him: Wanna play Xbox?
me (cue whine): Noooooo. I hate shooting games. They make me feel sick. I don't want to play.
him: Even if you get to shoot zombies?
Let me be clear on this: I hate first-person shooting games. I mean, I really, really hate them. They stress me out. They give me heart palpitations. The motion makes my stomach turn. In theory, I get why people like them, really I do, but they're just not for me.
The thing is, I really love zombies. If you asked me: "Vampires or werewolves?", I'd answer zombies. But then I'd have to clarify because really, there's not much sexy about a zombie. I love zombies, but I'm not in love with them. Ours is a platonic love, based on terror, death and mayhem.
Or something like that.
So we played.
Note to self: first-person shooting games with zombies in them are still first-person shooting games.
And then, when I'd finally figure out how to get out from behind the barrel, a zombie would throw up on me and the horde would attack. I'd feel a sick sense of relief flood through me as my little green life bar turned orange and then red.
And then one of my teammates would come kill all of the zombies and heal me. And I'd have to keep playing.
Finally, finally, the game finished. I died at the end. I should have just stayed hidden behind the barrel.
My arm was sore, my stomach was turning, my eyes were burning, my heart was pounding. I'm pretty sure that 120 minutes of trying to find the x button and the b button gave me carpal tunnel syndrome. I was jittery and irritable and my neck and shoulder ached.
Perfect state of mind for going to bed, right?
I woke up in the middle of the night, as I usually do at least a few times every night. I could hear a drunken party in the distance. There was shouting and laughter, just barely loud enough for me to hear it.
But wait a second...