No bunnies died for this picture

Today is Thursday, which is good because this week I’ve been swamped with a combination of editing on the book and insanely strange emotions I blame on the moon.  But since it’s Thursday I can just throw an old picture up here and it counts as a post because it’s Throwback Thursday.  Yay for laziness!

This is Hailey on her first Easter.  They didn’t have cute etsy hats nine years ago so I had to make my own.  I made it by buying a stuffed animal and scalping it and tying it to her head.  This is what we did in the old days before everyone learned to knit and it became easy to make your kids twee.  WE HAD TO WORK AT IT.

"Where did my stuffed animal go?"

“Where did my stuffed bunny go?  Wait.  What’s on my head?  WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

In related news, is everyone feeling as completely out of control and brittle as I do this week?  Is it that blood moon thing?  Did anyone else wake up naked in the front yard the next morning?  Should we be sacrificing virgins?  Are there any virgins left?  These are the questions that keep me up at night.

I need your help to solve assholism and get my Nobel Prize

me:  Things aren’t going right for me.

Victor:  How do you mean?

me:  I can’t make things with words work.

Victor:  Could you be more vague?

me:  My thing with the words in it isn’t working right.

Victor:  Your…head?

me:  Sort of.  The creative part that makes words fit together properly.  There’s probably a word for it.  I’d probably know what it was if my head wasn’t broken right now.

Victor:  Your head is always broken.

me:  Yes, but most of the time that works in my favor.  Right now everything is cloudy and I’m exhausted and I think I might be depressed but also I think maybe I’m not depressed and that life is just shitty.  But it isn’t shitty so I must be depressed.  I wish someone would invent one of those things they used on Star Trek that you could just run over your body and it would be like, “Hey, you’ve got the flu” or “Your endorphins are all fucked up” or “Your body is fine but your head is all shitty and it’s not your fault so just wait it out and it’ll get better.”  Why don’t you invent that?

Victor:  I’ll get right on that.

me:  And make it an app so I can put it on my phone.  You’ll make millions.

Victor:  So just, invent a machine that detects everything medically wrong with you?

me:  And then put it in my phone.  It doesn’t even have to be completely accurate.  It could just say, “Wow.  How are you even standing right now?  You’re so brave.  You should be in bed.  Show this to your spouse so they know that you’re like some kind of machine for even being alive right now.”

Victor: Huh.

me: Or maybe sometimes it could say, “You’re super healthy but I think a gypsy put a curse on you.  Find another gypsy to take it off.”  That way you don’t have to go to the doctor, and also you’re keeping gypsies in business.

Victor: I don’t know that that’s a business.

me:  It should be.   Although, now that I think about it, I knew gypsies in Houston and they never cursed anyone.  So maybe make it a poltergeist and have the person drink holy water.

Victor: I don’t think you’re supposed to drink holy water.  Aren’t people getting dunked in that stuff all the time?  That seems unsanitary.

me: Then the next diagnosis should be “Back so soon?  You probably got dysentery from that holy water.  You should have boiled it first.  Always boil your holy water.”  This business makes itself.

Victor: I’m going away now.

me: And we could sell pills to people.  Like last week this girl pinned a picture of home-made pills filled with glitter and she was like “Glitter emergency pills. Bad day? Open a pill, throw glitter around” and I was like, “Wait. We’re angrily throwing the glitter in the office of the person who pissed us off, right? Because I could get behind that. Glitter never goes away. It’s like a shiny grudge you leave behind to remind people how much you hate them. Where do I buy these pills?

Victor:  And?

me:  She has not responded to me.

Victor:  Well, she’s smarter than I am.

I need these.  But I need them to be bucket-sized.

I need these. But I need them to be bucket-sized.

In the end, Victor did not agree to make me any apps so I need someone who knows how to make one.  Ideally it would diagnose all illnesses immediately, but if that takes more than a few days to build I’m fine with an app that just gives you random diagnoses like “Your hair looks amazing” or “Answer is fuzzy.  Try again later” or “That bitch in the next office is intentionally making you crazy.  She needs some glitter, STAT.”  And then we’ll take all the money we make on the app and invest it into making more glitter pills, which we’ll sell for almost nothing because if there are enough glitter pills out there then people will use them and you’ll be able to tell assholes as first sight because they’ll always have glitter on them.  It’s like a tracking system for assholes.  So, maybe I didn’t cure world disease, but I’m helping people to identify assholes before they get their shittiness all over you, and I’m pretty sure that deserves a Nobel Prize in whatever category “Halting Assholeness” falls under.

Playing in the swamp

If you’ve read here long enough you’ve probably seen Brooke Shaden‘s work because it’s the strange, whimsical and macabre photography that goes so well with some of my darker writing. She’s magic.

what moves us

experiencing space

sleepwalker

And today she’s coming to Texas so she can photograph me in a swamp.  It’s possible I’ll be eaten by alligators, but – in fairness – that’s probably a really fascinating way to die, and knowing Brooke she’ll probably get some awesomely disturbing  photos out of it.  I give you full permission to look at any death photos that might result, unless I look really fat, in which case just keep in mind that I’m retaining water and also that alligator attacks cause swelling.  Probably.

In other (non-alligator) news, earlier this week my sweet baby niece had her appendix explode in her because apparently she wants to be just like her aunt.  I informed her that it was my gallbladder that exploded inside of me but she didn’t care because she’s on a lot of morphine.  She’s recovering and is currently smothered in stuffed animals but if you’d like to send her happy thoughts and prayers, that would be lovely.  Also, if you’d like to send entertaining websites, videos, etc. to my sister who will be stuck in a hospital room for the next week (with significantly less morphine) you can leave links in the comments.  If it made you laugh your ass off or was so fascinating you couldn’t stop reading, please share it.

I’ll start:  Fascinating, hilarious, awesome.

PS. If I do die I formally bequeath my appendix to my niece.  Mine is the (so far) non-exploding kind.  You can never have too many.

PPS.  Just talked to my sister.  Apparently you can have too many.  So instead I leave my niece my appendix, but not to be inserted into her body.  Instead  I’ll just have my dad tan it in his taxidermy shop so she can use it as a little coin purse.  Everyone needs a coin purse.

Not a real post, but still awesome

Hi.  This isn’t a real post but I’m posting it anyway and so I think that makes it a real post.  Unless you’re epileptic, in which case you need to leave now.  It’s for your own good.  Come back tomorrow when I write about something less likely to make you fall down.

Okay, see the video above?  Open it to full screen and stare at the center of the video for the full minute that it plays.  Then immediately look at your hand.  Then bring your friends over to watch it and when it ends say “Never mind the video.  What is wrong with your hand?”  Then back away and tell them that’s exactly what people’s hands look like right before they morph into a werewolf.  

Or not.  Just a suggestion.

Watermelon is the secret code word

Whenever I’m at large events and I’m asked to write my name on those “HELLO, MY NAME IS” stickers I instead write “Watermelon is the secret code word.”  Most people just look at me like I’m off and avoid me.  Some people (usually the ones in large, boisterous groups) loudly yell “Secret code word for what?” and I just say “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and walk away.  But a few people (usually the same people hiding in corners, or drinking so they have something to do with their hands) will hesitantly come up and whisper a single word. “Watermelon.” And then I nod and smile like we know a secret the rest of the world doesn’t and I quietly say, “You’re in.  Welcome aboard.”  Then they usually smile back – happy and slightly confused – and walk off with a little more confidence, knowing that they’re part of something bigger.  Bigger and ridiculous and utterly insane.

Those are the best people.

***********

And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by A Life Less Frantic (which is something I can get behind because if my life was less frantic I’d run out of Xanax much less often.)  If you click right here you can get a totally free pdf copy of her book, Your Best Year Yet.  Free.  Just because she knows that readers here are full of awesome.  You win.  Go check it out here.

Because if there’s one thing we need more of in my neighborhood, it’s fire.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the nice looking man wearing a yellow construction jacket at my door step.  “We’re just going house to house to let everyone know that the city will be doing work on your block for the next few months so you might see blockades and construction.  We’re having to work on the underground fire-lines in this neighborhood.”

“I…wait…what?” I asked, (extremely articulately).

“Apparently the fire lines in your neighborhood are extremely low in pressure and so we’re going to have to dig up the pipes to fix that.   I know it’s a hassle, but it’s a safety precaution,” he explained.

I stared at him.  “I appreciate the concern, but why in the world would we want bigger pipes filled with fire under our houses?   That seems the opposite of safe.

He paused for a second.  “Oh.  No.  Fire lines are just the water lines that lead to your fire hydrants.  I just call them fire lines because they’re used to put out fires.”

Oh.  Well, in that case, shouldn’t they be called anti-fire lines?”

He considered it for a moment and then pointed out that we call fire hydrants “fire hydrants” even though they don’t shoot out fire and that by my logic we’d have to call them “anti-fire hydrants”.

I conceded the argument to him, but then he handed me the work notice notification and I pointed out that the subject line was “Neighborhood Fire Flow Improvement Project” and that that implied that they were improving the flow of fire through my neighborhood.  Then he looked at the paper again and said, “Ma’am, I just work here.”  And I apologized because I know he’s only following orders, and he said not to apologize because it was the most interesting conversation he’d had all morning and that he’d bring it up with the fire department, as he was sure they’d enjoy my points just as much as he did.

I suspect he meant that he’d have a “You guys won’t believe what this crazy-ass lady I met this morning said” kind of conversation, but who knows?  Maybe it’ll start a whole “anti-fire hydrant” movement.  Although that sound more like a movement to destroy all fire-hydrants, rather than a conscious choice to use descriptives more appropriately.  Which is maybe why they named them fire-hydrants to begin with.  Dammit.  I think I just proved myself wrong and I don’t even know how.

Either I’m getting stupider or movies are getting more complicated. It could be both.

I am a giant fan of psychological terror, which is weird because  you’d think someone with anxiety disorder wouldn’t be able to watch it.  I actually really enjoy it, although I absolutely cannot watch dramas because they freak my shit out.  I suspect it’s because I know that zombies and ghosts and demonic chainsaws aren’t something I’m necessarily going to have to worry about in real life so it lets me purge some of that nervous energy in a way that I can separate from my real worries.  Put something on tv about kidnapping or guns or cops or terrible things that might actually happen in real life and I run for the Xanax.  I even had a massive unexpected trigger from the second season of Sherlock, which was so bad I can’t bring myself to watch the latest season even though I adore that damn show.  It makes no sense, but it is what it is and I adore a good horror flick that makes me think.  Or even a bad horror flick that makes me think.

Last week I watched WE ARE WHAT WE ARE and I was so confused at the end I had to go on Facebook to find someone to talk through the symbolism with me.  Turns out, no one really had a full understanding but it was fascinating to see all the different perspectives, including one I hadn’t even considered but which I now think might be entirely right.  You can go here to read the thread if you’ve seen the movie.

A lot of people said that they too were the only ones in their house who would watch horror and many suggested we start a horror discussion group where we all watch a movie (preferably on Netflix since most of us have it) at the same time and then discuss it.  I thought that was a very good idea for people who were more organized than me, but then this weekend I watched Devil’s Pass and ended up all over the internet looking for more information and then today I took a break from writing to watch what I thought was going to be a simple zombie movie but ended with me having to research quantum theory (Thanks, Pontypool).  In all three situations I ended with one simple question…”BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”

Also, I don’t have a ton of time to devote to watching horror so I’d love it if people who liked the same kind of horror as I do could give me recommendations because it sucks to waste the two hours a week you might have alone on a shitty movie.  This is why I think this needs to happen.  We need to have a “BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” club.  Supernatural horror, twist endings, scary movies you have to watch twice to get all the meanings, cannibal movies that I’m probably reading too much into, foreign horror that you don’t quite understand, remade horror that never should have been remade, and classics that withstood time or should that be burned immediately.

Come play with us.

Come play with us.

I totally want to do this.  But I’m also really busy with my book so I need to find a good way of doing it.  We could do it on  twitter and live-tweet while we watch, but that really puts a lot of spoilers out there.  We could do it here and people could comment if it isn’t too massive (which it probably wouldn’t be since it’s a really specific genre lots of people hate).  Or we could do it on my Facebook page and that way you can vote up good comments.  Or I could just shut up and watch this shit myself and remember that IT’S JUST A DAMN MOVIE AND DOESN’T HAVE TO MEAN ANYTHING (as Victor so often reminds me).  Thoughts?  Suggestions for good horror that leaves you thinking about it for days afterward?

(UPDATED: March 4th ~ WE ARE NOT ALONE.  A few hundred people are in, so I think this needs to happen.  But I don’t know how at the moment because I’m working under deadline so I’ll get my shit finished and then figure out the best way to do it.  I love you people.  Never change.)