Somehow I thought it'd be a good idea to search Are You Afraid Of The Dark? episodes online the other day. That was both a good and bad decision. Good because I was thrilled to relive the childhood memories, but not so good because sat there for 2 hours. Womp. I was terrified of that show as a kid. I mean, I still watched it, because apparently I was the kind of kid who enjoyed scaring the s#!t out of myself. But it got me thinking about my fears as a kid versus my fears as an adult, and not only how different they are, but how they are almost opposing in some ways.

Things that scared me as child:

Are You Afraid Of The Dark?
We've been through this. It might have scared the beejesus out of me but I watched it anyway. And it totally gave me nightmares every now and then. And yes, yes I was afraid of the dark.

Childbirth 
When I found out how babies were really made and brought into the world (none of that stork nonsense), I was grossed out. I told my mother that I wasn't about that life. I would have the sex and she would birth the children. I'm not sure how I thought that would work out...

Freddy Krueger
As mentioned above, I was the kid that liked watching scary things even though they legitimately scared me (probably why I like Halloween so much). When I watched Nightmare on Elm Street as a kid, I was only mildly scared. But then I woke up to real flames one night licking at my window (the house behind ours had caught on fire), and although my dear ol' dad saved me of course, lifting my paralyzed-with-fear body from my bed and carrying me outside in my nighty, I've been afraid of the serial killer ever since. Well, not ever since. The fear subsided after I forced myself to watch Nightmare on Elm Street as a teenager because Johnny Depp was in it. Nothing like a teeny-bopper crush to get you over your fears.

Getting in trouble with my parents
Utter the words "I'm telling your father" and I was liable to fall apart right there. It's not like my dad was a particularly scary man. He had a full beard and a very commandeering personality, but I was his baby girl (his only girl, his only child) and he softened tremendously when it came to me. But still, the possibility of getting in trouble had me quaking in my little cowgirl boots, every time.

Shots & Vaccinations
I still don't like them, but I really hated them as a kid. Getting me to sit still for a routine shot was a process. Somehow I convinced myself that being sick at all meant I was going to get a shot. So it'd pretend not to have a tummy ache or try to hide my sniffling, which always ended with my mother noticing (because moms know everything!) and giving me a lecture about telling her when I'm hurt.

Getting sucked down the drain or into a sewer by a balloon-wielding clown. 
Either I was a sneaky little thing or someone wasn't paying attention, but 7 year old me definitely watched Stephen's King's IT. This scene with Georgie and Pennywise... *shudders* I just watched it again and it still creeps me the eff out.

Things that scare me now:

The Big What If?
The question that has the ability to drive me completely bonkers. What if I'm not enough? What if I'm not doing enough? What if this isn't my path? What if I have no path? Maybe it's just all part of that quarter-life crisis I talked about many posts ago, but one of my biggest fears is living my life with 'what ifs?' I don't want to miss an opportunity or make a wrong decision. I don't want these big regrets looming over me.   

Disappointing my parents. 
The remnants of the "ooo, you're in trouble." In my twenties, I'm not worried about trouble (although my parents still try lol). I'm more afraid of letting my parents down. Now that I'm older, I can clearly see all those sacrifices they made for me, the ones they talked about years ago. And although I know they'd do it 100x over, I feel like I have to make it worth it for them.

To not be in control of my surroundings. 
Specifically not being in control of what happens to me. Going with the flow is hard for me. I like to know what I'm doing and when I'm doing it. I don't like riding in cars with drivers I don't know and I'm hard to surprise. I mean, I like surprises, but at the same time, the idea of not knowing what's going on makes me uncomfortable. Most importantly, I really don't like not being in control of myself. In college, my experimentation with 'certain things' was incredibly limited because of this. (Not that I'm advocating these things.) I was always afraid of becoming too affected by a substance and doing things I normally wouldn't do or not remembering what I'd done the following day. Don't get me wrong - there were plenty of "fuzzy recollections, fill in the details" kind of mornings, but never any "blacked-out, why am I naked" moments. I couldn't have handled any of those.

Not having children
I know this is a very sensitive subject and I really don't mean to offend anyone, but its a legitimate fear of mine. Growing up I was never the girl who dreamed of marriage, I wasn't really concerned with it, but I always knew I wanted a child to experience life with. And the idea of not being able to have a child of my own is really unsettling for me. I know that there are other ways to be a parent, and that it's not the end of the world. In fact, I admire those who adopt. But I want to birth a little mini-me. I want to look into the tear-streaked face of my tantrum-throwing 4 year old and see my grandmother's pout or my father's intensity.

Living for other people
It's funny. As a kid, we all wanted to be exactly "like everyone else". I actually uttered that phrase a few times during my rebellious adolescent years. We basically lived for our peers. But now, now that I'm aware of herd mentality and crowd wisdom, I find myself constantly questioning the things I "want" and whether they are solely my own desires or a societal influence. Do I really want a white and gold living room scheme or is it just all the pretty Pinterest pictures? Do I just love Pride & Prejudice because everyone else does? (FYI: Nay, I love it because it's the best novel ever written!) Do I wear makeup because it enhances what I find beautiful or because it makes me look like everyone else? Sometimes I wonder if we're all just living for the approval of others, and that thought is terrifying.

Serial Killers
A stowaway from childhood, but I'm still not to fond of the idea of being kidnapped in my sleep and brutally murdered. Call me crazy. I love scary movies and can watch them all day, but... umm... I still have nightmares from time to time. Eeep!

What are you afraid of? Is it dramatically different from your childhood fears? As always, link-up below if you've written any Fall-O-Ween related posts this month!



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Giveaway Time!!

Here we are! Although there's still another week left, this will be the final giveaway of Fall-O-Ween :) It will run from today, October 24th until Friday, the 31st.

With all this talk of scary things and last Sunday's post about Halloween specials on television, the excitement for scary Halloween movies is building. Although I can't wait for some of my favorites to be played on t.v., I'm also ready for the new releases in theaters. And if you are too, then this is the perfect giveaway for you. Enter below for your chance to win a $25 Fandango giftcard! The card will be redeemable anywhere in the U.S. for any film ticket. And I'll deliver it to you electronically as soon as the winner is chosen. Happy Haunting!

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May the odds be ever in your favor :)

Color My Mind 'Immaculate Conception'

What Color Is Your Mind? Strangest opening line ever, huh? I thought the same thing when I stumbled across this quiz, but then intrigue got the best of me, and by the time I hit the 'submit' button I was convinced the cheesy response would be "the world may never know." Serves me right for being so gullible.

Apparently, my mind is purple, which means:

Of all the mind types, yours is the most idealistic.
You tend to think wild, amazing thoughts. Your dreams and fantasies are intense.
Your thoughts are creative, inventive, and without boundaries.
You tend to spend a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for yourself.

At first glance, I read most of these fantastical qualities as negative ones. What do you mean my dreams are intense? Does that imply they're crazy pipe dreams that will never happen? On what planet could preferring fictional characters to real ones be a good thing? Are they implying that I'd rather live a fictional life? Screw the quiz-creating gods. Something about the results made me feel like that "eccentric" woman who lives down the hallway with 9 cats, which you only know about because you hear the wailing and clawing at the walls late at night. I am not that woman - I'm allergic to cats.

So I took the quiz again. Purple. Shit. Now that I had to accept that this was not a fluke but rather just the color of my maniacal mind, I tried to think about whether these things were true instead of whether they were "positive." Resounding yes.

As an example (I may have posted about this before), I was quite the child. I wasn't a rebellious child per se, but I had my own ideas and would stifle them for no one. At the age of about 6, while other girls in class responded to the "what do you want to be when you grow up" question with talk of weddings and babies and houses and girly things, I informed everyone that I wanted to be a rockstar. I'd have a baby girl of course, a daughter whom I'd take with me everywhere I went, including on stage to belt out my songs. I'd travel from place to place so everyone could hear my voice and see my baby. But that's it. No house, no picket fence, no white frilly dress, and no husband. No baby daddy. Just me and my immaculately conceived baby girl. What in G-d's name?? Wild, amazing thoughts? Intense dreams and fantasies? Check. I was a weird kid.

My idealism didn't stop there. It carried on into middle school and high school on the wings of Harry Potter novels and blank notebooks waiting to be filled. Like any other teenager, my home life was "unsatisfying" (Breakfast Club reference, anyone?), so at times, I preferred living vicariously through others or in the worlds I created myself. I sound like a nut, I blame it on teen angst. I read incessantly and filled notebook upon notebook with my ideas. In short, I spent "a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for [myself]." That particular notebook (pictured above) still sits on my bookshelves and I open it from time to time but to see how far my writing has come along.

Even now, I enjoy making extensive lists. I list things I need to do, planning everything out on Sunday nights in my beautiful Erin Condren Life Planner; I have a never-ending list of books to read and places to visit. I have a file in my computer under my name, consisting of pictures of hair styles I'd love to have, wardrobes I'd die for, goals I need to complete, routines I want to set in place - basically, any and everything I need to become the person I've always wanted to be. Actually, I'm big on that. I spend a substantial amount of time thinking about the woman I want to be and crafting a way to get there. Even the boundaries of my current life, my current self, are not enough to check my creative and inventive mind.

Go figure. Looks like my mind's purple afterall, and turns out it's not so bad. What color is your mind? Scroll up to find out and let me know what you think of your results in the comments below!

The Moment I Knew I Was Different (Or Maybe Just Weird)

A few days ago, I sat across from my nail technician, Annie*,  at Pinky's New York, a nail salon with multiple locations in the city. I've been coming to this salon since I was 12 years old, only interrupted by my years in college and law school, so she's more my friend than anything. We're only 4 years apart so we usually end up laughing hysterically through most of my appointments, gossiping about this and that and telling stories about my lovely, but hilarious, father who also gets pedicures at the salon. Over 10 years ago when I discovered this salon location in Upper West Side, my parents didn't know a thing about this place. But now, my dad pretends as though  Annie is his. I occasionally remind him that I knew her first and best, but I doubt he hears a word of it. That's neither here nor there.

So a few days ago, Annie got to talking about how I was years ago, barely a teenager but stomping through the city like it was mine for the taking. I don't doubt that anyone I encountered saw right through this guise to the scared, little girl I really was, but Annie says it didn't matter. "You were just so different," she said. I thought about it for a minute while she filed my fingernails to the perfect length and shape without needing my approval. She knew me so well, maybe even better than I thought. "I don't know if I was different or just weird."

She looked up at me with an exasperated look, lightly blowing her honey blonde bangs from her forehead, and smiled. I smiled back. "I guess I was always a little different, even at a very young age." Annie didn't look up but stopped filing for a moment, waiting for me to continue. "I remember my father being called into school for a parent-teacher meeting for something I'd said during class. The teacher had asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, and was giving each child a turn to tell the rest of the class. Most of the girls talked about weddings and babies and dogs and houses and pretty things," I said, and looked at Annie as she had stopped moving and was staring at me anticipating my next sentence but also expecting it. "Me?," I continued, "Well I told her that I wanted to be a rockstar. That I wanted to have a baby daughter that would stand on stage and cling to my leg as I sang my hit songs. And I wanted to travel from city to city so everyone could hear my voice and see my baby. And that was it."

My Dreams. Age 6. | Photo Credit

I thought Annie was going to die, as she dropped her head to the table and laughed until her face turned bright red. "The teacher didn't find it so funny, Annie. She was concerned that I didn't exhibit proper family values. And when she asked me what happened to the father and whether we'd ever go live in a house with him, I said "He doesn't matter really and no, my daughter and I would live in my dressing room backstage and eat microwaved pizza everyday"." Once Annie gained some sort of composure, she asked "And what did your father say?" I pursed my lips at her. "You know what he said. He muttered under his breath 'my girl' before telling the teacher that he would talk to me about saying such things aloud."


And then, Annie and I laughed. We laughed so hard, she had to repaint my index fingers and wipe the tears from my eyes.

Jane

Today's topic: "Pass on some useful advice or information you learned and always remembered." 

I'm taking a break from watching the Goofy Movie to write this post. That's right. The Goofy Movie - that mid-90s animated movie about teenager Max traveling across country with his dad, none other than Goofy Goof. It makes me happy; I regret nothing. In fact, my response to today's prompt is kind of related (although tenuously) to my movie selection.

When I was 9 years old, I was a mean girl. No, not Lindsey Lohan in Mean Girls, stealing boyfriends and plotting to destroy lives. More like a "you-can't-sit-with-us" kind of mean. Do I think a lot of young girls go through this stage? Yes. Do I think it's okay or am I proud of it? I surely am not. But it happened. In 4th grade, my friends and I had a little "clique", if you will. We were the popular kids in our tiny little Catholic school. All the boys liked us but we were too good for them, or so we thought. And many of the girls would try to win us over to be our friends but we weren't having it. Wow, reading that back, I sounded like such an asshole. I want to delete that. But I won't because it's true. 

But that's not the point of the story (Sorry! I'm a bit long-winded). One day, I got detention for talking too much in class and my punishment was lunchtime detention. I had to spend half of my lunch in the classroom with Ms. Murphy, helping another student with some classwork. Jane, the girl I was helping, and I were having so much fun, laughing and singing Spice Girls songs as duets, that we didn't stop until Ms. Murphy told me that my time was up. The next day after we handed in our daily writing journals and headed off to PE class, Ms. Murphy held me back from the group for a moment. She told me that she wanted to read me something and then she read from someone's journal. I don't remember everything exactly (I was only 9 after all), but the student talked about having to make dinner with no food in the refrigerator and waking up with a cockroach crawling in the bed, and finished the entry with "but that's ok because I have a friend". Ms. Murphy then said something to me that I have never forgotten: "Be kind to people, because you never know what that truly means to them." And then, she let me leave.

I knew that the entry was from Jane's journal, but I never told anyone. I wish I could say that from then on Jane and I were best friends, but that would be giving myself far too much credit. Jane went on to find her own group of friends that she fit in perfectly with. But when her friends weren't at lunch, sometimes she'd come over to our table and I'd make space for her next to me. When things had gotten a bit worse for her and some of the boys would tease her for her unkept appearance or horrid stories of her mother's new boyfriend, they knew never to say anything in front of me because I was the mean girl, who'd push them against the lockers and make them cry.   

I haven't seen Jane or Ms. Murphy since my 8th grade graduation, but I think about them often. Wherever they are, I hope people are kind to them.


Has anyone ever given you some useful advice? Pass it on to me, please! :)