In cyberspace, no one can hear you scream

Many moons ago, and old boyfriend gave me a little mental nugget of joy.

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.

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.

I now give you the "Ex Theme."

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.

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.

Well, after nearly 20 years of waiting, I finally had that moment in my life when I heard the 'Ex Theme' play for real.

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.

Questions abound. Who is this person?

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)."

That's when I recognized who it was. Cue the music.

"NO!! OH GOD NO!! NOT YOU!! ANYONE BUT YOU!! I thought I had successfully escaped you forever! Oh shit, you found me! SONOFABITCH!!"

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.

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.

Little did I know that during the evening, while I was on a bathroom break, Gloria and Old Flame exchanged phone numbers.

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.

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.

(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)

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.

But now we have the internet and Facebook, which makes finding people bonehead simple. And unfortunately, this bonehead Gloria found me.

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.

There. Done. Shew. Catastrophe avoided.

Until 3 days later.

No friendship request (that button worked). Instead there's another message:

"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"

Cue the music again.

"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?!"

So now I had to bring out the big guns and do something I hoped I would never have to do - block somebody.

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?!"

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."

Cue that fucking music one more time!

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.

What I did on my summer vacation

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.

Well, Hollygoyle will exist forever, but she may be a little shorter in the future. My stilt-walking days are over. *heavy sigh*

On the night of July 31st, there was a horror film convention 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 Haunted House). Go on, guess...

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.

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...

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.

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).

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.

Fuck. Six years of being on these things with no problems and I get taken out with a goddamn piece of paper.

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.

Shit, this is not good. This is so not good.

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.

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 theatrical cat-eye lenses 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.

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.

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.

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...

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.”

But I gotta tell ya, that man was amazing. I never felt a thing and my knee was much smaller when I left.

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...

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!

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.”

He says, “What are you doing Thursday?”

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).

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.

Monday morning I go back to work. Yup, crutches and all.

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.

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.

Let's See What Madame Ruby Sees...

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.

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.

I read Tarot cards. I've been reading them for over 20 years.

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 Rider Waite Deck.

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 Monolith Graphics that had a Tarot deck for sale. Lucky for me they had a whole slew of them for cash-and-carry. This Gothic Tarot deck 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.

So out of my 6 decks, I have 4 that I like to use: the Rider Waite, the Alice in Wonderland deck, the Halloween 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(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.)

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!"

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.

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."

Needless to say, that forced me to adopt a new rule: One reading per person. No exceptions.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

Something very bad had just happened to this man.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But don't let that discourage any of you. I love doing readings and I have a new deck to play with. Just don't ask for more than one. I'll smack you.

Random thoughts and links, part 116

Hi. Yeah, it's me. I'm still here, hanging around.

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*

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...

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.

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.

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.

In the meantime, here's a pile of links that have been waiting to be posted...

My, why does that shape look so familiar?

Stay busy for hours... days... and what sweet music is makes...

Bathroom humor at it's finest (and I just finished reading Stephen King's "All That You Love Will Be Carried Away.")

Have Easter all year long.

This dog is having way too much fun.

You know it's a classy stereotype when it gets its own website.

My best streak was 3.

Oh, just 10 more minutes... please?

Hey! How the hell di you get home last night? Beer Scooter!

Yeah? Well, what about you? How'd you get home? Lay-Z-Boy chair!

Well, these guys are so flexible.

Sesame Street listens to... SLAYER!

For that late night trip to the shitter.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

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.

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.

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...

Oh, wait... hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

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.

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.

Sorry, excuse me... *runs to get cup of coffee*

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.

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.

I can NOT go to work like this.

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.

Triple suck. Things are not going well for the space monster.

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.

Hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

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.

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. Speaking of puffy, my hands and fingers have swollen to the point they look like a package of hot dogs.

Urgent Care Center, here I come.

Dammit. Hold on... *goes to get cup of water*

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?

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.

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.

But apparently these magic pills have some unpleasant side effects. I’ll let you guess what they are.

Berry Scary

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!

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 Huber’s Orchard and Winery right across the river in Indiana.

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.

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.

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.

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, hard candy, candy corn, dried anchovies, ham, and various cheeses, Parmesan being a favorite.

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.

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.

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.

The Spouse and I looked at each other like, “What the hell just happened?”

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.

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.

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.

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.

Random thoughts and links, part 115

At 7:16am this morning, at the intersection of Bardstown Road and Grinstead Drive, my beloved little Focus wagon rolled over 100,000 miles.

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.

To here's to another 100,000 miles...

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.

What's even better is that there's a really good chance another, even better job is on the horizon.

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.

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.

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...

Links!

I couldn't have said it better. Who really want to go around the house looking like a gay Satan worshiper?

Speaking of Satan, heavy metal band names explained.

Go on. Type in your fucking zip code.

Oh hell, the donut fries look good. And I'd give soe serious cash for an Elvis donut.

Guess what we're gonna mix at the next party?

Japan really loves Obama. No, I mean REALLY loves Obama.

Damn, I wish Louisville had a subway system.

I am so getting a pair of these... as soon as somebody manufactures them.

How little kids can start smoking at an early age (this kid is sharp).

How to have fun with elevators.

And finally, the absolutely best rendition of the Star Wars theme EVER!

Get off the lawn!

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.

I’m now officially old. Which sucks.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

You know that shirt that says “Natural Blonde?” I need one that says “Natural Goth.”

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.

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.

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).

(And for that matter, WHO IN THE HELL READS THE BRIDGE STRATEGIES COLUMN?!)

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.”

And then I realized after perusing said photos, neither do I.

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.

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.

But every time I see one of those “Now That’s What I Call Music” cd commercials, I find myself saying, “Who?” a lot.

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.

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.

Which is fine. I don’t care.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

That got their attention. A couple of them apologized and the mob migrated to the next yard, still shoving each other.

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!”

A-Haunting We Will Go

Good news: Last weekend a troupe of our Haunted folks ventured out to St. Louis for the Haunt Trade Show.

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.

Good news: We bought some cool stuff, kept it all way under budget, and got a ton of ideas for this season.

Bad news: Prices on everything went way up, so our purchasing was limited.

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.

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.

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...)

Good news: Like I said, we have a ton of great ideas for this year's Haunt.

Bad news: We need a bigger house. We have so many ideas that we don't have the space for all of them.

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.

And videos? Yes, we have them...

Old people and their walkers:



Talk about driving someone up the walls:


Happy Bat. Happy Bat is hungry:


Death has come for you all, and is staying for the all-you-can-eat buffet:


How not to lose your head. And that horse could use a sandwich:

C'mon, stink!

"Road kill has its seasons just like anything.
It's possums in the autumn and it's farm cats in the spring."

It's apparent that when Tom Waits wrote that, he hadn't traveled to Kentucky yet. But I think Mr. Loudon Wainwright the Third got it right when he wrote this one.

You can definitely tell that warmer weather 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 spring's arrival, nor is it the scent of fresh-cut grass or even a charcoal grill.

Oh, no. It's skunk. Dead skunk. Dead, flat, crispy, flakey, stinky skunk.

Oh, sure, you'll see your roadkill squirrel with its paper-thin body now one with the pavement with its fluffy tail still flappin' 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 someone's beloved pet.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, can out-do the absolute stench of skunk.

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.

I'm not sure why our burb 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.

One night last fall friend Nicograph 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, Nicograph was impressed. To the Spouse and I, it was old hat.

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.

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-waddlin' across the cul de sac. His fat little striped body was just rolling along with his tail up like a damn flagpole.

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 neighborhood on our way to work. Hell, we even have hawks and falcons fly around all the time.

Oh, yeah. And we had those raccoons shitting on our deck last year.

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.

So all you deer hunters, howz about this year you try hunting something different. We guarantee you won't go home empty-handed.

Hodge Podge and Malarkey

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wow, I have teeth again. With points. Zowie.

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:
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.

One thing I am looking forward to is this year's Halloween Trade Show. 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.

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.

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 Doomed Radio 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.

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.

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.

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:

Lux is dead, and I'm not feeling too good myself.

Damn.

It’s been a hell of a week.

I’ve purposely disappeared from the interwebs for a while since the Spouse lost his job.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I find myself saying fuck and damn a lot lately.

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?
Looks like we’ll be having a little chainsaw party this weekend.

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.

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.

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?

Random thoughts and links, part 114

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Facebook has become addictive. So if you're looking for me, you know where to start.

And I have a plethora of goofy links:

I personally thought this stuff tasted like crap, but damn, the bottle is so fucking cool.

First is was the lolcats, then came the loldogs. Finally, there is... oh dear god no...

What to do when the escalator is broken (turn down your speakers... music NFSW).

And you thought that cat had problems? This dog is defective as well.

Best recycling ever. Soylent Pencils is people!

Guess what you bitches are getting from me next year?

Poetry for everyman, alive or (un)dead.

Ok, folks, everybody sing along!

Forget Prada, Chanel or whatever scent Liz Taylor is hawking these days. This is the fragrance to drive your man wild.

I know this late, but you can still enjoy a little creepy Christmas all year long.

Attention spooky people. Go here, big fun.

The most charming, dainty and sweet-natured ladies you'll ever meet. They've become my new heros.

And you think YOUR Monday was bad?

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.

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.

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

BOOM!

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.

I'm still not aware of what has happened.

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.

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.

There are (summoning Carl Sagan) billions and billions of miniscule bits of glass everywhere. As far as 30 feet away.

My workstation is covered with shrapnel.

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."

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.

"You might want to take that shirt off. You're covered in glass."

"Yeah, you'll want to take your hair down, too. You have glass in your hair."

I reach up and feel a bunch of small glass chunks on my carefully braided hair.

Fuck. What the hell just happened?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Once I get the old shirt on, I emerge from the bathroom to get see what the fuck just happened.

That's when I see my workstation.
Yeah, it's petty much covered with glass. But check this shit out. The iMac is still running!

But yeah, I was sitting right there. And you can see how close the car was.
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.

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!"

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.

We were all walking around in a daze. People (even me) are pulling out their cell phones and taking pictures.

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.

I called the Spouse between interviews and told him the whole story. He must have said, "Holy Shit!!" a dozen times.

I get off the phone and now I wanna see the damage.
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.

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.

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.

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.

Every time I look at these photo, I get freaked out. I keep thinking how close that car was...

Shitty gifts

A week ago friend Kim sent me this link of “10 Gifts We Don’t Want.” She specifically wanted me to see number 3.

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 coffin couch. 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.

But out of curiosity I went thru the rest of the unwanted gifts according to MSN and was baffled. Ok, sure, the Fundies are completely stupid and the gold pills are just down right ridiculous, but some of the other things intrigued me...

First off, the Life Gem. 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).

(gawd, that was a long sentence)

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.

"Say, that's a beautiful ring. What kind of stone is that?"

"Grandma."

Then there’s the wall vase in the shape of a hand. It reminds me of the hand hooks from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Apparently there’s a whole line of hand decor. 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 finger hooks.

But my favorite is the Poo Pourri. I read about this stuff earlier this month in BUST magazine and the gals there really liked it.

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.

What a brilliant idea! Do you know how many times I wish I’d had something like this in the past? Well, no more.

I found their website. I ordered some. A lot. So guess what some of you peeps are getting this year?

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 we all poop so deal with it and bear with me...

Zowie. No stink. Nice lemony scent. Amazing. I'm impressed.

So, what would you rather get? A fruitcake, an inflatable fruitcake, squirrel underpants, a coffin couch or some Poo Pourri? Yeah, I thought so...