Shouldn't This be Fun?

The last few times that I have been to the movie theater I have started to notice a trend...going to the movies stresses me out! Is it my age? Am I slowly progressing towards the "no patience for anyone, or anything" side?  I feel like I am going through a puberty of emotions. I don't remember feeling this way when I was younger. Let me explain.
I stress out about tickets. I feel like I have to buy them a day in advance just to be sure. There is nothing that kills the mood more than showing up to a movie only to see that little sticker that says, "SOLD OUT". I hate that sticker. What comes after the sticker is even worse. You stand there like fools trying to decide if you want to see something else, or if you should wait another three hours just to see the next showing...so not only are you wasting the ticket seller's time, but also the large, impatient crowd lined up behind you. Solution: We usually pre-buy our tickets. I have common sense.
Once inside the theater, Michael and I quickly choose our spot. We like the middle with the bar because you can rest your feet on it. So we are usually the first people to arrive at our showing, and pick the best spot accordingly, but there are occasional times where we aren't the first inside. This is fine, the low lights are still on and there is still plenty of seating, so we choose the next best spot for us, and sit down. Not that difficult, except this is where I really start to stress. As the theater starts to fill up, spaces with two and three seats together are hard to come by. I always get the feeling that someone is going to ask me to scoot over to the people next to us that we don't know, so that these late-comers can easily take the seats on the edge. No. I am not having that. I came on time to choose the spot that I want to sit in. If you and your girlfriend want to sit together, come on time! Don't tell me to move over when I made the extra effort to get my seat. What really irks me is that the whole front row is still available, but these morons think they are too good for a neck ache. If you ask me, they deserve to look up the whole movie for not making any effort to come on time. That is what late people should get.
Can you tell that I am very passionate about this subject?
One last thing...don't invite me to see a movie with you if you want me to help save seats. I'm not doing it. I hate all the crusty looks I get when I tell people that the 40 seats around me are saved...and I just hate answering the question, "is this seat taken?" It kills me.
The most enjoyable part of the movie going experience is when the lights go dark and the previews start...because I know that the crowds of idiots looking for seats dwindles down and I don't have to worry about the ulcer forming in my stomach for the next hour and a half.

I know how this guy feels.

P.S. I miss this guy...

Love Letter and Guys Who Read are Hot!

Last Monday, Michael and I stopped by our friend's house to pick something up. I waited in the car while Michael ran in. As I waited, I noticed that Michael had left his wallet in the car, so I decided to rifle through it for cash, and then anything else of value. No cash, but I did find something of greater value than any amount of money could give me. Tucked away into a hidden pocket of his wallet were some little love notes that I had written Michael before his mission. He had taped them together side by side, and at the bottom was a quote from Pres. Hinckley. "Choose a companion of your own faith, choose a companion you can always honor, you can always respect, one whom will compliment you in your own life, one to whom you can give your entire heart, your entire love, your entire allegiance, your entire loyalty." He carried those letters, and this quote around with him during his mission. It is hard to describe the amount of love I have for Michael. Sometimes I feel so much love for him that I can't help but just grab him and hug him!

Besides being in love with him, he makes me laugh. For the past week or so, Michael has been wanting to read The Hunger Games. Now, I have never in my life known Michael to be a reader. Don't get me wrong, he is very intelligent, but sitting down with a book is not his cup of tea, unless it is a user manual to the latest and greatest electronic gadget, or stereo component. So not wanting to crush his latest request by laughing and saying "are you for real?", we went and purchased the book. When we got home he wanted to read right after dinner, so after he ate, he climbed into bed with his book and started to read. Before I woke up from this dream, I had to take a picture for proof...aren't guys who read just so hot!

OCD

I have been deciding what to write for some time now. It has been hard for me to come up with something intriguing. Sometimes I will be thinking about life before I fall asleep and will mention to myself that I ought to blog about it, except I have forgotten everything that I have thought to write about. I do however have something that I have been thinking about for awhile, not really for a blogging topic, but because of my lack of ideas, it passes.
Recently there has been a slew of television programming about OCD. A&E's Obsessed, VH1's OCD Project, and MTV's True Life: I have OCD. I am not sure why it has garnered so much attention, but it has mine. As I was watching over a period of a few days I started to notice something. Something scary. I was exhibiting obsessive compulsive tendencies in my own life. I started making a mental checklist in my head of everything that I do that qualifies.
Making sure that the computer sits straight on my desk. Check.
Not sitting on the bed after it is made so that it doesn't look wrinkled. Check.
Setting the pillows on the bed and couch so that the zippers are on the bottom. Check.
While these might seem minor in comparison to performing rituals and lock checking, it was obsessive compulsive none the less. I realized that my mind would focus on it until it was fixed. For example, I was walking down the hall the other day and I saw that the blanket on the bed was not even on both sides. I went into the office to do something else, but quickly turned around to fix the blanket. I had to fix it before anything else. It had to be PERFECT.
As I continued to watch these shows I made the choice that I was going to put myself through my own therapy. As these little moments of anxiety over something being out of place would occur, I would tell myself that I wasn't going to fix it, and that it was fine how it was. I did alright. But then I thought...what is so wrong with liking things perfect? I like the way it feels. I feel comfortable with a perfect home. I like how clean feels. I like how organization feels. I like the feeling of living in a showroom. I like straight lines, and minimalism. I like to clean. I like to keep things in perfect condition. I like having control over my environment. Is this bad? No. So you can call me uptight, and neat freak and obsessed. My answer to you? My house looks better than yours.