Tag Archives: why do you feel the need to make me scream?

Movie Theater Etiquette

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If there is one thing that I love to do, it’s going to the movies to see the latest blockbuster or a little-known indie film. But inevitably there is going to be someone who steals the show with their theater antics. I never thought sitting in a dark room quietly for two hours would be so difficult.

And you thought the Transformers series was getting long…

This weekend Steve and I decided to see The Avengers, which we were both excited to see having followed all of the previous movies. Not surprisingly, there was a whole host of moviegoers bound and determined to drive me crazy; at least I didn’t react like this guy did.

Here is a list of what I think are common courtesy rules of a movie theater that no one else seemed to be aware of on Saturday night:

1. When in a public place, you should keep your shoes or sandals on your feet.

And you should also refrain from putting bare feet anywhere but the floor.

I understand that some theaters have next to nothing when it comes to legroom. I’ll admit it: I am one of those people that puts my feet on the back of the seat in front of me, but only when there is absolutely no one around that seat.

I was amazed when the woman sitting in front of my removed her sandals and propped her legs up on the seat in front of her, directly next to another man’s head. In disgust, I searched for others appalled as me, only to see the couple next to me doing exactly the same thing.

I shuttered.

2. When drinking a carbonated beverage and the cup is empty, it truly is empty.

More pop will not come out no matter how loudly you slurp.

Once again, this was the group directly in front of me, which consisted of the shoeless mother and her young daughter (definitely too young to be in a PG-13 movie). As the daughter polished off the extra-large pop in the first 10 minutes of the movie, she slurped and slurped and slurped, all while looking at her mother to get a reaction. Her mom just laughed.

Oh dear. This is going to be a LONG movie.

Throughout every fight scene and dramatic music sequence, the daughter would leave for a refill, only to do the same routine 20 minutes later. It took all of my inner strength not to take the cup and throw it across the theater.

3. When you spill your candy during a quiet time in the movie, it should all spill onto the tile floor at one time.

Not over the course of the next 15 minutes.

As if the crinkling of the plastic container wasn’t enough, someone in the back row slowly poured their candy onto the floor — 7 Reese’s pieces at a time.

4. Cell phones do not equal flashlights in a movie theater.

First of all, the screen is pretty bright, so you should have no difficulty finding an open seat in a relatively empty theater. There are also lights illuminating the walkways so that you will not surprisingly trip over someone or something.

But when you come to the movie 30 minutes late and decide to sit near the front, please don’t light up your incredibly bright cell phone, shining it on the tops of the seats.

Maybe she was looking for the boogie man hiding behind her seat? I am still not quite sure.

5. If you eat popcorn so loudly it can be heard over the movie soundtrack, you lose your right to eat it behind me.

Loud eaters are one of my pet peeves to begin with, so when someone is munching popcorn in my ear right behind me, there is nothing else that I can focus on.

I turn into The Hulk and it is not a pretty sight.

Who eat so loud?!?

I do not look good in green.

6. Talking has never been acceptable in movie theaters. Don’t start now.

I shouldn’t even have to put this.

It would be too difficult for me to point out all of the examples people talking in normal voices during the movie. Or yelling in the case of the young girl in front of me.

Even though I had all of these distractions during the movie, I still liked it. Quite a bit, actually. There was enough action to keep Steve happy (especially since I didn’t make him go see What to Expect When You’re Expecting instead) and enough humor to keep me from completely losing it.

The best part: I was uber excited to see that Robin Scherbatsky landed a role in the movie.

Legendary!

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Touchy Subject

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Sunday was a one of the days that I don’t look forward to in our house:

the Minnesota Vikings vs. the Detroit Lions

Since they are in the same division, they always battle twice a year and those days are filled with suspense and jumping, mixed in with anger and frustration and excessive cursing.

You see, I’m a wee bit competitive.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an understatement. Anyone who has seen me in any sort of competitive atmosphere knows that I can get ugly. Really ugly. It’s one of the genetic traits that I have inherited from my father, along with his love of Storage Wars and sense of direction.

You may wonder, then, why in the world would I be a Detroit Lions fan.

1. I grew up in Michigan.

2. I would be promptly excommunicated from my family if I wasn’t.

3. I’ve always had a thing for the underdog.

4. There is no way that I would EVER root for the Vikings. Unless they’re playing the Packers, I suppose. But in that situation I would just hope that somehow both teams could lose. And I’m not talking about a tie. I’m talking about both teams completely losing. There must be some way.

5. Jason Hanson’s my man. I’ve ranted and raved about him so much that Steve even put him on his fantasy team.  He started in the NFL when I was 6. And I’ve always liked #4 (Joe Dumars, especially).

Being a Lions fan, I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak and ridicule. But through it all, I’ve stuck by my team.

Now that the team is getting a little recognition nationally, I’ve been lucky enough to be able to watch a majority of their games. And every week it’s the same old stuff about how they’re a dirty team and the players need to be reigned in.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

Luckily Steve has been focusing more on his fancy fantasy team that the Vikings and he’s actually got a few Lions on his team, too, so he can’t help but root for team a little bit. I hate to be called a sore winner/loser, so whenever a snide comment is made to me about my team by the one who said all that for-better-or-worse stuff, I just keep my mouth shut.

But yesterday I just could not help myself.

The game was intense.

First this happened:

And these things happened:

Sidenote: the broadcaster for the game kept saying “Gerald Allen” instead of “Jared Allen”. And this was at least the second week I’ve heard him do this. Does no one on the Fox team notice? Are they too afraid to say something? Get his name right, announcer-guy. I can’t stand Allen, but even I know what his name is.

But then this started happening, just like it always does to the Lions:

And again:

I felt like I was going to toss my tacos all over the living room floor.  My teams always like to keep it exciting.

I will be grey before 30.

And, for those who were too busy not watching the game, this happened on the last play of the game:

Note: ball is already out of his hand thank-you-very-much.

The Lions have a way of getting called for penalties. It’s an art they have perfected, especially in game-winning/losing situations, so I was just as shocked as everyone else when this wasn’t called.

It’s just what the Lions do: screw up at the last possible moment to lose the game.

At the conclusion of this mess of a game, words were said in our house. Rooms were upsetly exited and phone calls were made to Lion country. I won’t get into the gritty details, but things like “the only reason the Lions won was because of that facemask” and “you’re right. It wasn’t the all the points they got on Minnesota turnovers” may have been uttered.

But I won’t get into too many details.

And I’m not going to hold anything against Steve. I’m pretty sure he was just upset that he sat the Lions defense this week.

Photos are from here.

And while finding these pictures, I came across this jem. Like I needed another reason to loathe Jared Allen other than his poor grooming choices and red-necked-ness.

An open letter to the current occupants of my backyard

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To the slithering inhabitants of my lawn:

Moving out to the middle of nowhere has had its perks: less traffic, quieter nights, and all-around peacefulness.

That is, until we invaded your space by building a house you moved in.

For three years I lived in blissful ignorance to your existence, believing that the most terrifying occupants of our property were the occasional wasp or grasshopper. I would walk through the yard without a care in the world, sometimes even barefoot. I considered the overwhelming scent of our dog to be enough repellant for you to not even think about sliding over into our grass.

Silly me.

My utopia came to a crashing halt this summer with the discovery of your thin, discarded shell, laying on the rocks by the front door, serving as a threat to my outdoor afternoons. I refused to go out the door for days without sending out Feta the snake-hunting dog before me. Eventually I worked up the courage to be able to walk through the yard again.

Over Labor Day weekend, my parents came to town for a visit, but only gave me more bad news: my mother had found a home of yours. Next to our house. Luckily Steve promptly filled it and I had a vivid dream that night of you being trapped down there for eternity. I considered our yard cured of you, especially after cutting the grass myself and seeing no sign of you on a hot autumn day.

But then yesterday happened.

The day that I will not soon forget.

Yesterday was the final straw.

It hadn’t been a tough enough week with Steve having surgery and mostly being out of commission. You had to startle all three of us on a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. I found it fitting that you scrambled back into the yard of the most ridiculous neighbors on the street.

But, no, that wasn’t enough for you.

As Feta was grazing in the yard, you slithered through the grass, leaving your scent to intrigue her, luring her to ignore the many attempts to call her inside. Since Steve was passed out from our stroll earlier in the day, this meant that I had to walk into the den of despair known as our backyard.

And then there you were.

Coiled and waiting to scare me and live in my dreams for weeks.

I ran.

And now I refuse to go into my own yard.

Steve tried to find you and bring you to an untimely end with a shovel, but you were no where to be found. I’m sure that you were back in your lair, informing your compadres of the girl who lives in the house and how you don’t even need to move to make her scream.

So, now, garter snakes, I am asking you to leave.

This is your only warning.

If you choose to not heed this warning, you will be found and you will be destroyed.

By my ferocious, reptile-chewing Beast:

On second thought, maybe I’ll just run you over with the lawn mower.