|yeah, BOO... whatever|
Before I tell you about my first haunted house experience, let's talk about video games. I don't like most video games. I can't stand playing anything that involves face-to-face combat. Even Super Mario Bros freaks me out. The reason? I can't separate pretend from reality. This is a problem. I can't even stand playing real-life games. Whenever I played tag as a child, I felt like I was literally running for my life. If a person charged me and made me "it," I cowered and crumpled into a ball, accepting my fate to be a dead person, doomed to haunt the sprinkler system of my neighbor's front lawn for eternity. Maybe I was a melodramatic child?
Maybe I am a melodramatic adult.
The only video games I like to play are tower defense games. You know, where you set up all of your defenses-- towers, lasers, glue traps, and whatnot-- and then you sit back and watch while your team does all of the work, taking on the bad guys. I am addicted (and surprisingly good) at games such as Plants vs. Zombies, Creeps, Field Runners, and Kingdom Rush.
I'm sure that this surprises no one, but, I did not do well at my first haunted house. Perhaps I would have been okay if I could have had a tower defense system. If I could have attacked all of the spring-loaded clowns and screaming zombies with corn cob cannons or laser guns, I might have been fine. Unfortunately, the best that I could do was set up my husband and my little ten-year-old daughter in a defense formation -- daughter in the front, husband in the back, me in the middle-- as we made our way through Lagoon's Fun House of Fear.
Guys? In the very crowded, dark, and clown-infested labyrinth of cheap prosthetics and teenage actors? In my very first haunted house in the history of me?
I lost my shit.
Things that I screamed while making my way through the haunted house:
1. I DO NOT LIKE THIS I DO NOT LIKE THIS SAM I AM.
2. NO TOUCHING NOTOUCHINGNOTOUCHINNNNG
3. #$%! #$%! #$%$!!!! BLEEEP BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP!
I am not proud of myself.
Truly, the experience has made me question who I am as a person. Why is it that people jumping out and invading my personal space sends my brain into convulsions of terror? WHY. I can promise you this, if you abandon me during the Zombie Apocalypse because I am a mewling coward who is only holding you back, I forgive you. Ego te absolvo.
For the rest of the time at the amusement park, I had my family escort me, protecting me from the halloween actors who ramble through the park, randomly scaring people. Hovering over my forehead there must be a giant black arrow that reads EASY PREY, because these "actors" (sadistic teenagers in halloween makeup) continuously crept up behind me, yelling BOO in my ears, in my mother-effing SACRED personal space, scaring the crap out of me. If I wasn't a chronically constipated woman who never ever unclenches, I would have shat myself right then and there.
Will I ever go to a haunted house again? NO. But more importantly, will my husband ever try and convince me to go to a haunted house again? N to the O. As scared as I was during the haunted house, I think I scared my husband more, making him wonder what the hell kind of crazy he married. It might take me awhile to get the scary images of the haunted house out of my mind, but it will take my husband even longer to get the image of me, mascara-racooned, gibbering, and spastically screeching, out of his.