I love a good scary movie. Sure, when I watch one that actually does scare me, I spend many a night in the corner in the fetal position being all “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” and being unable to look at static on a tv but most scary movies are just not, well, actually scary. Most of them leaving me laughing at how formulaic they are, at how unwise it was to cast someone semifamous, at how no one ever waits to make sure the person is dead. WHY? Why does this happen? When someone is trying to kill you and you do something like knock the killer unconscious, why would you not then finish the deed. Why would you run away and allow the obviously NOTdead killer to rise again and grab your ankle or stab you or do something to add another dramatic fight scene to the NOTscary movie. I am super fun to watch horror movies with. I probably laugh more at horror movies than I do at most comedies, except for Zoolander, because Zoolander is a fucking funny movie.

Last night while I was working really hard to come up with a name for her baby, which, just so you know, is the most impossible task because there was a reason why all 287 names I suggested wouldn’t work, and then I had a moment of really wanting to get pregnant and have a baby just so I can name it Lila or Aubrey or Finn, but then reality sets in as a little girl was standing in my doorway.

Her: Mama, I’m angry.

Me: Why are you angry, Buddy?

Her: I’m angry at all the pollen. It makes me itchy, especially in my vagina.

Which leads to about two hours of her showing up at my door, whining about her arms being itchy, her legs being itchy, her stomach being itchy, but GOOD GOD MAMA STOP EVEN SUGGESTING A BATH BECAUSE I DON’T WANT ONE, and then walking her back to bed and telling her she needs to go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat about 14 times.

I am most certainly done having babies. But if you are pregnant and want me to name your baby, I will gladly offer up my services. I will also be happy to cuddle and snuggle your wee one but once they start whining about being itchy, I’m out.

Anyway, I knew it was going to be a loooooong night, so while searching the internet for bathing suits that won’t make me look heifer-like when I go to the beach in 66 days, I turned on the movie Orphan.

Have you guys heard of this movie? A couple adopts a nine-year-old girl from an orphanage and it turns out she’s not as lovely as they thought. Interesting idea; it’s always wise to go with kids in horror movies…they are slightly more creepy than adults in masks.
Forgive my spoilage here – I’m not big on spoiling movies, but I really doubt anyone is going to see this movie OR really care about THE BIG PLOT TWIST because it’s not even an M. Night Shyamalan film – but the nine-year-old girl is not actually nine, or even a child at all, but a 33-year-old woman who has some rare disorder that makes her proportionately tiny. Oh my god. Seriously. And not only that, but she’s a 33-year-old nympho horndog who wants to seduce all the daddies who adopt her and when that doesn’t work, she kills them and sets giant fires.

I could probably write a better horror movie about my water bottle problem.

Oh wait. They already did.