I like to think of myself as a practical, down-to-earth person. But, to be honest, horror movies, books, or even just concepts strip all that away, exposing my superstitious and vulnerable underbelly. Feeling that way isn’t something I enjoy, so I no longer indulge in that genre. As I’ve gotten older I’ve discovered reality is bad enough without terrifying myself with (hopefully) imaginary monsters or the kinds of horrors that might exist but (again, hopefully) will never touch my life.
When I was younger though, I remember huddling under the covers, reading Stephen King’s Firestarter, The Shining, etc. I also saw the movie version of The Shining and was suitably horrified, although I still think the book was better.
And there is one incident with a horror movie I’ll never forget, because it was so funny, and also a favorite memory of my teen years and of my brother.
My parents often went off on vacation, leaving my brother and me at home to hold down the fort. This particular time, I think I was too young for my brother to go out and leave me at home alone, so we settled in to watch a movie my brother-in-law had copied to VHS for us. Turned out to be Dracula, the 1979 version, starring Frank Langella. Okay, so it isn’t the scariest version ever made, but there was something about the way Dracula’s eyes vibrated whenever he saw blood, and the sight of him climbing down a sheer stone wall, that terrified me. But I didn’t want my brother to know how scared I was, so I didn’t cover my eyes or anything…
Then the movie ended and, realizing I would have to turn off the lights and go upstairs by myself, in the dark, if I didn’t get out of the room first, I bolted.
So did my brother!
And the night ended with neither of us willing to go back and turn off the TV or the lights, all of which stayed on until morning. It was a mini case of mass hysteria, LOL!
Now, I’ll leave you all to your zombies, possessed souls and other assorted things that go bump in the night… while I watch my true crime shows about mass murderers, serial killers, etc.
Which one is more horrible? I don’t know…
So, this month we’re talking about what shifter we’d be if we could shape-shift and I had a revelation. Thinking about it reminded me of the episode of Star Trek TNG, when everyone on the ship starts to devolve. Who knew Troy would be a fish-thing, or Picard would turn into a weasel? The only one who seemed true to type was Worf, who was extremely scary and inclined to eat all the rest of the crew. No one ever said whether he had eaten anyone or not when not trying to mate with Troy… surely not everyone got away from him?
Anyway, so I approached this question first from a “What would I like to be?” perspective. That was easy! Something sleek and powerful—a cheetah or a dragon, maybe even a wolf or a lioness. Top of the food chain bay-bee. All flash and glory and snarly teeth. Sounded awesome, until I started considering what being one of those would entail. Things like running, hunting, fighting knights and guarding treasure.
That’s when I had to have a nap.
I’m just not cut out for those kind of energetic activities.
On a basic level I’m lazy, have a ‘soon-come’ kind of mentality and don’t like doing more than absolutely necessary. I do like to eat though and will exert myself to cook or search out food, as long as it isn’t running away, forcing me to chase it. So, surfing the internet for a new restaurant is within the realm of my abilities in the hunting department. Not much more than that. I was, I think, born to be in a harem with nothing to do but eat, be bathed and wait around for the sultan to want nookies. Yeah, I could be down with that kind of life…
While I’ve been known to lose my temper, I’m generally easy-going and mostly prefer to let trouble pass me by if I can hunker down and just watch it fly over my head. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’m also a dreamer, lost in thought half the time, eyes glazed over, no doubt forcing people to check to see if I’m breathing. Oh, and there’s that crazy hair too.
So, eventually, thinking it through carefully, I came to the conclusion I’d probably be happiest as… a sloth! And, I’d finally have long fingernails to boot! BONUS!!
Imagine from dobrador.com
You know what?
Yup. I said it.
I hate them. Always have, always will. What kind of a label is “date” anyway? Isn’t that a fruit? I’m sorry, but me and my handsome friend here have much more important things to talk about that some smelly old overgrown lumpy-seeds.
Dates are so fucking overrated. The word is sort of like “diet”. Mention it and I break out in nervous hives. Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves? So what, so you want to go out with a new man, have some dinner, maybe a nice bottle of wine, maybe do some dancing, maybe strip naked and do the backseat mambo, so what? Do we really have to label it? Why don’t we shuck the labels, much like he shucked his Calvin Kleins when I nearly ripped them in two?
So this is supposed to be “paranormal dating?” Okay, fine, I can work with that. It’s parally un-normal how fast we went from gnoshing on fried cheese in a TGI Fridays to me frantically begging for another lash from his whip-like tail. So what? Some girls like it rough.
Maybe he’s a demon. Well, maybe I’m a girl who happens to like that. So maybe he has horns. Well, I’m horn-y, so if the thigh-high boots fit, strap those fuckers on.
There is a time and a place for polite conversation and getting-to-know-yous. And then again, there’s a time when you just want to ravish the shit out of delicious otherwordly being.
And that time, ladies?
Is on your first “date” with a demon.
*drops the mic*