Fraidy Cat Fitz Friday

#blogtember

 Friday, September 6: A story about a time you were very afraid.

I'm scared of many things. Debt, loneliness, unemployment, rejection, losing loved ones- all of the obvious fears. But one thing I'm not afraid of? Horror movies. I LOVE a good horror movie. Blood, gore, terrible acting, whatever it is- I want to see it. I have seen every single Saw movie, in theaters. That's actually pathetic. Movies, for whatever reason, don't scare me. The other day when it was raining (big surprise there), Mal and I decided to have a girls day- wine, baked brie, olives, and a Redbox.  Rather than going for a classic slash and gore flick, we decided to go with the psychological thriller. 

The general plot of Stoker is as follows: India stoker's (Mia Wasawhatever from Alice in Wonderland) father dies unexpectedly on her birthday, and an uncle whom she didn't know existed comes to live with she and her cray cray mother (Nicole Kidman- man does she do the crazy mom role well). The uncle of course is a huge sketchwad, but rather than being creeped out by him, she decides to have a crush on him as well, because that's totally legal and not weird. I don't want to spoil any of it, because it was actually a pretty good movie. But let's just say it was eerie.

I didn't think I was too freaked out by the film, but it must have stuck with me more than I realized because I proceeded to have some crazy dreams that night. One of them involved Ezra from Pretty Little Liars trying to break into my apartment and stab me, because I have dreams about ABC Family characters apparently.  He had a totally crazy face, and I was terrified. Right as he was about to break down the door, I woke up, breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over, knowing that J was there to save me from any pyscho killers. 

Except he wasn't. At first I thought I was disoriented, or still dreaming. But no, I was alone in bed. His phone was gone, his iPad missing (because duh, we both sleep with our ipads under our pillows like freaks). I went to turn on the lamp next to my bed and OF COURSE the bulb sparked, and went out. So there I was, sitting in the dark at 3am, heart pounding out of my chest, wondering where my boyfriend had gone, and debating on getting up to find him lest I run into Ezra Fitz with a knife- all in the dark. That's when the voices started. Very faintly, I could hear men murmuring. I called out J's name- nothing. I grabbed my Mag Lite, obviously, and tiptoed into the living room. No signs of life. Even the guinea pig was sleeping, which is a total rarity. The voices were louder- but I still couldn't make out what they were saying. Something about Tebow? I didn't know. Again, I called out J's name and got no response. 

Finally I slowly crept up the stairs, where the voices were coming from. To be honest, I could barely hear them over my pounding heart. Finally, I reached the top without falling over (in hindsight, I could have turned on a light). There on the couch in J's office was J. Mouth open, snoring away, holding his ipad with sports radio softly playing. From there I closed his iPad, which of COURSE caused him to wake up (yelling his name- nope. Turning off Boers & Bernstein? He's wide awake). He sat up with a jolt because obviously I'd freaked him out. Turns out he couldn't fall asleep and didn't want to wake me up by moving around so he went upstairs. But whatever, I was no longer scared, which is the important thing here. I proceeded to make him get back in bed with me because I'm five. 

The moral of the story here? Don't move in with your significant other. Suddenly being alone is way more terrifying than it should be. J's out of town this weekend, so I think that means no horror movies for me. 

On an unrelated note, if you'd like to hear my theory on PLL and why Aria is COMPLETELY and OBVIOUSLY A, let me know. 

Happy Friday!