tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45215423259806134932024-03-07T01:38:02.794-05:00Hell Bus<img src="http://culbertsonmansion.zoomshare.com/files/hellbus.jpg">
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The World's going to Hell and I'm driving the bus. If you're already on your way to Hell, sit back and enjoy the ride.Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-62319692224222570972010-12-20T20:51:00.003-05:002010-12-20T21:53:26.965-05:00In cyberspace, no one can hear you scream<a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFySwUNBOBcuENn0hJRfsXXIR47Q2n_pHEIF-i4sehpIaNJBn-CprVerFqi4KEUmiRcmXzT0CSr4oRNI6LMDzclEUP-ayaUCmz2oaNRdOMqKIrLN3p2iq7ZVakqr-UZi8NrSe39Ni2jnD/s1600/screech.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFySwUNBOBcuENn0hJRfsXXIR47Q2n_pHEIF-i4sehpIaNJBn-CprVerFqi4KEUmiRcmXzT0CSr4oRNI6LMDzclEUP-ayaUCmz2oaNRdOMqKIrLN3p2iq7ZVakqr-UZi8NrSe39Ni2jnD/s320/screech.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552947447543974914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Many moons ago, and old boyfriend gave me a little mental nugget of joy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We were watching the movie, "Alien," and it came to the scene where Ripley has set the self-destruct countdown on the ship and is frantically making her way to the shuttle when she rounds the corner and BAM! There's Mr. Alien.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The visual isn't of importance. It was the music that was so profound. The boyfriend said that he referred to this music as the 'ex-girlfriend' theme. His thought was if he was ever out in public and saw an ex-girlfriend from a distance, this would be the music playing in his head.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I now give you the "</span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlIU5DwItWg&feature=related">Ex Theme</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I know you're laughing now. You can see it, too, can't ya? I've shared this nugget of joy with the Spouse and now we can never watch that same scene without bursting into laughter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Altho the boyfriend and I went out separate ways long time ago, I held onto that hilarious concept of the 'Ex Theme." Really, it could be played in your head for anyone, be it an ex-boyfriend, ex-co-worker, ex-neighbor... any unsavory character from your past that you feared encountering again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Well, after nearly 20 years of waiting, I finally had that moment in my life when I heard the 'Ex Theme' play for real.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">A couple of weeks ago I get a Friend Request on Facebook from someone I don't recognize immediately. The fact that they used an off-the-wall name didn't help. Curious, I look up the profile of "Okinawa iTunesfan" (not the real name, but pretty damn close) and am still unsure of who this person is. They live in a neighboring state, we have no mutual friends, and the profile picture is an old 70s photo of Freddie Mercury.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Questions abound. Who is this person?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">It's about this time I notice I have a message on Facebook. I go it and lo and behold it's from this Okinawa iTunesfan. I read the message, which is along the lines of, "Hey, we were absolute bestest friends in high school. We used to write notes to each other and your nickname was this and my nickname was that. We have so much to talk about! --Gloria Merkin(not her real name)."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">That's when I recognized who it was. </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlIU5DwItWg&feature=related">Cue the music</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"NO!! OH GOD NO!! NOT YOU!! ANYONE BUT YOU!! I thought I had successfully escaped you forever! Oh shit, you found me! SONOFABITCH!!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Yes, back in high school we WERE bestest friends. Yall know how teenage girls are. We shared everything. We talked about everything. We did everything together. We were there for each other in times of teenage girl drama.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Then the summer before senior year an old flame of mine walked back into my life. He used his charm and won my little naive heart over again. I was so excited and I told Gloria all about it. She was excited for me. The old flame asked me out on a date and I wanted my bestest friend to meet us so she could see this fabulous boyfriend of mine. And it was a fun night. We all three had a great time hanging out together. And I came home happy and head over heels in love.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Little did I know that during the evening, while I was on a bathroom break, Gloria and Old Flame exchanged phone numbers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Long story short, I find out later that the two of them met up, ended up in the back of his car and, well, nature took its course. Needless to say, I dropped him like a hot skillet and tore her a new asshole over the phone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But the bitch didn't get it. She continued to call me, apologized, and proceeded to act like nothing had ever happened. Not only did this bitch not get it, but when she called, she would go on and on and on about herself. I swear, I could lay the phone down, go to the bathroom or do some errand, come back and the bitch would still be going. I am NOT making that up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">(If you're wondering why I even answered the phone in the first place, let alone talk to her... well, I was young and stupid and couldn't be intentionally mean. Don't worry, things have changed. I've grown a backbone since then)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Years later, after I have moved out of my parents' house, the crazy bitch would still call trying to track me down. My mom, bless her heart, did an excellent job of deflecting her calls and never giving out any info on me. These calls got fewer and further apart until finally they stopped altogether.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But now we have the internet and Facebook, which makes finding people bonehead simple. And unfortunately, this bonehead Gloria found me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So I ignored the friend request. And when Facebook asked me if I'd like to not only ignore this request but make it impossible for this person to never request my friendship again, I was only too glad to click that button.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">There. Done. Shew. Catastrophe avoided.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Until 3 days later.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">No friendship request (that button worked). Instead there's another message:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"Hey!!!! Wish I could talk to you again!! It's been about twenty years, and we have alot to catch up on! Please accept my friend request.... I'd LOVE to chatter with you again! Gloria"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Cue the </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlIU5DwItWg&feature=related">music</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"AAAHHHH!!!! GOD DAMN!!!! NO!! Jesus Fucking Christ did you NOT get the hint? Ya know, the Old Flame found me a while back and requested my friendship - WHICH I IGNORED - and even HE got the hint and left my ass alone! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you still that batshit crazy?!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So now I had to bring out the big guns and do something I hoped I would never have to do - block somebody.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Let me tell ya, that there block feature is nice. So nice I had to mention it in my Facebook status that very day. Couple of hours later I get an email from an old high school friend (a nice one, not a fucking-your-boyfriend-behind-your-back type) that says, "Oh, god, was it Gloria Merkin?!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Apparently, I wasn't the only victim of her crazed former friend search. My poor pal had accepted her friendship was now being driven insane by constant messages, pokes and chat box pop-ups. "And by the way, " my friend continued, "Gloria says 'Hi' and hopes you'll accept her friendship."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Cue that fucking </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlIU5DwItWg&feature=related">music</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> one more time!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But the dust has settled and I think I'm safe here behind my wall of Facebook blockage. I have since warned family and close friends to beware the crazy bitch Okinawa iTunesfan because I'm sure she's still on the hunt. And hopefully, the next time I hear the 'Ex Theme,' it'll just be Ripley hiding from Mr. Alien.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-25979445326749507352010-12-14T14:13:00.005-05:002010-12-14T14:21:05.957-05:00What I did on my summer vacation<a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnAG45A53j0ymg5EqYrbbpzaiy0SGNdfeP7xVve85l5zBw9G81nqsOsD0KPSBrRR-lu-CuWFLCefwAy1dilZQTFj4ffHE003mLPFd-zAl-YdhMNhilwHYP7RXrU_WPiOhxG2qI4MmlMm-V/s1600/cheers.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnAG45A53j0ymg5EqYrbbpzaiy0SGNdfeP7xVve85l5zBw9G81nqsOsD0KPSBrRR-lu-CuWFLCefwAy1dilZQTFj4ffHE003mLPFd-zAl-YdhMNhilwHYP7RXrU_WPiOhxG2qI4MmlMm-V/s320/cheers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550619094635607682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Some of you may have noticed I have two online names: Duranfan and Hollygoyle. Duranfan is a holdover from my old Spymac days, but Hollygoyle is really more ‘me.’ My closest friends and my haunt peeps know of my obsession for gargoyles, combined with my elaborate get-up (see above) that I’ve used many a time to scare the absolute bejeezus out of people.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Well, Hollygoyle will exist forever, but she may be a little shorter in the future. My stilt-walking days are over. *heavy sigh*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">On the night of July 31st, there was a </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://frightnightfilmfest.com/">horror film convention</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> in town, complete with movie stars, movie showings, vendors and, of course, a costume contest. So guess who got all dolled up to try to win a prize (and to do a little PR for the </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.hauntedculbertson.org/">Haunted House</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">). Go on, guess...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The venue was hot (air conditioning was terribly inadequate) but I held it together as I bounced around the place. The Spouse stayed at my side, clearing a path and keeping on eye on me. By the time the costume contest rolled around, I was doing great. Good friend Bobafett had joined us. I had my photo taken with strangers numerous times and was really wowing the crowd.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">At one point I was seated on a barstool when another admirer came up and asked for a photo. I’m gonna slow things down here so yall get the full impact of what’s about to happen...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I go to stand up and suddenly my right legs is rapidly sliding out from underneath me. I basically go down doing the splits sideways, and as I do, I feel/hear something in my left knee give a wet crackle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Oh shit. Oh fuck. I sit there on my ass for a few seconds and assess the situation. My first thought was I had dislocated my left knee cap again (slipped on a tile floor back in ‘89). But when I went to feel the leg, the knee cap was in place. And it didn’t hurt (dislocated knee caps are a pain you don’t forget). It felt weird but I was surprised at how little pain I was feeling. The Spouse and Bobafett dive down and, per my frantic instructions, start taking off my stilts (note: these babies are thoroughly strapped to my feet and around my knees so this takes a few minutes).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">While they’re doing this I want to know why the hell I fell. I look over to my right and that’s when I see a glossy flyer laying on the carpet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Fuck. Six years of being on these things with no problems and I get taken out with a goddamn piece of paper.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">By now my boys have removed my stilts and have hauled my up by my armpits. I’m standing upright, still not in any major pain. I go to put weight on the left leg and it just collapses.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Shit, this is not good. This is so not good.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The Spouse and Bobafett carry all my stuff out to the car and bring it up to the front entrance. I sit on my barstool, swinging my injured leg back and forth. It’s bending fine and I’m still not feeling much pain, but something is definitely wrong.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Fast forward to the local hospital ER. This is where it gets even weirder. I peeled my latex facial appliance off in the car and wipe off as much of my make-up as I can on the way there. And I manage to get out of the costume (I had regular clothes underneath). But I still have my </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.lensquest.com/la/product/default.asp?pid=90730&atrx=dps-16&atrxp1=179157&atrxp2=1&atrxp3=%2Fla%2Fproduct%2Fdefault.asp%3Fpid%3D90730&atrxp4=179137">theatrical cat-eye lenses</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> in. I can’t take them out because A) I have nothing to put them in and B) they’re in my prescription and I’m blind without them. Luckily, the late night staff at the ER did an excellent job of pretending not to notice my eyes. But I’m sure my accident story was one of the best they’ve seen and heard in a long time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So... x-ray is done and shows no breakage. I’m told that I’ve sprained my knee and possibly torn my ACL, MCL or meniscus. I’m sent home with a lovely blue knee brace slapped on my leg (third time in my life I’ve had to wear one of these damn things), some crutches (which I refuse to use) and a recommendation to an orthopedist.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Oh, did I mention I went back to the horror film festival the next day? Found out that if I had not fallen, I would’ve won the contest. Son of a bitch.</span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYufahC8qe8Emxq2fyNK8uobMU7imk1xS4yOAS0LaXsfdko3yalSvV6faa4SxtZjhkrf251zHiRlCKaOybJjpLy_zdfiftRhgWgCclkNk_knwTUsgSmHGDvpGKGmCwv41Zbbue2hLnbGDj/s1600/brace.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYufahC8qe8Emxq2fyNK8uobMU7imk1xS4yOAS0LaXsfdko3yalSvV6faa4SxtZjhkrf251zHiRlCKaOybJjpLy_zdfiftRhgWgCclkNk_knwTUsgSmHGDvpGKGmCwv41Zbbue2hLnbGDj/s320/brace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550619165913799762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Orthopedist appointment a couple days later. More x-rays taken. Again told that I’ve possibly torn my ACL, MCL or meniscus. Need to schedule an MRI to be sure. Yay. But wait, it gets better...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The doctor says he wants use a needle to drain the fluid off my very swollen knee. Then he proceeds to show me a needle that looks like it came from an old Warner Brothers cartoon. I nearly pass out and tell him, “Look, that fact that you just said ‘needle’ and ‘knee’ in the same sentence, and you’re coming at me with something that is cartoonishly large has me more than freaked out right now.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But I gotta tell ya, that man was amazing. I never felt a thing and my knee was much smaller when I left.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ok, back to the progress... MRI a few days later. Doctor follow up a couple days after that. Those of you putting you money on the MCL or meniscus... sorry, you lose. But those of you betting on the ACL, bingo. You can collect at the window. Complete ACL tear. Complete. As in off the freakin’ bone. Guess that was that wet crackle I felt. He also says I have some bone spurs on the back of left knee cap and asks if I had injured it before? Remember that little mishap back in ‘89? Yeah, that one...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Are we talking surgery? Yes we are, friends and neighbors. But it’s actually gonna be kinda neat. I’m gonna be getting zombie parts. Cadaver tendon!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But it’s right in the middle of this surgery conversation that I remember we’re currently in mid-August. Haunted House starts in 7 weeks. This could be bad. So I explain to the doctor, “I’ve got this major event I’m in charge of that operates every Friday and Saturday night in October that I have GOT to be there for, and I have GOT to be on my feet all night so I need these legs. Either you pop me back in that brace until November 1st or we get this done ASAP.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">He says, “What are you doing Thursday?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Three days later my ass is in a freezing cold operating room with the Beatles blaring in the background while a bunch of surgeons, nurses and other medical folk bounce around me all perky and loud. I wake up an hour and a half later with my left leg totally numb, all wrapped up with a new piece of tissue they harvested off some dead person (my profound thanks to said dead person).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I go home the next day with some super duper pain killers (which ended up making me terribly sick). For the next three days I’m a complete invalid but the Spouse was absolutely wonderful in taking care of me, even patiently waiting for me to finishing puking in a waste can so he could replace the liner each time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Monday morning I go back to work. Yup, crutches and all.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But here it is nearly Christmas and things are just peachy. I had an amazing physical therapist who got me off the crutches sooner than expected. I hobbled around at work and drove around town as usualy. And yes, I got thru Haunted House with no problems. Hell, the more I walked around on those nights the better my leg felt. My stilt-walking days may be over, but I still have many years left to scare people. Hollygoyle lives on.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">My scars are pretty small and I have two permanent screws in my knee, but it’s all good. I got zombie parts! So when the zombie apocalypse finally happens, my ass is immune.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-89324995089866717232010-05-12T19:00:00.002-05:002010-05-12T20:54:32.081-05:00Let's See What Madame Ruby Sees...<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPlpCnZTosheJW7v6DE5pQg2MeDKvsdKW7eFYCZutJVM1izEWHyIiZ527tcSb-fFxv39h01B_YNW-yzrE7b3vkmETA8QrYlrYtTcnnuvdaMJUPR_AMk6VONVgRCeX4Qeeqbc6XpINxrPq/s1600/bela.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPlpCnZTosheJW7v6DE5pQg2MeDKvsdKW7eFYCZutJVM1izEWHyIiZ527tcSb-fFxv39h01B_YNW-yzrE7b3vkmETA8QrYlrYtTcnnuvdaMJUPR_AMk6VONVgRCeX4Qeeqbc6XpINxrPq/s320/bela.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470538214695886194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another Haunt Trade Show has come and gone and we all came back home excited and inspired. Work has already begun on our little spooky house and I'm diving right in with floorplans, themes, rooms, costumes, set designs and promotional stuff.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Along with being part of the creative force behind our Haunt, and having a personal collection of occult related books, skulls, Dia de los Muertos paraphernalia and other dead things, I have one other unusual talent I probably haven't told yall about.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I read Tarot cards. I've been reading them for over 20 years.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I was 17 my mother got herself a deck and we were both fascinated with them, doing readings for each other on a near daily basis. Soon afterward I read in one of my books that in order to take Tarot card reading seriously, one should have their own personal deck and treat it with great regard and respect. So I purchased my first deck, the famous </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rider-Waite_tarot_deck">Rider Waite Deck</a><span style="font-family: verdana;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Over the years I have picked up another 5 decks, the most recent purchase at the above-mentioned Haunt Trade Show. One of my team alerted me to a booth for </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.monolithgraphics.com/">Monolith Graphics</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> that had a Tarot deck for sale. Lucky for me they had a whole slew of them for cash-and-carry. This </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.monolithgraphics.com/tarot.html">Gothic Tarot deck</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> is absolutely beautiful and I was thrilled to get my own along with the compendium book. Whenever I get a new deck, I always get the compenium, read it, study it and program it in my head for future reference.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So out of my 6 decks, I have 4 that I like to use: the Rider Waite, the </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.aeclectic.net/tarot/cards/wonderland/">Alice in Wonderland</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> deck, the </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.aeclectic.net/tarot/cards/halloween/">Halloween</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> deck and my most recent purchase. So whenever I do readings, I bring those 4 with me and let my 'customers' pick the deck that appeals to them the most.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I've done readings for private parties... anything from a high school fund-raiser to a corporate Christmas Party. And I've made some decent money doing it, too. I also do free readings for friends.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I always tell folks up front that I am NOT psychic. I don't foretell the future, I don't 'see' things and nothing I say is set in stone. Everyone is in control of their own destiny and everything in life is subject to change. Folks can simply take what I have to say as advice or pure entertainment. It doesn't hurt my feelings if people don't believe in this stuff. But I do think it takes some courage to sit down at my table and shuffle those cards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I've had all type of life forms sit down with me. A few years ago I was doing readings for a fund-raising event and I had two women, a mother and a daughter, sit down together at my table. They were kinda rough, loud and boisterous but I took in stride. Until one of them didn't like the 'result' of her reading and wanted another one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I told her as politely as possible that I don't make this up. She is the one who shuffles the cards. I just lay them out in a pattern and tell her what the picture on each card means.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But no, that was NOT a good enough answer. So I gave her another reading. Once again, the 'result' was a rather negative final card.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">(Normally, when I get a layout that ends up with a negative result, I remind the person of my earlier statement: nothing is set in stone, we are all in control of our own lives and if anything, take this as a warning to be on your guard. Now that you know what to look out for, hope for the best but prepare for the worst.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, she was still not pleased with her reading nor my answer to the negative final card and demanded (yes, DEMANDED) a third reading, saying "I'm gonna do this until I get one I LIKE!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, we were stopping at 3 whether Ms. Arrogant Bitch likes it or not. I was doings readings that night for free since it was a charity event and I was NOT gonna sit there and be her personal Ms. Cleo.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I did one more reading. Quick. Blunt. No emotion. Not rude, but not my usual pleasant self either. This time we got a positive ending and she was happy and left. But I thought to myself, "You know, you just got two negative readings in a row. If I were you I'd consider that a sign."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Needless to say, that forced me to adopt a new rule: One reading per person. No exceptions.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Besides that one rude encounter, I had another unusual situation a couple of years ago. At a 'Ghostly Sleepover' at the Mansion, I had one lady sit down for a reading. She was very quiet and somewhat shy. As I began the reading, I noticed she had a nervous twitch and kept quickly turning her head to one side.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">You have no idea how hard it was to not only keep a straight face, but to remain nice, polite and not get distracted while this woman was spazzing out on me. Her twitch occurred about every 30 seconds. That was probably the toughest reading I ever had to do. But I made it to the end and she was happy with her reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One thing I don't do is ask a lot of questions. If people want to kept their questions or thoughts private, that's perfectly fine with me. I let them decide what or how much they want to tell me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">At one corporate event a man sat down at my table with a skeptical and dismissive attitude. He was here on his wife's request. I gave him my usual opening speech and then let him loose on the cards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I laid them out and started describing the images and what they meant. The ones representing his 'current situation' showed things murky and unpleasant. They continued to show his unhappiness where he was in life, not getting along with someone and his desire to move on to other things. His final card showed him doing just that; leaving something behind and going on to something better.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">While I was telling him all this his cocky attitude disappeared and his expression softened. At the end of the reading, he lowered the boom: He was unhappy here at this job, he didn't get along with his supervisor and was thinking about going to another job. So it was pretty obvious what his next move should be.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">His demeanor totally changed. He smiled, shook my hand and thanked me, leaving my table with a pleasant and somewhat befuddled smile. I think he even mumbled a couple of "Wows."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's impossible to not get emotionally involved in these readings. Most of the time I don't know these people but I get very sensitive to what the cards pictures tell me. I'm always worried about how someone will react when a reading has a bad turn. My most profound reading took place last November at yet another Ghostly Sleepover.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had a man in his early 30s sit at my table and shuffle the deck. This disturbing reading started off with cards that showed something underhanded had just recently taken place. The cards had images of stealing, dirty dealings behind one's back, a loss of trust and a feeling of being hurt and betrayed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Something very bad had just happened to this man.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The cards didn't get much better. I continued, as best I could, to relate to this poor man that the images were showing something had been taken from him or he had been lied to. The only glimmer of hope was the final card, which showed that the situation could heal if he and the guilty party came together and worked this problem out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I looked at him sadly and told him I hoped that he and those involved in this awful mess would be able to heal this situation. He then told me his question and I nearly fell out of my chair.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">He had just recently discovered his wife had had an affair with his friend. She had confessed but they were still in that early, raw period of 'oh, hell, what do we do now.' His hopes were diminishing of any kind of reconciliation. He had tried counseling but she wasn't making the effort.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Stunned, I pulled myself together and reiterated that this situation took TWO people to make things work out and for any healing to occur. He thanked me (he was pretty blown away, too) and I wished him the best as his left.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">He and his wife (yes, she was there at the Sleepover, just not in the room where I was giving the reading) ending up leaving early because she started to feel ill. He was the only person I did a reading for that night. The rest of our Sleepover guests were wandering around the Mansion playing amateur Ghost Hunters.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I went downstairs and sat in the Main Hallway with my Mansion pals and proceeded to tell them what had just happened. We all sat there in some seriously stunned silence for a while. Someone eventully brought light to the situation by claiming, "Damn, Holly, you're GOOD." But no matter what, THAT reading will always stay with me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But don't let that discourage any of you. I love doing readings and I have a new deck to play with.</span> Just don't ask for more than one. I'll smack you.Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-21808129732329421432009-09-02T16:27:00.003-05:002009-09-02T17:26:09.483-05:00Random thoughts and links, part 116<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTdbzEtJUhOd8Wa_psjRaOjYc4cHOGPGb9kR4TJL8YxBmFtUCpCCjSgMsTr0ww_JM3ckgQJuBoDDbk9T4fkrKlLIBUx0qSPDYK8GKsWsOgg3AzFu7sxBrq1fNcYBzFuSP3S6jo4LHzIHg/s1600-h/clothespinkid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTdbzEtJUhOd8Wa_psjRaOjYc4cHOGPGb9kR4TJL8YxBmFtUCpCCjSgMsTr0ww_JM3ckgQJuBoDDbk9T4fkrKlLIBUx0qSPDYK8GKsWsOgg3AzFu7sxBrq1fNcYBzFuSP3S6jo4LHzIHg/s320/clothespinkid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376985027298271154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hi. Yeah, it's me. I'm still here, hanging around.<br /><br />Life has not changed much. My hours are still shorter by 8 a week (altho that last couple of weeks I've been lucky - got busy, they needed me, got my 40 hours in). The Spouse's job situation has not changed. We just keep waiting and waiting... *sigh*<br /><br />Luckily the Haunted House construction is zooming by. The Staff's maintenance guy has proved very valuable in his knowledge and ability to build things. I've been productive assembling 'bodies' and I've even got my dad involved. It's good to have a tool and die maker in the family. Together we've come up with some marvelous things... Oh, yeah, there will be photos later...<br /><br />Also, some of you got to keep up with the Louisville flood a few weeks ago as I continuously updated on Facebook as it happened. It was a wild time watching our toilets at work literally 'fountain' water all over the place, watching the water quickly fill up the front half of our building (up to 4 inches in some spots), and watching the water rise on Broadway, gently lapping in our front door.<br /><br />Everything's back to normal, well, except for my hours. Our part of the building got plaster repair, new paint, new carpet and we got moved back in last week.<br /><br />I do plan on writing again. It's just with the seemingly endless job situation, my focus has been on other things. Hopefully by the time I write again things will be different.<br /><br />In the meantime, here's a pile of links that have been waiting to be posted...<br /><br />My, why does that shape look so <a href="http://www.itsacock.com/">familiar</a>?<br /><br />Stay busy for hours... days... and what <a href="http://balldroppings.com/js/">sweet music is makes</a>...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thewritingsonthestall.com/">Bathroom humor</a> at it's finest (and I just finished reading Stephen King's "All That You Love Will Be Carried Away.")<br /><br />Have <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/2009/04/peeps-lip-balm-reviewed.html">Easter</a> all year long.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOv-2HzNPaA&e">This dog</a> is having way too much fun.<br /><br />You know it's a <a href="http://lolwigger.com/">classy stereotype</a> when it gets its own website.<br /><br />My <a href="http://picktheperp.com/">best streak</a> was 3.<br /><br />Oh, just 10 more minutes... <a href="http://izismile.com/2009/05/20/this_little_kitty_is_definitively_not_a_morning_person_too_funny_3_3_mb.html">please</a>?<br /><br />Hey! How the hell di you get home last night? <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Fqpp-IAXF0">Beer Scooter</a>!<br /><br />Yeah? Well, what about you? How'd you get home? <a href="http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=fde_1243201144">Lay-Z-Boy chair</a>!<br /><br />Well, these guys are so <a href="http://izismile.com/2009/07/17/yoga_in_russia_is_not_like_in_the_rest_of_the_world_10_pics.html">flexible</a>.<br /><br />Sesame Street listens to... <a href="http://www.heavy.com/video/sesame-street-spoof-slayer-remix-71933/#/channel/160331">SLAYER</a>!<br /><br />For that <a href="http://www.ohgizmo.com/2009/08/20/glow-in-the-dark-toilet-paper/">late night trip</a> to the shitter.<br /></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-53828446871589785892009-07-17T11:14:00.003-05:002009-07-17T14:27:36.695-05:00The Itchy and Scratchy Show<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVl6Gs9_lkn_BqK1uEkloFkkOxb-Pe68xlGjVtSsYmbiAvHcb-tWVbkJ9HTgTZPE0KowO2sR60pShqnB3JzkFFc8eQg7rdVfBbD4kn67Yo3qnvLwiA-K29YfsWm1_oh00ScnRuHNksgjf/s1600-h/cavedude.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVl6Gs9_lkn_BqK1uEkloFkkOxb-Pe68xlGjVtSsYmbiAvHcb-tWVbkJ9HTgTZPE0KowO2sR60pShqnB3JzkFFc8eQg7rdVfBbD4kn67Yo3qnvLwiA-K29YfsWm1_oh00ScnRuHNksgjf/s320/cavedude.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359463390345969618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">I apologize humbly, deeply and profusely for not being here more often. It has been a very uneventful time. Well, actually kind of a depressing time. The Spouse’s job situation has not improved, only changed by having his hours cut back. Suck. And my job gets more and more questionable all the time. We haven’t just slowed down. We’ve nearly stopped. Really. Hours... days go by with nothing for us to do. Just when I think it’s going to pick back up we grind to a halt again. And my hours are about to be cut as well. Double suck.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And when I’m down I really don’t feel like writing. Plus there’s enough bad news out there that I don’t need to contribute to the growing pile. Furthermore, I don’t think ye olde faithful readers (all 15 of ya) would be interested in hearing about my personal little contribution to the pile o’ despair.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But I will tell yall about my most recent adventure. It was kinda depressing but it is improving, with some unusual side effects. And side effects can sometimes be funny, so here goes...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, wait... hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Ok, so 2 days ago I wake up at a bright and early 5:15am to a violent itching around my neck. I scratch and scratch as I shuffle off to the bathroom for early morning duty. In the mirror I see a bright red neck (no pun intended) but I’m not concerned since I just finished laying into it with my well-manicured and decorative claws of death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But throughout the rest of the day the itching continues. All over. In the weirdest places. Intimate places. Well, not THAT intimate, but definitely places that are covered by underwear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sorry, excuse me... *runs to get cup of coffee*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Ok, when I get home that afternoon I’m scraping my entire torso. All over. I disrobe to discover that from my neck down to my thighs I am COVERED with red, splotchy welts. Now I’m starting to freak. I show the Spouse who is also freaked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">All thru the night my body is just tingling. I woke up the next morning with my ears and thighs on fire. The bathroom mirror shows me a space monster. My face is red, bumpy and puffy. My ears are nearly fuchsia. My torso had cleared up by my thighs, front and back, look like they caught fire and were put out with golf shoes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I can NOT go to work like this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I call in sick to work, then I call my doctor. She’s not in, there’s only one other doctor in the office, and he’s only there a half day and is already booked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Triple suck. Things are not going well for the space monster.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My next plan of action to high-tail it to Walgreens for some Benedryl and Cortizone. I check in with the bathroom mirror again to find the space monster has been replaced with my own face. Since I feel fine physically (despite the itching) I decide to go to work anyway. Hopefully, there’ll be work for me to do.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Throughout the day I notice several things: the Benedryl and Cortizone take the edge off the itch, but just barely, and the red splotches are on the move. They’ve left my ears alone and have moved to my hands, feet and lower down on my thighs. Every once in a while I’ll feel something stinging like an insect bite and look down to see a new welt literally pop up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;" >By 1pm I’m going insane. The urge to dive into a good, hearty, satisfying scratch is becoming unbearable. Scratching feels great but doesn’t solve the problem. And it only makes the area more red and puffy.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Speaking of puffy, my hands and fingers have swollen to the point they look like a package of hot dogs.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Urgent Care Center, here I come.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dammit. Hold on... *goes to get cup of water*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I go thru a full onslaught of questions at Urgent Care. Have you eaten or digested anything out of the ordinary? Have you come in contact with something? Have been outside in a wooded area? Have you recently acquired a new pet? Does your current pet go outside? Have you recently switched to a new detergent, soap, skin care product, or bedding?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And my answer is no to all of the above. So we’re stumped. The doctor did suggest that sometimes excessive heat might bring this on, and the night before it all started I was working at the Mansion’s Haunted House, which is the un-air-conditioned carriage house, and it was hot, and I was sweaty. But hell, it’s always hot there. And I’ve been doing this stuff for 9 years. So who knows.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But the doctor gave me a prescription for magic pills: Hydroxyzine and Methylprednisolone. 12 hours later I’m nearly back to normal. Very little itching, red splotches nearly gone. Every once in a while I get a splotch show up somewhere, but it disappears within an hour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But apparently these magic pills have some unpleasant side effects. I’ll let you guess what they are.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-79622919104607994712009-06-02T13:14:00.003-05:002009-06-02T13:18:39.628-05:00Berry Scary<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2tg92tBbfJBVrlxnDkJsIKLwfd0-iVqft5BqOtoVevBwnC-ppliMYPADHhKmR1lZeAdQ2ojmYTqhb3Yg3pXwAuDTetaS73NyzPRU8vHI2naU6W8uJ6eKnyUozrtrOJ0vEddL6bVzvx8_/s1600-h/killerstrawberry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2tg92tBbfJBVrlxnDkJsIKLwfd0-iVqft5BqOtoVevBwnC-ppliMYPADHhKmR1lZeAdQ2ojmYTqhb3Yg3pXwAuDTetaS73NyzPRU8vHI2naU6W8uJ6eKnyUozrtrOJ0vEddL6bVzvx8_/s320/killerstrawberry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342795454204535490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Summer is here and that means several things for those of us in that special region of Hell known as the Ohio Valley: the bad - return of the All-98 weather (98 degrees, 98% humidity, 98 pollution index) and the good - berry season!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I loves me some berries: cherries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries (or, as a friend calls them, “evil little sponge fruit.”) And those of us berry fiends living in this area are lucky enough to have <a href="http://www.huberwinery.com/content_display.php?id=1">Huber’s Orchard and Winery</a> right across the river in Indiana.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Saturday the Spouse, my parents and I ventured up to Huber’s for some fresh strawberries, wine and other tasty food tidbits. And I discovered a new addictive snacky thing: wasabi soy nuts. Oh, my, I could eat my own weight in these hot lil’ sumbitches.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One bad thing about wasabi soy nuts. One should really eat them in moderation. They produce a large amount of gas. I was pretty much jet-propelled all weekend.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Last night after dinner, instead of snacking on the wasabi soy nuts (I was pretty tired of feeling like a leaky balloon, altho fart humor never grows old in our house) I nibbled on some fresh strawberries instead.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now our vicious cat-beast, Gilligan, always wants to know what we’re eating. Through his curiosity we’ve discovered he likes all sorts of chips, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqlsobNz1CU">hard candy</a>, candy corn, dried anchovies, ham, and various cheeses, Parmesan being a favorite.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Gilligan is so fond of Parmesan he insists on sitting at the dinner table with us whenever we have pasta in order to get a smattering. I am not making this up. He’ll sit in the vacant chair between myself and the Spouse and peer longingly over the edge of the table. I’ll then dump out a small amount of Parmesan on the table in front of him. He’ll happily lap up the little cheese appetizer, then hop down and leave us to our dinner.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So when I started enjoying the strawberries last night is was only natural that Gilligan come to investigate to see if what I was eating was something he wanted as well.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">No here is where it starts getting interesting. Gilligan approached the couch to sniff the plastic container of strawberries and stopped just a few inches away. He didn’t just merely stop, he jolted to a halt. He took on distant sniff and his eyes grew large and alarmed. His ear tucked back and he jumped backwards about a foot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Spouse and I looked at each other like, “What the hell just happened?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I then, very gently, took one strawberry and slowly offered it to the cat. He ran and hid between the recliner like I had just started up a chainsaw. As I picked up the container to put it back in the fridge, he saw me approach and darted further into the corner to hide.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Weird. Anyway, thinking last night was just a freak thing with the cat, I tried offering him a strawberry this morning at breakfast. Now normally in the morning, Gilligan is yowling and dancing circles at our feet begging for his morning moist food treat. Even if one of us has already fed him, he’ll yowl at the other, hoping to get a second breakfast. The cat tells lies, I tell you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, Gilligan certainly did NOT want strawberries for breakfast. When I showed him a single berry he got that same scared look on his face and ran out of the kitchen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe he was attacked by vicious killer strawberries in a previous cat-life. Whatever, more for me. Let’s just hope he doesn’t discover the wasabi soy nuts. Bad cat gas - now THAT’S scary.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-13262539240057810412009-05-15T15:01:00.003-05:002009-05-15T15:23:26.739-05:00Random thoughts and links, part 115<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgVpOXSm8uGGiWwn8gb3v2PPLEVKKjOGLOA019GHwROo1c9-YB5t7Zn6-VciaYa30KmSwByrTbbLcsyiNlLSJXpv8JMKDe8psQfsFq975fjr0vfxO64-gcrnCes1qAQYn1ISHAqTnUQrU/s1600-h/groovy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgVpOXSm8uGGiWwn8gb3v2PPLEVKKjOGLOA019GHwROo1c9-YB5t7Zn6-VciaYa30KmSwByrTbbLcsyiNlLSJXpv8JMKDe8psQfsFq975fjr0vfxO64-gcrnCes1qAQYn1ISHAqTnUQrU/s320/groovy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336143509193524066" border="0" /></a>At 7:16am this morning, at the intersection of Bardstown Road and Grinstead Drive, my beloved little Focus wagon rolled over 100,000 miles.<br /><br />As much as I loved my T-bird (which became known as the Thunderchicken in its later years), the Focus has been good to me, and continues to do so. Every six months I was pouring several hundred dollars into the poor old Thunderchicken to keep it running. The Focus, however, has needed very little maintenance and it still just as nice as the day I drive it off the lot.<br /><br />To here's to another 100,000 miles...<br /><br />Also on the good news front, the Spouse has landed full-time employment. He's been doing two part-time jobs until now, one of which will be ending Sunday. Luckily, the other part-time job is turning into full-time.<br /><br />What's even better is that there's a really good chance another, even better job is on the horizon.<br /><br />It's been tough the past several months. We've had to cancel a vacation, cut out all unnecessary spending and really cut corners on regular expenses.<br /><br />But it could be a lot worse. The Spouse and I both know others that are still looking for employment. Our heart goes out to them and we both keep our eyes and ears open for any leads for anyone.<br /><br />In the meantime, the cold and rain seems to have left us, and there's a deck, a book, a cat and a cold drink waiting for me outside...<br /><br />Links!<br /><br />I couldn't have <a href="http://www.comedy.com/embed/the-what-the-f-blanket">said it better</a>. Who really want to go around the house looking like a gay Satan worshiper?<br /><br />Speaking of Satan, <a href="http://www.comicvsaudience.net/images/flow_heavymetal.jpg">heavy metal band names explained</a>.<br /><br />Go on. Type in your <a href="http://www.thefuckingweather.com/">fucking zip code</a>.<br /><br />Oh hell, the <a href="http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/">donut fries</a> look good. And I'd give soe serious cash for an <a href="http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/post/89393838/elvis-donut-peanut-butter-glazed-donut-topped">Elvis donut</a>.<br /><br />Guess what we're gonna <a href="http://mixthatdrink.com/skittles-vodka-tutorial/">mix</a> at the next party?<br /><br />Japan really loves Obama. No, I mean <a href="http://kabukishojo.com/2009/02/13/no-japan-really-loves-obama/">REALLY loves</a> Obama.<br /><br />Damn, I wish Louisville had a <a href="http://izismile.com/2009/02/16/oddies_in_subway_122_photos.html">subway system</a>.<br /><br />I am so getting a pair of <a href="http://i.gizmodo.com/5159100/make-this-please-baby-slippers">these</a>... as soon as somebody manufactures them.<br /><br />How little kids can start smoking at an early age (<a href="http://www.i-am-bored.com/bored_link.cfm?link_id=38480">this kid</a> is sharp).<br /><br />How to have fun with <a href="http://izismile.com/2009/01/06/the_best_elevator_pranks_11_5_mo.html">elevators</a>.<br /><br />And finally, the absolutely best rendition of the Star Wars theme <a href="http://izismile.com/2009/03/18/tesla_coil_a_man_star_wars_melody_5_3_mb.html">EVER</a>!Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-63547084704326687262009-05-04T11:52:00.002-05:002009-05-04T11:53:35.641-05:00Get off the lawn!<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhAqp-TEyKwPrVHSYvnIujnmhbDoVJIzXXQlodwjqfRH7IKaWxYgXoU3y-dWDdGXwcAo0Vl9WH9uHlJ7NjlwZ0FTyLIaKUPXd8NFelf3eKvlvWAmgLpcbgzxR3JLNTH6AnLc4iUUdZHlm/s1600-h/oldsillies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhAqp-TEyKwPrVHSYvnIujnmhbDoVJIzXXQlodwjqfRH7IKaWxYgXoU3y-dWDdGXwcAo0Vl9WH9uHlJ7NjlwZ0FTyLIaKUPXd8NFelf3eKvlvWAmgLpcbgzxR3JLNTH6AnLc4iUUdZHlm/s320/oldsillies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332012737608398978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, it’s finally happened. I kinda felt it creeping up on me with little hints here and there. But I’m smart enough to recognize the signs and humble enough to admit when they’ve become overwhelming.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m now officially old. Which sucks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It sucks because I am no longer one of the ‘kids.’ On this most recent Haunt Trade Show road trip, no one wanted to ride with the Curator and me. No one. Never mind the Curator and I had a hell of a fun time, hooting and hollering the whole way, bouncing from one crazy topic to another, acting like a couple of goofballs.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh, no. See, we’re ‘old.’ We’re no longer part of that 20-something crowd. We’re old enough to be moms, and even tho we aren’t moms, hanging out with mom-like creature is totally uncool.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It sucks because I know how old I am, but I still find myself drawn to the whole Hot Topic fashion thing. Yes, I know I’m too old for all that but dammit, I was doing all that stuff decades ago! The black hair with multi-colored streaks, the rock’n’roll t-shirts, the neon colored socks, tons of silver jewelry, clothes and shoes with multiple buckles...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">1983 baby. THAT was the first time all that stuff came out. And I was riding the wave WAY before anybody else in this town was. That means 26 years before you punk-ass kids were, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was Goth before Goth was cool, dammit! You emo kids with your died black hair. You see this stuff on my head? Natural. All natural. No dye job here. I even got the Lily Munster streaks coming in naturally, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">You know that shirt that says “Natural Blonde?” I need one that says “Natural Goth.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Being old sucks because I am no longer in touch with pop culture. I try, believe me. I hit about a dozen pop culture websites daily, trying to keep myself hip to current trends while being entertained as well. But I’m terribly out of the loop.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">This morning the Spouse and I are reading the paper... now see, there ya go. Egad, we must really be old because we’re reading a fucking newspaper. Yesterday’s news delivered to your front the door (for a small price) a couple of days after it happened. Never mind we already saw most of this stuff on CNN or other various news websites - for free! We’d much rather enjoy it again in disposable paper form. Plus it’s good for swatting the cat when he’s being bad.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, anyway, yes. We were reading our near-obsolete method of news delivery and the Spouse noticed I was well into the ‘Features’ (that’s the not-news section of the paper: comics, celebrity gossip, bridge strategies and horoscopes).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">(And for that matter, WHO IN THE HELL READS THE BRIDGE STRATEGIES COLUMN?!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, the Features section is just slathered with full-color photos of all the big-name celebrities that came into town for the Derby Saturday and attended all the rich-and-famous bashes. And the Spouse says, “Ya know, I have no idea who any of those people are.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And then I realized after perusing said photos, neither do I.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, there’s that one actress who was really big 20 years ago, and that one woman who was on that talk show. But the rest of these people... no clue. I know their names get bounced around in the media a lot, but I couldn’t tell you who they are and what they do, least of all why they are famous in the first place.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The same goes for music. I haven’t listened to commercial radio for years. The 3 iPods I’ve gone thru killed that for me. Now I still buys a lot of new music. Well, new as in ‘I don’t own it yet,’ not new as in ‘it’s on the current top 40.’ I hit the local-owned record shops and browse their used section. And I’m always finding something nifty on iTunes, not to mention the cool and obscure out-of-print goodies I discover on the net once in a while.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But every time I see one of those “Now That’s What I Call Music” cd commercials, I find myself saying, “Who?” a lot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Saturday afternoon, tho, was the proverbial ‘nail in the coffin’ of my youth. Saturday, as most of you may know, was the Kentucky Derby. And for those sane individuals who don’t want to wallow around drunk in the infield, staying home and having a party is the next best thing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The folks that live across the street from us were having just such a party. And they had rented a Moon Bounce for all the kiddies. Needless to say, a large, inflated, bouncy, red, blue and yellow thing is quite the child magnet. It must have sent out one hell of signal because within a couple of hours of inflation, every kid in a 5 block area was hanging out on our street.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which is fine. I don’t care.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But they meandered from the Moon Bounce to congregate in the street on their skateboards and scooters. Which is still fine. They’re kids, they’re having fun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then they started wandering from front yard to front yard. A whole slew of them. About 20 crotch-fruit ages 7-13. And they eventually worked their way over to our yard.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which, and this may surprise you, still doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if the local street urchins play in our yard or our driveway. Hell, as long as I don’t have to play with them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But then, a couple of the boys started a shoving match, which escalated into an even bigger shoving match, which ended up in our front flower bed, which I had just planted with flowers less than 24 hours prior. When I saw one of our solar lights get knocked over and a sneakered foot stomp into said flower bed, well... my inner ‘mom’ got really peeved.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Up went the window and out my head came. “OK, guys, I don’t mind if yall play in the yard or the driveway, but you need to stay away from the lights and the flowers.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That got their attention. A couple of them apologized and the mob migrated to the next yard, still shoving each other.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So there you go. The third and final sign that I am officially old. I’m yelling at the neighbors’ kids to “Get off the lawn!”</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-75619595686965286972009-04-04T14:15:00.002-05:002009-04-04T14:29:29.041-05:00A-Haunting We Will Go<span style="font-family: verdana;">Good news: Last weekend a troupe of our Haunted folks ventured out to St. Louis for the Haunt Trade Show.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bad news: Since it's only a 'Haunt' show, and not a Haunt, Halloween and Costume show, it was a lot smaller that what we seen in the past. a lot of our favorite companies were not there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Good news: We bought some cool stuff, kept it all way under budget, and got a ton of ideas for this season.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bad news: Prices on everything went way up, so our purchasing was limited.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Good news: This was one of the few trips that I did NOT feel the urge to kill anyone after it was over. Everyone had a good time, was well-behaved and no one pissed me off.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">More good news: The drive was nice, traffic getting into St. Louis was a breeze, our hotel was very posh and literally right across the street from the Convention Center.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bad news: One of our drivers had a brain fart on the way home and, well, had some bad car-karma (locked auto, something about driving off with a gas pump...)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Good news: Like I said, we have a ton of great ideas for this year's Haunt.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bad news: We need a bigger house. We have so many ideas that we don't have the space for all of them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Good news: We have a lot of costumes, sets and construction projects to get started on, and we have help coming from various sources. Let's just say it's good to have a spouse who's an avid gardener and a dad who into the tool and die trade.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And videos? Yes, we have them...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Old people and their walkers:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114835227522"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114835227522" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114837067568"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114837067568" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Talk about driving someone up the walls:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114839547630"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114839547630" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Happy Bat. Happy Bat is hungry:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114844947765"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114844947765" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Death has come for you all, and is staying for the all-you-can-eat buffet:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114857548080"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114857548080" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">How not to lose your head. And that horse could use a sandwich:<object width="576" height="432"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114872988466"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/1114872988466" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-18128108486957731222009-03-23T17:18:00.005-05:002009-03-23T18:30:29.736-05:00C'mon, stink!<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkW-ya5maI8B0yoAacvrdP5clnCWl3u4KL23HQ-8C-yqEhKu-v43q9QqPH3JP3ahnhZfw4PYd1785fNY07HpXldn4HbWUylz9gm3vdpKGZ_7QZ_5yNxzIlc2_6dGBUZ-sBzAL25fo93Wp/s1600-h/skunk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkW-ya5maI8B0yoAacvrdP5clnCWl3u4KL23HQ-8C-yqEhKu-v43q9QqPH3JP3ahnhZfw4PYd1785fNY07HpXldn4HbWUylz9gm3vdpKGZ_7QZ_5yNxzIlc2_6dGBUZ-sBzAL25fo93Wp/s320/skunk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316511335382645026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Road kill has its seasons just like anything.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> It's possums in the autumn and it's farm cats in the spring."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It's apparent that when Tom Waits wrote that, he hadn't traveled to Kentucky yet. But I think Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Loudon</span> Wainwright the Third got it right when he wrote </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuY44PHC0wI">this one</a><span style="font-family:verdana;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You can definitely tell that warmer <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">weather</span> is upon us, friends and neighbors, by the number of flattened, furry, formerly live things paving the roads. And it's not just the aroma of blooming trees and budding flowers that announces <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">spring's</span> arrival, nor is it the scent of fresh-cut grass or even a charcoal grill.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, no. It's skunk. Dead skunk. Dead, flat, crispy, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">flakey</span>, stinky skunk.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, sure, you'll see your roadkill squirrel with its paper-thin body now one with the pavement with its fluffy tail still <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">flappin</span>' in the breeze as cars whiz by. And there's the occasional possum that's a large grey lump with its rat-like tail stretched across the road. And, the ever-tragic dog or cat that was once <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">someone's</span> beloved pet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But nothing, and I mean nothing, can out-do the absolute stench of skunk.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And unfortunately, our little neck of the woods has become Skunk Central. That means the roadkill is unfathomable. The streets are practically carpeted with the damn things, like little smelly throw rugs all over the place. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm not sure why our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">burb</span> is the Mecca in which all skunks must dwell. Perhaps it's a spiritual thing. Maybe the breeding is just too good here. We must have better tasting garbage than other areas in town because the Spouse and I noticed it shortly after we moved into our house almost 5 years ago. Seems that J-town and Fern Creek is THE place to live and work for skunks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">One night last fall friend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Nicograph</span> was visiting and the three of us were lounging on our deck. We had mentioned to her about the wildlife we see scampering in the area and how we seemed blessed with skunks. At that moment, Fate intervened to prove our point and we caught that strong, acidic and familiar scent. Needless to say, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Nicograph</span> was impressed. To the Spouse and I, it was old hat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So the Spouse and I have a saying: "Welcome to J-town! Here's your free skunk." Seriously, we have plenty to go around and we'd appreciate it if you took one home with you to help control our population.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Just this morning, at a dark and early 6am, I'm walking down the driveway to grab our newspaper and lo and behold, there's a skunk just a-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">waddlin</span>' across the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">cul</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">de</span> sac. His fat little striped body was just rolling along with his tail up like a damn flagpole.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now we have killer bunnies that greet the sunrise in our front yard all the time (I'm serious, these fuckers are HUGE). We have a plethora of neurotic squirrels that are constantly scampering around on our roof. We have possums that sneak around in our backyard and even a few foxes that stare at us as we drive out of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">neighborhood</span> on our way to work. Hell, we even have hawks and falcons fly around all the time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, yeah. And we had those </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://bustohell.blogspot.com/2008/07/phantom-shitter.html">raccoons shitting</a><span style="font-family:verdana;"> on our deck last year.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But dammit, the skunks are taking over. Don't get me wrong, I love animals and I hate to see anything squished on the road, but hell, every spring you can't even open your windows for the stench.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So all you deer hunters, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">howz</span> about this year you try hunting something different. We <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">guarantee</span> you won't go home empty-handed.</span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;font-family:verdana;" ></span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UejelYnVI3U&feature=related" title="Dead Skunk - Loudon Wainwright 3rd" rel="nofollow"></a>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-4605071755028394162009-03-14T09:00:00.003-05:002009-03-14T09:47:51.711-05:00Hodge Podge and Malarkey<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLGGE1-jQkYycOlA-q-H-Tizcn7S_hMwULl6DdXvniZWbVZaM2OJ-Vxau8DxWfOvgplOAul4q5bb5FAl2nF0UbIgBLJ449hoktiQKc66w3SC4RmMer5NIvv9PLLaW__kjoz6F7LYsvC2m/s1600-h/twaits.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLGGE1-jQkYycOlA-q-H-Tizcn7S_hMwULl6DdXvniZWbVZaM2OJ-Vxau8DxWfOvgplOAul4q5bb5FAl2nF0UbIgBLJ449hoktiQKc66w3SC4RmMer5NIvv9PLLaW__kjoz6F7LYsvC2m/s320/twaits.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313043616276562386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">So it's been a long, uneventful month. The Spouse is still looking for work. Right now he's got one part-time thing going with a second part-time thing coming in the next week or so. We're being very frugal right now so we're still keeping our head above water.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the meantime, all those gift cards we got during the holidays have been very handy, allowing us to go out and shop and have a nice meal or two. And one guy at work that I do free design stuff on the side for landed us a pair of tickets to the car show, so that fun excursion has helped break up this dull end of winter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Good friend GC did us a huge favor and fixed a sudden leak in our kitchen sink. I come home to see the kitchen floor covered in everything that lived under the sink and have the Spouse tell me we have a leak in the faucet. So I get down there and tinker and end up creating a second leak on the incoming water line. Now not only am I pissed at myself for not leaving well-enough alone, I go into full panic mode and insist that the Spouse call GC to see about fixing it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, bless his heart, he came out to our house and gave it a look. He tightened up one little bolt that stopped one leak, then he and the Spouse heded over to Home Depot (using another gift card - yay!) to get a repair kit for the second leak.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Needless to say, e are eternally grateful. Once we get back in a stable financial situation, we'll be taking GC and his lady MF out for a nice dinner somewhere.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One thing we didn't have a gift card for was dental treatment. I maxed out my insurance benefits this January getting my teeth resurfaced. Altho my teeth looked fine before, I'm a terrible teeth-grinder in my sleep and, over a period of several years, had managed to grind all of my front teeth flat. I didn't realize how bad it was until the resurfacing was done.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Wow, I have teeth again. With points. Zowie.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But in order to keep my tense self from committing the same dental crime again, I got a Night Guard to prevent the grinding. Now I was expecting some big hunk of rubber thing like what boxers wear. Instead I got this:</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipS7hE6mFznGBVFfhiDwpaK1B4dZlYtqjtjeqJdnr9JqgYJ0P-Xi7_l0iJgcg9VsL72_aq0mTO9I1yB5Ktt7RQ_rdN-n0X13B3KryY9Z_9p_FivBE8DNLFR11raKjLrj3ABAWp8RzBYc-k/s1600-h/teeththing.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipS7hE6mFznGBVFfhiDwpaK1B4dZlYtqjtjeqJdnr9JqgYJ0P-Xi7_l0iJgcg9VsL72_aq0mTO9I1yB5Ktt7RQ_rdN-n0X13B3KryY9Z_9p_FivBE8DNLFR11raKjLrj3ABAWp8RzBYc-k/s320/teeththing.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313043457052454226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, it's that tiny. And it cost $400. And no, insurance didn't cover it. But it does prevent me from grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw in my sleep. So no more sore jaws or migraines in the morning.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One thing I am looking forward to is this year's <a href="http://www.hauntshow.com/">Halloween Trade Show</a>. We didn't get to go to last years since they moved it to Las Vegas. And when you're working with an all volunteer, non-profit group, air fare for even one person was just not in our budget.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But this year it came back to the midwest and is in St. Louis later this month. Apparently, the show promoters lost their ass last year since the majority of Haunts and props and effects manufcturers are on the east coast and in the midwest. Seems like a lot of us haunt people are in the same boat (or coffin). Attendance must have sucked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">This year we have about a dozen people going. And I'm really impressed with the ideas the crew has come up with so far. This year's theme could be the creepiest one yet so I'm excited about all the design possibilities. I've been listening to <a href="http://somafm.com/play/fw/doomed">Doomed Radio</a> on iTunes and have discovered some very interesting stuff. I mean some really fucked up stuff. Stuff that actually freaks ME out. We're talking damn disturbing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One thing I've never liked about other Haunts is when they use music as a background soundtrack. Once I hear music, I don't feel like I'm in a Haunted Place, I feel like I'm on a cheap movie set. My philosophy is this: in real life, if you and your buddies were to go exploring in an old, abandoned building that was reputed to be haunted, you wouldn't hear an orchestra or a death metal band playing all around you. You'd hear pipes banging, water dripping, creaks, hisses and maybe a moan or whisper.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, thanks to the internet (have I mentioned lately how much I love this internet?) I've found some insane stuff for this year's Haunt soundtrack. Hours worth.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But that's it really. That's all that's going on. I apologize for not being here more often. Just haven't felt inspired. The Writing Fairy is holding out on me again. But I'll be back with photos and stories from the Halloween Trade Show. In the meantime, I leave you with this heart-warming and uplifting piece:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><object width="450" height="370"><param name="movie" value="http://www.liveleak.com/e/7b1_1235486258"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.liveleak.com/e/7b1_1235486258" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="450" height="370"></embed></object></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-5769334623653729942009-02-05T13:19:00.004-05:002009-02-05T13:21:58.986-05:00Lux is dead, and I'm not feeling too good myself.<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEB5mvndQbaMH1HFpwqLWjjQMFbbAQkmkHn0aFjC3Ukt5ndBNy1Cba-fvNfD6eNtyOO9YAWXpT63qg4tz23h-oDbTwNLzBAwW-r51QcZ-IA89uwiR56ekJefU_QqwJzzGMMFfSvefId4pT/s1600-h/lux.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEB5mvndQbaMH1HFpwqLWjjQMFbbAQkmkHn0aFjC3Ukt5ndBNy1Cba-fvNfD6eNtyOO9YAWXpT63qg4tz23h-oDbTwNLzBAwW-r51QcZ-IA89uwiR56ekJefU_QqwJzzGMMFfSvefId4pT/s320/lux.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299379770005890578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Damn.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It’s been a hell of a week.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I’ve purposely disappeared from the interwebs for a while since the Spouse lost his job.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yeah, you read that right. The Spouse is one of many victims of the shitty economy. We both know quite a few people who are unemployed. We were really hoping that it wouldn’t happen to us, but it did.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I hate being unemployed, and I hate it when I hear of someone else being unemployed. I’ve been there so many damn times the unemployment office knew me on a first name basis for a while. For several years, I had a curse of shutting down businesses or forcing them to pack up and move to other states. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Therefor, when I hear of anyone I know getting shit-canned, my heart sinks and my stomach lurches. So when it happened to the Spouse, it was even worse. Multiply those heart and stomach things by 10.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But in a way it was kind of a relief. The Spouse’s job had become toxic and it seemed like every month or so they were letting someone else go. We were worried that the Spouse’s turn might be coming next. Well, unfortunately, we were right.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now every time we get slow at my job, I almost go into panic mode. Hell, I’d be willing to empty garbage cans and sweep floor if it means keeping my job.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So I haven’t exactly been my usual happy, cynical, sarcastic, lovable self. I didn’t want to talk about it and just wanted to crawl into a cave and disappear. And, dear readers (all 5 of ya) I didn’t want that evil spreading its gnarly fingers thru the interwebs onto your monitor and into your brains.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Plus I see this morning that Lux Interior of The Cramps died. Fuck. That fucking sucks. I liked The Cramps. I regret I never got to see them perform live. Damn.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I find myself saying fuck and damn a lot lately.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, and that mega-ice storm that goose-stepped thru Kentucky last week? I guess I should count our blessings in that we were some of the few folks who didn’t lose power. But our backyard looks like the military has been testing missiles in it. We have one, ONE, full size tree in our backyard that lost a couple of branches. But all of our surrounding neighbors have a fuck-ton of trees, so guess where most of them landed?</span><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcBBotMschtjg0qW4m8BZVTBV2ta04njd065BC64_0AlTWDum0Ut_Sp1u0UW7LE6bBWKwY803y7qNSE5qTppUexlz2EU8dfGg6nEZSsS2nY2ks9X5G6QBLgrx7O9Ed2la794YKikJo1wd/s1600-h/treedown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcBBotMschtjg0qW4m8BZVTBV2ta04njd065BC64_0AlTWDum0Ut_Sp1u0UW7LE6bBWKwY803y7qNSE5qTppUexlz2EU8dfGg6nEZSsS2nY2ks9X5G6QBLgrx7O9Ed2la794YKikJo1wd/s320/treedown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299379689384852722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Looks like we’ll be having a little chainsaw party this weekend.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">On the note of counting those blessings, the Spouse, bless his heart, jumped right into job hunting immediately and has been busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest making calls, sending emails and posting resumes. And his work has paid off already. He’s got a temp job lined up to start Monday. It’s a hell of a pay cut, but dammit, it’s a JOB.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">In the meantime we’re gonna cut out all unnecessary spending and start tightening out budget belts on everything else. Guess I’ll go back to being a coupon-cutting fanatic.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So to all of you poor unemployed slobs, my heart goes out to you and I hope things get better for everyone. And to you, Lux, you crazy, sexy, wild, psychobilly son-of-a-bitch, we’ll miss you terribly. Say hi to Elvis for me, ‘kay?</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-17999284288701990162009-01-20T16:03:00.003-05:002009-01-20T16:32:39.293-05:00Random thoughts and links, part 114<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OiQs3WhPi3t8B8UNGvff7MwFAQ0opsOgCJ9_F3c3mtZq-ITa0NHE9EKhkNuNrW4ZxYomOHtYS54nhhgbjvqmdxVyvgexN7HUNtJeLIB21gZU6vphlK7n4O_OKzByRqOluc-ik95cITKp/s1600-h/gift.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OiQs3WhPi3t8B8UNGvff7MwFAQ0opsOgCJ9_F3c3mtZq-ITa0NHE9EKhkNuNrW4ZxYomOHtYS54nhhgbjvqmdxVyvgexN7HUNtJeLIB21gZU6vphlK7n4O_OKzByRqOluc-ik95cITKp/s320/gift.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293485516015461010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Well, well, well, it HAS been a long time, hasn't it? Last time we had a chat I was still bloody and freaked out after an SUV nearly ran over me in my own place of employment.<br /><br />But I healed up nicely. The cuts on my forehead are gone and the cuts on my ankle are getting there. I lost a few trinkets that once decorated my desk, not to mention a good pair of knee highs, but I can deal with that better than my body being crushed and broken.<br /><br />Speaking of broken, they're finishing up the repair work on our building. We have windows again. The outside masonry doesn't look too hot now but that repair is also in the works. We're still waiting on replacement computers. My iMac at work has a soft LCD screen, and it sure has a purdy texture now, what with all the glass bits that went slashing across it. I have a hole about 1/16" of dead pixels that makes working in Photoshop a real bitch, but I'm managing.<br /><br />In the meantime, I had a blast watching the Inauguration today via CNN/Facebook. It's nice to know that the rest of the planet doesn't hate out guts anymore.<br /><br />Yes, you read that right. I said, "Facebook." I know, I know, I swore I wasn't gonna join any more web communities, but peer pressure from a select few wore me down. Plus, MySpace is getting so juvenile. If the assinign survey don't make me feel old, the overpowering flash ads keep crashing my browser.<br /><br />I've hooked up with old Spymac pals from a couple years ago on Facegroup. (For those of you Spymac Old-Timers who didn't know, there is a Spymac Old Skool group there). And some other people from my very distant past have reached out across the lines.<br /><br />Facebook has become addictive. So if you're looking for me, you know where to start.<br /><br />And I have a plethora of goofy links:<br /><br />I personally thought <a href="http://crystalheadvodka.com/">this stuff</a> tasted like crap, but damn, the bottle is so fucking cool.<br /><br />First is was the lolcats, then came the loldogs. Finally, there is... <a href="http://lolcraps.blogspot.com/">oh dear god no</a>...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.kontraband.com/videos/14593/Cat-On-The-Stairs/#show">What to do</a> when the escalator is broken (turn down your speakers... music NFSW).<br /><br />And you thought that cat had problems? <a href="http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=8d4_1226471679">This dog</a> is defective as well.<br /><br />Best recycling ever. <a href="http://www.37signals.com/svn/posts/1392-carbon-copies-i-write-dead-people">Soylent Pencils</a> is people!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cafepress.com/orderofstnick/3688619">Guess what</a> you bitches are getting from me next year?<br /><br />Poetry for everyman, alive or <a href="http://www.zombiehaiku.com/index.html">(un)dead</a>.<br /><br />Ok, folks, everybody <a href="http://gorillamask.net/gm_media.php?show_page=video&page_id=20698">sing along</a>!<br /><br />Forget Prada, Chanel or whatever scent Liz Taylor is hawking these days. <a href="http://www.firemeetsdesire.com/">This</a> is the fragrance to drive your man wild.<br /><br />I know this late, but you can still enjoy <a href="http://www.creepychristmas.net/">a little creepy Christmas</a> all year long.<br /><br />Attention spooky people. <a href="http://www.pumpkinrot.com/">Go here</a>, big fun.<br /><br />The most charming, dainty and sweet-natured <a href="http://margaretandhelen.wordpress.com/">ladies</a> you'll ever meet. They've become my new heros.<br /></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-84952244809756506072008-12-29T17:17:00.006-05:002008-12-29T18:02:55.042-05:00And you think YOUR Monday was bad?<span style="font-family: verdana;">Today didn't seem too unusual, nor too terribly awful. I woke up with a full and slightly hurting head from the Ohio Valley Plague, but it wasn't enough to keep me home. After two Day-Quil I was off to work.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Spouse was nice enough to take me to lunch (since he's off this week) and I had returned to work afterwards with a full, happy belly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a slow day, being the time between the December holidays, so I was just sitting in my chair, surfing the web (actually uploading photos to FaceBook) when from my left</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: verdana;font-size:180%;" >BOOM!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I scream. Loud. My body tensed. I'm aware that something is on me, covering me. I open my eyes briefly to see a thick fog of dust. I blink and notice the cloud is dissipating and I stand up. Whatever is covering me slithers off. I look to my right and see male co-worker #1 walking away from me quickly. As I walk away from whatever just boomed I notice female co-worker on the floor in a combat crawl.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm still not aware of what has happened.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Male co-worker #2 comes up to me and asks, "Are you ok?" I do a quick mental inventory and note that I'm not in pain nor is my thinking muddled. I say yes and look to my left, where the boom came from.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">There's a car in the window. Aimed right at me (or at least where I was sitting). The bumper is on the floor just inches from my desk. Two whole windows are gone, the metal frames badly bent. The corner column (including a shelf that held a lot of my stuff - candy dish, Chinese good fortune cat, clip art book, font books) is a disaster. The interior portion is gone. I mean GONE. The outside portion is missing about 1/3 of its bricks and cement. There're ducts and chunks of wall all over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are (summoning Carl Sagan) billions and billions of miniscule bits of glass everywhere. As far as 30 feet away.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">My workstation is covered with shrapnel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">A couple of customer service folks come over to me to see if I'm ok. One of them says, "You better get to the bathroom. Your forehead is bleeding."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">As they say this I'm aware of a warm, wet sensation on my left ankle. I look down and see multiple holes in my black hose one both feet and spot the blood on my left ankle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"You might want to take that shirt off. You're covered in glass."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yeah, you'll want to take your hair down, too. You have glass in your hair."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I reach up and feel a bunch of small glass chunks on my carefully braided hair.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fuck. What the hell just happened?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I shuffle off to the bathroom with one of the customer service gals. That's when I notice my shoes are full. Of glass. I have to dump them out on the floor before I can go anywhere.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">She follows me into the bathroom and proceeds to groom me like a primate, picking off the larger, more visual chunks of glass from my head. I take off and discard my destroyed hose and take gander at my ankle. It looks like a pit bull chewed on it. Then I look in the mirror.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">My forehead isn't that bad. I have about 4 or 5 very small cuts that are barely oozing blood. But I have a glittery hairstyle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Someone had handed me an old workshirt to change into. My turtleneck and shawl are dusty with glass. My pants look awful. I roll up my pants legs to check for more wounds but don't see any more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">During this whole ordeal, I'm laughing. I'm shaken, hell, I'm freaked out, but I'm laughing. In a situaion like this, you haven't to make light of it somehow.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Once I get the old shirt on, I emerge from the bathroom to get see what the fuck just happened.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's when I see my workstation.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3u9j7RGKSCPSOgojH3aHsH6ruL_ACQtrFJM1mhGymZm-aXhCPwNNyKjVFyku-hCdAPFuwwIN8We-WBaQkRmcs46laaLtF4Uam3qVO6MYu8QyUqAJu0-Eq_s4wBc98lg-2uSj8uzOIIcHL/s1600-h/crash1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3u9j7RGKSCPSOgojH3aHsH6ruL_ACQtrFJM1mhGymZm-aXhCPwNNyKjVFyku-hCdAPFuwwIN8We-WBaQkRmcs46laaLtF4Uam3qVO6MYu8QyUqAJu0-Eq_s4wBc98lg-2uSj8uzOIIcHL/s320/crash1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285340708259916514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, it's petty much covered with glass. But check this shit out. The iMac is still running!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But yeah, I was sitting right there. And you can see how close the car was.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6mLWJUNK-xhQf90y-jzVHjjnoduQAsir7GpPWBgAzuWCWCSeEI71o5gmSXQtBMM4i66rY0vkhKi0kwJjHXWMkyWMrVaae8OodU4isXtcdsz24Bgh-jkH7TWpYO3hG5ubyTwzWgOkfMjk/s1600-h/crash2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6mLWJUNK-xhQf90y-jzVHjjnoduQAsir7GpPWBgAzuWCWCSeEI71o5gmSXQtBMM4i66rY0vkhKi0kwJjHXWMkyWMrVaae8OodU4isXtcdsz24Bgh-jkH7TWpYO3hG5ubyTwzWgOkfMjk/s320/crash2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285339970269507954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">See? There's the car. Now, like most people, I'm instantly picturing a drunk bastard, or some dingbat on a cellphone, or some moron strung out on drugs. But no, twas not the case. Male co-worker#2 ran out to check on the driver after checking on me. Apparently the poor bastard passed out behind the wheel. He claimed he remembers coughing real hard, and then he was in our building. Sounds like a stroke to me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I sit down in a chair and someone brings me a paper towel for my bloody ankle. I'm dabbing my wound, cursing the whole time: "Fuck! Sonofabitch!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">You would cuss, too. Cars djust don't come flying thru your window every day. And it really starts to sink in how really fucking close this car was to mowing me down. If it had not been for the foot-and-a-half of concrete foundation around our building (which is 90% glass) I would be a lot flatter and not as pretty.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We were all walking around in a daze. People (even me) are pulling out their cell phones and taking pictures.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The police, fire and EMS were there in record time and they got that poor bastard strapped down to a gurney and hauled him outta there. They all interviewed me and my female co-worker (who whacked her bad knee on the way down to her combat crawl). I didn't need medical attention. Physically I was fine. My thinking was clear and I felt ok. I was pretty shaken, and I have a bloody ankle, but other than that I was all right.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I called the Spouse between interviews and told him the whole story. He must have said, "Holy Shit!!" a dozen times.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I get off the phone and now I wanna see the damage.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQNdPu0va2LGpyQF9udV9qKEW0QfbGLXwsO4keB7d1ZDk87HR4HH0dr3lE1EVGkREADVGpuqbd0hg6B3cs_BDqDDpjiwL_L5yMQQ-gGCevv-_NaKMAn6zO0zk-sWG_f6gabAeEhkYlbus/s1600-h/crash3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQNdPu0va2LGpyQF9udV9qKEW0QfbGLXwsO4keB7d1ZDk87HR4HH0dr3lE1EVGkREADVGpuqbd0hg6B3cs_BDqDDpjiwL_L5yMQQ-gGCevv-_NaKMAn6zO0zk-sWG_f6gabAeEhkYlbus/s320/crash3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285339907082317570" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hey, there's my workstation again, or what's left of it. See that pile of rubble on the floor? That's what hit me. There's a black chair left of center that has a black and white mass on it. That's my new hat and scarf (gift from Nicograph) and my coat, now buried under a mountain of glass.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">My cell phone and iPod suvived. They found my keys, my tote bag and my purse. And one framed picture of the Spouse. I'm hoping the rest of my stuff is in there, somewhere.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I talked to a few more cops and EMTs, then filled out the workman's comp paperwork. After a comforting hug from several folks I packed up my glass-covered belonging to go home. Hell, might as well. It's not like I'm gonna get any work done today.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have to call in tomorrow morning to see what the skinny is on me coming in. Our IT department is supposed to move our Macs to another area and set us up temporarily.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every time I look at these photo, I get freaked out. I keep thinking how close that car was...</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-13040131799060840002008-12-17T13:32:00.003-05:002008-12-17T13:54:45.014-05:00Shitty gifts<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjc4yFlp06gzH59Fkvu8d12CCrlrx7o5roaNKvGuIUecg8JuhjK3_TdT-ctkJRYDTZ7qjQ2QLFuaS-klog9KKsZOeohq1vjXv_mmF7FKdgnaQk8XGfjTsl7khpvr1xIrRFAPVUREovXb9/s1600-h/xmasbeast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjc4yFlp06gzH59Fkvu8d12CCrlrx7o5roaNKvGuIUecg8JuhjK3_TdT-ctkJRYDTZ7qjQ2QLFuaS-klog9KKsZOeohq1vjXv_mmF7FKdgnaQk8XGfjTsl7khpvr1xIrRFAPVUREovXb9/s320/xmasbeast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280828907073835490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">A week ago friend <a href="http://www.emays.com/kimlog/">Kim</a> sent me this link of <a href="http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/just-dreaming/staticslideshowmc.aspx?cp-documentid=11836748&imageindex=1">“10 Gifts We Don’t Want.”</a> She specifically wanted me to see <a href="http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/just-dreaming/staticslideshowmc.aspx?cp-documentid=11836748&imageindex=3">number 3</a>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now of course me being the weird, spooky person that I am, I nearly drooled over this fine piece of furniture (if only I had an extra $3500 laying around). And I realize that only someone like me could really appreciate the beauty of a <a href="http://coffincouches.com/coffin-couches.php">coffin couch</a>. So I can understand why most of the general populace wouldn’t be too keen on having a comfy coffin couch in the their family room to lounge on while watching tv.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But out of curiosity I went thru the rest of the unwanted gifts according to <a href="http://www.msn.com/">MSN</a> and was baffled. Ok, sure, the <a href="http://www.shopinprivate.com/fununfortwo.html">Fundies</a> are completely stupid and the <a href="http://www.luxurylaunches.com/other_stuff/gold_pills_a_sumptuous_ingestion.php">gold pills</a> are just down right ridiculous, but some of the other things intrigued me...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">First off, the <a href="http://www.lifegem.com/">Life Gem</a>. I know, I know, once again we’re dealing with something of a morbid nature. But honestly, why plant beloved Aunt Matilda in some field somewhere you have to drive to to visit, in an expensive, decorative box you’ll never see again, where her decaying hull (along with thousands of others) takes up land that could be used for farmland, housing, parks or roads; or keep her cremains in an urn sitting on top of your entertainment center where it could possibly get knocked off by a small child or the family pet, thereby spilling all over the carpet (and you know that no amount of rug shampooing will get that out).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">(gawd, that was a long sentence)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Why do either of those things when you can keep part of Auntie Matilda with you forever, and maybe even pass on to generations after you. Call me goofy, but I kinda like the idea of the Life Gem.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />"Say, that's a beautiful ring. What kind of stone is that?"<br /><br />"Grandma."<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then there’s the <a href="http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/just-dreaming/staticslideshowmc.aspx?cp-documentid=11836748&imageindex=9">wall vase in the shape of a hand</a>. It reminds me of the hand hooks from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Apparently there’s a <a href="http://www.unicahome.com/p22116/areaware/hand-hooks-by-harry-allen.html">whole line of hand decor</a>. How cool is that? If the hand-shaped wall doohickies are a little out of your budget there’s always the smaller and more affordable <a href="http://www.perpetualkid.com/index.asp?PageAction=VIEWPROD&ProdID=1537">finger hooks</a>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But my favorite is the <a href="http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/just-dreaming/staticslideshowmc.aspx?cp-documentid=11836748&imageindex=8">Poo Pourri</a>. I read about this stuff earlier this month in <a href="http://www.bust.com/">BUST magazine</a> and the gals there really liked it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I know what you’re thinking... I can already hear the eeeews. But really, think about this; how many times have you been out in public, or even worse, at someone’s house, and you really REALLY have to hit the bathroom. Last night’s chili cheese dog is not sitting well and is ready to leave the building. A courtesy flush can only mask the noise, not the smell. That’s when having a handy-dandy bottle of Poo Pourri in your purse can save the day. You spritz this stuff about 4 times in the water of the crapper before going. It supposedly creates a barrier on the surface of the water to keep the offending odor down while adding a pleasant aroma.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">What a brilliant idea! Do you know how many times I wish I’d had something like this in the past? Well, no more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I found their <a href="http://www.poopourri.net/">website</a>. I ordered some. A lot. So guess what some of you peeps are getting this year?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I kept one bottle for myself and I tried it out at work the other day. It was a morning after a dinner of some of the Spouse’s soon-to-be-world-famous chili. Yeah, I know that’s gross but <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyone-Poops-My-Body-Science/dp/0916291456">we all poop</a> so deal with it and bear with me...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Zowie. No stink. Nice lemony scent. Amazing. I'm impressed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, what would you rather get? A fruitcake, <a href="http://www.inflatablefruitcake.com/">an inflatable fruitcake</a>, <a href="http://www.squirrelunderpants.com/">squirrel underpants</a>, a coffin couch or some Poo Pourri? Yeah, I thought so...</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-57405058108095196092008-12-05T16:48:00.014-05:002008-12-05T17:48:50.406-05:00Have Yourself an Evil Little Christmas<span style="font-family:verdana;">The other day my co-worker (not the dog-kicking, wife-slapping one referred to in the last post</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">, but a younger, geekier one - and I mean geekier in the best sense of the word) asked me if I had heard of the Krampus or Krampusnacht.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I said no.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">He was shocked and said, "You?! You've never heard of Krampus, the Christmas Demon?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">*blink blink* "The Christmas Demon... ?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">At this point I thought he was yanking my chain but he continued, "Go on. Google it."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And I did.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Wow.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3LKPt5oIyqlup4MZBddMhDtQ1c9cBWZ2WjIYvk4XGMwtD7CIeOM21aRIUTBLv9Ky_94AwQgLUSFtuymCbTW6hOQC6gqj6bpIzGAhgqSLwP-6PV23BEADz-NjCelsO91IRvDYqou_hqnc/s1600-h/krampus-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3LKPt5oIyqlup4MZBddMhDtQ1c9cBWZ2WjIYvk4XGMwtD7CIeOM21aRIUTBLv9Ky_94AwQgLUSFtuymCbTW6hOQC6gqj6bpIzGAhgqSLwP-6PV23BEADz-NjCelsO91IRvDYqou_hqnc/s320/krampus-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276431519625407906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Wow!</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqRPAOPTZL4WBOiGK5Icm8Mmby5JjG0TlTPCsKDQT3juIzycIXZQ7KkmY04acpiyTBjNW1vz6a-7dmeRX6yzMW5VeVRpLbViSqs4XOu4saZc3L07SsRrf0P7Xqx2VuE1u2RXJn3u22k4J/s1600-h/krampus2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqRPAOPTZL4WBOiGK5Icm8Mmby5JjG0TlTPCsKDQT3juIzycIXZQ7KkmY04acpiyTBjNW1vz6a-7dmeRX6yzMW5VeVRpLbViSqs4XOu4saZc3L07SsRrf0P7Xqx2VuE1u2RXJn3u22k4J/s320/krampus2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276431464355806546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">WOW!</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEhhcBiHBW9eHO4Ir5LycGtezvk2MTtwQ4ZgBGe-rfhDTZPfuk_I_gdpNQfRF1jZvkFXrKZOhF6cqT2DWMZZVFB4n-c9n1pfplCz1mbnecmKlOIj28uqAvG8JsuYQMqUbbYOw_qGYJRuD/s1600-h/kramus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEhhcBiHBW9eHO4Ir5LycGtezvk2MTtwQ4ZgBGe-rfhDTZPfuk_I_gdpNQfRF1jZvkFXrKZOhF6cqT2DWMZZVFB4n-c9n1pfplCz1mbnecmKlOIj28uqAvG8JsuYQMqUbbYOw_qGYJRuD/s320/kramus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276431406574282850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">HOLY SHIT!!</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0EukxDB-de7xsziEP0T0mLmJd6fuyzahgH0ImiZxi_d96QkA0O_Zx8eEhnm1MnQ5T2wlAze7R32jk25aTJoP_CPojBTnC3O0dd954y_1r7eZvE8qkVQyShEVBFhyphenhyphenMSDQ6mOd__HFBsIn/s1600-h/krampus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0EukxDB-de7xsziEP0T0mLmJd6fuyzahgH0ImiZxi_d96QkA0O_Zx8eEhnm1MnQ5T2wlAze7R32jk25aTJoP_CPojBTnC3O0dd954y_1r7eZvE8qkVQyShEVBFhyphenhyphenMSDQ6mOd__HFBsIn/s320/krampus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276431357754431666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">How could I, Hollygoyle, Queen of Halloween, fan of all that is spooky, collector of dark things, NOT know about the Krampus?!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Do you have any idea what this does for me as far as Christmas goes? Not that I dislike Christmas. I don't actually. I honestly kinda like the holiday season. Since I'm non-religious the whole Jesus thing doesn't appeal to me, but I can dig Winter Solstice and I love New Year's Eve.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But this... to quote Keanu Reeves... "Whoa." Christmas with a big, furry, horned demon. This might actually make listening to my third and final co-worker's endless tirade of Christmas music (5 days a week, 8 hours a day, Thanksgiving thru Christmas) tolerable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">No, I'm sorry. Scratch that. THAT is a whole different circle of hell. There is no salvation from that, except deafness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But back to our lovely Krampus. He is, in a sense, the alter-ego of Saint Nicholas and hunts down and torments bad little children. He lives in Austria and Hungary and December 5 is his day (or night I should say). He often carries bells or chains to frighten people and a large stick or broom to 'birch' the ladies with.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Birching is basically a spanking.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am not making this up. Go google it yourself if you don't believe me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I don't know about yall, but I wanna party with this guy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Why is this not a big thing here in the States yet? I read somewhere in my Krampus research that it's a dying tradition since some politically correct zealots feel it might scar the children.<br /><br />And Santa Claus doesn't? Good gravy, how <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-scared-santa-sm-081202-pg,0,52957.photogallery">many photos</a> have you seen with some precious little crotch fruit wailing and leaking out all kinds of facial fluids while being held prisoner on some old white man's lap.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Think about it... some old bearded white guy flying a bunch of reindeer (who probably eat a lot of fiber - now THERE'S a visual for ya) all night long, lurking around your family room at night while you're asleep, eating your cookies and drinking your milk (or whatever you left on the table). That's creepy. That will scar children.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Fuck the children. If they're spoiled little snipes that are misbehaving anyway they deserve a good scarring for good ol' Krampus. Krampusnacht should be for us adults. Zowie, the fun you could have! It'd be like a Mardi Gras/Halloween for December! Forget showing your boobs for beads. Wiggle you butt for a good birching! My god, I can see the T-shirt now...</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTcac1zHiop71JyvRpR_17sfr89PrWuRKIbDZf0Z1bBGVDF6jZ9afrkaxw3GBEdC-RwPBIzVZMx8Ip77XwWKDmVkMLI5y-T0IhKEvS4BLhyphenhyphen4pNOIH9cDG3Nba8HmQ4zOJqmOJF1tSkCgZ/s1600-h/shirt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTcac1zHiop71JyvRpR_17sfr89PrWuRKIbDZf0Z1bBGVDF6jZ9afrkaxw3GBEdC-RwPBIzVZMx8Ip77XwWKDmVkMLI5y-T0IhKEvS4BLhyphenhyphen4pNOIH9cDG3Nba8HmQ4zOJqmOJF1tSkCgZ/s320/shirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276431311211591538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Ok, that's it. NEXT year we are definitely having Krampus Night at our house. It'll be huge. Everybody's invited. We'll whip up some <a href="http://www.thedrinkshop.com/products/nlpdetail.php?prodid=1854">Gluhwein</a> (we add <a href="http://www.giftchaletauburn.com/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=168">Glogg</a>, cinnamon sticks and mulling spices to ours - damn tasty) and some Christmas Crawdads, put on some horns and start swatting each other on the rump with brooms.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sounds like a party to me. Yall coming?</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-37888851098533090912008-12-03T20:19:00.003-05:002008-12-03T20:29:19.835-05:00From the oven, with love<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRQlZUsW2LAnNLhOV7CULhRbfHVSTj67F4XfS5SseKsO_PVpwgIkgJjn8Jjr6cu5exV4wLItoO55dECS1urFWdvGCAS5LEIgl-1FVIwHJ_COV0Y_7fxx29c3PCNiFvdwLXXtnonRfTOuM/s1600-h/crawdads.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRQlZUsW2LAnNLhOV7CULhRbfHVSTj67F4XfS5SseKsO_PVpwgIkgJjn8Jjr6cu5exV4wLItoO55dECS1urFWdvGCAS5LEIgl-1FVIwHJ_COV0Y_7fxx29c3PCNiFvdwLXXtnonRfTOuM/s320/crawdads.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275738942506692802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">So this co-worker and I have this running joke. Toward the end of the day, he’ll say, “Ya know, I think I’m gonna go home... kick the dog and smack the wife.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">To which I’ll reply, “Ya know, I think I’m gonna go home... kick the cat, smack the husband and say, ‘Bitch, fix me dinner.’”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s a JOKE. We say this crap all the time. And our other co-workers giggle every time we do.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, seriously, I would never kick the cat or smack to husband in order to get dinner. He loves being in the kitchen without me having to resort to violence. Seriously.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I tell, ya, there’s nothing sexier than a man in the kitchen fixing something tasty. Did I mention his sexy kitchen attire? His apron, chef and baker’s hats?<br /><br />His chili is amazing. He makes a hearty chicken stew. His omelets are to die for. And he loves baking. (*eyes sparkles, eyelashes flutter*)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few years ago I mentioned how much I loved gingerbread. This lit a fire in the Spouse’s heart that had us zipping over to a local cake and candy supply house looking for rolling pins, cookie cutters and a multitude of sprinkles.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">In perusing the cookie cutters we found the traditional snowman and Christmas tree, star and reindeer. And then we found... the crawdad.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now it could be a lobster. They both have the same shape, ya know. But considering it’s about 4 inches long, it leads one to think more of a crawdad.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We thought, why the hell not. It’s cute and different. We brought it home with the rest of our purchases and the Spouse got started baking what would soon be a much-desired traditional treat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">He found a damn skippy recipe for gingerbread cookies and the fever set in. Baking fever. And when the fever is on him, you can’t stop him. I don’t remember how many dozen he cranked out that first night. We had so many there was no way we were gonna eat them all. So we filled up a couple of food tubs each and took them to our respective places of employment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And of course no one quite knew how to take the crawdad shaped cookies. That wasn’t a usual Christmas cookie design. We got some weird looks and a few questions. But that didn’t matter. Those cookies disappeared fast. Even the crawdads.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">In years after, we stopped using the other cookie shapes. So now all gingerbread cookies that come out of our kitchen are crawdads. Christmas crawdads. And let me tell ya, these little gingerbread mudbugs are in high demand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The week of Thanksgiving I already had a couple of co-workers ask, “Is your husband gonna make those Christmas crawdad cookies this year?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And the good news is... yes! He’s already started. Last Wednesday night was “Ghost Hunters” night at our house and best friend Nicograph is always there. She happily got recruited into cookie decorating. The Spouse does the baking, I mix the icing and we all pitch in with sugar sprinkles, dragees and other colorful doo-dads to decorate those tasty bits of crawdad goodness.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;">I brought my usual food tub full of crawdads into work Monday. It was like watching a school of piranha skeletonize a cow.<br /><br />But fret not, friends and neighbors, especially you local ones. The Spouse stocked up on all his ingredients before the Christmas baking droves swooped in at the grocery. There'll be plenty more crawdads coming soon.<br /></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-38786384302492495802008-11-10T16:49:00.005-05:002008-11-10T17:30:04.266-05:00Random thoughts and links, part 113I'm loving this new Blogger Follower thing. I'm cyber-meeting some of the most interesting life-forms (and I mean that in the best sense of the term). It's a lot like the good ol' days of Spymac.<br /><br />And I really enjoyed everyone's suggestions for horror films...<br /><br />Stephen: I really liked The Sixth Sense, but I have to admit... I saw the ending coming about 30 minutes into the movie. *SPOILER ALERT* In the scene where Bruce Willis' character meets his wife for their anniversary, and she slaps down the ring and says, "Happy Anniversary" rather disgustedly, I thought, "He's dead. That's why she's acting he way she is. She can't see him because he's really dead. Only the kids can see him."<br /><br />Realmcovet: Heh heh heh... Red Vines... good thing you weren't eating spaghetti.<br /><br />Lakelady: I have not seen Crawlspace (altho the name alone is tripping me out) nor The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake, so I'll have to add those to my list of stuff to see.<br /><br />Papa: I have seen both versions of Nosferatu and I love both of them. Even the silent version has a great visual element of creepiness to it. And I've seen both versions of the Ring. Excellent ghost story!<br /><br />I'll have to wave the Hammer Collection under the Spouse's nose for future gift-giving ideas ;)<br /><br />--------------<br /><br />In the meantime, I've been collecting a vast amount of web goodies, so here ya go...<br /><br />If we don't already, we need <a href="http://mariannem.blogspot.com/2008/06/tokyo-night-two-vampire-cafe.html">one of these</a> in the States.<br /><br />Our wedding cake (complete with spider webs and skeleton couple topper) has nothing on <a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">these</a>.<br /><br />I love Adam and Jamie. Who else could do <a href="http://www.glumbert.com/media/drawingmona">this</a> is in 80 milliseconds.<br /><br />This man is <a href="http://www.hallowindow.com/">GENIUS</a>!<br /><br />I don't know any of these people, but after reading, you'll understand why they're <a href="http://pysih.com/">here</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.onemotion.com/flash/spider/">Great site</a> to leave on a co-worker's desktop. Fun for the whole office!<br /><br />Most user-friendly weather forecasting <a href="http://umbrellatoday.com/">site</a> EVER.<br /><br />The <a href="http://visz.rsoe.hu/alertmap/index.php?smp=&lang=eng">world disasters</a> the media WON'T be telling you about.<br /><br />You know <a href="http://bacontoday.com/">something</a> is truly amazing when it has its own news website.<br /><br />Most of you have seen<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi-qO-4razA"> this</a> by now, right? Well, now there's a full-length <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8iyDMGYKMVM&e">video</a>. I think I just ruptured something.<br /><br />And finally, no matter how bd you might feel, no matter how bad a day you might be having, if you go <a href="http://upsidedowndogs.com/">here</a>, you will be wetting your pants laughing. Promise.Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-47047803532809481022008-11-05T14:15:00.011-05:002008-11-05T14:35:52.393-05:00Where is Duranfan? In here. With us.<span style="font-family:verdana;">So, Halloween may be over for the masses, but for me it’s a year round thing. Hell, I still have two more weekends of Tarot Card readings at the Mansion for their Ghostly Sleepovers. And if you’ve ever seen our house, you would know I rule as Queen of Halloween, what with the gargoyles, skeletons and skulls all over the place, the various books on death, ghosts, witchcraft and other occult stuff, and the growing collection of horror films.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Love me some horror movies. I’m slowly building up my collection of old Hammer and American International movies, those wonderful classics starring Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee and Vincent Price. And I love the cheesy slasher flicks, too. If it has a silent, crazed, chainsaw wielding maniac, I’m all for it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But for the most part, as much as I love these movies, they don’t scare me. I just don’t scare easily. Sure, if you sneak up behind me and yell “Boo!” I’ll probably jump and screech. I’m jumpy, just not easily scared.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So when other people say they can’t handle horror movies because they get too scared, I think to myself, “Huh. Lightweights.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But honestly, out of all the scary movies I’ve seen (and we’re talking thousands) there’s only been three that freaked me out...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">1. The Exorcist</span> - I saw this for the first time ever when I was about 11 years old. Cut. I mean heavily edited for television. I could not sleep for weeks. I couldn’t handle being by myself and I nearly freaked out in the dark. It took me forever to get over it. It was several years later before I got to see the un-cut version. By then I was ‘cured.’ I’d gotten over my fear of the movie and could watch it repeatedly without losing it. The version we own now is the “Version You’ve Never Seen!,” complete with the infamous ‘spider walk.’ The Spouse and I love that scene so much we back it up and watch it 3 to 5 times before continuing on with the movie.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9iP2CiRqgyViMMGtjAdQMau11WeeAGwyU9uwNpjAmYqE51NkM0dyKNrkuxaoSTh5sNufmXTeaZ3ilEyd5ihNVSfvqYj48cDEkz-3TAyaLmJ8VdV8YYLEbNch_nbd-y0zHNPCSfJvaTBZ/s1600-h/SpiderWalk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9iP2CiRqgyViMMGtjAdQMau11WeeAGwyU9uwNpjAmYqE51NkM0dyKNrkuxaoSTh5sNufmXTeaZ3ilEyd5ihNVSfvqYj48cDEkz-3TAyaLmJ8VdV8YYLEbNch_nbd-y0zHNPCSfJvaTBZ/s320/SpiderWalk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265255299118679810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">There is one aspect of the movie that does still kinda get me. It’s this face:</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSQJ4MBWllih69ze-NtbjgQcMgDHeeYS3-5jVKshBxRpyA4rk7BYjAD5Xo9UjzQbMUjdZiBXLce7gzG8T6NAooPyspAY6XY50kt55NeuH9aQlMtM0Y560bSKunMI_bPFtSlpE40sv2Nj6/s1600-h/face_orig.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSQJ4MBWllih69ze-NtbjgQcMgDHeeYS3-5jVKshBxRpyA4rk7BYjAD5Xo9UjzQbMUjdZiBXLce7gzG8T6NAooPyspAY6XY50kt55NeuH9aQlMtM0Y560bSKunMI_bPFtSlpE40sv2Nj6/s320/face_orig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265255534768853042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Damn. Yes, I know that’s the actress Eileen Dietz, but still. That face flashing on the screen for just a couple of frames is just whacked. I was so inspired by that face that I painted it on one entire wall of the Haunted House.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNVv0Ytvnavh4kir0sG7oBVPvYzOE2qIK63QqTz0qdD68ZCIw66haMYSzNNmVHVVNlKa39C3F2FE_LyXSuIz84UC4CvAPWTkI7zy41M2_3TOY7i6RJ-ZGcT5exshlii1-cV4ryQbq7XLB/s1600-h/paintedface.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNVv0Ytvnavh4kir0sG7oBVPvYzOE2qIK63QqTz0qdD68ZCIw66haMYSzNNmVHVVNlKa39C3F2FE_LyXSuIz84UC4CvAPWTkI7zy41M2_3TOY7i6RJ-ZGcT5exshlii1-cV4ryQbq7XLB/s320/paintedface.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265255774017397058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yup, it’s still there, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">2. Alien</span> - This is one of those few movies I could watch every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of. I love the fact that it was written by Dan O’Bannon, the same guy who gave us “Return of the Dead” (“Braaaaaainssss!”) and that wonderfully bad sci-fi comedy, “Dark Star” (“Here boy, want your mouse? Nice mouse”).</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAdcWwJvtlWPgVyUfzhzVtC23FNC8sUKmnVb_gpRylADA-sKFcGqm_VMrVmKV6m9CrrwzVxZBvp2hhSVZJ-II8SMojLJSicb9R1RjUbtsobRcbZvR4OSnUugBmrzrgUsMqtn1wB9_7Vy7/s1600-h/darkstar4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAdcWwJvtlWPgVyUfzhzVtC23FNC8sUKmnVb_gpRylADA-sKFcGqm_VMrVmKV6m9CrrwzVxZBvp2hhSVZJ-II8SMojLJSicb9R1RjUbtsobRcbZvR4OSnUugBmrzrgUsMqtn1wB9_7Vy7/s320/darkstar4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256047134907506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">When Dark Star, his pet project with fellow film student, John Carpenter, tanked, he said, “Well, if I can’t make them laugh, I’ll make them scream instead.” I don’t know about you, but I think he did a damn good job.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I saw Alien when I 10. Even at that young age I loved scary movies. I’d been watching them since I was 5 - no shit. My first horror movie was “The Sentinel,” but more on that later.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So there I was, a horror film-lovin’ 10-year-old that nearly leapt out of my seat and screamed for my parents to “TAKE ME HOME! I DON’T WANNA SEE THIS ANYMORE!!” when the famous chest-burster scene erupted on-screen.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbsVoRBn69UGo6TKCJsLVuRTuC7DIbQ_vjx9atMSOEerfpGOtnnQG3oHlnOY7X7lpE5LKUwFEE2e-TpdF3MaGYsoxsm0TQxGHzYpgNeyQW0v9k5LffzJrQo-M9a29n5GFPNwXCf4Dqru6/s1600-h/chestburster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbsVoRBn69UGo6TKCJsLVuRTuC7DIbQ_vjx9atMSOEerfpGOtnnQG3oHlnOY7X7lpE5LKUwFEE2e-TpdF3MaGYsoxsm0TQxGHzYpgNeyQW0v9k5LffzJrQo-M9a29n5GFPNwXCf4Dqru6/s320/chestburster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256180804993842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Apparently, my reaction was very similar to the members of the cast when the scene was shot. Actor John Hurt and the crew were the only ones on set that day who know what was coming. The looks on the other actors’ faces? Those are genuine. And poor Veronica Cartwright had no clue that jet of blood was aimed right at her.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SLXo1LiuiXQQchbqNSGnXFkZ_s_hL5RiM0zD2eN0G7jPnxuqek1jO3WKRifxrE8Os6cfD2ap17Ia8v5UTU6-4ONq9dOmkdKxo31I1w6fYG8j9X2haJ47Vxa0d3_KVq3YjGxo-Sn1iM0M/s1600-h/lambert.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SLXo1LiuiXQQchbqNSGnXFkZ_s_hL5RiM0zD2eN0G7jPnxuqek1jO3WKRifxrE8Os6cfD2ap17Ia8v5UTU6-4ONq9dOmkdKxo31I1w6fYG8j9X2haJ47Vxa0d3_KVq3YjGxo-Sn1iM0M/s320/lambert.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256312564736786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">3. The Blair Witch Project</span> - I know some people hated this film and didn’t find it scary at all. But it wigged me out something fierce. After seeing this movie opening weekend I went home by myself to my then world’s smallest 1-bedroom apartment. And every little sound got a little louder. And very little shadow got a little longer. I couldn’t sleep for several nights afterward.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So what got me in this movie that other movies don’t have? The fact that you never saw what got them. There was no chainsaw-wielding maniac, no crazed killer in a hockey mask, no diabolical torturer or spawn of Satan. All you saw was what “it” left for the victims to find and what happened to the last two survivors at the end. And even THAT is unclear.</span><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaO66OceRn9vj4EympY34HefdzkZ7v5M1pmGMxd5Lqe-mEaO_2SW3yQ_5osMH3vLVUpzam41nLpJ0sOMmzo_ej8WVS21HMMx3IqB6Q4OUBkBKi7g-NBrlHIosWmnNuedzeqqRcgubDw1hC/s1600-h/blairwitch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaO66OceRn9vj4EympY34HefdzkZ7v5M1pmGMxd5Lqe-mEaO_2SW3yQ_5osMH3vLVUpzam41nLpJ0sOMmzo_ej8WVS21HMMx3IqB6Q4OUBkBKi7g-NBrlHIosWmnNuedzeqqRcgubDw1hC/s320/blairwitch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256534167380434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">That final scene still disturbs me. Even tho I know the actors are alive and well (and “Heather” went on to shoot a few commercials for Steak ‘N Shake) I still get weirded out those last few minutes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now back to my first ever horror movie. My parents took me to the drive-in to see “The Sentinel,” which is one of the many ‘demonic’ movies to come out during the 70s on the tails of “The Exorcist” and “The Omen.” The movie itself is very strange with several bizarre scenes and lots of disturbing imagery, but this scene is the one that’ll get ya.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FfzzO0Vc04g&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FfzzO0Vc04g&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I triple dog-dare you to watch that, by yourself, in the dark, and not wet your pants.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-90360434052060061182008-10-25T09:56:00.001-05:002008-10-25T09:56:25.117-05:00Take Five<embed width="448" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://s275.photobucket.com/flash/player.swf?file=http://vid275.photobucket.com/albums/jj286/Hollygoyle/HollyCorywMusiccopy.flv"></embed>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-48508162064934868892008-10-23T09:27:00.002-05:002008-10-23T09:28:30.477-05:00Thoughts from the Big Chair<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uqm4YDC49ruMTx0m2LhaJ9jkeyI9F6Yb3pPl1uxr1CIH7XPqk1nZVoS1iVnVj3BQvKjpxhfWqmEXa-S9xQcSiUs1DJ0qQHzBVAuPiFPj_V2AWuzh9GKTnxhWGEAjUvGuZmQolBcvGmgH/s1600-h/girlgoyle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uqm4YDC49ruMTx0m2LhaJ9jkeyI9F6Yb3pPl1uxr1CIH7XPqk1nZVoS1iVnVj3BQvKjpxhfWqmEXa-S9xQcSiUs1DJ0qQHzBVAuPiFPj_V2AWuzh9GKTnxhWGEAjUvGuZmQolBcvGmgH/s320/girlgoyle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260356031548233026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the past few weekends I’ve been doing a lot of pondering. Well, there’s not much else to do, since I’m sitting on my big, furry ass, waiting for folks to plop down their money so they can snuggle up with me and get their photo taken to document the event.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Early in the evening you might find me reading a book, but once the crowds start showing up, I have more fun just people watching. Nicograph (our photographer) and the Spouse (managing the gift shop sales) keep me company and we all share in some good laughs at some of our observations.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, like I said, I have some deep thoughts while I’m perched on my big bench, overlooking the crowd...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">1. Normally I don’t like being stared at. It freaks me out. I’m terribly paranoid most of the time (ask the Spouse about my habit of locking doors) but when I’m made-up all horrible and ugly I don’t mind being looked at. So go ahead and stare. For 5 bucks you can take it a picture, it’ll last longer. But, really, look all you want. If you stare long enough I might wave, stand up and freak you and your pals out, or do a trick.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">2. But don’t be obnoxious about it. If you come to our Haunted House and you’re being a jerk I already hate you. And I am the first wall of security in our establishment. So if you come in with a chip on shoulder or with an attitude I’ll be alerting the rest of our security to be looking for you. And we have two police officers on the premises that we’d love to introduce you to.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">3. Don’t come in drunk and/or stoned either. I hate you, too. I just can’t comprehend the mentality that says, “Hey, let’s get drunk and go to a Haunted House!” You dumb ass. You just wasted money on something you either won’t remember or will get tossed out of because of your behavior. Smooth move, Exlax.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">4. Another thing about the drunks and stoners... Do you realize how bad you smell? I notice these things, especially when you slam yourself next to me for a photo. I’m nearly dying from the fumes. I could easily get a buzz just from your aroma alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">5. Yes, I AM real. Yes, I can hear you. And yes, I talk. Feel free to talk to me and ask questions. Just don’t be a putz about it. If you are polite, genuinely curious and friendly, I’ll chatter with you as long as you’re in line waiting to get into the House. But if you’re being an asshole the most you’ll get out of me is a shake of the head. I don’t communicate with morons. I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">6. Like I said, I AM real. And, if you ask first, you can touch me. You can touch my ‘face,’ you can shake my hand, you can feel my fur or touch my wings. (I tell ya, I haven’t had this much physical action since my younger, single gal days.) But do NOT grab me, try to pull off my ‘face’ (it’s glued onto my real face) or pinch my fingers. Some little tween girl did that last week and I wanted to kill her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">7. I am NOT ‘Jeepers Creepers.’ I started this costume years before that damn movie was released. Don’t get me wrong, I love that movie. But I am NOT the creature from that film. I barely even resemble that thing. And we don’t do famous movie characters at our House. Go somewhere else for that stuff. All of our stuff is original. Nicograph and I got so tired of hearing ‘Jeepers Creepers’ that she made me a sign last weekend that says, “I am NOT Jeepers Creepers! I am a GARGOYLE! Get it right!” I haven’t used it yet, but I may have to.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh, well, it could be worse. At least I’m not hearing ‘the flying monkey from The Wizard of Oz’ any more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">8. Our volunteers are wonderful. I can’t say that enough. So many of them check on me all night, making sure I’m ok and well-hydrated. These folks are bringing me soft drinks all night long. And since I’ve turned Directorship over to my protege, B, things have gone very well and I personally have been a lot less stressed. Which is a good thing. The Spouse is happy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So one more weekend and then it’s a wrap. And I can look forward to Halloween Night in our neighborhood. And then I can take a much needed rest from spooking.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Except we have not one, not two, but THREE (yes, three) Ghostly Sleepovers in the Mansion for the first three Saturdays in November. Which means I’m pulling three all-nighters doing Tarot Card readings for our ghost-hunting guests.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, Halloween really is an all-year event for me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-74164209716222579862008-10-20T12:15:00.003-05:002008-10-20T12:18:58.055-05:00Say cheese!<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiDPOfRT99hODORsaTshrJw5ogGmqs0ooxQJskkqpAv1rethdVPLmBWLaNzx-Crz3ISaPHi1sgiIxioY0ACfo3DJknnzzvER-dAh1KeYZDXCEW1dJQX6A6s_-I3iUTjRey9e-Ns_Cgr-E/s1600-h/dangargoyle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiDPOfRT99hODORsaTshrJw5ogGmqs0ooxQJskkqpAv1rethdVPLmBWLaNzx-Crz3ISaPHi1sgiIxioY0ACfo3DJknnzzvER-dAh1KeYZDXCEW1dJQX6A6s_-I3iUTjRey9e-Ns_Cgr-E/s320/dangargoyle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259286149285198770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">One of the biggest challenges in the Haunt business is coming up with new ideas every season. Some haunts keep the same rooms and props every year because they are so popular. Our organization, however, tries to keep our house full of fresh, new things. Sure, we’ve had some favorites we might have used a couple years in a row, and there have also been a few old things we dug out of the closet and gave a fresh coat of paint to, but for the most part we try to offer something different every year.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">One of our most successful concepts was the Casket Ride. We took a real casket (a nice looking black one with gold trim, I might add), ripped out the metal spring and added padding and a removable lining, propped that sucker on a long, inclined ramp with industrial rollers and viola. A ride to die for, literally.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We even had a camera mounted over the Loading Zone so that people waiting in line could watch some poor bastard lay down in the coffin, the lid get closed, and the coffin roll off camera. That alone had some folks dampening their drawers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This year we were inspired by a get-up that occurs at a lot of amusement parks. As soon as you walk in the entrance, some employee and a goober in a big, floppy character costume approach you and your group, snap a picture and hand you a ticket with a number on it. At the end of the day, you report to a booth and, lo and behold, there’s you and your crew with the floppy-costumed critter available in 8 X 10, wallet size and keychain size.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So it if works for them, maybe it’ll work for us. But instead of a cute, furry thing, we could have, say, and evil furry thing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We honestly had no idea if this would even work, but we will willing to give it a try. The staff got hold of a halfway decent printer and stocked up on ink cartridges and photo paper. Nicograph (who’s been helping out at the Haunted House for quite a few years now) brought her digital camera, tripod, laptop and fabric for a backdrop.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And I brought myself, some furry legs and some big-ass wings.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We just found our next big money maker. We’re averaging about a dozen a night. And that number increases every weekend.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For 5 bucks, you and your pals can get your photo made with yours truly. So, in a sense, I’ve become a twisted version of a mall Santa.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yes, people are more than willing to plop either themselves or their kids on my lap for a photo. Imagine using one of these for your Christmas Card this year.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So I sit on my big chair all night, eyeing the crowd ominously, while Nicograph solicits potential subjects.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Who knew we could make this much money (and have fun at the same time) and still keep our clothes on?<br /></span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-58946090550856225652008-10-13T09:31:00.001-05:002008-10-13T09:33:11.569-05:00Best Scares, part 3<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvc8B3xIeLDPvT7DnD88KTkqARl011vxegwSJ1ixAUymD0N2nwDy00kEc7yhNdrtLPom5a7j8_PDSXDphEgMvM5LX75IDGiqmFfZAwzSYtcm5X3UH6nHuoQjLfJ9Je8LEeNGHVC0kFRkZX/s1600-h/pale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvc8B3xIeLDPvT7DnD88KTkqARl011vxegwSJ1ixAUymD0N2nwDy00kEc7yhNdrtLPom5a7j8_PDSXDphEgMvM5LX75IDGiqmFfZAwzSYtcm5X3UH6nHuoQjLfJ9Je8LEeNGHVC0kFRkZX/s320/pale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256646308713705954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">As much as I love being my gargoyle alter ego, there were times back in my early days at Literally, a Haunted House that I needed a break. So once in a while I would throw on a tattered, hooded robe, make myself look sickly and slightly evil, and just wander behind groups as they ventured thru the House. I not only provided security, I got to see all the other actors in action. And I got to see customers freak out all night long.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Altho there are some tried-and-true classic scares (clowns, chainsaws, drop windows), sometimes just being silent can be way more intimidating and frightening.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, as they always say when interviewing neighbors of a serial killer: “He was real quiet and kept to himself mostly.” It’s those quiet types you gotta watch out for.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One night I’m doing my stealth roving I notice this one woman in my current group being a general loud-mouth wise-ass. She’s crass, rude, disrespectful of our actors and a general pain in the ass. She’s blonde, aprobably in her late 30s (old enough to know better), and surprisingly not drunk. But she’s being a real bitch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So that when I start staring. Right. At. Her. Unblinking. Eyes wide. And with those yellow cat-eye lenses, not to mention the sickly face, it’s pretty damn creepy. Hell, look at the photo. There is no sexy in that get-up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, needless to say, she felt the eyes on her and glanced up to catch my unwavering gaze, and that cocky attitude went poof. I’ve never seen a face fall that fast.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">As we went from room to room, I stayed behind the entire group, remaining in the background so as not to disrupt the action in each scene. But Blondie is not watching the actors. She keeps glancing at me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I’m not looking at anyone or anything but her. And I’m not blinking.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">By the third room, she’s no longer enjoying herself. She grabs her male companion and, whispering loud enough for me to hear, says, “That thing’s looking at me.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Blondie’s companion looks up at me but doesn’t seem to care. He’s having a good time watching the show so he doesn’t care that his girl is getting freaked out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">This continues from room to room. Blondie is getting more and more nervous, uttering “That thing’s still looking at me!” at least two more times.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And my face never changes. And I never say a word.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">By the time we reach the end, Blondie is a complete mess. Once she makes it out the exit she relaxes and says to her group, “Did you guys see that thing looking at me?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the nice things about being roving security is you get some decent exercise, since you’re on your feet walking all night. Another nice thing is that you are not limited to one room. Or even the House itself. You can go anywhere you want.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That includes chasing people out the door. Across the yard. Down the street.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Blondie had only a second or two of peace before I emerged from the exit, still staring at her, and started following her. Blondie broke out into a brisk walk up the street, constantly looking over her shoulder at me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t worry, friends and neighbors, the street she was on is a well-lit dead end with little traffic, so she wasn’t in danger of getting hit by a car. But getting run over by a vehicle was the last thing on her mind as she started to run. Meanwhile, I’m just walking at a leisurely pace behind her. And only her. By now her pals are howling with laughter as they watch their friend run away screaming from a slow moving spooky person.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally, I stopped in the middle of the road and slowly raised my right arm and pointed to her, never saying a word. It made for a nice visual.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Blondie made it home safe, sound and un-traumatized that night. How do I know this? She and her companion came back the very next week.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s always a compliment when you have repeat visitors in the Haunt business. It gives you that warm, sticky feeling to know you and your organization are so damn scarey that folks are willing to undergo the ordeal all over again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, yes, Blondie and her man came back the very next weekend. And guess who followed them thru the house again?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the first room Blondie noticed my presence and nearly lost it. She held tenaciously to her man while nearly screaming, “It’s that thing again! It’s still looking at me!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m going to give yall a few minutes to bask in this moment of great satisfaction that I, too, was experiencing....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Aaawwww, yeeeeaaahhh... This is gonna get good.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Once again, Blondie’s companions are having a great time. Once again, Blondie is a mess. Only this time the volume has been turned up to 11.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">By the time we reach the exit, she’s become an Olympic sprinter. Her pals are still laughing as she dashes up the street again. And I, too, am slowly following her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But this time I throw a little humor in the mix. Humiliation is the greatest thing to serve to someone who deserves it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I stop in the middle of the street, just like before, but this time, in my best toddler voice, I shout, “Bye-bye, lady!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Blondie screeches to a halt and turns around to make sure she really heard what I just said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I put my hands to my cheeks, giggle like a little girl and go skipping (yes, skipping) back into the House.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don’t know who was laughing harder; her friends or our staff.</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-22646913427653397222008-10-05T09:45:00.001-05:002008-10-05T09:46:49.104-05:00I can has candee?<span style="font-family: verdana;">Forget stinky, moist cat food. Forget cheezburgers. Forget even tuna.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">THIS... is what the cat lives for. Caramel Apple suckers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just another reason why Halloween is a big deal at our house.</span><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wqlsobNz1CU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wqlsobNz1CU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521542325980613493.post-90251531583010691652008-10-02T09:38:00.004-05:002008-10-02T09:40:15.069-05:00Best Scares, part 2<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5brX4wGwX7D_9GoLdrgkTcppE_N448Z2TYVwHLtGmUblscCTpMKEhnPvNqJKndlNn1NIBAonXJu8k-oTlANNNN1UpR_6Sv_S4qCBkRt4cejlh95-ZN4-AfsVjuvROW31PSwT4eYzL1Ec/s1600-h/gargoyle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5brX4wGwX7D_9GoLdrgkTcppE_N448Z2TYVwHLtGmUblscCTpMKEhnPvNqJKndlNn1NIBAonXJu8k-oTlANNNN1UpR_6Sv_S4qCBkRt4cejlh95-ZN4-AfsVjuvROW31PSwT4eYzL1Ec/s320/gargoyle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252566290120610482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the easiest ways to scare somebody is to pretend you are a prop. The more made-up and heavily costumed you are, the more effective this is.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seriously... nobody expects something that’s 8 foot tall with wings to be real. Which makes this whole set-up so much fun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mastering the whole ‘prop-stance’ was simple. I would back up against the wall and stretch my arms out in a threatening manner and freeze. I would even find a small spot on the wall ahead of me to focus on without blinking. As people walked past me I remained frozen. I might even let them reach out and touch me to see if I was real. All I am waiting for is the right moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That moment is that fraction of a second where they assume I’m fake and relax. And that’s when I get them. Sometimes is a loud snarl and lunge, other times it’s a simple turn of the head with one hell of a stare down. Once they start running there’s 8 feet of sexy gargoyle right behind them, maintaining their speed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Many a visitors’ crotches have been damped this way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">One night while in my frozen pose I observed my next group of victims. It was a mix of young guys and girls but one guy stood out in particular: ball cap on sideways, overly baggy pants with the waistband below the ass crack, wife beater shirt, walking with an over-confidently swagger like a rooster in a barnyard, complete with head bobbing... you already know the type.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is the type I normally try to avoid. And I warn my actors of the same. When you see someone that looks like they might be trouble, avoid them and scare the rest of the group.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I lunge and snarl at the rest of the group. But guess who screams like a little girl and nearly drops to his knees?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baggy Pants is not as tough as his homeboy exterior portrays him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, Baggy Pants let out a wail that rivaled your average 8-year-old. Upon regaining his balance he dashed down a short hallway and stopped, cowered in the corner.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, just like the slogan for McDonald’s, I’m lovin’ it. Looks like we have someone who needs ‘special attention.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I lumber down the hall and loom over him, growling and breathing heavy the whole time. He’s still trembling in the corner with his arms thrown protectively over his head.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">After enjoying this spectacle for a few seconds I decide to add the icing on the cake. I thrust out my right hand and, in a low, beast-like voice I say, “Shake my hand!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baggy Pants looks at me and shakes his head ever so slightly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I keep my hand out and shout again, “Shake my hand!!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baggy Pants, still looking very rattled, shakes his head again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, in my normal everyday voice I say, “I’m a GIRL! Shake my hand!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baggy Pants has a moment of clarity and, still looking frightened, gingerly holds out his hand. I grab it, give a few strong shakes and turn around and walk away.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now while all of this has been happening, his buddies have been just a few feet away watching all this go down. My satisfaction comes from knowing that, once they all got outside, his buddies probably gave him grief for the rest of the night:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Dude, you got scared by a GIRL!”</span>Hollygoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01239024035901070153noreply@blogger.com1