Don’t Tell Mom There’s a Serial Killer in My Office

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There is a woman in my office building who is silent. Dead. Silent. I’ve never heard her speak. I’ve never heard her foot steps. Her hair doesn’t move. I have no reasonable assumption to conclude other than the fact that she’s a serial killer.

This is not just because I’ve been watching reruns of Dexter. Although, he has given me some valuable information on what to look for in a sociopath… I bet she has blood slides hidden in her air conditioner too.

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Serial Killer Lady arrives at the same time I do every single morning which means she’s clearly stalking me as her next victim. Probably because I stare at her with awe and terror every day while she rides the elevator up a single floor. She’s probably saving all her energy to cause blunt force trauma to someone’s head.

Each morning she wears the same dark sunglasses, trench coat, leather gloves, and structured, square Kate Spade bag that would hold its shape in a tornado. She’s probably hiding crazy eyes and any bodily signs of a struggle.

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Sometimes she brings unidentifiable objects in plastic grocery bags which I assume are her murder weapons. And her hair always looks the same and it never moves. It either doesn’t grow or she trims it every night before she goes to bed and then lays down in a pillow hair mold filled with extra hold hair spray. This woman’s appearance is meticulous. I bet she has Patrick Bateman’s morning routine down to the tighty whities – and his evening routine for that matter. She’s probably returning some video tapes right at this very moment…

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One day I’d like to follow her home. I can only expect to find eerie neatness and an alphabetized medicine cabinet. Of course this is all probably what she’s wanted all along, and will already have a kill room waiting for me when I get there…

 

Pray for me…

 

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An Ungodly Affair…

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After much deliberation with the voice in my head on whether I was going to be a productive member of society and run after work today or be true to my American heritage and catch up on Dexter while eating potato chips; I decided that being skinny during beach season sounded like the best option. I begrudgingly covered myself head to toe in Lululemon and off I went.

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I’m pleased with my decision for several reasons:

1. Beach season

2. An old lady fell and I was there to help her

3. I was faced with a religious statement to ponder

As I rounded the corner of my first half mile and threw up in my mouth I saw her go down. I ran as fast as I could to get to her and took her hand to help her up. While this was going on a man driving by saw a seemingly capable young woman struggling for dear life trying to lift a tiny old lady. He pulled over and together we helped her get up and she was ok and on her way. Once she carried on, Mr. Man explained to me the proper way to lift someone up off a couch and the difference between helping someone off the ground. Thanks. Then instead of making small talk or simply shaking my hand and leaving like a normal person he left me with these words:

“Just because you’re a good Samaritan, doesn’t mean you’re going to Heaven.”

That’s a really weird thing to say to someone you just stumbled across doing something nice for someone else… A “God bless” would have worked… Perhaps a Mazel Tov or Lachaim, or good yontif would have also been accepted.

I was baffled by this statement so much so that through the entirety of my run I was deep in thought.

What does this man know about me to make such a statement?

  1. I selflessly help strangers
  2. I exercise
  3. I wear black eyeliner/mascara to signify the devil
  4. I wear spandex to lure men into the depths of my loins

I think the only reasonable conclusion I can draw from such a statement is that Mr. Man was questioning my virtue and purity as a woman.

Since when does wearing breathable, un-inhibiting work out apparel make me the modern day Mary Magdalene?

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I’m sorry kind Sir, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what being a good Samaritan means, and questioning someone’s biblical purity is certainly not what’s going to get you into Heaven either.

So I guess I’ll see you in Hell bro – Maybe I’ll be the Siren that lures you into the depths of Hades.

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Rude.