RST: A Rally, Halloween, What's that noise?, Zombies, My Living Room, and No seriously, what the fuck is that noise?

                      

        

It's Tuesday, which means, time again for another Random Shit Tuesday! 

My randomness...

So, as I mentioned here, I attended the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear this weekend. I really wish I had more to report on the event. But alas, the day was pretty uneventful, despite the day's event.

We got off to a late start because, well, because that's just how we roll. I enjoyed a very yummy spinach and herb bagel on the road from The Bagel Cafe. Definitely a place to visit again. After meeting up with Thing Two on M Street, The G-Man, Unfortunate One, Thing Two and I hoofed it to the Mall where we were just a measly group of four in a sea of thousands. Needless to say, trying to get a decent view of the stage was out of the question. Fortunately we were able to push our way to a section of the Mall where we could at least see one of the screens.

So my take on the whole thing? The weather was nice, the crowd was overly polite*, the comedy was decent, the signs (and costumes) were entertaining, the sound system was shitty and the music was mediocre. Ozzy was certainly the highlight of the musical lineup, followed by Tony Bennett. Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow, however? Not the right venue nor the right crowd for them. In my opinion. Especially not after hearing rumors that Bruce Springsteen and Alanis Morissette were going to make an appearance.

After wards, we ventured to H Street (seeing as how any locale within walking distance to the Mall was packed) and grabbed a couple of brews at the Biergarten Haus, and, in my opinion, the best damned Goulash that have ever crossed these lips. The sauerkraut could have used more... sauer? Or maybe kraut. The Laugenbrezels were pretty freakin' good too.

After some food and beer, we headed back to M Street where we promptly... napped? Yup. This is how you know you're old folks. Halloween Eve in DC and everyone naps for about 3 hours, and upon waking, conclude that we'd rather sit in for the evening.

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Speaking of Halloween...

Oh, Halloween...

The night where we lock the doors, draw the blinds and spend the evening in the dark, hoping no foul-minded kiddies get the notion to trick us as we are clearly not intending to treat them.

It's not that I'm anti-Halloween or anything. It's just that I'm always so busy around Halloween (like, for example, moving) that I neglect to pick up any candy. 

Maybe next year.

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What's that noise?

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Zombies are becoming mainstream. I don't like this. That is all.

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I think I mentioned previously that we were unsuccessful in our attempts to get our couch upstairs to the living room.Which is why our living room currently looks like this...

Thank god our new couch arrives on Friday. Although, that makeshift chair on the floor is far more comfortable than you would imagine. Believe you me.

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No seriously, what the fuck is that noise? It sounds like a cross between a squirrel and a bird, and it's coming from the fire place. 

There it is again! 

I better not get attacked by some freakish squird while I'm innocently sitting here minding my own business.

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* There was a report by an employee in attendance from a certain organization with the initials 'N', 'P', and 'R' who claimed that the crowd was getting riled up and inpatient with The Roots' performance about 40 minutes in. This is not true. The sound system went out about that time, so we were chanting "Louder!" and "Turn it up!". Which was pretty reasonable, in my opinion. Of course she was located near the stage, so I imagine she had no clue what was going tens of thousands of people behind her.

I ♥ Etsy! The Halloween Edition

   
Shit. When was the last time I did an I ♥ Etsy! post? Oh, right. Back in July. Damn, I'm due. In honor of October, here's a Halloween edition. Or maybe I should call it the Zombie Edition. I do love me some zombies.

With a black licorice scent, these soaps are almost good

enough to eat. By sunbasilgarden

I'm sure it is beyond gross how much I want this shirt.

By sadjacktshirts

Pretty much a no-brainer. Heh. Get it?

By CountryWorkshop

I'm adding this to my Christmas list

as we speak. By xarata

Yes, please.

By zedszombieranch

I'll have the Cocoa Puffs. Hold the ants.

I've never been one of those people to get squirmy about insects. Well, for the most part. As long as they aren't actually on me. Okay, so maybe I get a little squirmy. But not when it comes to spiders. I know plenty of people who are terrified of spiders. But not me. I mean, as long as they're not actually on me. I am a spider killer. No. Scratch that. I am a spider slayer. True story

Death to all spiders!

Growing up, I was frequently called upon by Twin and Miss P.'s super tough, motorcycle riding, athletic, lumberjack boyfriend to KILL ALL SPIDERS. This was a job I completed valiantly; often times while laughing my ass off. I mean, consider for a moment Miss P.'s boyfriend- a guy taller than 6', easily over 230 lbs., a star athlete in high school, and a mighty woodsman to boot- running and screaming like a little girl. But no worries, I, the brave girl I was, 6 years his junior, saved the day and destroyed the menacing beasts (there may have been some taunting involved. I can't be sure. The details are fuzzy).

At any rate, spiders and I have had very few beefs over the years. We tend to have this mutual agreement. As long as they stay in their corner, all tucked-up, comfy cozy in their wittle webby webs, I won't kill them. There was only one time when they broke this agreement. This peace treaty, if you will.

I was temporarily living in a farmhouse in the Hudson Valley area of NY, and it had just entered the warm, rainy, early fall season. And by rainy, I mean torrential down pour. Evidently this was also the time the playful wolf spiders came out to play. Yes, I said wolf spiders. I can't say for sure if that's what they were. It's not like I'm an expert or anything, but they certainly looked like wolf spiders from what I could find on the internet.

Imagine sitting on the couch, eating some dinner, trying to watch TV, when this fucker runs across the room and hides under the couch!

These guys are out for blood!*

Yeah, and then imagine, out of the corner of your eye, you see another one scurry up the wall. You can bet your bottom dollar I was perched on top of the coffee table faster than you can say, "Fuck this!" There was no chance in hell I was stepping on the floor with those fuckers running around. Trust me, with a diameter easily 2" wide, those were not spiders you wanted to be stepping on while wearing your $2.50 Old Navy flip flops. Those fuckers not only crunched, they snapped, crackled AND popped.

And here's what Cornell University has to say about these lovely creatures:

Wolf spiders are named for their tendency to be slightly furry, brown or grey spiders that run after their prey. They have long sturdy legs and good vision from two of their eight enlarged eyes. The abundant wolf spiders forage on the ground or in the lower parts of plants at night. Female wolf spiders carry light-colored, spherical egg sacs attached to their spinnerets. Once hatched, the spider lings cling to hairs on their mother’s abdomen for about a week. 

And then, if you can believe it, they recommend this:

When you go out at night, look at the ground in front of you with a flashlight held next to your head at the same level as your eyes. You can see many silvery blue-green spots reflecting back at you from the eyes of numerous wolf spiders in the grass.

Hells no! Do you think I have some sort of death wish? Those fuckers run after their prey! Long story short, I was killing 3-4 of these fuckers a night. Thankfully they were partial to the living room, but once they started venturing out into the kitchen and towards the stairs, where the bedrooms were, well, let's just say I was out of that house no more than two weeks after the first sighting. I won't even tell you how many I killed, but the number was over 20. I carried a fireplace brush and a can of spider spray around with me everywhere I went. And don't even get me started on the zombie spider part of this story. Yes, I said zombie. Or maybe they were cannibals. I don't know. All I know is that the corpses never stuck around for long (I liked to leave the corpses lying about as a warning to the other spiders).

{Shudders}

Anyways, back to my original story (and because I'm pretty sure I've reached my quota for the use of the word "fuckers"). Me and bugs are generally alright with each other. And spiders and I are all good once again. Ants, on the other hand, ants are an entirely different story. I hate ants. I hate them because they are tiny and creepy and crawly and they are everywhere and most of the time, you don't even know it.

  

This one time, at band camp I was eating breakfast, Cranberry Almond Crunch, to be more specific, and I was watching TV while joyfully chowing down on my cereal. Well, The Today Show must have been particularly enthralling that morning, because when I felt a little tickle on my hand, I barely noticed it.

{Crunch, Crunch}

When I felt the tickle again, well, this time I noticed. I looked down on my hand and there was this little red ant. I quickly shooed him away. But then I noticed another one on my finger. Ew. And then I noticed a couple more on the spoon I was holding. WTF? And then, wouldn't you know it, I took a look at the cereal on the spoon, that I was about to put in my mouth, and there were MORE ants.

Fuck me!

I dropped the spoon back in the bowl in complete and utter disgust. And that's when it got a gazillion times worse. That's when I discovered how utterly disgusted one could actually feel. There were ants literally swimming in my bowl of cereal. And I had already eaten half the bowl.

Any ants in there? Hard to say. Could be cranberries, could be ants.

It took everything I could muster to not puke my Post cereal back up. I wish I could say that was the beginning and the end of my ant eating days, but alas, it was not. About 6 or 7 years later I had the exact same experience all over again. Only this time they were little black ants, and I was eating Cocoa Puffs.

Wow. Ants are racist.

* Just so you know, I browsed through over 50 pages of spider pictures to find the right one for this post. I'm sure I'll have nightmares about it tonight. You're welcome.

"I see you've met the squirrel people."

Christopher Moore is, by far, one of my favorite authors. The first book of his that I read, and to this day is still my favorite, was A Dirty Job. As much as I would like to go on and on about how awesome this book is, I really don't want to. Seriously though, if you're not familiar, click here. I'll wait for you to catch up.

Ready? All right. Now that you're familiar, I must say that the first time I read this book the Squirrel People scared the shit out of me. I mean, we're talking reanimated, patched together, costumed, dead animals here. That's just downright creepy. Of course, as I reread the book and reread it again (I tend to do that a lot) I came to view the Squirrel People with sympathy and felt that I vastly misunderstood them. Poor things.

The last time I reread A Dirty Job, I actually read the Author's Note and Acknowledgments section of the book and discovered that Moore was inspired by the art work of Monique Montil when he wrote about the Squirrel People. Here's what Monique has to say for herself (click to enlarge):

(Source)

Just for fun, I thought I'd share with you some of my... um... favorites:

(From top to bottom, left to right: Sir Henry Beaver, Raccoon Fop, Demon, Victorian Alligator, Medieval Skunk, Elizabethan Alligator)

Great, right? Although I can't say that I would ever want one of these creatures for keepsies, but I have to tell you, this is pretty much exactly how I pictured the Squirrel people to look while reading A Dirty Job.

And the test results are in...

What character from "A Dirty Job" are you? Minty Fresh You like to hang in the Backround, and stay calm. You may not like your jobs or responsiblity, but you do them anyway

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

A Cross Between Sweet Valley High and Ginger Snaps*

                   
I've got the bloat, the bitchies, the munchies, the crankies...

I'm consuming disgustingly vast quantities of popcorn, chocolate, potato chips and french onion dip (contrary to what you think, dip isn't always eaten alongside chips. It can be eaten straight out of the jar. With a spoon. Not that I know anything about that...)

Parts of my body are currently 5x their normal size. You know, my butt, my gut, my boobs, my ankles and my cheeks.

I have lost all sense of personal hygiene, meaning, I may or may not have stopped showering, brushing my teeth, brushing my hair, shaving, wearing deodorant**...

I may or may not be wearing these pants (click to enlarge)...

...holed up in my room and avoiding going out in public at all cost (hello! Did you see what I was wearing?)

If you don't know what any of this means, I can only assume that you are male. And not having sex on a regular basis. Meaning you must not have a woman in your life right now. Or else you would totally understand.

You're probably wondering what this all means to you, right? Well, not that much, but I thought I would mention it. I also thought I should mention that in a few days I will be venturing to my sisters house for a week. We have big plans. Mainly, the LOST series finale on Sunday (yeah, I'm driving 5-6 hours for a TV show. What of it?). There will also be tons of nephew bonding, a game night, and a party for a 3rd birthday.

Unfortunately, my sis does not have wireless internet, which means I can't use my laptop there and am limited to her desktop that lives in the upstairs hallway. Which means, I can't promise much in the way of posts for a week beginning on Sunday. I'm trying my hardest to pre-write and schedule some posts, which is going well seeing as I have no intention of venturing out into the real world until the bloat is over (one of the only bonuses to being unemployed).

Can someone please remind me that I've got shit to do on Friday. You know, that whole you're-a-smarty-pants award thing? Thanks.

For your entertainment, I present to you, my toe wound (you're going to be tempted to click on this image to enlarge it. For the love of god, don't do it! You've been warned.):

Incidentally, the toe is starting to smell a little. And it no longer looks like this as I took this pic on Monday. I'm slightly concerned. Especially since the skin flap is starting the shrink away from the edges of the gaping wound, which, although you can't really tell from this pic, is quite deep. I'm thinking I might have to preform some surgery here in the near future. *sigh*

UPDATE: I just managed to drop a knife on my toe (yes, that toe) while making toast. I am, by far, the most consistent uncoordinated person EVER. 

UPDATE ON THE UPDATE: And then I proceeded to trip across my bed (yes, across my bed. Don't ask) on my way to post this update and dragged my toe across the bed. That skin flap is so toast (haha).

So, in conclusion, my gut feels like Mount Saint Helens***, my toe smells like Limburger, and I'm on the verge of becoming a super-hairy, super-smelly, hermit/recluse. Or maybe something more like this:

(Original source)

And furthermore, what is up with the world being sans PMS-meds right now? Seriously, that shit should be handed out like candy to every woman anytime we walk into a drug store/grocery store/post office/coffee shop/liquor store...

* See here and here if you didn't catch the meaning of this post's title.

** If you're new to this blog, at this point you're probably imagining how seriously freakin' hot I am, right? And you would be right. I am smokin'!

*** This site says Mount Saint Helens is a volcano that "erupted in 1980 and wreaked havoc on the people once again." I was born in 1980. Coincidence? I think not.

The beets beat boys and zombies any day. Well, at least they do today.

 

This morning I was all set to blog about the unfairness of job opportunities available to men and the lack of job opportunities available to women and how unfair it is when men expect their women to just tag along with them whenever their jobs take them to far off places.

But then I finished my shower and lost all my brilliance on that topic.

Then I started blogging about how ZOMBIES DON'T USE GUNS after reading a comment left on The Sassy Curmudgeon's post today. 

But I quickly ran out of steam on that one.

Then I decided to heat up some soup for lunch, and as I was stirring a dollop of Greek yogurt into my soup, I remembered that I had the BEST borscht this weekend and decided to write about that.

Now, my exposure to borscht hasn't been that extensive, but extensive enough to know that I really, really like it, which is shocking because I used to be a super, hyper-picky person who wouldn't eat anything. Especially anything the color of this dude's shirt...

(Source) 

Yeah, I don't know why anyone in the clergy would want to wear a shirt this color, but apparently they would. And when I searched for things the color of red-purple, this was the most interesting pic that popped up.

At any rate, I ate at this really cool restaurant this past weekend, the Russia House. 

 (Source)

I sat at that table under the window, next to the door. The tables were very long and I felt very far away from my companion, which made conversation difficult, but since the conversation wasn't all that fabulous, that was kind of (kind of) okay. Not that conversation was really feasible anyway since there was a small group of people (3 or 4) having really LOUD conversations at the table behind us.

(Source)

But the borscht was really good. Borscht is usually a vegetarian dish, so I was surprised when I began eating it and discovered beef brisket. This may be the reason why it was the BEST BORSCHT EVER. Isn't it pretty? This picture doesn't really do it justice.

(Source)

Oh, and for dinner I had the Shashlik, which was described as, "Baltika-Honey Marinated Pork Tenderloin, Grilled and served atop a Saffron Rice Plov with Wilted Mustard Greens and Purple Mustard Sauce". 

I'm not sure why I ordered it since I hate mustard. It was okay. Very overcooked and dry. I think I was distracted by the shitty conversation and while I really wanted to enjoy the experience, I also just wanted it over as soon as possible. Plus, most of the dishes involved lamb or duck, both of which I have no desire to put past my lips.

The beer was okay. I had Baltika Golden Lager #5. It's pretty hard to screw up beer though. Actually, scratch that. I have had some really, really bad beer before.

(Source)

But the borscht was fabulous. This post, however, sucks. Sorry.

I've been zombified.

  

They tell me there's a light at the end of the tunnel...

...but I can't see it yet. Please bear with me as I navigate my way through the hell of data analysis. I'm functioning on two and a half hours of sleep right now, although I suppose calling it functioning is being quite generous. I'm barely surviving. In fact, I feel a bit like this individual:

 (source)

Please send chocolate. Or whiskey. Or both.

That is all.