Tag: Friday the 13th

Humor

(Insert That Screeching Noise from Psycho Here)

“Its going down, basement.
Friday the 13th guess who’s playing Jason?
Tuck yourself in you better hold on to your teddy.
Its Nightmare on Elm street and guess who’s playing Freddy?”
– Nicki Minaj

Update: yes there was blushing and a little public-speaking-induced dyslexia, but I counteracted the first with a pair of bright red pants so no one would notice the face, and the other with lots of jokes.  People asked a lot of questions and participated, so we’re going to call this one a success.

Savage chickens worked yesterday, why not keep it going?

I am not a superstitious person in the least.  I smile when I see black cats, any number of crows or magpies do not alarm me in the least, horseshoes do nothing for me, and the only reasons that spring to mind to not walk under ladders involve avoiding industrial accidents.  That said, I certainly appreciate the historicity behind lots of superstitions, religious traditions, and folk beliefs, and have fun participating in them.  It’s why I wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, carve pumpkins at Halloween, fills shoes with candy for St. Nicholas’ Day, and make hot cross buns on Good Friday.

But Friday the 13th has always puzzled me.  I know a great many people like me, who seem to have nary a superstitious bone in their body, who get well and truly freaked out when a 13th rolls around.  I’ve seen people stay home from work to avoid accident!  When I was still a student, my flatmates and I would hold a Hitchcock movie party every Friday the 13th, it seemed a much more entertaining way to spend an evening than paranoia.  I think I’ll resurrect the tradition tonight, come to think of it!  All minions are invited to participate vicariously.

Enjoy/dread your Friday the 13th (whichever you prefer)!

Humor

Spooky

“Ah yes, superstition; it would appear to be cowardice in the face of the supernatural.”
– Theophrastus

(Yes, the exciting news is still coming, sit tight)

Not being a suspicious person, Friday the 13th holds few terrors for me.  In my single woman incarnation I would throw Hitchcock parties on Friday-the-13ths but otherwise largely ignored the day.

However, J. and I are looking to sell our car.  Yes, my beloved Indy…  She’s a lovely motor vehicle, but she’s as old as my little sister and doesn’t do well on highways.  We’re looking for a car that will get us through grad school and (if we’re lucky) the birth of at least one child.  We’ve found a guy who takes older cars, fixes them up and sells them for a modest profit and are crossing our fingers.  We made an appointment to meet with him today, vacuumed and washed Indy to make her extra pretty, and then began getting paperwork together.  Contract of sale, history of maintenance, dealer info…

…when we discovered the title is nowhere to be found.

And believe me we searched.  J. turned the house upside down and I spent hours ripping our office to shreds, but to no avail.  We think it got lost when I moved from my old flat to our new one.

This is not an insurmountable tragedy, indeed the problem is easily fixed, but I still break out in a cold sweat to think that I’ve been driving around blithely for goodness knows how long without proof that I actually own my car.  I may or may not be slightly more wary of Friday the 13ths from henceforth.