Zombie Otter

Zombie: A Love Story

2010-05-28T14:01:00.000-04:00

It was the thing he’d always loved about her. The way she’d tilt her head when looking at him right before she said his name. Her voice always had an amused lilt to it when saying his name, even in the most serious of situations. It was because of this he could never stay mad at her.

Mike and Diane Eggers lived an incredibly normal life, and they very much liked it that way. Every morning Mike went to work, and every morning Diane cleaned the house. Every afternoon Mike went to lunch with friends or a client, and every afternoon Diane went to the supermarket or pruned her rosebushes. Every night Mike drove home from work, and every night Diane prepared his dinner. It was a fine routine they settled into.

However, on this particular normal day in the life of the Eggers, Diane noticed her husband was acting strangely. He seemed distracted and distant when he got home from work. Instead of a kiss and an offer to help her set the table, he brushed past her. He flung his briefcase and jacket over the side of the couch and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, closing the door over.

“Mike?” Diane asked, coming around the counter in the kitchen and walking to the doorframe of the bathroom. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, “I just have an awful headache. Do we have any aspirin?”

“Try in the medicine cabinet,” she replied. “When did this start?”

“Right after lunch,” he said. He opened the door, a small white bottle in his hands. He scrunched up his eyes, trying to read the small print without his glasses. “What does this say?” he asked, thrusting it in her hands and hurrying towards the kitchen. He grabbed a glass out of the strainer and filled it with water. He looked up at her expectantly. She hurried forward with the bottle.

“Take two,” she instructed. She perched herself on the stool across from him, the counter spread out between them. She watched as his throat flexed and he swallowed. He closed his eyes for a second and she said, “Wow, Mike, is it really that bad?”

He nodded. “Didn’t think I was going to make it home,” he admitted.

“I saw June Crosby in the market this afternoon,” Diane said. “She had a bit of a headache as well. Maybe it’s just a bug going around?”

“Maybe,” Mike replied distractedly. “Listen, I think I’m going to go lie down.”

“Oh.” She almost let the disappointment slip into her voice. As silly as it sounded, this slight diversion from their normal routine gave her pause. “Of course. Do you want me to bring something in for you later?”

“Maybe.” He loosened his tie and came around the counter. “It smells great, Di, I just feel like crap.” He placed a kiss on the side of her head as he hurried up the stairs. With a cool glass of wine and the television in the living room in front of her, she ate dinner alone for only the second time in their entire marriage. Mike didn’t come down the rest of the night.

When Mike woke the next morning, it seemed as though his headache multiplied ten fold. As he sat up in bed, he immediately clasped onto his forehead, stifling the groan that threatened to escape. His face was scrunched up in silent agony as he took a hand away from his forehead and groped for the aspirin. He managed to open it with two shaky hands and tilted it onto its side, giving it two violent shakes. He didn’t bother counting the number of pills as he downed them dry. They slowly slid down his throat, which highlighted how sore and cracked it felt.

“Great,” Mike thought to himself. He mustered up the strength to pull himself out of his sitting position and stumbled into the bathroom. He flicked on the vanity light and, as he caught sight of himself, almost let out a barking laugh. “Of course,” Mike said to himself aloud. “On the day of the big pitch I would look like a zombie.” He snorted, which ricocheted up to his head and then he grimaced.

He scuffed back into the bedroom to grab some clothes and tossed them on the bed. Diane stirred across from him and shifted, causing the blanket to fall off her shoulder. As he slipped his shirt off of the hanger, he glanced over at Diane. He followed the slope of her shoulder up to her pale, smooth neck. He imagined sinking his teeth into it, pulling back the flesh and tendon as she struggled beneath him.

Mike dropped his shirt and shook his head in a bemused manner. The image was brief, a flicker through his mind, but it upset him terribly. He hurried into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and looked into his bloodshot eyes. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, calming his accelerated heart rate.

“Mike?” Diane called from the next room. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto his face. He desperately pushed his previous thought from his brain.

He managed to elude Diane for the forty-five minutes he was at home before he headed into the office. Had she seen him, she would have insisted he stayed home and rested. As awful as it made him feel, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Diane this morning.

As he rushed out the door, trying to ignore the persistent pounding behind his eyes, he dropped a kiss on her forehead and hurried out the backdoor.

“Wait!” Diane cried, though he pretended not to hear her. It wasn’t until he was in the comfort of his car the he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the pain racking through his head. He rested his head on the steering wheel for a second before, with a deep, calming breath, sat up, shakily jabbed the key into the ignition and backed out of the driveway.

The ride seemed to take longer than usual. As Mike suffered through bumper to bumper traffic, he glanced to the driver on his left. Mike frowned slightly as he noticed the man in the car next to him rubbing his forehead in the same manner Mike had been doing minutes previously. Mike looked forward and then to his right. He was not as perfectly aligned with this driver, but, from what he could see, she was rubbing her throat. He saw her grimace as she coughed. Mike looked forward again.

The elevator ride up to his office was crowded as usual. Mike stood in the back corner of the elevator and glanced at the faces of the people around him. They all looked as though they were in agony.

“I don’t know,” said the woman in front of him to her friend as Mike tilted his head slightly to hear their conversation. “It came on suddenly. Probably just something going around the office.”

“Maybe,” the friend replied. “But yesterday when we went to Miller’s for lunch the waitress coughed right in my face.”

“Oh my God,” the first woman replied. “That’s disgusting. You didn’t tip her, did you?”

“Hello no,” the friend replied. “You don’t cough in my face and get tipped. Oh, hey, it’s our floor.”

The two women stepped out of the elevator, followed by four others. Mike let his back rest against the wall as the elevator neared his floor. His head felt as though it were going to explode and he fumbled for the bottle of aspirin he had slipped in his pocket before leaving the house that night.

After stepping out of the elevator, he was immediately greeted by his secretary, Caitlin. She was, as always, way too happy for that early in the morning.

“You look like crap,” she informed him.

“Thank you, Caitlin,” he replied dryly, “I feel like crap. Meeting still a go?”

“Still a go,” she replied. “Though Dennis and Martin look just as bad as you do.” She gave him a small smile. “Flu? Cold? Swine? What can I expect to catch in the next few days?”

Mike tried to answer her, but he had barely heard a word she said. He was more concerned with the smooth skin of her neck. Much like this morning, a lightening flash of a thought passed through his mind and he desperately tried to suppress it. He saw her neck tilt slightly and he fought the growing urge to grasp it and snap it, which he was confident he would be able to do, and then he could enjoy it all he liked.

“Mr. Eggers?” Caitlin placed a hand on his shoulder and he snapped back to attention.

“What? I’m sorry, Caitlin,” he said, more apologizing for his thoughts than for his not hearing her.

“Are you sure you’re good for this meeting? I could always try to push it back.”

“No. No,” Mike said, shaking his head and trying to look anywhere but her neck. He realized he was sweating. “I’ll be fine.” He glanced down at his watch. “Come by in thirty minutes and we’ll prep.”

“Sounds good. Want some coffee?” She frowned worriedly, her eyes on his forehead, which he knew was dripping with sweat.

“Sure.”

He hurried into his office and shut the door over. He took a few calming breaths and put his face in his hands. His headache was worse than this morning, to the point where he could think of nothing else. He should have been preparing for the meeting, but all he could think about was the violent pounding behind his eyes.

Much sooner than he was prepared for, there was a knock on the door. Caitlin entered, carrying a cup of coffee and a doughnut.

“Thought you could eat something,” she said, placing them both on his desk. “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel?” She leaned over him to adjust the blinds behind him and as she did he caught a whiff of her shampoo and…something else. It was unlike the citrusy shampoo and more sharp and potent. Time seemed to still and he swore he could hear her heartbeat and the rushing of blood through her veins. His mouth watered as he imagined taking the small letter opener from his desk drawer and making the tiniest of slits at the base of her wrist, just enough for a pearl of blood to seep out for him to taste.

Mike jolted forward and shoved her away from him.

“I’m sure, Caitlin,” Mike snapped. He noticed she pursed her lips and, on a better day, would have felt a pang of guilt for snapping at her, but today he very much wanted her away from him. “I’m all set in here by myself. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, sounding slightly confused.

Mike waited for her to close the door over before he slunk down in his seat. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple, desperately wishing for relief. For the first time since his father died, he felt the prickling feeling of tears gather in his eyes. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t a violent man, barely raised his voice to anyone, but suddenly all he could think about was clawing at his secretary’s throat until it bled.

His thoughts only seemed to get worse the more people in a room. As the meeting progressed, he was transfixed with Harry Brewer’s meaty neck. Much like with Caitlin, he could almost hear the blood rushing through the fat man’s body and, though he tried to rationalize it, all he wanted to do was taste it. Just one little taste and he knew he’d be fine.

“Mr. Eggers?”

Mike turned towards his boss, Mr. Eckleson, who was looking at him expectantly. He realized it was his turn and he jumped to attention. He clumsily got his papers together and made his way to the front of the room. He glanced around at the other people and noticed Martin and Dennis were sick, as was Nancy Fredricks, one of the CEOs. As he began his presentation, his attention became transfixed on Nancy. She was breathing heavily, a frown on her face as she stared across the table at Henry. Mike found himself losing focus on his presentation, though hardly anyone noticed.

Mike was just about to wrap it up, when Nancy started shaking violently. All eyes turned to her and, before anyone could react, she lunged at Henry, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. There was a second of stunned silence until a scream filled the room and Henry started writhing on the floor. Mr. Eckleson yanked Nancy from Henry and shoved her back. Blood splattered onto Mike and he looked in horror as it dribbled down her face. Her eyes were wild and, the usually cold and stiff Nancy, began to stick out her tongue as far as it would go and lick at the gooey red liquid smudged on her face.

Mike felt a small droplet of blood roll down his cheek and he caught it with the pad of his index finger. Time seemed to slow again, the chaos in the room faded into the background as all of his attention lingered on the small droplet of blood in front of his face. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he stuck out his tongue and licked it.

For one glorious second the pain in his head and the scorching of his throat faded and he regained his sanity. Horror from what happened moments ago sank in, but, just as suddenly, his headache returned with a violent throb. The smell of the blood and taste of it on his tongue caused him to shake in excitement, as Henry bled out on the floor in front of him.

“No!” his mind screamed, sanity returning. “Get out of there!”

Mike complied and ran from the boardroom. The usually crowded cubicles seemed deserted and he barely registered a blood stain on the carpet to his right. As he got into his office and closed the door over, he began to pace. The need to go back into that boardroom and sink his teeth into that dead man’s throat felt so natural. It felt so right, yet he knew it was wrong.

“Mr. Eggers?” Caitlin was standing at the door. “How did the…Is that blood?”

“What?” Mike looked down and, sure enough, a slight splattering of blood brightened up his dull white work shirt. “Yes,” he replied.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

Mike looked up at her concerned face and began to breathe heavily. He saw her mouth moving and knew she was speaking to him, but he could not hear her. All he could think about was what her blood tasted like. The urge to find out was nearly crippling. His head and throat were screaming in pain to the point he couldn’t think clearly anymore. And screaming even louder was a little voice in the back of his head that commanded, “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

Finally, he could take it no more.

Strawberries. Her blood tasted like strawberries.

It wasn’t until after he had drained her dry and the pain faded away that his sanity returned. He glanced down at the young girl in front of him and let out a cry of disgust. His hands and shirt were drenched in blood and he could still taste it on his tongue. He leaned over, braced himself on the carpet and vomited.

His only thought was to get home, to get away from the office and into the safety of his home. Diane would help him figure it out. She always knew what to do.

Mike was too hysterical to think of the ramifications of returning to his home, of unleashing himself on his poor, unsuspecting wife. He managed to fool himself the entire drive home, a surreal experience in and of itself. Cars were upturned, sirens blared, but no traffic, so that was a plus.

As Mike pulled into the driveway, he saw the silhouette of Diane in the window and clenched onto the steering wheel. The pounding in his head was returning, but he knew he could stave it off. For her he would.

Diane glanced up when he entered through the backdoor. Her look of concern turned to horror as she took in the sight of him.

“Is that blood? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied weakly.

She came forward and he caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled sweeter than Caitlin.

“Whose blood is this? What’s going on?”

“I’m thirsty,” he said softly.

“What?” she snapped. She was looking at him, an angry expression upon her beautiful face.

“I’m thirsty,” he repeated. He advanced towards her and she immediately took a step back. The pounding resumed in his head even as he violently tried to push it away. He wanted a few more minutes with her before he left for good.

“Did you hurt someone?” she asked, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch. “Did someone hurt you? Answer me!”

“I have to go, Diane,” he said hoarsely.

“Go? Where?”

Pain seared through him and he staggered back. Diane went to put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he recoiled in fear. He knew relief was in front of him. He knew what he had to do in order to feel better. Coming here was a mistake.

His throat screamed and his head threatened to explode from the pain and Mike could take it no more. There was no more reasoning, no more thought. He shoved Diane into the counter and ignored her cry of surprise and pain. He took a second to inhale her scent for one last time, when she broke through his concentration.

“Mike?” she asked. “Please don’t.” She knew what was coming. “Mike!” It was the thing he’d always loved about her. The way she’d tilt her head when looking at him right before she said his name. Her voice always had an amused lilt to it when saying his name, even in the most serious of situations.

He lunged forward to sink his teeth into her neck and, as he did, Diane’s right hand raised in a violent, jerky motion. The butcher knife jabbed under his chin into his head at an awkward angle. It didn’t kill him, but caused him to recoil and sink to the floor. Diane was sobbing as she yanked it out and stabbed him again. The blade managed to sink into his temple. Diane was crying hysterically, chanting his name.

“Mike! Mike! Mike!”

He twitched once. No, despite everything, he couldn’t stay mad at her.

Coming soon!

2010-05-05T09:08:00.002-04:00

My first real short story is coming soon. I am just now trying to cut out a hundred words. For all those thinking, "What's the big deal?" Type a hundred words into Word and then imagine trying to cut that out of a perfectly polished story. I think I'll have to go back and re-write something...

Hoping there's a payoff

2010-05-03T19:53:00.000-04:00

If anyone is wondering why I haven't been updating as regularly as before, it is because summer has started and I have put myself on a strict diet. I'm at the in-between where I could be really heavy or healthier, so I am going for healthier. My goal is to lose twenty pounds this summer, and thirty by Christmas. I am really short, barely skating past the five foot two mark, so in order to be "healthy" I need to lose about forty pounds.
It just got to the point where I, and everyone around me, was sick of complaining about the way I looked. My mother finally said, "Listen, you have to stop. You have to come to a point in your life where you're happy with the way you look, and if you're not, then change it." I took these words to heart and decided to stop letting my body be a burden and a prison. So, I have started, for what feels like the hundredth time, a diet/workout regiment. I think this time it will stick, as I have two goals to work towards. The first, going back to Rhode Island for a family party May 20th. I'd like to lose five by the time I get there. Then the second, is an engagement party for my oldest sister in August. I'd like another fifteen gone by then. I started walking every day and eating healthier. Today, for example, I had 55 goldfish (140 calories), a porkchop and an apple.
Which brings me to why I haven't been updating:
I AM FUCKING HUNGRY.
From the minute I wake up until I go to bed all I think about is food. No, not food. Pizza. Chocolate. Mozzerella sticks. Pancakes. Calzones. Ice cream. Chicken fingers and french fries with honey barbecue sauce.
And I've just flooded my keyboard.
I've talked to other people and they assure me that in a while this will change. I will not feel the need to physically restrain myself when someone walks by with a slice of pizza. I hope so, because seriously, I'm even dreaming about food. The other night I had a dream that my mom made this huge breakfast of pancakes, french toast, bacon, heaps of butter and rivers of syrup. I woke up to thunderous rumblings from my stomach and stumbled into the kitchen. My mom said, "I cut up some watermelon for you to have."
WATERMELON. I could have cried.
But, if I can actually pull this off, if I can actually do this for myself, I am confident in saying that so can anyone else. I am the person who caves after three days and has now been doing it for five. I feel as though if I can get two weeks under my belt I might be able to go the long haul.
And for those of you who think I'm pathetic or silly for writing this post, I have this to say: I have already lost ten pounds by limiting the amount of food I eat and have now started exercising and cutting all junk out completely, and I still have 38DD breasts. So there.

A New Aspect

2010-05-02T15:03:00.000-04:00

My friend Gooch and I go and see new movies almost every week. If we're not watching new movies in the theater then we're watching copious amounts of DVDs. I always find that when reading a movie review from a newspaper or a blog, they tend to review the movie in such a stiff, unforgiving way. I should also mention that out of my twenty five favorite movies, twenty of them have gotten slightly bad to straight up shitty reviews, which is bullshit.
So, my friend and I decided to create our own blog that will hold all of our movie reviews. In doing so, we hope to spare you and the people you love from going to see a truly awful movie. On the flip side, we also hope to encourage you to see a movie you wouldn't see after reading one bad review.
Oh, and my number one favorite movie currently holds a 19% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and that is The Boondock Saints. And that movie is awesome.
Anything else? Oh! It will not just be new movies, either, but also older movies already out on DVD. We take requests as well!
Here is the site: goochandpillowpants.blogspot.com.
Every time we post a new movie review on THAT website, I shall post a link on THIS website that looks like this: New Review and then the link to the review website.

Only her

2010-04-29T21:17:00.000-04:00

Only could my grandmother get hit by a car while on her bike, be thrown from the bike and land on the grass and be able to get up and walk it off as though nothing happened. That happened on Tuesday and she's totally fine. Enjoying her new-found fame as Mary the Unbreakable.

Working Title

2010-04-27T20:50:00.000-04:00

So, here is the working title for an original short story I am working on: Zombie: A Love Story. I'm really excited about it. I'm going to work on it this summer and then post it.
If you can't tell, I kind of love zombies. In all honesty, if there were to be a zombie apocolypse my first reaction would be, "Aw...HELL YES. This is awesome!" Followed by me and a few friends barricading ourselves in a house with some guns and beer.
I was born and raised in the north and I have so much northern mentality about me that the one thing about living in Florida that I will never get used to is the southern redneck thing. I just...I can't. I'm sorry. One of my good friends is dating a redneck and the kid is awesome, but the only thing we can agree on is that said friend is awesome. However, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I am heading straight to her house and we'll sit on the roof drinking beer and shooting at zombies. Good times.

End of the year

2010-04-27T20:45:00.002-04:00

I'm defrosting the mini-fridge in my room. It looks like the last 35 minutes of Titanic around it.

Oh yes it is

2010-04-27T20:44:00.000-04:00

It's really an awesome feeling to look at a test and only be able to answer one question with confidence: Name:____________

Facebook

2010-04-27T12:39:00.002-04:00

I can't wait for the day when technology will be so advanced that when you log on Facebook it'll be able to say, "Bitch, get the FUCK off of Facebook, you have a test to study for and five essay questions to answer!"

My own fault

2010-04-26T14:52:00.000-04:00

I have officially pulled/strained all my abdominal muscles. How did this happen, you ask? This happened after I came hurtling out of a water slide too enthusiastically. And then proceeded to do it 27 more times before I got tired of climbing up and down the stairs.
Never before in my life have I ever been as motivated for anything as I was last night. I will now pursue high-paying jobs so that I may one day own an in-ground pool with A BITCHEN WATER SLIDE.

Favors

2010-04-16T19:36:00.000-04:00

So, the other day I thought I'd be nice and make my roommate a mixed CD because she's about to graduate and move far away. I sit down in front of my iTunes, 600 awesome songs, over a hundred hilarious podcasts, and start reading out bands or artists.
Me: Beyonce?
Her: I hate Beyonce.
Me: You hate Beyonce?
Her: I hate Beyonce.
Me: How about Florence + the Machine?
Her: Let me listen. (A minute later) No, I don't like her.
Me: Fine.What about the songs from Glee?
Her: No. I hate Glee.
Me: You hate Glee?
Her: Yup.
Me: That's like saying you hate puppies. No one hates Glee!
Her: I do.
Me: Lady Gaga?
Her: Ugh, no.
Me: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU LIKE, THEN?
Her: Got any Lady Antebellum?
Me: Get the fuck out of my sight.

Golf

2010-04-13T18:00:00.000-04:00

Seriously, if you are ever in need of a drinking game, I highly suggest using a golf game. This weekend happened to be the Masters, which is apparently like the "Super Bowl of golf." This is according to my father, who only told that to me um, oh, I don't know, EVERY TIME HE OPENED HIS MOUTH TO SPEAK. But aside from being an incredibly boring and useless game, it can also be a drinking game.
First, I should point out my annoyance with golf. I understand they have to train and walk long distances, but seriously? I could also show up to a golf course and hit a ball into some trees. I could also show up and miss the hole (that's what she said).
Which brings me to my next issue: Watching golf on tv is the biggest game of "That's what she said" in the entire world. If you do not care for that's what she said, I apologize, but that is what this post is about. I watched golf for well over an hour and it got to the point where I am sure the announcers knew what they were doing. My favorite lines?:
1) "And right there, Michaelson is at the hairy side of the hole" (Whatever the FUCK that means.)
2) "Kim missed the hole. KIM MISSED THE HOLE."
3) "It did not go in the hole. It grazed the hole but did not fully go in." (Oh, COME ON.)
There were probably about five hundred more of these. So, I suggest you either play a drinking game every time someone says, "That's what she said" or every time the announcer says "hole."
Though, it wasn't all bad. At one point I was watching it with my parents and Tiger Woods was on the tv. The announcer then said, "And there is Tiger, on his twelfth hole."
I turned to my dad and said, "That isn't right."
My dad said, "What do you mean?"
I replied, "They just said Tiger is on his twelfth hole. He only had ten mistresses."
My dad high-fived me. My dad is kind of awesome.

Movie Quote

2010-04-09T23:56:00.000-04:00

My favorite quote from my favorite movie:
"Shuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut your fat ass, Ravie. I can't buy a pack of smokes without running into nine guys you fucked."

--Rocco, The Boondock Saints

Science Project

2010-04-09T20:47:00.000-04:00

So, as this weekend begins I am doing one of my four science projects. For this project, titled Ecological Footprint, I have to be accountable for every bit of water, fuel, packaging, etc., that I use and basically sum it up in an essay. I've only just started, and I must say, my ecological footprint is huge. If it were an actual foot it would probably be a size seventeen. But, you know what that means? If I have a huge ecological footprint, that means my ecological dick is also huge.

A word of advice from my brother

2010-04-08T19:51:00.000-04:00

Him: "If you eat a polar bear liver, you'll die."
Me: "In what world would that ever happen?"
Him: "Listen, dude, I'm just letting you know."
Me: "Ok, thanks. Next time I'm confronted with a polar bear I won't attempt to eat his liver."

Coming Soon

2010-04-08T19:32:00.001-04:00

UPDATE: That gorgeous colored pencil drawing won third place in an art contest. Like I said, AWESOME.
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I've been attempting to publish what I am about to talk about for quite some time now. However, I have a really bad habit. See, I'll write thirty pages of material, but I won't save the finished product onto my computer before I hit print. Therefore, I hit print and then do not save the document, so when I go back to look over it, I have huge chunks missing, or a shorter, choppier piece then I ended with.
I keep telling myself not to do it, but for whatever reason, I still do it each and EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I. WRITE. Well, I'm basically here to announce what it is that I'll soon be publishing.
For a friend's birthday last June, I, being a poor college student, and my friend Gooch, really wanted to get our friend something that was unique and fun and specifically for her. Target giftcards are awesome, but anyone can buy them and then the person receiving it knows exactly how much they're worth to you.
Gooch and I wanted to gift our friend Gruffy with something she would treasure forever. So, we decided to make her a story book. Gooch is a fucking fantastic artist. Really, she rocks the fuck out of everything she does. Here, I'll show you some samples:

That is a drawing she did, which is awesome. I have to fight the urge to steal it from her. She's also a pretty bitchen photog. My profile pic is one she took of me, and she didn't make me look hideous, which is really fantastic. (If you are thinking that I look hideous in that picture, I'm not going to argue with you.) And that little pic wedged down there (you'll have to tilt your head--DAMN YOU, WINDOWS MEDIA GALLERY wouldn't flip it for me) is also one of hers. Like I said, awesome. Here's her blog: The Gooch Goodness. She updates once in a blue moon, but she's also worth listening to.

Well, anyways, back to the present. I love to write. I could write about anything and anyone and I will if you ask me to. Right now, I am working on something called Zombie: A Love Story, which is going to be a short story I'll be working on this summer. But, again, back to the present.
Gruffy's two favorite things are vampires and Nicolas Cage. So, I wrote her a story in which Nicolas Cage is a vampire. Gooch illustrated it. Gruffy loved it, but also so did Gooch and I. So, for Gooch's birthday in August, I wrote another story. This time, I added Keanu Reeves and a host of other characters I knew would make my friends laugh. The second story was, to toot my own horn, better than the first. Gruffy and Gooch LOVED the second story and so I wrote them a third for Christmas. By the time I was writing the third story, and had broken through the forty page mark, I realized that though I could never actually publish these (Believe me, if you read them they're full of libelous crap lawsuits are made of), I could show them here to those who wanted some entertainment. I recently finished the fourth and final story (as of right now) and as I compiled everything together, the stories are well over 100 pages.
To me, it seemed like such a waste to have them sit in a Document and rot, when there might, possibly, be other people in the world who could get some enjoyment out of them. I'll be seeing Gruffy again soon, and I'm going to borrow her book, scan all the pages and pics into Gooch's computer, and then post them on this site. I do so only hoping anyone who reads them does simply for enjoyment. I'll post another...erm, I guess it's a warning label later.
So, that is basically what you'll have to look forward to, besides my crazy rants about life in general. Also, once Zombie: A Love Story is completed, I'll post it on here. If you can't tell, I love zombies!!
This poster is hells on my wishlist, son.

She and Him

2010-04-08T19:05:00.000-04:00

Seriously, if you haven't heard them yet, I suggest you give them a listen. Their sound is great music to write a paper to, as the beat goes along with the punching of keys. Also, you're most likely going to find yourself shaking your head to their beats or pausing to dance along to the music. Or, maybe that's just me.
Here's a link if interested. And here's a vid that I enjoy.

Coming Home

2010-04-08T19:01:00.000-04:00

So, I got home from dinner at my grandparents and pulled into the driveway. I turned off my car, switched off my ipod and threw it in my purse. As I paused to gather my things, I glanced out my windshield onto the rock-thingie that came with our house. Perched onto a rock, next to a cactus, were two lizards. At first, I thought the bigger lizard was attempting to eat the smaller lizard, so I hopped out of the car to come to its aid. However, as I got closer, I realized the two lizards were doing it. And I had interrupted them. My b, lizards, my b. You do your thang.

Doing It Wrong

2010-04-08T00:03:00.000-04:00

I found my mom's old Thigh Master Gold and was using it to strengthen my thighs. This type of workout is incredibly dangerous. Why? Well, I was laying in bed watching television.
I know, you're thinking, "I don't see the problem..."
I was laying in my bed, watching television, using Thigh Master Gold and eating Ritz crackers at the same time. My brother came in, took one look at me and said, "FAIL." and left. I actually had a legit, honest to God fail, worthy of Epic Fail if properly nominated.
Also, on a completely different note, I painted my nails perfectly for the first time in my life. And by perfectly I mean there weren't blood-like splotches and droplets around my nails, or smudges on the pads of my fingers from wiping away excess paint. If only my fingers weren't stained red, yellow and green. See previous post about tie dye hands...Seriously, it looks like I jerked a clown or something.

Thought of the Day

2010-04-07T23:57:00.001-04:00

So, today I got the chance to make a tie dyed shirt. I have not been that happy to be outside in the hot sun and on the beach since I was five and was excited by stuff like a butterfly whizzing past my face. And I was happy because I got a free t-shirt and the opportunity to squirt colorful dye onto it. I was beyond jazzed.
I started dyeing my shirt and then halfway through I looked down at my hands and noticed my fingers were also tie dyed. I then looked around and noticed the other girls around me and my roommate all had gloves on. I asked my roommate, "Why didn't you tell me there were gloves?" She shrugged. And said, "
Sorry. I am completely cutting into the middle of my own post and interuppting myself, but I am watching The Stephen Colbert show and JOHN. MOTHER FUCKING. GOODMAN was just on a clip for a new show I will now be actively looking for. Called Treme. I don't care if it's a show with John Goodman grocery shopping--I'll watch it.
Right, back to my boring ass story. Unbelievable. I upstaged myself by bringing up John Goodman. How can I come back from that?
Basically, all I was trying to say was that tie dyed skin would be awesome. That's basically what I was trying to get at...
(*Face palm and sigh*)

One of Life's Truths

2010-04-07T20:37:00.000-04:00

Mapquest directions should start at number five. It's like, "Mapquest, I understand how to get out of my own neighborhood, but thanks anyways."

Happy Birthday

2010-04-07T13:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was my babies' birthday. No, I am not a crazy cat lady. Not yet. Though, I do have a funny story about being a cat lady.
On Valentine's Day this year, I was in an awful mood and confessed to my friend, "I'm going to die alone! I'm going to be a crazy cat lady!" Her response? "You can't be a crazy cat lady, remember? Even your cat doesn't like you." I responded, "Oh, yes, that's right."
So, yeah, that's my crazy cat lady story. And no, my cat does love me, he just doesn't show it without some prodding. But, anyways, I'm just so happy they're alive. See, for the past two years we've had a really odd thing happen to us on Easter Sunday. Easter 2008, our 22 year old cat hopped the fence and we never saw her again. I'm assuming by now she has passed on to Kitty Heaven. Easter 2009 our 19 year old cat was hit and killed by a car. Obviously, my main concern this Easter was keeping my cats alive and luckily, the curse has been broken. I am very happy for this, because I luhhhhhhh them. I raised them since they were youngins and they slept in my room for the first five months of their life.

So happy birthday, babies!

Then

Now

This post has made me seem like a crazy cat lady. Again, I'm not...Not yet...

An open letter to Livejournal

2010-04-06T22:53:00.000-04:00

Dear Livejournal,

Hello. You don't know me, but I joined your site today and ripped all of my hair out in frustration just trying to navigate through your site. Your site is what I imagine the inner workings of my brain to look like during finals week. After fifteen minutes of going on a loop-dee-loop that kept bringing me back to the SAME. DAMN. PAGE. I went and ate half a batch of Tollhouse cookies. Happy, Livejournal? ARE YOU HAPPY?

Sincerly,
birchwood29.

Daily Celeb Birthday

2010-04-06T14:22:00.000-04:00

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-november-6-2008/paul-rudd

Paul Rudd.
From 1:20 to 2:20 is why I love him.

The gift that keeps on giving

2010-04-06T12:09:00.000-04:00

I have officially come to the conclusion that I control what is on the television. Oh, I suppose you'd like an explanation? I'll do my best to explain it. I'll randomly think of an episode of say Will and Grace or Wife Swap and then either that day, or the next day it'll randomly be on. Same with Lifetime movies. A certain Lifetime movie will cross my mind and then the next day it will be on.
This has been met with skepticism, especially from friends and family. My sister said, "Are you sure you aren't looking at a t.v. guide before you make these proclamations?" The answer is no. The answer is I'm magic.
Don't laugh at this power. It here, it's real and it controls what you watch.