Things I'm Afraid Of: Freaking Annabelle Is At The Top Of That List

   A while back, I watched The Conjuring, a movie that's trailers had terrified me for months with that 'clap hands' game. Watching the movie had some things that were pretty scary to me, but nothing scared me more than the doll Annabelle. I mean, holy-f***ing-shit, was that doll creepy.
   Now to step back from that a minute, I have to say that I am afraid of quite a lot of things. The list is extensive: the dark, rats, my old Speech 101 class, demons, register 6 at work, crows, dolls, anything that might be haunted, lice, driving, heights, and really, a whole slew of things. When I was a kid, I was convinced that all the posters on my sister's walls were watching me, and I had a recurring nightmare about a green man that lived under my bed, so you can add the underneath of beds to that long, long list.
   So why watch all of the horror, and do silly things like reading Stephen King and other scary shit? Well, I don't know. Maybe I'm just a dumbass. All I can say is that I've had these problems long before I remember watching or reading anything scary. Trust me, with my fear of the dark and refusal to sleep alone, my parents were pretty strict about me not  watching anything remotely scary for a long time. I was a teenager before my dad really started watching horror with me (and here you have the beginning of mine and my sister's scary movie nights) and by my teenage years, I had learned to deal with my fears. I'm still afraid of things, but usually I just shrug it off. Dark? Oh well, I'll handle it. I still prefer not to be in the dark, but if I need to walk down a long, dark hallway, I'll do so. And then I'll bitch about having had to do so for the next few days, but the point is, I don't let my fear stop me. And I guess scary movies and books and games are just a fun way for my to poke at that fear. Or I'm insane. Or something; I don't know. The point is, that usually I have my fear locked down. When we are watching horror movies, my sister is the one who won't look at the screen during the scary parts, but instead, watches me watching the scary part so that she can gauge my reaction and know when it's safe to look again. But I can promise you that I have more fear in me than she has in her, so it baffles me that she does that. Whatever.
   So now back to that doll in The Conjuring. You see, that doll really scared me. And in one of the magazines that I subscribe to, there was a movie preview for the spin-off movie that they are making of The Conjuring. Also, I would like to point out that I was reading this review around 2 a.m. in the morning because I couldn't sleep. Which I knew was a mistake immediately, so I put the magazine down and did my best not to think about Annabelle. Of course, if you have ever sit there and tried desperately not to think about something... Well, you know about how well that works. So  I started pacing a little, because when I'm stressed, I pace. I'm sitting here pacing, trying not to think about this stupid effing doll, and of course, that's making my imagination run absolutely wild. And there are dolls in my house, in my daughter's room. So I'm trying NOT to think about them either. And I'm pacing. And trying not to think about dolls that I can't stop thinking about. And the damned lights go out. No warning; just darkness. And I fall down, and I scream. I mean, a blood curdling, there's-an-axe-murderer-in-my-apartment scream.
    And my daughter is just saying, calm as can be, "Just get a flashlight, Mom." And trust me, that's embarrassing, to have your daughter say something like that to you in a voice that clearly indicates that she is rolling her eyes for all she is worth. Even more embarrassing? Knowing full well that ALL of the neighbors heard you shriek like that. It's like a bad horror movie; the power goes out and some dumbass chick starts screaming. Oh, holy crap.
   The lights didn't come back on that night. They didn't come back on until around 10 a.m. the next morning. The word around the street was that a transformer blew. But to me, this was a SIGN. In capital letters: MARIE CANNOT WATCH ANNABELLE. Bad things will happen.

Just say no, Marie.

Chihuahuas

   Recently, as you all probably know, we have been getting my daughter used to her new schedule for middle school. One of the things that happens to be different about her day is that she now takes the bus to and from school. Last year, the elementary that she went to was so close to where we lived that I walked her to and from school every day, but her school now is too far for that. So she walks home every day from the bus stop, which is down the road a bit, at the other end of the complex.
   Now while this seems unrelated, I need to insert here that my daughter is not a big animal person. She doesn't hate them, and she likes to see them; when we went to Yellowstone the past summer she was in raptures over all the bison that wander all over the park, and she picked out two stuffed animal bison to bring home as souvenirs; currently she sleeps with them every night, which happens to be information that she probably doesn't want me to share, but there you have it. That being said, she doesn't like animals that jump all over her or want to be petted or whatever. Namely: dogs and cats. She likes to see them; she doesn't typically want to touch them. And she doesn't want them touching her either; when my sister got the cat that became so attached to my mother that she ended up keeping him, that cat tried to sleep with my daughter and she would have none of him. She even demanded that I start shutting the bedroom door for her so that he would not go in the room; she didn't like him because he would bat at her feet while she was trying to sleep.
   All this might seem irrelevant to the beginning paragraph, because I was talking about school and walking home from the bus stop, but I assure you that her dislike of animals wanting to be petted and jumping on her is very relevant, as you will see in a minute. You see, one of the neighbors often walks her little chihuahua at the same time that my daughter's bus drops off the school kid. This woman is a very nice woman, and her little dog is on a leash, and her little dog is very, very friendly. So friendly that one day, as my daughter was walking home from school, the little dog ran to her and started jumping up and down in front of her because he wanted to say hi.
   The woman said to my daughter, "He's very friendly; you can pet him if you'd like."
    My daughter ran across the road shrieking.
    Yup, you read that right. The woman, clearly not expecting this reaction (who would?), called after her, saying that she wouldn't let the dog jump on her and that she was so sorry and that my daughter could come back. After putting some distance between her and the little dog, apparently my daughter regained her composure and replied to the woman that she was okay and she was sorry and that she would just stay was for now but that she didn't mean to make the woman feel bad and she hoped that she didn't feel bad. The poor woman looked nonplussed, and my daughter looked stressed as well, and me; well I was just trying not to laugh my ass off, because I'm mature like that.
   After I asked my daughter why she did that, my daughter looked me dead in the eye and replied, "I don't like chihuahuas. They are freaky; they freak me out." And refused to talk about the incident further. But here I will state that I have never seen her react to any animal like that, nor anything else for that matter.
   Some people are afraid of rats and mice (me), some are afraid of heights (also me), and some are afraid of spiders (my sister). We all have our phobias. My daughter's biggest fear just happens to be chihuahuas. 

I Ain't Afraid of No Spider

   We all have our fears, irrational or reasonable, and my sister's is spiders. And what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't rag on her for this fear? No self-respecting older sister could leave this alone! None! And it's not like I don't move the spider out of her way after I am done ragging on her......wait! Yes it is! I totally leave the spider there.

Mr. Spider, who lives over my front door. 

  Like the spider that lives outside our front door. I completely and unconditionally love that spider. He is the coolest, most bad ass spider ever, completely playing guard dog. Do you know how many sales men and door-to-door solicitors do not knock because they see that giant, freaky-looking spider? It's great for an antisocial introvert like myself. But that spider scares my sister to death. She literally makes her kids chant "still there, still there" while she is unlocking the door so that she knows that the spider hasn't moved. And she doesn't linger in that doorway, which is great for when you are trying to carry in heavy loads of groceries into the house. And he is still there; I am never moving him, he is welcome for as long as he wants to stay. I love Mr. Spider; he is the most useful pet that I have ever owned. I mean, he is better than a viscous, face-eating guard dog. He scares people just by being on his web, and I never, ever have to feed him or take him out to pee or clean his cage or litter box. Best pet ever!!! Sorry, sister, but I feel nothing but love for Mr. Spider. 

Fish Heads

   I live in a fairly diverse community, so the customer base for the store that I work in is (duh) pretty diverse. We have some of everybody, and are glad to have them. However, this means that our inventory must reflect that diversity. As I work in a grocery store, this means food. As in, some people eat strange things. They eat pig feet and chicken legs and turkey tails. They eat chitlins and beef tongues and chicken hearts and tripe. All kinds of strange things that I would never in my life want to look at, much less eat, but hey, to each his/her own, right? Usually when I am ringing these items up, I try to pretend that I am not holding, say, a tongue in my hand. No, not even covered in plastic packaging could I really handle that if I fully thought about what I was touching. See, some people like to try all manner of things to eat, and these people are very courageous. Me: I am a food coward. I'm not eating that. Uh-uh, no way, I am NOT hungry today. Or tomorrow. Or any day that you are serving anything that I am afraid of. But some of my customers, they don't let me ignore what I am ringing up. They revel in my wussyness, take joy in my food phobias.
   One of the foods that I have a phobia for: fish heads. I don't even know what you do with fish heads, but we sell them. And one customer in particular, an Asian guy, he buys them. And he gets in my line. And he purposely lines them up so that all of their dead, fishy eyes are staring straight at me!!! I look down at the belt to grab the next item, and I'm looking into fish eyes. Dead, glazed fish eyes that have no bodies. Oh, I just jump a mile. And this jumping must be why this man keeps getting into my line, because his smile, oh lordy his smile: it's twice the size of Texas. I look at him with my huge, 'I'm afraid' eyes and he just sits there with this cheshire cat grin on his face. I have made his day. Well, I'm glad someone is having a good day. Not that I blame him. Because if I had a use for fish heads, and I knew a cashier like me, I'd totally do the same thing. Good job, customer, good job.