Witchy Woman

Today's post is brought to you by fevered delirium. Now remember, boys and girls, when using communal stethoscopes ALWAYS disinfect the earpieces first.

I have an extremely overactive imagination. As such, I have been forbidden from ever watching scary movies. Unless they are in the mood to be scared because of my jumps and screams, which evidently helps frighten them in ways that cinema can't.

I was living in downtown Eugene when my partner at the time and I went to see The Village. On the way back, I thought about how I do not conform to my society's standards and boundaries. That was sufficient impetus to conjure my own personal bogeyman. So by the time that he dropped me off at the curb, sprinting 25 feet across the tiny yard mud-wrestling arena in flip-flops and long, tight skirt seemed like a good idea. A kind neighbour, who spoke little English, summoned my roommates from their Bacchanal celebrations to haul me off to the ER, where I had to browbeat them into taking x-rays to confirm that I was correct in that two bones in my ankle had snapped like green twigs and that I wasn't overreacting to a sprain.

That was just a Shyamalan movie. Now, if it's anything involving zombies, I turn into a gibbering pile of paranoia clutching my sword and wondering why I seem to be the only one in this podunk town who doesn't own enough firepower to defend themselves when Obama comes 'round to revoke the second amendment.Zombieland is one of the scariest movies ever because it includes many of my terrors: public restrooms, clowns, and crappy processed snacks.

If I am anywhere for any length of time, I automatically assess the defensive capabilities and survival supplies in case of zombie apocalypse. As much as I'd love to watch The Walking Dead, I am more fond of sleeping ever again. A former boss thought I was joking, until I told him that the warehouse was theoretically a fortress, but lacked weaponry, food, and water. He started to back away slowly when I mused aloud as to what equipment and product could be altered for optimal decapitation.

When visiting friends and leaving after sunset, I ask them to escort me to my car. Now, I don't tell them the real reason because that just sounds crazy. (Crazy, until I'm holed up in the woods in my very own treehouse and enough ordinance to take out a one horse town). Sometimes they will assume that I'm afraid of axe-murdering rapists. If they start looking like they think I'm coocoo for cocoa puffs, I tell them it's ninja squirrels.