My Name is ChocolateFace

You know, some people pride themselves on making a good first impression.  Or a good second impression.  Me?  I seem to just make “an impression”, and usually not the best kind.

Take this past weekend at a Halloween party I attended. 

We were asked to wear a costume and bring along a little something to pass.  The food option was a no-stresser, as I planned to make these crock-pot meatballs that have been a hit in the past.  As for a costume, well, being almost 8 months pregnant, anything super hot and sexy was pretty much out.  And time and money being tight, I wouldn’t have a chance to put together some cute and clever maternity costume.  Lo and behold, I still had this pumpkin T-shirt I wore for my baby shower a few weeks ago.  By pairing that with some black leggings, I could just barely get away with it being a “costume”.

On the day of the party, I arrived at the same time as my friend (and fellow preggo) Rachel.  As she emerged from her car, I was amazed.  She had transformed herself and her adorable baby bump into a gumball machine, complete with red felt hat and 25 cent tag-choker.  She looked awesome.  I looked down at my cheap orange T-shirt and suddenly felt like a lazy fraud.  Oh well, I thought, nothing I can do about it now.

We walked in together and were greeted by our friend, Marianna’s, mother.  She guided us inside and we began saying our hellos to Marianna’s various family and friends.  As we made our way to the tables with the food, I suddenly had a small panic attack.  What if the ceramic container with the meatballs was too hot? I thought.  What if it scalds the table?  My mind raced in terror as I hesitated putting the bowl down, my hand grasping the container in a frozen state.  Finally, not wanting to appear like a total weirdo, I decided to just put it down, damning the consequences.

Next, it was onto mingling.  Our other friend, Alejandra, and her husband were there as well and soon all of us were chatting happily with Marianna’s other friends.  We found topic after topic to discuss, from air travel to movies to fashion.  We never fell on an uncomfortable silence or awkwardness, and we all began to loosen up and just enjoy ourselves, even me.  I am so used to needing a beer or glass of wine to make myself more at ease in social situations like these.  But tonight, thanks to the good company I was in, I felt jovial, clever and attentive.  I was actually feeling pretty good about myself.

I decided to reward myself with a sweet treat from the food table.  I immediately spotted these popcorn and M&M balls, drizzled in chocolate syrup.  Yumm, I thought as I reached for one.  I took a bite, and realized that the chocolate might be getting all over my face.  I grabbed a napkin and began furiously wiping my face down before anyone noticed the sloppy pregnant girl with a face full of chocolate.

I walked back over to the area where my friends, both old and new, were all still congregated when the doorbell rang.  In walked a few more of Marianna’s friends.  They came over and introduced themselves to those of us whom they didn’t know.  Since I was standing right there, and feeling quite confident, I stuck my hand out to shake their hands, introducing myself as well.  They offered a kind smile and I, in turn, offered a wide one back.   They eventually moved on towards the food area, and I suddenly realized an instant urge to use the restroom. 

I slipped away from the crowd and found the bathroom.  Good for you, I said to myself.  A few hours into a party and you’ve yet to make an ass of yourself.  Yep, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself alright.

As soon as I walked into the bathroom, I saw it.  Somehow, despite wiping my face, I had somehow missed a wide smear of chocolate running down my cheek.  I’m sure in normal circumstances it wouldn’t have appeared so big to me.  But as my mind quickly realized that I had just been grinning like an absent-minded idiot to perfect strangers with a big chocolate stripe on my face, my confidence level crashed to my feet.  I wiped the damn spot off my face and when I was finished, I walked back out. 

Ah well, you can’t win ‘em all, champ, I thought to myself as I rejoined the group.  Luckily, I was able to find my groove again and I nearly completely forgot about my chocolate-face. 

Well, nearly.

As I said, some people make great first impressions, and others need another chance.  Or sometimes you just have to go with your gut, whether it’s telling you to relax and enjoy or eat that popcorn/M&M ball.  You might end up with egg, or in my case chocolate, on your face.  But at least you can have a good time in the end.

Top Five Most Unwatchable Horror Movies

It’s that time again!  Time for the leaves to turn bright orange and red, the air to carry a lovely crispness, and the woodland creatures to fatten themselves up for the dark cold months ahead.

Except that this is Florida, where you’re lucky to see a leaf be any other color but lush green, the crispness in the air lasts about as long as a French fry in styrofoam, and the woodland creatures maintain their diet of whatever-the-hell-they-want.

So, the atmosphere may be lacking, but the calendar does not lie- it’s October, which means Scary Movie Month for me and Joe.

Over the years we have seen most everything, from classic (“Psycho”) to camp (“Sleepaway Camp”, that is).  While the vast majority has been mediocre and forgettable, there are a select few that I would single out as being all-around great movies.  “Jaws” comes to mind, which we watched about four years ago.  The complexity of the characters entangled together in a situation that tested their boundaries, combined with phenomenal acting and story-telling, made this a movie I find myself stopping to watch every time it happens to be on TV.

Yet, for every “Jaws”, there are at least a few mind-meltingly bad horror movies.  These are the ones that stick in my brain, not because they were particularly scary or good, but because they were so weird, unpleasant, or downright cheesy that I find myself having a hard time shaking them.

In no particular order, these are my Top Worst Unwatchable Scary Movies:

Antichrist (2009)

Thought seeing Willem Dafoe having sex in the shower would be hot?  Yeah, me either.  And if that doesn’t do it for you, the genital mutilation will certainly give you that queasy horrified look on your face.  (Definitely not recommended for first dates.) There were some really gorgeous shots, but the pace was so slow it made the rest of the movie unbearable.

The Skin I Live In (2011)

Things that make you go….huh?  While I can appreciate this Spanish film for its gorgeous cinematography and Antonio Banderas’ acting skills, this was still a movie that was just a little too weird to “get”.  I don’t want to give away too much just in case you find yourself on a Netflix safari looking for a new movie to watch.  Let’s just say, guy gets girl, guy loses girl, guy gets girl…and guy?

Re-Animator (1985)

Based off a novella by H. P. Lovecraft, this movie had plenty of hokey campy gory moments that gave it an almost humorous charm.  I could’ve easily seen this as a selection for an episode of "Mystery Science Theater 3000".  That is, until the scene where the love interest is kidnapped and tied to a table by a headless doctor.  Although there is a head (and then some).  Yeah.  Once again, suffice it to say this is also not a great choice for a first date.  Unless you and your date are into this kind of thing.

The Monster Squad (1987)

You know, it’s possible that I just missed the boat on this one.  It came out when I was a kid, but never seeing it back then means I never established a sense of nostalgia, and therefore forgiveness for it.  Seeing it now, with fresh adult eyes, the immense cheesiness just bored and aggravated me, and left me missing the childhood movies of MY past.  Goonies, this is not.

The Lawnmower Man (1992)

So, I’m not going to lie- I never actually finished watching this one.  I became so lost and distracted that my attention just sort of fell away.  I’m not sure if it was the tedious plot or the over-acting, the technological hyper-babble, or maybe it was the Dire Straits, “Money for Nothing”-like animation made horrific that just pushed me off the couch.  I’m sure to some this is a classic.  But for me it just stands as a classic punch line for a bad movie.

So how about you?  Seen any epically bad horror movies lately?  Let’s share the pain together.   (Wow, that almost sounds like something a villain in one of these bad movies might say)

Magic: The Geekening

You know, if I was approached by a bunch of authentic “nerds”, I think I would get schooled pretty hard.  They’d come up to me, clad in their best Monty Python t-shirts or button-up polos, clutching a formidable Texas Instrument calculator or sinisterly tossing a completed Rubik’s cube in the air.

“So…” the leader would say, pushing his wide wire-rim glasses up his nose, “think you’re a NERD, do ya?”

“Yes, sir,” I meekly reply.

“Huh,” he snorts and looks to his companions.  Another one steps forward, wearing an accurate replica of a Starfleet uniform, “Tell me this.  What was the name of the ambassador sent to rectify relations between two warring factions and in the meantime, bedded the incomparably exquisite Dr. Crusher?”

“Um, well, I…” I would stammer, trying to search my brain.

“Which language did Tolkien base the Elvin language Sindarin off of?” asks another stepping forward, carefully placing his Gandalf-style staff in plain sight.

“I…uh…” I say.

“How many parallel central processor units does the world’s fastest computer, the CRAY Y-MP C90, have?” interrupts another.

At this, I say nothing, and they chortle and squeal with delight at my obvious ignorance.

“You are not one of us,” the leader declares, wiping his bleeding nose with his embroidered handkerchief.  “Come on, guys.”  And with that, they walk away, and I am alone with my shame.

It’s true.  I am not a nerd.  I have hours more of watching Star Trek before I know anything by heart, I have not read any of the Lord of the Rings books, and my knowledge of science and technology ends with my ability to adequately use my iPhone.

I am not a nerd, but I would like to be.  That’s why I agreed to let Joe teach me something that might make me a nerd overnight. 

He taught me “Magic: The Gathering”.

I had promised him years ago that the next time we lost power for a few hours, and we required some entertainment, he would break out two brand new decks and teach me the ways of “Magic.”

That auspicious night occurred last week.  Just as we were finishing eating (and watching an episode of Star Trek), the power went out.  We looked outside and noticed our entire neighborhood had been blanketed in blackness. 

“Well, looks like the power’s going to be out for a while…I know what we’ll do!” Joe exclaimed, and with that he grabbed a flashlight and began hunting in the garage for the two decks.

“Oh…good,” I said hesitantly.  To be honest, I wasn’t in the mood to put my brain to work, but I had promised so I decided to try and be a good sport.  And anyway, maybe the power would come back on soon?

Joe was having some difficulty locating the game and for a few brief minutes, I sort of hoped he wouldn’t.   But after a few minutes, he returned to the living room triumphant.

“Got ‘em!” he declared excitedly.  Crap, I thought.

We gathered our many scented candles (the only candles we had) onto our kitchen table and spread the cards out while Joe explained the basic rules.

“We are both wizards trying to defeat each other, but we conjure up monsters and spells to deflect any damage we might take.  We draw our powers from the lands, called mana, and each land has certain strengths and weaknesses,” he went on.

Already my brain was beginning to hurt.

Of course, it could’ve been the mixed cocktail of scents we were “conjuring” up with all the scented candles.  The room quickly filled with smells of autumn woods, whispering sea breezes, pomegranates, and pine. 

To make matters worse, with no A.C., the house began to get hot and sticky.  When there was a pause in the game, I got up to see if we had any bottles of water left.  Fortunately, there was one but I almost drank the whole thing in one shot.

So, there I was, getting nauseous from the abundance of flowers and fruit scents, lack of drinking water, and trying to focus my attention on whether or not to summon a beast with “trample” or select a spell to disarm my opponent.

My patience was wearing thin, and Joe could tell, but he was determined for us to finish a game.  Finally, after he made his move, I threw the rest of my cards down.

“I don’t know! I don’t have anything!” I said and slumped back in my chair.  Joe patiently retrieved my cards and looked at them.

“Hon, you won.  If you play these cards like this,” and he arranged them just so, “then you beat me.  You won,” he said, flabbergasted.

“Oh,” I said.  I allowed the slightest smirk to cross my lips.  We called it quits for the night and just went to bed, but I couldn’t help but be a little happy I won at such a complicated game- even if I didn’t quite understand how.

A few days later we played again, and this time under more comfortable circumstances (plenty of air-conditioning, water, and non-scented light sources), so I was a much more willing participant.  And I realized the more we were playing, the more involved I was getting.  I began organizing my strategies and creatures to get a better advantage.  It began to be almost fun.  Like an actual game.

I have much more to learn, but I am excited at the prospect of finally obtaining my own piece of the nerd pi (pun very much intended).

10

As many of you know, Joe was out of town most of this past weekend.  He visited a few cities and met more people interested in the project, and I was able to tackle some projects of my own.  Like eating.  And watching TV.  Lots and lots of TV.

That’s why I’m usually a good sport about Joe going out of town…at least, during daylight hours.  When Joe’s home, we have a pretty tight bedtime routine.  When he’s out of town, it’s a whole other bedtime story.

Once he comes back, I’m able to get back to my routine.  And then earlier this week, in honor of the 50^th Anniversary of Star Trek, we’ve been watching some episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and the episode in which the crew is unable to sleep (and slowly start to go mad) came on.  Seeing Troi’s dark sunken eyes and Dr. Crusher’s matted hair reminded me of what I must’ve looked like just this past Saturday.

To demonstrate what I went through, let me take you to bed.  My bed.  Hour by hour when I’m left to my own nighttime devices…

Friday, 10:00 p.m. 

The time is nearly nigh.  I close up the house, double (and sometimes triple) checking the front door to make sure it’s locked.  I clean up the rest of the kitchen, put the dishes away that are clean, and put the dirty ones in the dishwasher (all between commercials, of course).

I take my shower, being wary to do it earlier in the evening and faster than usual before my overactive imagination sets my fears aflame and I nearly jump out of the stall with shampoo still clinging to my head, all because I heard “something”.

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

The Golden Hour- dubbed because that’s when Golden Girls starts on Hallmark channel.  I let my hair dry in my towel-turban as I lay nearly comatose on the bed, getting up only to brush my teeth.  As the hour nearly ends, I finally finish drying my hair and go to the bathroom (hoping my empty bladder will last throughout the night.  This is a futile hope).

Saturday, 12:00 a.m.

By now I’m usually settling into a comfortable sleeping position on my side.  I encase myself in pillows and prop my head up just high enough so I can continue to watch TV.  My options now are Archer or another hour of Golden Girls.  Because it’s bathed in gentle and predictable humor, the “Girls” almost always win.

I also finally set my the sleep timer on the TV, because, eventually, I will have to turn it off.  I set if for….almost three hours from that exact second.  (Addicts often have a hard time letting go.)

Saturday, 1:00 a.m.

The first time I’m startled awake.  I am still covered in the glow of the TV, but now it sounds too loud.  I turn it down to almost a whisper.  There.  Surely NOW I will be able to achieve truly restorative sleep- paying no mind to the bright lights emanating from the big box right in front of me.

Saturday, 2:00 a.m.

Once again, I stir awake.  By now, not even Frasier is on the TV.  I finally give up and decide to turn it off, but not before I turn on the radio first.  Even though I never adjust or even touch the damn thing since the last time I used it, the sounds are all static.  I carefully bring my hand over to find a better signal, and accidentally move the volume instead.  Now I have loud static.  I try the other knob for a good few minutes, trying to get somewhere beyond the all-Spanish station and “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight”.  I finally settle on something friendly and monotonous. 

Now I just need to achieve that perfect volume of not too loud and not too soft.  I just barely nudge the dial until I decide on a volume that’s just basically good enough.

Saturday, 3:00 a.m.

Stupid movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose and its stupid declaration that stupid 3 a.m. is the stupid Devil’s hour.  Of course, this is when I wake up, either to pee, or sneeze, or cough, or just stupid because.  Once I’ve calmed my nerves, and turned the volume up a bit, I eventually fall back asleep.

Saturday, 4:00-6:00 a.m.

More tossing and turning.  The dog moves around and jingles her collar.  I need to blow my nose.  I need to pee (again).  I need to turn over from the soreness on my side.  I want to sleep on my back, but fear of hurting the baby forces me the rest of the way over to the other side.  And now the radio sounds too loud.

Saturday, 7:00 a.m.

Georgia scratches herself under her collar and then, for good measure, shakes herself loudly.  She begins whining at me from the floor, urging me to wake up.  Afraid she might pee on the floor, I groggily force myself to my feet.  I stumble around for something to throw on, my eyes still practically shut, and then walk her around the neighborhood.  Well, more like let her drag me around for about fifteen minutes.

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.

I’ve walked her and put fresh food and water out, and now I wander back to the bedroom and collapse on the bed.  With one final bit of strength, I shut the radio off.  After ten long hours, I finally get to sleep. 

It turns out I just needed it to be morning all along.