Things that make me go...huh?

• I have currently ran out of face wash and not yet made it to the store to buy more. However, I have been using my regular body wash and yet, my face seems to be clearing up better than it was when I was using my face wash twice a day. Case in point? I have spent hundreds (OK, let's be honest...hundred singular...which is pushing it) of dollars on all different kinds of face wash. And now it seems all I had to do was use the body wash I already had.....interesting.
• I was walking the Leira dog this evening and was completely stunned to see that someone on my road has put up a Christmas tree that appears to be spray painted white. To make it worse, it is covered in bright neon pink and green and yellow lights. Can. You. Say. Hideous? Perhaps that is a bit harsh. Who am I to be judgmental on Christmas....but really?
• Speaking of said white Christmas tree listed above...I think I spotted a menorah in the same window.....Is that allowed for the Jewish?
• I don't consider myself too much of a TV watcher. In fact, I can be pretty harsh on TV shows if I don't like the pilot. And yet...I watch The Nanny religiously. What. Is. That?
• No matter what I do to try to prevent it, laundry always piles up and is a never ending process. Where does it all come from? And how do I make it stop?
• I have found that children under the age of 2 are not interested in the present inside the box, only the box itself and perhaps the ribbon used to decorate it therefore causing a slightly possible chance that he will be visiting the emergency room sometime in his very near future...
  
• When decorating the tree at work last week, I knew that one of my co-workers was having a bad day. Therefore I asked her if she would like to join in the Christmas spirit. She looked at me blankly and said "I've never liked decorating Christmas trees. I let my husband and son do it this year. All I had to do was buy one of those big boxes of multicolored ornaments at Target and I'll just throw them all away at the end of the year." I can't tell you how sad this makes me.
• We have a dog that has been coming to work during the day to Hospital board. He is actually going to be boarding during the entire weekend. I walked in on a conversation of one of the technicians complaining about why he is boarding all of the time. I looked at her and said "His mom is in a wheel chair and can't take care of him during the day." She looked at me and replied, "I mean I know she has MS but......".......All I have to say is REALLY?
• The paper towel dispenser attacked me today and made me pull a muscle in my neck. That can't be normal, right?
• The movie Stigmata. Two words. Purple. Jellies.
  

Horror on Glendower

There are times that I don't care too much for having a vivid imagination. For example, when the power goes out, I'm home alone and I still have to get ready for work. (AKA: Having to take a shower in the dark, scary bathroom...)

I think to myself as the lights flicker to a permanent "off" (of course perfectly timed to do so as Andrew is driving himself off to work...figures), "OK. This can't be too bad right?" I grab a couple of candles and walk up the dark staircase to the bathroom.

Even during the middle of the day, it is pitch black. I try to light one candle. Burn myself in the process and have false hope in accomplishing lighting it for the first time, only to watch the minuscule flame flicker out before my very eyes.

I glance around accusingly, "OK. Did a ghost just blow out my candle for shits and giggles?"

I try another candle, burning myself yet again, but manage to keep the flame intact. I follow suit by lighting several more candles and set them all on the toilet seat. I look around.

Um. The bathroom is still pretty dark.

Damn. It.

So I go downstairs in hopes that time will make the candle light seem brighter. (Shut-up. When you're scared, any excuse to prolong the situation works in the mind of the over-imaginative.)

I sit in front of our bay window because it is the only place in the house that lets a lot of light in. I stair outside and watch the stupid workmen who are responsible for this predicament.

I silently curse them.

The. Evil. Bastards.

I look at the clock and realize I cannot wait any longer.

It is time.

I make sure (several times I might add) that the front door is locked (back door too even though we hardly ever use it. But I can't take any chances.) I begrudgingly walk back up the stairs with my dog Leira at my heels.

I silently think to myself, "well should someone decide to break in while I'm in the shower, surely my dog or at least one of our 5 cats would protect me."

I try not to think too hard over the mere fact that said dog is actually afraid of at least one of said 5 cats and that most likely my last vision before being brutally murdered via being stabbed to death, would be of my pansy-ass dog's rear end sticking out from under the bed. (I think she thinks she's an ostrich?)

Guard dog she is not.

I make it upstairs only to find that my brilliant idea of waiting for the candlelight to get brighter has back-fired.

The "lighting" is just as dull as before.

I sigh, try the light switch one last time (just in case)- nothing but darkness and mocking flames.

"Here goes." I think to myself.

As I step in the shower, I turn to find Leira and one of our cats Lorelai sitting by the door to the bathroom.

Awe. Perhaps they would protect me after all.

While in the shower, I think I hear a noise downstairs. I peer timidly out from behind the shower curtain, Lorelai and Leira are gone...

Traitors!

I pick up the pace in the shower trying not to think of the random scenarios going through my head. For example:

The noise I heard is one of the workmen I had previously seen outside. But he is not a workman. he is in disguise and he is a known rapist/murderer and I am his next victim. He stalks around my downstairs dining room after breaking the lock on the front door and peers down at something on the kitchen table.

It's a notepad and what appears to be a short story. He thinks to himself, "Ah. She's a writer. Too bad she will never be published because she will be dead soon." [insert evil laugh here].

As for his appearance, he has a mullet and a handle bar mustache, clothed in tight dark jeans and a flannel shirt that barely covers his beer gut.

He creeps up the stairs to find me.

So as you might have guessed, in thinking of all of this, I am slightly panicked. I keep peering out from the shower curtain, expecting to see said scary ass man standing there in my dark bathroom with a hatchet. In doing this over and over again, the only thing I accomplish is managing to get shampoo in my eyes and panicking even more because now I can't even see my attacker coming. I try to open my eyes more and more but the burning is too much and I am now blind.

Forget it.

I've had enough. Still soapy and wet, I turn off the faucet and grab for a towel. (This takes me a few minutes considering I still can't see...)

I wrap the towel around me and slowly pull the shower curtain back.

Silence.

There is no one there.

Whew.

But what if he's hiding behind the door and he's just waiting for me to step out of the bathroom for him to do his evil deed?

I feel so small and trapped in my little, dark bathroom.

I hear a noise. I hear footsteps. I open my mouth to scream and then....


"Chiiiiiirp meeeeeeow." says Lorelai as she struts into the bathroom and looks at my fear stricken face.

She looks at me in a way that says, "It's OK Mama. Stop freaking out."

I begin to giggle at myself. Then my giggles turn into chuckles. Now I'm boiled over with laughter and I can't seem to make myself stop.

I. Am. Delirious.

One things for sure though. If this horrid thing ever happens again. I'm going to work dirty.

It's just not worth the effort.