or: why I am a one-woman death machine.
thursday was just one of those days. nothing seemed to be going right. i overslept to the point that it made me cranky, i couldn't find my left shoe. also, i'm almost out of hair product.
you know. those days.
the afternoon ran pretty smoothly, until i got home from visiting my dad. the sink had clogged up, and my friends, drain-o wasn't cutting it. we tried hot water. we tried sitting and ignoring it. nada. it was just me, my tall roommate, my alabama roommate, three cats, and one very nasty clogged sink.
in what ended up being a battle of epic proportions, we managed to tear the sink apart, use all of our junk towels, and spread a fine puddle of chemical and smut filled water around the kitchen.
it was an hours long project that was only ended by the purchase of an augger, which is clearly and blatantly a name someone made up for the drain snakey thing.
life was looking up by the time we finished. we had finally dried off the floor of the kitchen and the cupboard underneath the sink, and the dishes were being run through the dishwasher. we felt productive and handy.
now, i think we can all agree that i am a very sane and logical person who is no good at segues. and like any sane and logical person, sometimes i need to answer the call of nature. (see, i told you i was no good at segues.)
i was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly, all five of the lightbulbs above the bathroom mirror blinked off. i could still see light under the door, so like any sane and logical person, i stood, composed myself, and took a deep breath. for i, sarah, the sane and logical, knew exactly what had caused this mysterious blackout in the bathroom...
"a blown fuse?" you ask?
no, kind and gentle stranger.
it was clearly A SERIAL KILLER IN MY SHOWER.
i flung open the shower door. no effing way was this serial killer going to kill me IN MY OWN BATHROOM. that's just rude, you know?
so i did the next logical thing...
i let my ninja instincts take over.
this is a rough approximation of what i transformed into.
slamming open the shower doors, i held my hands in what can only be described as a "karate chop" position. "HI-YAH!" i bellowed, as i let loose with a mind numbingly awesome demonstration of "skillz."
it looked a little like this:
only much more fearsome and NINJESQUE.
dashitall, my serial killer friend had gotten away...
"sarah, aren't you embarrassed that you karate chopped and kicked at nothing?" you may be asking.
the answer is no, foolish mortal, i'm not. because even if i DO ever get attacked by a serial killer, at least i know i'll go down with a fight. (or looking completely, totally, batshit crazy.)
NEXT TIME, WE DANCE, SERIAL KILLER. NEXT TIME.
(please play the video below, and join me as we rejoice in my kicking the ass of a serial killer.)