Way to go, genius.

[trinityofone]

Yeah, reading a book about Ted Bundy right before bed = best idea ever. Well done. The tidbit about how he broke into his first few victims' homes and killed them in their beds was especially conductive to a good night's sleep.

Enjoy lying awake with the light on all night, you big lame-o.

No love,

You

Comments

[siria]

*sends you an emergency mug of decaf tea* ♥

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Siria, this is one of those times where I'm like, "Why are you even friends with me? I am a MORON." I am now watching I Love the '80s 3D at 3:30 in the morning because I scared myself. With a book.

With skills like these, I will never be allowed to fight the Wraith. *sad*

[siria]

I am friends with you because you have pretty hair. That's the only reason why. *nods*

I am currently writing about a saint who hated her fiancé so much she plucked her eyes out of their sockets and threw them at him. Chin up—your life could be so much worse. *pats gently*

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

I do have pretty hair. And thankfully, not long straight hair, which was a common feature between all of Ted Bundy's victims!

Wow, though. Talk about rejection. "I can't even stand to look at you! Here, I'll prove it!"

Tell me this lady is not the saint of optometrists or something.

[siria]

Well then, you're perfectly safe! No reason to worry!

No, as far as I can tell, Medana was just the saint of a particularly damp and uninteresting part of the west coast of Scotland. If you want a really ironic saint, you have to go with Dympna—fled from Ireland to escape her father's incestuous desires, ended up beheaded by him in a forest in Belgium, and was eventually hailed by the Catholic church as the patron saint of incest victims and.... happy families.

My dissertation, folks. Funtiems and irony!

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

I do not understand. And I don't think it's just 'cause I'm so tired I can't see straight.

I do feel there should be enough leftover material here for you to get a wacky novel out of it, though. Bonus!

[siria]

I don't think it's something which can be understood by mere logic. It's whatever the religious corollary of truthiness is—some element of dogma which makes you cock your head to one side and say "...ohhhhhhkay."

I would kind of love to do something with the tale of Warna, the saint so Christian she, um. Sent people to their death in shipwrecks? That's Irish saints for you! (I'm still kind of at a loss as to what to do with her on a meta level. She's just freaky, is what I'm thinking.)

[jetspeaks.livejournal.com]

It's the Catholic Church; you're not supposed to understand, just BELIEVE. :)

[taurenova.livejournal.com]

N'aww. *pets*

My response is normally to read something really sweet.

Alternatively - you could just pretend John was there to protect you. Or Ronon. Actually - I ♥ John n'all? But I think I'd want Ronon on my side against a mass murderer.

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Am now picturing Bodyguard-like scenario in which Ronon protects me (and maybe more!). Much better, thank you. :)

[taurenova.livejournal.com]

:D

It's my sure-fire protection against nighttime spookiness. (Though the one who does the protecting tends to change based on what I'm into at the time)

Glad I could be of service!

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

*notes that that would be interesting to read. DURING THE DAY*

[beadattitude.livejournal.com]

Oh you silly. That reminds me of the days when I'd have to get out of bed and slip on a crucifix; a generic get out of spooky things free card, vampire or no.

This might help you feel less silly; a few years ago my husband and I were reading a book on serial profiling by one of the guys that invented it. We were driving up north from Christmas in ATL, and stopped at one of the rest stations on the New Jersey Turnpike. It was huge - like mall huge, ridiculously huge - and the men's and women's rest rooms were on opposite sides of the cavernous room.

It was dark and creepy and the middle of the night and there was hardly anyone there.

We went in, we came out, we didn't see one another and BOTH of us, both of us immediately thought that the other had been captured and hauled away by a serial killer. We fell upon each other,hugging desperately, moments later.

And decided we needed to save finishing that book for a long while later.

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Brr, what a creepy story. I've been in reststops like that—they're disturbing, even during the day.

My parents have a story like that: they went to Montreal one year for the anniversary and saw Silence of the Lambs (so romantic!). Then they had to walk home, in the middle of the night, through this unfamiliar city's twisty, gothic streets. My mom, who's usually a very hardy moviegoer, still avoids SotL.

I used to go to bed every night with my fingers forming a cross over my heart. I still settle into that position sometimes just out of habit. *blush*

[beadattitude.livejournal.com]

my fingers forming a cross over my heart.

That's so adorkable, and very uncomfortable-sounding. Also, how are you going to fight off the boogie man/vampire/blood-sucking fiend while you are using your hands as your icon? Multiple layers of defense. I'm not talking about decorating with garlic or anything.....

Look, I'm a preacher's kid, I'm lousy with crosses; wood to gold, baby. Ring to necklace to wall-hanging. I could have my own kiosk. Sometimes preacher-daddies are a little busy and have a rough time picking out prezzies.

So, if you'd like a more ergonomic solution, I could hook ya up. ::wiggles eyebrows::

Lastly, for reasons I will not go into deeply at the moment, I have to sleep with the closet doors closed. (We have three closets in our bedroom) I'm 43. It's a little embarrassing.

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Well, I'm Jewish, so there weren't exactly a lot of crosses lying around. ;-) Though my mom has since become obsessed with Mexican Catholic art, so if I were still living with her, I'd be set. I could wield a cross in one hand and pelt the nasties with Day of the Dead figures with the other.

Poltergeist put me off closets for a while. When we moved into a certain house with a closet like in that movie, I deliberately chose the bedroom without it. And left the bedroom of doom to my little brother. *sheepish*

[mir8lle.livejournal.com]

Oh man, don't feel too embarassed, you're not the only one. When I had to read up on serial killers for my MA, I would regularly go to bed with all the lights blazing and the cat stapled to my side. I'd lie there in bed, freaking out at the slightest noise. There was one time my brother came home unexpectedly during the middle of the night...

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Last night, I kept hoping/dreading that my roommate would come home. I wanted the extra support, definitely, but I'm not sure if I would have been able to control the frightened urge to come at anyone who tried to get in with a bat.

Not that I have a bat. Note to self: acquire bat.

[spazatron.livejournal.com]

Sounds interesting—what's the book?

*completely misses the point*

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

Heh. It's The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule. What's especially fascinating about it is that the author—a crime writer and former cop—knew Bundy, was friends with him for years before the murders. So, freaky!

I'm actually very keen to finish it, now that it's daytime. Disregarding the fact that he snatched one of his victims in broad daylight.

[maggie77.livejournal.com]

Yeah... I learned the same thing. For me it was "Interview with a Vampire" which is sort of embarrassing because it isn't really that scary. But there was this tree that brushed against my window....

Hope you managed to get some sleep!

[maribouquet.livejournal.com]

The Master Butchers' Singing Club by Louise Erdrich.

Read it for book club a few months back and liked it a lot.

[maribouquet.livejournal.com]

Oh, fail self, replying to the wrong post. >:(

[caseymae.livejournal.com]

yep, done that too. with ted bundy even.

[roxy-palace.livejournal.com]

Creepy!

Waking up with some insane stanger standing over your bed is my mom's biggest fear. Which she delighted in transfering straight to her kids. Cheers Ma!

I once met the detective who arrested the Uk's biggest serial killer, Denis Neilsen. He retold us the whole story (including the bit there where the police rumbled him because he'd blocked his apartment's drains up with...stuff you prolly don't want to know about)over lunch one day. I didn't sleep for a week.

I guess we should be glad it DOES affect us. Otherwise we'd all be Dexter's.

[bruinsfan.livejournal.com]

Oh, I feel for you. Back in the 90s I unwittingly chose Stephen King's "The Night Flyer" to read while waiting to board a piper cub to Illinois. Which ended up flying through a tornado cell and landing just as the airport's warning sirens went off. I found the part about the small private plane flying through a storm, barely avoiding a mid-air collision, and crashing particularly soothing.