The Fear Factor

It was late, I would say around 4:44am.  Since we “sprang forward” I have been waking up every morning at this time instead of 5:44am, my usual work day alarm time.  It was so early and so dark.  No night lights were glowing and the bulb over the stove was out so no illumination from the kitchen.   Have you ever been in the dark and been able to FEEL something?  You can’t see it, or smell it, or even hear it but you know it is there?

Groggy, I lifted my head a little hoping that being awake 28 seconds would allow my eyes to escape the dark abyss in which they seemed stuck.  When I did this two things happened.  One, I knew someone was in the room.  Two, I couldn’t move.   I immediately thought, why is my son in our room?  Is he sick?  Is he scared??  Why isn’t he coming over to wake me up?

Wait.  I don’t have my son tonight.

Once my eyes finally adjusted a little I was too afraid to look.  My boyfriend was to my left and no one else should be in the house.  All at once I was frozen with fear.  The last type of reaction I thought I would have in this situation has happened.  I am helpless.

Then he moved.  Very slight but movement none the less.  He was a large bald man.  He is wearing some sort of suit.  He was leaning against my door jam his head faced to the other side of it.  He slowly turned his head.  It was so slow you almost could barely make out movement.  And then I saw him barely smile.

Something was very wrong.

I lowered my head back down thinking that maybe if I just stop looking he will stop being there.  I then started to have a hard time breathing.  I tried to calm my thoughts long enough to figure out what in the hell was going on.  After what seemed like an hour, but must have been less than 30 seconds,  I began to  move my arms and then my legs.  I turned over as best as I could to wake my boyfriend so he will get up and go all Dirty Harry on whomever is in the doorway.

He is lying on his side as usual faced away from me as I begin to shake him.  No response.  What in the hell?  I then smacked him.  Nothing.  I decided this was unacceptable.  How DARE he not wake up in this my most desperate time of need???  Out of sheer anger I crawled on top of him and then realized how solid and heavy he is when he sleeps…  Well no wonder.

It wasn’t my boyfriend.

He slowly turned his head towards me.  Too slowly, and then I saw the demented twisted face of the man in the doorway.  Smiling back at me.  Then I began to scream.  I screamed so loud and so hard I woke myself up.

Waking up in that manner so suddenly and so damned scared I almost peed myself.  Pain isn’t fear leaving the body, urine is fear leaving the body.  Once I was awake I didn’t want to move.  I didn’t want to look into the doorway, or turn my boyfriend over to confirm my dream was in fact just a dream.  Fear had taken me from the dream and brought me back home.  It just hadn’t returned from where it came.  I never did look back into that doorway.  Or shake my boyfriend to see if he was still there.  I willed myself back to sleep.  I felt positive that if I looked up and that man was there I would immediately go insane with fear and would die.

I don’t think there is any way for me to put into words exactly how scared I was that night.  It was the kind of dream that, as far as you the sleeper is concerned, is reality.   Everything moved so slowly, like it was all running through molasses.  It was so real.  I could hear him move his head and look at me.   I don’t recall feeling that kind of fear at any point in my life.  It was Terror.

Everyone has scary dreams, fears, and phobias.  Fear itself is a survival mechanism!  Fight or Flight baby!  Days after that horrifying dream I remember feeling fear residue stick with me for DAYS.  It was so hard to shake.  And after much contemplation realized it was my own fault.

I love to be scared.

Thirty some odd years of scary movies, haunted houses, Stephen King, and an over active imagination formed a perfect storm of unwelcomed fear that night.  The nightmare made me question this fascination with scaring the hell out of myself for entertainment.  Should I be going to Universal Studios to have some man in a mask scare the hell out of me, repeatedly, for CASH?  Should I watch scary movies in the dark alone?  Should I feed the machine that generates horrifying dreams?

Halloween Horror Nights is in one month from today and we have all intentions of going.  Scary movie marathons will be popping up soon.  And even though typing this has made me revisit that night and put a bit of fear back in me, I am very excited about these upcoming events.

Am I glutton for punishment or just able to put aside an isolated incident?  Do you enjoy being scared?  Do you have any fears that put you in a state of terror, awake or not?  What revs up your fight or flight?

My Big Birthday To-Do

Spending some time off the beaten track this week, I engaged in one of my most loved leisurely activities, book shopping. It has become one of my favorites in the way that it sends my senses into a glorious overdrive. The scent of leather bindings and print; the beautifully crafted covers; neatly stacked aisles and the sound of pages being turned. I even utilized taste and grabbed a nice iced corporate beverage on the way out, because I finished the one I purchased on the way in.

This time around, I ran across a book titled 1,000 Places to See Before You Die, by Patricia Schultz. I have a bittersweet relationship with this brand of Non-Fiction. I am drawn to the answers that lie within, but I inevitably end up feeling lazy and uncultured. I have a feeling sitting in Oldsmobile Park watching the Minor League Lansing Lugnuts isn’t in there. This is a pity.

Six months ago, I recognized that at 30.5 I wasn’t going to be haunted by a long list of never been there’s, never done that’s. Instead, I gave myself a fairly lack luster plan of things to accomplish within my remaining 6 months as a fresh faced 30 year old. Get ready to be impressed:

1) Using my fancy $2500 washer dryer set for an honest to goodness load of laundry. I would no longer have 2 options - white socks and other stuff. I would arrange various piles and use every last setting. Tops would be Permanently Pressed, and many items would be turned inside out and air fluffed. In addition, I would refrain from picking up clean clothes off the floor of my closet and throwing them into any of the above mentioned piles, logic being that washing them again is easier than folding them and putting them away. CHECK!

2) I would set one full month aside where I refuse to step into Whole Foods, or any other supermarket. I would instead force myself to not go shopping until I have eaten everything I’ve already purchased. If it means lunch was tuna from a can with a side of Gluten free Ginger Snaps, so it be. This included actually finishing off a single bunch of bananas before they turned black as night, and began to fuse themselves to the top of my toaster oven. FAILED - LIKE THIS WAS EVER GOING TO HAPPEN?

3) I would make a serious effort to get in touch with my ex-boyfriends to determine what it was about me that turned the relationship sour? Actually, I would just watch ‘High Fidelity’ 7 more times in the next 6 months and wonder why Catherine Zeta Jones married Michael Douglas. CHECK!

4) I would be in a long line for a trendy Nightclub/Restaurant in New York City. I won’t be able to get in because of the crowd and the number of people. Suddenly a limo would pull up and Monica Lewinsky would be shuffled through the front door, hassle free. As she passes me in line I would say, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Who do you gotta blow to get in here, anyway??’ FAILED, BUT A GIRL CAN STILL DREAM

With my 31^st birthday less than a week away, I am looking back at my feeble accomplishments and realizing I need a better list. Here is what I have come up with so far:

~Home for Christmas in Michigan and sitting at the table, my mother put her hand over mine and just smiled, happy to have me home. My hand smooth and cool to the touch, hers aged and warming me. I vow to get one great photograph of me and my mother before this year is up. It is a shame I haven’t done it sooner.

~I will stop with the false promises. I am guilty as charged that I do not make as much of an effort as I feel necessary to strengthen the bonds with my most precious friendships. We weather the storms together, but I vow to spend more time basking in the sun.

~I will remember my relationship with ‘ME’ and not lose sight of the fact I can’t continue on a steady pace unless I take the time to refuel, stretch and rest. I hope this will guide me from wrangling furiously, to a sense of gliding. That sounds hokey, but I’d like it.

~I will more than likely watch the entire Season 4 of The Office this weekend. What? It was delivered UPS today!

~Finally, I will travel. I might just see a few of those 1000 Places, and maybe I will add a few to the list I hope someday you get to see too.

It’s a beautiful world and I think it is going to be a great year. Make a wish…

What about you? Do you make your own personal to-do lists, and do you follow through? Anything you’d like to add to mine? What is something you are looking forward to doing or seeing n the next year? Want to use my washer dryer? It’s super sweet!

Dirty-girl Interrupted

Picture, if you will, a calm and ordinary Saturday afternoon in an average American home. The children are playing together in the family room, their mother washing dishes at the kitchen sink. As she cleans she loses herself in a daydream about a vacation in Hawaii or a live-in maid or some such flight of fancy.

Suddenly a voice cuts through her vision like Michael Phelps through pool water:

“You better give that back, or I’m gonna slap you in the nuts, you b!#@&!”

Whaaa-whaaa-what?! Oh no that didn’t just come from the mouth of one of MY babes! I jolted rather abruptly out of my reverie and promptly burned my hand in the hot water, and instantaneously let out an expletive of my own.

Pot…meet kettle.

No, I don’t walk around speaking of reproductive organ smacking and yes, my darling child did confess to picking up that lovely tidbit at the local elementary school. But that afternoon made me realize something: it’s exceedingly difficult to punish my child for using curse words when they come flying out of my own mouth all too often during the day.

Now understand, I have cut back tremendously since bringing my children into the world. And this took quite a bit of effort for a girl who used to use the F-word the way some use the word “umm.” Yet still, I know I could be doing better. And just like a couple weeks ago when my youngest uttered at me, “that guy is an a$$h@!e, mommy!” when we got cut off in traffic, this was an eye opening moment for me.

I really need to scour my potty mouth.

So being a woman of the internet, I poked around a bit to find some tips. Instead I discovered something horrifying…cussing might just be bad for your health! What the f^@k??! Okay, I never denied for a moment that it was a dirty habit, one which made me sound tacky, trashy or trite at times. I know that as a person with a rather extensive vocabulary I could most assuridly do better…but I never dreamed that I was doing actual damage to myself. How could my good pal f-bomb and his merry band of profanities be causing me harm? How could something that felt so right be so wrong?

But as I started to think about why I swear I started to see more clearly. Cursing is a mindless reaction to a stimulus. Something pisses me off, I pop off, simple as that. The problem is, when I allow myself to react without thinking like that, I cut myself off from the actual emotion at hand. I have built myself a direct route to anger…and it bypasses a lot of emotions; fear, anxiety, sadness, frustration. It’s not that I am not experiencing them - but as soon as they try to surface I am immediately suppressing them. If that isn’t a mini-meltdown waiting to happen I don’t know what is.

So I am making a choice…to quit the swear-words cold turkey. Because…

• I am more eloquent than this.

• I am intelligent and able to exhibit a much better grasp of this great language of mine than my vulgar choices sometimes indicate.

• I am in control of my emotions…they are not in control of me.

• I am capable of providing a better model for my kids.

• And I am NOT raising mini versions of Sam Kinison and Andrew Dice Clay!

And yet - I do not want to become a household like the Flanders’ house of Simpson’s lore either; a den of emotional suppression and howdy-ho’s and darn-diddly-arns. No thanks.

So what’s a gutter-gabbing girl in need of reform to do?

I am just going to take it one day at a time. I am going to try and be conscious of not only the words that are wanting to burst forth from my lips, but also the feelings that are bubbling up beneath them. I am going to practice THINKING things out, before saying them.

There is so much more authority behind an articulate argument than an angry outburst. It’s time to wield that power.

And perhaps its time to get a swear jar too…I am human after all. And the boys and I could use a pizza night fund.

Do you have a potty mouth? Is it under control or running wild? Have you had to deal with a child getting caught swearing? Or perhaps you have had to kick a different habit cold turkey…do you have any advice for me on gaining control over my vice?

BOO!

Hidden indiscretions…we all have them. Overstuffed envelopes containing love letters of yesteryear, a little locked box with pixilated images and of course the ever popular, naughty drawer. Memories and alter egos, stashed and hoarded away with the notion that our eyes are the only one’s that will ever peer into our unmentionables. And then the day comes…dun, du, du, dun, duuuuun….when others are inadvertently made privy to the fact that not all of our dirty little secrets are taken to the proverbial grave.

Personally, I’m an emotional packrat. I save everything from movie stubs to post-it notes and champagne corks. I suppose this trend begins in the hopes that each new encounter will ultimately become the relationship that lasts through my golden years. I revel in the idea that someday I’d be able to fondly remember the play off series or the trip to the amusement park on our summer vacation. Each tangible item in the “memory box” would evoke an emotional response. My heart would swoon as a smile crosses my lips while aimlessly rocking on the porch sipping lemonade. What? A girl can dream, can’t she?

Okay, Okay, so in theory, having a sentimental treasure trove has warm and fuzzy written all over it. In reality…not so much. Imagine for a moment, your purest, gawdliest friend or family member. Now, imagine the shock and awe you might endure if you were to unexpectedly discover that they secretly fancy zoophilia, numerous sexual partners, cross-dressing or if you’ve struck the mother load…all three simultaneously. WHOA! Suddenly your impressions have been shattered into tiny bits of convoluted irrational thoughts leaving you with nothing more than unanswered questions.

In the event of my permanent absence there are very few people I could fathom sorting through my life and discovering some of my, shall we say…questionable activities. Although I’m not generally one to keep secrets that certainly does not mean that I would ever want my survivors to see my bits in high def or read about my summer vacation to Mexico when I was a not-so-innocent barely legal teen on the verge of a starring role in Girls Gone Wild.

Here’s a little food for thought…if others would be horrified by your possessions of X-rated paraphernalia, years of memoirs or that you still harbor a crush on Scott Baio, I highly suggest you invest in a paper shredder and schedule a bonfire in your near future! No one needs that kind of unsolicited information floating around in their grey matter distorting their untainted opinions and memories. If you’ve got skeletons in your closet…for the love all that’s unholy, get rid of them! Spare the damage to your children’s psyches when they discover that you’ve used their kindergarten paper mache piñata to store your nipple clamps and whatnots!

It’s time to give up the goods…what secrets are you hiding? Are you an emotional pack rat or do you binge and purge? And, how would you feel if you came face-to-face with current lovah’s past conquests?

Happy Trails

I realized something last week when I made my second trip to the same mortuary in two years and that is…it’s not a very upbeat, joyful place to be. The lovely array of homemade cookies aside, its liken to an episode of the Twilight Zone where everyone speaks in slow motion with disturbing solemn looks on their faces, and quite frankly, that does nothing to boost my morale or my attempt at celebrating the lives of those I love.

Yes, I said celebrating, not mourning. We have two distinct choices when we lose a loved one…we can either be grateful for the time we had with them or we can curl up in the fetal position and feel sorry for ourselves. We can wallow in self-pity or we can find humor in the transplant team asking if our beloved “had or was ever exposed to mad cow disease.”  We can walk slow and breathe deep or act like complete lunatics making others our emotional punching bags. Just like being happy is a choice, so is how we remember and honor those we love.

As I found myself surrounded by the same drama that tends to plague many families when they lose a loved one I was struck with a brilliant (if I do say so myself) idea…The Happy Trails Mortuary. Upon entering patrons will be greeted with a smile, (no hugs as they tend to cause emotional outbursts) a glass of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries. The staff will be cheerful, helpful and eager to assist with your party planning needs. Life, after all should always be celebrated!

The Happy Trails Mortuary will support you in creating the most memorable way to honor your departed with a wide variety of festivity choices. C’mon, who doesn’t love a good party where friends, family, colleagues and neighbors gather to eat, drink and be merry? We will also provide obituary services that will outshine the standard facts and figures and we will never, ever label your urn with the wrong name. Lastly, The Happy Trails Mortuary in conjunction with Happy Trails Vacations and Resorts will provide you and your support team with a complimentary 5 night stay at one of our luxury recuperation villas where you will be pampered by our full service staff 24-hours a day.

“Happy Trails Mortuary…until we meet again.”

What say you? Would you rather take stock in Kleenex and wear a black veil for months on end, or commemorate and rejuvenate after the passing of your loved one? Of course there is the third option that involves a padded room and a straight jacket, but that’s no fun alone!

« Previous Page — Next Page »