Stub Flub

I went to go see The Hobbit with my brother last Friday. I have a complicated history with the Lord of the Rings movies. I have gotten so much better in my older age, but it used to be I refused to see a movie with someone who had already seen it. In fact, I would be pissed if someone I knew had seen a movie before me. At the time, I was friends with so many nerds; of course they had all seen it without me. I went begrudgingly with two of my closest friends at the time.

When the next year rolled around, I had plans to see Two Towers with the above said friends, more of my friends and boyfriend. Stuff happened and I'm not proud of it, but the evening resulted in one of my most shameful drama fueled bull shit moments of my life. I didn't go and now I had no one to go with that fit criteria number one. I then "settled" for going with my brother, and Two Towers ended up being my favorite. Going with my brother became one of the most wonderful experiences of my life.

I would freaking get it right the last time, damn it! I would shake the Etch-A-Sketch and see a damn hobbit movie with my boyfriend and we would enjoy Return of the King. Well, even with at least the entire trilogy together as a couple, miscommunication happened and he went without me. FUCK! So I went with one of my Fellowship friends.

Well, here we are over a decade later. I've married that man and The Hobbit (eventual) trilogy would be our chance to enjoy Tolkien together on the big screen. Yes, we watch the trilogy every year together and bond in nerdiness, and I do not feel the need to wipe the slate clean, so much as celebrate how we (and by we, I mean I) have matured.

So those of you with comprehensive reading skills might be asking by now, if this was the wonderful chance to see big screen Tolkien together, what happened that you saw it with your brother? Excellent question, now calm down.

I see my brother maybe twice a year. Living across the country from each other will do that to your relationship. On his annual holiday trip, he floated the idea of seeing The Hobbit on my day off. Suddenly the need to do my Sheldon Cooper style movie preparation rituals were not as important as revisiting the Two Towers fun of seeing Middle Earth with my kin. Even better, I do not have to lie to him, so I didn't feel bad about my going to pee three times before the movie, sneaking in multiple types of food, and getting there early enough to pick the correctly angled seats. We even fought to see who would spring for the tickets. Though I felt a pang of missing my partner in dorkitude, I got to analyze after the movie and enjoyed he made a Duck Tales reference before I could open my mouth.

Here comes the shame. He bought the tickets, he kept the stubs. That should not bother me. However, the day before he left, I texted him and asked them if he had them and could he leave me one. He responded that he did not know where they were. This should not bother me. Then I was bothered that it bothered me.

I cannot pinpoint their exact location, but I have on my property every movie stub spanning over fifteen years of my life. Even before I was old enough to buy and therefore get the stubs, I had cut out the theater times in the paper and circled what I had seen. It's in a photo album now. I even know that the one time I uncomfortably went movie hopping with one my friend's groups, I was a little upset that when I saw Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, my damn stub said Miss Congeniality.

I have a freakish memory and when it fails me, I get scared. I don't like that this tiny slip of paper marking a wonderful occasion is causing me a lapse in sanity. So in an attempt to not let it bother me, I folder a Post-It in half and wrote down the movie title, theater, date, start time, and theater number (not the price, I didn't pay, but for the record, eight bucks). I folded it in half again and placed it in my wallet, where my stubs usually go. It will also be bound with my stack of lifetime stubs I still have.

Exhale. Having a record of the moment is what I need to keep this from bothering me. In fact writing about it is helping. It wasn't about a slip of paper. It was about geeking out again with my Two Tower companion. I wonder if Two Towers is my favorite because of my brother. Yes. And also this scene.

Evil on a Shelf

In my household, the elf on the shelf was actually many elves on the tree that my parents had as Christmas ornaments that they bought when they were living in Germany. I hated these damn things because I thought at night they would jump off the tree and kill me. These were ugly things. 

Years later when my father told me a rat had used our entire family collection of ornaments less ones made of the least edible material, I was saddened that many memories were going through the digestive system of a plague carrying bastard. For some reason I felt compelled to find something hideous to put back on my parent's Christmas tree. EBay was my salvation and I found a thing that I knew would ignite fear into the souls of my sibling's children.

Well, apparently this has been going on for years and someone has decided put a cute story to many minions of Satan and call it Elf on the Shelf. What is next? Leprechaun under the sofa?

 

Yep, I'm more scared of Felty McEvil than Warwick Davis.

I can understand many of the mothers I am friends with on Facebook are delighted to take part in this whimsy for their children because the anticipation of a shit load of presents is never enough. I'm trying to figure out how much therapy my sister went through to think this was a tradition she wanted to start.

Seriously people. I know some are out there who agree that this thing is creepy. Other mothers have risen in solidarity and shouted they do not need to add another thing to the already long list of chores to do at the end of the year. All I know is, even though a frightening elf remains a staple in my parents' house, there is no way in the hell this thing came from one will enter mine.