Monday, February 27, 2012

There is either an axe murderer at my window or the sprinklers just came on

Only my father would text me at midnight to say goodnight... and to not let my feet hang off the bed or else the demon from Paranormal Activity will drag me out of the room. You are the worst kind of person, DAD.

So, whilst watching "She's the Man", Channing Tatum took his shirt off and the lights in our apartment had a stroke.

We did too.

I'm going to own the fact that the roomie and I were doing laundry while watching girly movies when the power went out late last night. 

Of course my first reaction was to scream. The roomie's reaction was to laugh at my screams. I hope the serial killer gets her first. Hasn't every horror movie ever created linked "power outage" and "serial killer" together?  There was no real rhyme or reason for the power outage; the lights in our bedrooms and bathrooms worked, it was just in the living room/kitchen. No serial killer... That I'm aware of... Yet. I've always been jumpy when it comes to stuff like that. There is a good story to solidify my point that involves "The Shining" and a burning tree... I'll save it for another time.

So, I blame my father for my severe skepticism of calling any of the following things innocent:
  • power outages 
  • bridges
  • anyone you meet at a gas station after midnight
  • dolls of any variety (I'm on to you, Weebles!) 
  • and being alone in a house/apartment

The man would tell me made-up stories of "The Goat Man" while we were driving home at night in the rain. Yes, The Goat Man. I was told that he lives under a bridge, and to my 10 year old self it was the bridge at the park down the street, where else? It does not end there, at twenty-two, he is still terrorizing me to this day. (My Dad, not The Goat Man.) Refer to the 1st sentence of this post if you need a reminder/nightmares/high electrcity bill from sleeping with the lights on.

It's even worse when my roomie isn't home, then and only then do I think that Scream is in my kitchen. Of course it's only the fridge kicking in to keep our beer cold, but the sheer fact that I can't pass it off as her making the noise when I'm not convinced it's the fridge, sets my mind racing. Oh my God I'm going to die! I'm not wearing matching socks and I'm going to die.  Should I get up and lock my bedroom door? Will he hear me lock the door? What's the point of locking the door? Buying me some more time to find a suitable weapon... like this bag of Nutter Butters I took to bed with me, or my alarm clock. I'm going to die.

I always check for murderers behind the shower curtain when I enter a bathroom. Pants down (see what I did there), that would be the worst time to be caught off guard. I never thought of it before, but why don't the helpless saps running from a man with a knife in a mask just wait for the killer to take a potty break? All of that running around must make you thirsty.


Clearly, I need a vacation.


After reviewing my last two posts, I realized that I do, in fact, write like a second grader. A very spastic second grader that has too many thoughts and comments and tries to say them all at once. It's like my hands can't keep up with my brain as I type, and the rambling continues.

I wish I could get my Lucky Charms marshmallows and cereal to a nice 3:5 ratio. Probably my only goal for the day. It doesn't help that I'm not at work, but at home, sick and kind of feel like the little alien from Men In Black that's dying in the old man robot. I sound like him too...

But honestly, I wish the electricity would come back on soon. Mainly so we can finish the movie.

Control by MuteMath because this song always makes my world brighter.

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