genre, and while this was tamer than something like the Saw franchise, or the Hostel flicks [and only marginally tamer], the characterization was uncomfortably good. Meaning, it was not cool to watch these people die. It never is a gas watching someone be slaughtered [I like horror with survivors], but the sympathy level was way up there.

There’s a cute thrift store near my father’s house. It’s just a little one, with a tiny selection, but I love a good thrift store, so I visited it yesterday and today. I got a navy cardigan sweater with a cute tie-closure at the top, a gray shirt with the words “true love” printed on it in different directions, a tunic-type top with multi-colored hearts, two tie tops [like the kind you wear over a cami, that only cover boobs?], a pair of comfy overalls and a maroon shirt with white hearts patterned all over. Quite a haul, for under 25. I’m a hip-hip-happy customer. I’d love some decent fitting pants, but as that’s impossible in normal retail, I don’t hold my breath for second hand.

I’m going to quit smoking. It’s a habit I took up to taper my stress triggered b/ping, and its lost its usefulness. It’ll be hard because everyone in my household [with the exception of Hades] smokes. It’s expensive, it hurts my throat, makes me phlegmy, is going to kill me, and on a superficial note… I have a very young face. I’m always carded, I have friendly strangers ask me what highschool I go to, blah blah blah… anyway, I’ve only been smoking for about four months, so I wanna kick it before I start to get the dry skin and wrinklage. Don’t misunderstand- I am all for aging. I want to look the way nature intends. But that also means not looking way older than I should.

The boy is coming tomorrow. I am so excited to see him. This is the longest we’ve been apart in almost four years, and I’m lonely. He got me seasons one and two of Darkwing Duck on DVD, so he gets extra smooches when I see him next.

At this point in time, my cat has seen nearly as many horror movies as I have. He sits on my lap, or lies on the coffee table, twitching at loud sound effects and occasionally glancing serenely at the screen, no doubt thinking: “Oh, bitch gonna git it! Don’t you open that!”

I really don’t watch anything but the scary stuff. I sometimes find myself accidentally watching some science fiction, or perhaps I turn on the television, and the Daily Show is on. I might enjoy some comedy, or drama, but I don’t seek it out like I do horror.

I’m not effected by horror anymore. I am the absolute definition of desensitized. However, I can tell on some subconscious level when something could conceivably frighten me. I’ll chomp some popcorn, and with nary a change of expression, think: “Now that? That scared me.” and then, sarcastically: “Yeah, ten years ago.” Why do I watch them, then? I find them interesting. It is the only form of media entertainment [besides videogames] that holds my attention. Give me a haunting, a violent beastie, an urban legend brought to life, and I’m hooked. I often care more about the back story than the on-screen carnage. And slasher films leave me cold, unless there’s a really inspired villain. There is nothing scary about a person being stabbed to death- but if the killer is wearing a mask of human skin to hide his hideous flesh disease? Movie gold.

This brings me to a critique of one of my favorite websites, Bloody-Disgusting.com. It keeps me up to date on all of the upcoming horror-goodness. It also looks at horror flicks as just that- movies to make you squirm. They’re not reviewed on the caliber of acting, or stunning dramatic weave. They’re reviewed as horror films, not Oscar-gleaning period pieces. This is good. The bad, however? In the many many reviews I’ve clicked through, there’s an annoying trend. That of picking on the female audience. When a movie is a dud, the reviewer will chortle something about it being the ideal film to bring your girlfriends. Or if a movie is particularly biting, a warning against heading in with the fairer sex. They’ll have nightmares for weeks, the poor sweet things!

You know, I’m not going to yell “Hello!” and point at myself. Instead, I’ll point at my fiance. He’s the biggest chicken this side of the hellgate. He likes the lights on, and the sun shining, and often asks me if we can watch something else when the scares pile up.

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