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03.21.2004 - 7:20 p.m.

Sunday

So I just got home from watching Dawn of the Dead, and -

Wait, did you hear something? Ssshh. Are you sure? FuckwhatisTHAT? Oh. Oh, hi, Dog. Hi. Jesus, you startled me.

Anyway, so I -

WHATTHEFUCKISTHATNOISE?

Oh.

Okay, dishwasher.

The dishwasher makes that sound every now and then.

Dishwasher.

Yeah, so I'm a little jumpy right now. When I proposed we see Dawn of the Dead together, JB replied, "I have absolutely zero interest in seeing that movie. How about Starsky and Hutch?"

"You'd rather see that than zombies?" I asked incredulously. "Fine, I will see it by myself."

Because I am just that punk rock.

(Dishwasher. Dishwasher. Breathe.)

I headed over to my local Crossroads Mall cinema for the 4:15 show, where I purchased my ticket. "One for Dawn of the Dead," I said proudly, as if hoping some King 5 newscaster would leap out and interview me ("Girl Sees Dawn of the Dead Alone! Full story at 6:30.")

By the way, the mall in the movie? Crossroads Mall. Yeah.

I walked in past the concession stands -

[And can I just interject with my own story here to point out that with the exception of diet sodas and hotdogs, every single item sold in theater concessions is made up of sugar and popcorn. In other words, those dreaded CARBS we are hearing so much about. You know how the media keeps coming up with these stories like "Bakeries running out of business!", "Breadmakers worry about declining sales!", and you start thinking maybe you are like the last person on earth (ooh, zombie-apocalyptic) who is still eating english muffins and whatnot? Well, I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that movie theaters get almost all of their profits from concession stands. The money from ticket sales mostly goes back to the Miramaxes and so on, right? So why aren't we hearing any sob stories about how theaters are having to shut down, or offer bite-sized slabs of chicken breasts, or whatever? Bah. Fucking anti-carb industry, listen up! The good people of this nation are still filling their gaping maws with fistfuls of artery-clogging popcorn, Dots, and Junior Mints while they watch today's movies, which typically include 4924 minutes of commercials and previews, so embrace your 15 minutes, because your crappy little Atkins bars are soon to be a thing of the past!]

- and into the theater, where I sat down.

(What? I only wrote that boring sentence so I had a segue to the carb theory thing.)

Okay, I cannot believe I am going to tell you this, and let me just say for the sake of full disclosure that I am positive I will read eighty jillion blogs and reviews next week that say that anyone who was scared by Dawn of the Dead is a crying little sissy boy, but here goes:

After the first 15 minutes of the movie, I damn near got up and walked out.

Because I was NOT sure if I could handle 2 more hours of having the living SNOT scared out of me.

Oh my god, that is so embarrassing.

Listen, I PRIDE myself on being a horror fan. I devoured Clive Barker and Stephen King when I was younger. I loved the original DoTD, and Day of the Dead, and fucking Dead Alive, and, like, any movie that splatters intestines all over the damn place.

I still think the first 15 minutes are the most frightening. Without giving away anything, let me just say that making you think about the place you find most safe, most relaxing - your bedroom, your neighborhood - turned into a complete and total nightmare….well, that brings a special kind of heebie-damn-jeebies.

Grah.

DISHWASHER.

Past that, though, the hits keep on comin'. It's been a while since I'd seen the original so I wasn't doing a bunch of plot comparison, I was just busy 1) blurring my eyes so I wouldn't shit my pants, 2) covering my eyes so I wouldn't shit my pants, and 3) pulling the collar of my coat way up over my head and sinking into my seat so I - yeah, you get it.

Zombies that can run, really really fast? Holy crap. That shit is wrong. Zombies need to be slow-moving, shambling assholes that you can easily shoot. Not racing flailing chomping frothing mutilated FAST things. Brrr.

I seriously just made myself a strong-ass drink.

And turned on the patio light.

At any rate, I highly recommend you see it! If only for the welcome nervous laughter you will bray out during what I will refer to as the Burt Reynolds scene. And if you do see it, please email me, because I have a question about what appeared to be a very confusing plot hole. But maybe I was covering my eyes too much.

:::

DISH.

FUCKING.

WASHER.

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20 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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