Category Archives: Giant squid phobia

No. No. Nope. ALL THE NOPES.

If you’ve been here long enough you know I have a terrific fear of anything tentacled, and that I’m fairly certain giant squids will one day take over the world.

This isn’t helping:

We’re not even safe on land, you guys.  I don’t even trust the toilet anymore at this point.

NOOOPE.

If you haven’t checked it out today then click here to see my update on my Honorary Super-Doctorate.   Medicinal Margarita Madness and mandatory napping will commence as soon as the mail arrives.  Unless, possibly, ASU is just is waiting for me to get distracted and that’s not going to happen becauOHMYGOD HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CRAZY BULLSHIT?

Several people are aware of my severe giant squid phobia and lovingly (?) sent me this video of a giant squid attacking a Greenpeace submarine, and that’s unsettling enough, but WHY IS THERE ANOTHER SQUID BEHIND IT SPITTING OUT FIRE?  Is that a real thing?  Because I was scared enough without adding: “Oh, and also they can shoot a blinding inferno out of their butts like a tentacled, aquatic bonfire.”  It’s like half giant squid and half underwater maritime flame-thrower, and that’s not natural and is a sign that all giant squid are literally demons from the depths of hell.

It’s also possible that Greenpeace panicked and threw a flare at it and the squid grabbed the flare like, “YOU THINK WE’RE SCARED?  THIS IS A DAMN SPARKER, ASSHOLE.  I EAT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SPARKLER.  YOU’RE IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD NOW, SON.”

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And that’s an even more terrifying scenario because giant squid are already horrifying and NOW THEY HAVE FIRE.  Good work, Greenpeace.  This is why we can’t have nice things.  Because you’ve armed the giant squid.  THEY ALREADY HAD TOO MANY ARMS.

It’s possible I’m overreacting, but I don’t think so.

Part two: The Stanley Hotel and the reason why Ghost Hunters should hire me as a permanent member of their team. Or Destination Truth. Which one is less likely to look for giant squid? That one.

This is part 2 of my ghost-hunting trip to The Stanley Hotel so you should really read part one first.  Or just go watch tv instead.  That’s probably what I would do.  (As usual, this is copied directly out of my journal so there’s no real flow and the tenses change constantly but technically that matches the theme since I once read that horror directors sometimes tilt the camera slightly so that the viewer feels uncomfortable and off-balance and I basically do the same thing except with bad grammar and dangling participles.  I’m like an artist here.)

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Our adorable tour guide (Kevin) in front of the Stanley. What's really strange is that I never saw all the ghosts in this picture until after I developed it and then digitally added them myself.

Kevin took us down to the tunnels under the hotel.  It was very tunnely.

I am the best writer ever.

The tunnels under the hotel are carved out of the mountain. This is the same place where the guys from Ghost Hunters heard a woman say "hello" except that I'm pretty sure that was a cat because I had a cat that used to say "mama" all the time and it sounded a lot like that. But she never said it in front of anyone else so no one ever believed me. She was like my own personal snuffalupagus.

This is also where I got my first ghostly shot which probably wasn’t actually a ghost at all but it felt close.  (You can see all my anomaly shots here).

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I wanted to write “REDRUM” on my bathroom mirror with lipstick but more than that I wanted to not spend my vacation time scrubbing lipstick off a mirror later, so instead I settled for recreating the creepy twin shot from The Shining, which was made easier because the hotel plays The Shining on a loop on channel 42.

Original:

That pillow is stuffed in there because the armoire door kept closing itself when we were watching tv, but in less of an eerie, haunted way and in more of a “is this hotel sinking?” sort of way.

My interpretation:

This would have been a cooler picture if they sold those twin costumes in the gift shop. Instead they sell raccoon puppets. I’m not sure the logic here but they are missing out on a growth industry.

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Found a giant Stanley Hotel dollhouse prop from The Shining miniseries in the basement.  Crawled inside.  It’s like hiding underneath the table but way better because no one accidentally kicks you.  Also you have a tiny door that you can close when you don’t want visitors.  I may never leave.

Also, if you get a dead squirrel stuck in your walls you just have to lift up the house and shake the dead squirrel out so it's already better than my real house. Needs a liquor cabinet though.

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Victor and I met up with Callea Seck, Stanley Hotel’s resident ghost-hunter and twitterer and she invited us to go on an late-night Ghost Hunt at the Stanley Hotel concert hall with Karl Pfeiffer from Ghost Hunters International and a bunch of other people.

Karl and Callea. And ghost-hunting equipment. No jumping beans though.

They let me borrow an EMF detector but it never went off.  Victor said it was probably because I shook it to death.  Victor needs to just drop it.  And to buy me some fresh jumping beans.

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Callea just explained that we’re locked into the dark concert hall until 1 am and is giving us pointers on how not to blind each other when we take photos.  Callea: “When you hear the word ‘flash!’ close your eyes until the flash is over.  That’s how you protect yourself”.  One of my friends taught me the exact same thing in New York but I think it meant something different there.

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Callea just showed us this parabolic ear thingie that you can use to listen for extremely quiet ghosts.  I totally want one for watching TV at night.  Or for listening into people’s thoughts.  Depends on how strong it is, I guess.

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We’re starting the ghost hunt in the women’s bathroom so we can check out “the haunted stall”. I am totally not shitting you. Callea notes that it’s probably pretty strange to be in the ladies room with a bunch of men.  Clearly this woman does not know me well.  She didn’t really explain what type of haunting occurred in the stall but my guess is ghost-gonorrhea on the toilet seat.  Or maybe it flushes when you aren’t done peeing yet.  Which actually happens to me all the damn time. Basically every automatic-flush toilet I’ve ever been on is haunted.  Which might explain all the kidney infections.

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Went into “Lucy’s room” to wait for the ghost to speak to us or to shut a heavy door (as she’s known to do on rare occasions).  We all sat on the floor in total darkness and had to remain quiet and the silence was so heavy that all I could think about was how funny it would be if you farted loudly because no one would know who did it and then if no one admitted to it you could be all “It was the ghost” in a completely serious way, but I totally didn’t because I respect the work of the ghost hunters and also because I didn’t have to fart.

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Callea just told us about an encounter a team of people had once had with “Lucy” when she took a liking to a male investigator who was physically touched by Lucy in an “*ahem* very friendly manner” and that it “um…made him happy, so to speak” and everyone else just sort of nodded and she kept going with her story but about 5 minutes later I was all “Hang on, I just need to clarify this…are we talking about a haunted erection?” and then Victor was all “That’s my wife, folks.  Next show’s at 11” but then the temperature suddenly dropped several degrees and then the door totally shut on its own. Which actually kind of freaked me out.  Then some blonde psychic chick said that Lucy was with us and she reached out her arms because she said she could feel some “hot balls” in the air.  Then I just never stopped giggling again.

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Went to the room of Paul (the dead handyman) and it was creepy because all the chairs were stacked up exactly like in Poltergeist but then Victor pointed out that most of the time people stack chairs like that for storage reasons and not just to let you know that you built your house over an Indian graveyard.  I’m not sure which one this was though because we turned on a spirit box and it clearly said “Paul”.  It also clearly said “tomatoes”.  I don’t know what that means.

Paul's room. The light is from a car passing outside.

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A bunch of mildly weird, vaguely creepy stuff happened at the ghost hunt but if you don’t believe in ghosts you don’t want to hear it so I’m skipping this part.  Thanks, skeptics.  You’re ruining it for everyone.

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I asked Victor to call the resident psychic to ask if she’d come do a seance in our room but she said she was booked and that we should have called earlier.  Victor says if she was a real psychic she would have already known we’d be contacting her for an appointment and that this is really all her fault.  It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.

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2 am.  Exhausted and going to bed.  Leaving the jumping beans on the nightstand so they can wake me up if shit starts happening.

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Morning.  Nothing happened. These jumping beans are totally dead.  Probably murdered by Lord Dunraven.  I told Victor that they should let us have the room for free since we just added an actual murder to the history of the hotel.  Victor reminded me that I probably killed them myself.  I reminded Victor that I was probably possessed at the time.  I also told him not to look in my bag because I may have stolen all the coasters and stationary when I was possessed last night.

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Decided to check out the haunted closet again.  Noticed scratch marks all over the low ceiling like someone (or something) was trying to claw their way out.  Or possibly it’s from people scraping the ceiling with the iron.  I’m going with the first one though because ironing stories are almost never exciting.

Also, I found a pair of cargo shorts stuffed behind the ironing board. True story. I considered that maybe they were a gift from Lord Dunraven but they were a size 3X so more likely it was just another insult. That man is a douche.

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Just took a shower and this shampoo is not lathering.  At all. I’m assuming it must be haunted.  Or it’s lotion.  Hang on.  Yeah. It’s lotion.  So less “haunted” and more just me not reading labels closely enough.

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Just stepped out of the shower and noticed that the steamed-up bathroom mirror reflects into the bathroom door mirror and that someone had written “REDRUM” on the door mirror so that when it got steamy the word “MURDER” would show up in the first mirror.  Awesome. I think it’s probably a sign from the premature ghost of Stephen King. Victor says it’s probably a sign that the maids don’t clean the mirrors often enough.

This is a terrible picture because I had to take this with my phone since if I walked out to get my camera all the steam would dissipate. That’s how science works.

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Checking out of the hotel.  I really, really wanted to steal my room key but I didn’t because Victor wouldn’t let me but then as we were leaving the desk clerk asked if we wanted to keep our keys as souvenirs.  BEST.  HOTEL. EVER.

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Stopped for lunch on the way to the airport.  Victor ordered fish tacos.  These tacos look like vagina.

Honestly, it's like Georgia O'Keefe made these.

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Still driving to the airport.  Victor was all “Looks like someone’s about to get an ass full of lead pipe” and I was all “What the fuck?” and then he pointed to a house on the side of the road.

Well, that's...disconcerting.

And then we were home.  All things considered?  Best 24 hour vacation ever.

I miss it already.

PS.  Wanna see more pictures?  I’m uploading them today.

Dear New York Airport: Maybe next time you could have us land in a pit of vipers that are also on fire. Just to keep things new.

Last week I was at the Blogher conference and it’s too complicated to write about so instead I’m just going to re-write the notes I jotted in my journal while I was there because I’m really tired and I believe in phoning it in.  Also, if this is the first time you’re reading me you should skip this post and read the one before it or just find a less offensive blog.

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I’m not allowed on a plane unchaperoned so I spent the night at Chookooloonks‘ (aka Karen) house where I was serenaded with live ukulele music and we exchanged stories of passing out in ditches.  Then I went to wash my hair but I forgot to bring shampoo so I used her “Uncle Funky’s Daughter Shampoo For Kinky Curly Hair” which is not really made for white girls but when I came out of the bathroom I told Karen that it was awesome because I felt very multi-cultural and also now I know what it feels like to be black.  Except without all the history and repression.  Then my hair dried and it looked exactly the same as before, which was disappointing but I’m pretty sure I was changed inside forever, like the day you lose your virginity except better because no cops came and it didn’t happen in a truck.  Then Karen gave me the “Girl, you are not right” look which looks a lot like the “Girl, you need a sandwich” face and so I agreed because either way she was right and I really wanted a sandwich.

It's basically this look but with more raised eyebrow.

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Landed in LaGuardia airport.  Hey, you know what would be a good idea?  If you didn’t put the runway on a pier IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN.  Or if maybe the captain came on and said something like “Oh, by the way, it’s about to look like we’re crashing into the water but at the last second the runway will appear and we’ve never had any giant squid reach out their tentacles to grab us even though we look EXACTLY LIKE A FISHING LURE SKIMMING THE SURFACE.  No worries.  Stop crying, girl in row 8.”  That would have been helpful.  But it didn’t happen, probably because they totally had been grabbed by a squid tentacle before and now they can’t legally make that disclaimer and then I may have hyperventilated a little and then Karen gave me that look again which was weird because I totally wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich and she’s usually very intuitive about that sort of thing.

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I’ve been in New York for one hour and already I’m being detained by the NYPD.  Apparently it’s illegal to get a pedicab the way we did which was by stabbing the people about to get in the cab and then forcing the cab driver to commit robberies for us.  Kidding.  Actually we were just standing in an illegal place to hail a cab and so we got pulled over directly in front of a hotel full of bloggers.  I tweeted that if you looked outside the hotel right now you could see Laura and I being detained for 20 minutes by the NYPD but no one did, probably because everyone inside was too busy doing opium and pulling used kidneys out of murdered hookers.  Way to pick your battles, NYPD.  Also, last time I was out of town with Laura we almost got arrested as well so I blame her.  It’s pretty much the worst tradition ever.

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My friend Grace just asked me how many drink tickets I got.  I have no idea what she’s talking about.  She pulled out the perforated badge sheet that should have had drink tickets printed on it and it was entirely blank. Awesome. Blogher thinks I’m an alcoholic.

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Went to the Social Luxe party and got snubbed by everyone I’ve ever met.  Except that I’m almost sure that it was just because I looked so different in my phony-tail.  Or maybe they’re just assholes.  Probably the first one.  Then I won the “Funniest Blog” award and when I went on stage everyone was all “Huh” and that’s kind of what I thought too.  Then I think I got fitted for lingerie but I’m not sure if that was part of the party or if I was just being molested so I just went with it.  And that’s basically how Blogher is.  Also, FYI?  The award is a glass paperweight and if you go through security with it on the way home they will assume you have a bomb and they will bring out security and then when they finally pull it out and read it they’ll say “What’s a blog?” and that’s how you know you’re in the real world again.

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Called Victor to tell him I won an award.

Victor:  Awesome.  I already have a trophy for you at home.

me:  Is it “World’s Greatest Grampa”?

Victor:  I scratched out the “Grampa”.

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Hosted the annual People’s Party with a bottle of screw-top wine that I stole from the mini-bar.  As usual, I went to the actual party for 1.9 minutes then spent the entire rest of the night hiding in the bathroom.  It was a lot like a normal party except that people make you wear their shoes so they can swallow them and someone makes an art installation of play-doh on the sink but you don’t even notice it because a group of girls dressed in full Girl Genius costume just came to pour drinks.  The bathrooms of Blogher are a lot like Burning Man, but with slightly less nudity.

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Back in the hotel room.  Just stuck my head out of the bathroom to clarify to my roomate that I’m using an electric toothbrush in here and not a vibrator.  She looked less relieved than I expected.  This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people after 10 PM.

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Part two comes tomorrow.  I need a nap.

Oh, Twilight. You’re ruining it for everyone.

Makes me sad for America.

PS.  I’m sick with some sort of plague.  We’re still in the process of  moving because we couldn’t fit everything in the moving van so my new house is filled with boxes of things that go inside furniture that isn’t actually here.  We’ve been attacked by scorpions.  I can’t find the box with my clothes in it so I had to go buy a mu-mu at the convenience store down the street.  I look like Mrs. Roper but even less sexy.  Then last night Victor and I were going to stop unpacking for a minute to go out for our anniversary but the mobile home/restaurant down the road was closed because they decided they “needed to start drinking early for the holiday”. They did invite us to come in the backyard and eat barbeque with them though.  This is all true, y’all.

PPS.  I’m waiting for that version of the Bible that says “As mentioned on South Park” on the cover.  When does that come out?

PPPS.  Our actual moving van:

Why, yes, that' *is* a giant squid ripping the moving van apart.

I couldn’t even make this shit up, y’all.

Comment of the day: Y’all, Edward did not even like that book. ~ Casey

Animals want to murder you. I have a solution. Also, I might need to up my anxiety meds.

Most people know about my horrible giant squid phobia so my inbox is always littered with terrible squid news that makes me want to poison the sea even more than I already do, but today I got an email from my friend Desiree who thought I should know about this new jellyfish and I was all, “Whatever, dude. Its arms are like soggy pixie sticks.  Why would I be afraid of this?” and she was like “Well, maybe because THEY’RE FUCKING IMMORTAL.”   And then I looked a little closer and got totally freaked out because I’m pretty sure these things are goddamn vampires.  Hang on.  Here’s the picture:

Looks totally innocent and harmless. Much like Edward Cullen.

And here’s the same picture after I’ve made it a little more clear.  Because some of you don’t have enough imagination.  Or vodka.  And I’m here to help.

Yeah. *Exactly.*

And there are two problems here.  One is that vampires are supposed to be sexy, and these?  Not so much.  Secondly?  Werewolf eels.  I’m not sure they exist but if vampire jellyfish are real then pretty much all bets are off, y’all.  This is why I recommend that we dump enough gelatin into the oceans to make it into an enormous jello and then we can piece it out and pick out all the vampires the same way that you pick all the pears out of your jello salad.  Then we stab all the jellyfish in their hearts with a stake.  Or put them in a big aquarium and let them fight it out and charge people to bet on the vampire-gladiator death matches.  And then we spend all that money on healthcare.  I think I just solved the healthcare crisis and wiped out vampires.  Plus?  Free jello.  You’re welcome, America.

PS.  In vaguely related news I just found my new sleeping bag:

It’s in the shape of a bear so if I get attacked by bears at night I won’t get eaten because the bear will be all “Oh!  Pardon me. I didn’t know you were in here” and then I’ll make the bear’s head say “No problem.  I was just devouring this girl.  By the way, how did you get in here?” and the bear will be like “Oh, some asshole left the front door unlocked” and then I’ll be all “Victor, you asshole!  You didn’t lock the front door again!” and then the jig is up.  This is why I’m going to put a reminder post-it note inside the bear sleeping bag that says: “DON’T YELL AT VICTOR IN FRONT OF BEARS” but probably we’re all fucked because I have pretty much no impulse control when I’m mad about people not locking doors.  It takes two seconds and IT FUCKING SAVES LIVES.  Only you can prevent us being murdered by bear when we sleep, Victor. And then I pointed out that it was pretty selfless of me to sleep in a bear sleeping bag to save the rest of the family and Victor pointed out that I’m really only saving me and that we’d never even seen a bear in real life and that I’d probably poke an eye out just sleeping in it and then I’d have to explain to the doctor that my eye got eaten by my sleeping bag.  Then I started to disagree but then I remembered that last week I got stabbed by chicken so technically he has a point.

"Nom nom nom nom. This girl is delicious. But I wish she'd taken her shoes off first. God knows what she's tracking in. So inconsiderate." (This is what bears are thinking when they eat you.)

PPS.  Victor just said that he’s “not the only person who lives here and maybe I could get off my ass and lock the damn door myself” but excuse me, I’M WEARING A BEAR.  I don’t have opposable thumbs in this bear sack, jackhole.  Honestly, it’s like he wants the bears in here.