WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST CONTAINS TMI. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.
I love Halloween.
What I mean by this statement is, I love spooky crap---including scary movies, t.v. shows, decorations, locations (HELLO!! SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS! I'M TALKIN' TO YOU!!!), and books/stories.
This morning, when I got out of bed, I spotted a magazine on my nightstand that had a vampire on it. It's a locally printed--free magazine, that I always pick up when I can find it. Apparently, Hubs brought it home with him last night and put it by my bedside, while I was snoring away.
I was psyched to see it! So, I rolled out of bed, grabbed the mag, and headed to the terlet (that's "toilet" in white trash speak) to pee and give myself time to fully awaken.
Now, let me just say that even though Hubs leaves for work before I do on most days, and even though I know that I am all alone in the house, I ALWAYS shut the bathroom door when I go potty.
So, there I was, sitting on the bowl---peeing, reading a story in said magazine about a cemetery in Rhode Island that is haunted. Apparently, there's a specific grave that belongs to a 19 year old girl who died of Tuberculosis way back in the 1800's. Some say she was a vampire and to prove it (or disprove it), her father let the local coroner dig her up and remove her organs which, even after she was dead for a long time, still had blood in them! WHAT THE HELL? Riveting stuff, right?
So there I am...sitting on the bowl...house dead quiet...reading about how this young girl is apparently still haunting a local cemetery, right? AND.I.AM.ENTHRALLED.
All of a sudden? The large bath towel that was hanging on the hook on my bathroom door WOOSHES to the floor...just fell out of NOWHERE, about ten minutes after I'd already been sitting on the porcelain throne!
Dudes?! IT SCARED THE EVER-LOVIN GAH-DAMN SH*T OUT OF ME! (Figuratively, not literally. Because I only had to pee and not poo and you should NEVER try to force yourself to poo because if you do, you are destined to have hemorrhoids the size of walnuts!) I threw the magazine in the air, clenched my chest, let out a yelp, dodged to the right, pressed myself against the bathroom wall, AND NEARLY HAD A FRIGGIN PANIC ATTACK.
And after I gave myself a moment to recoup and get my heart rate back to normal, I stopped to thank Jesus for not actually giving me a heart attack right there and then.
Who the eff wants to go down in history as the chick that died on the toilet...just like Elvis?