I’m addicted to Dateline, 48 Hours Mystery and 20/20. Not available to watch? Snapped will work just fine for my fix. That’s the Oxygen show where the husband kills the wife or vice versa and they deny it regardless of a black eye or bruises and scratches all over their body. I mean, how many times can “I fell” be a legit excuse?
No, I am not a “serial mom”. I used to be a horror movie junkie. The kind that involve the unknown. The slasher flicks didn’t do it for me. Blood and guts just made me sick. I loved the ones that seeped into your mind, settled and then hit you in the middle night. Think more Room 1408, The Shining or The Ring. I was a movie masochist, I guess.
I’m of the same ilk as Stephen King. I have a wild imagination. My mind can turn any incident into a horror movie and I get scared. The wicked part is that I like to be scared.
Let’s just say the bathroom light was a frequent friend. I’m embarrassed to say that a couple of times my husband had to wake up and chat with me while I peed to spare my bladder. I can understand why he was not such a fan of the horror movies.
Well, the movie masochism has turned into crime news masochism. The minute my HCG went up, the movies ceased to scare me. True stories of kidnapping and killing now frighten me to the core.
Where I used to scream at the leading lady to run, I now shout questions like “why wouldn’t she leave her husband after he hit their kid?” or “How can this woman leave her kid with a complete stranger?” or “why was an 8-year-old walking home by herself?” The real horror is how stupid and crazy people can be. It’s like watching a train wreck. It’s horrible to watch, but you just can’t look away.
I never watched the Casey Anthony trial, but I know a lot of women who did. I get it. I completely get it. How could she get off scott free, but the West Memphis Three had to take the Alfred Plea? In both cases, innocent kids were punished.
Seriously, if there is a new Dateline on the DVR and we have no plans, then Saturday morning is my favorite time of the week. Coffee, a scone and my show. Most often, I can’t even hear my husband threatening time out to my daughter downstairs.