The Real American Horror Story

I lived alone for a couple weeks during the second semester of my freshman year of college. I’m convinced I scared off my first roommate from returning to Ithaca with my collection of High School Musical posters. I had a new roommate lined up, but we had to deal with the bureaucrats of Res Life and there was some delay before she could move in. I made the most of having a Towers corner double to myself: I pushed the beds together, hosted a variety of events and slumbies, and enjoyed plenty of pantsless Broadway karaoke.

Now, as previously discussed, I am afraid of everything. I have an overactive imagination and all it takes is a commercial for a scary movie to send me into a frightened spiral. Therefore, living alone was not exactly the best experience.

One night, I was up late watching Sex and the City on TBS and writing a paper. I finished and went down the hall to brush my teeth. When I came back, SATC had ended and was replaced by the opening credits for Signs.

I had seen Signs that summer and let me tell you, it was not a pretty experience. I spent the whole time hiding under a blanket because if aliens showed up, they would never hurt a girl protected by a piece of cloth. For weeks I was convinced aliens were going to sneak into my attic and I constantly kept a bottle of water by my bed just in case.

So now I was having major flashbacks. I got ready for bed and decided to sleep with my curtains open, hoping the lights from the parking lot and people wandering around would help. However, there was a giant tree right outside and its branches were scraping against my window and making creepy alien finger shadows on the wall. I tried unsuccessfully to sleep until about midnight, when I called my sneezecracker boyfriend and begged him to come stay with me or at least let me come up to his room and sleep on his futon. He refused to protect me. (Note to guys: if a girl is scared, go protect her. She will be extremely thankful and bake you things and maybe even be a little slutty).

So there I was, scared and alone, with no hope for sleep. I tried watching some Family Guy reruns and distracting myself with Facebook stalking, but I was still scared. Finally, at about 4am, my friend Jackie messaged me and asked why I was still up and online. I admitted my dilemma and she immediately invited me up to sleep in her and Kristen’s room for the night. I grabbed my pillow and blanket and booked it out of my death room to sleep on their floor for 3 hours before I had to get up for class.

And that’s why I don’t watch scary movies.


My life is a horror story

For my mom’s birthday in 2008, I threw her a pretty kick-ass surprise party (there was catch phrase, ice cream cake, and wine coolers) and spoiled her by buying her a STATE OF THE ART GPS.  This would eventually come back to haunt me.

Fast forward three years.  A girl innocently gets into her car (after having an awkward run in with Jewish online dating boy) and plugs in the old, trusty GPS.  Out of the goodness of her heart (and a need for extra cash), she has agreed to dog sit at her coworker’s condo tonight and then for a full week in October.  Two weeks ago, she had followed her coworker up a bunch of dark, windy roads from school to the condo.  She’s a little nervous about finding her way, but she has the GPS!  What could go wrong?

Let’s not fail to mention the amount of traffic on 46 in Hackettstown when she gets out of class at 6pm.  After waiting at a light for 17 minutes, she decides to try to find another way.

Reroute me, GPS!

And so it did.  The roads start out familiar, but things suddenly take a turn for the worse.  Petersburg Road took her through mountains and abandoned farm towns.  With no cell signal and a confused GPS, she became nervous, but decided to continue on the route.  Roads began to blur into each other, the sky began to darken.  And after a long day and little sleep, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could go.

After nearly 45 minutes getting more and more lost, she finally pulled over in frustration and found one bar of service on her dying phone.  She desperately dialed her closest living relative (MOMMY) and cried out for help.  But with no towns or homes in sight, neither of them could figure out where she was.

The sun had set and the gas tank was low.  Without many options, she continued on her perilous journey.  Frustration turned into hysteria turned into laughter turned into tears.  Each pothole threatened her tires as she sped through the dark wooded New Jersey abyss.

Finally, help appeared! A sign for 80 East only 18 miles away, which could take her all the way to her beloved Manhattan if she so desired!  She followed the long winding country road up through the mountains until she reached that highway of hope.

With some quick thinking and a reinstated sense of direction, she finally arrived at the entrance gate for the exclusive community.  After a few wrong turns, she had finally arrived at the place where she will most likely be murdered tonight.

This has turned into the ideal horror movie.  I am now sitting with every single light in this place on, waiting for someone to break-in and kill me.  Did I mention I have an overactive imagination?

Now excuse me while I hide in a blanket and listen to Radiohead.  Because if I am murdered, that is definitely the ideal soundtrack.