Five funny pics

Five things found in the spare room

The cleaning spree continues. Today, we tackled the spare room, getting rid of the bunk beds and a lot of other junk. There were some interesting finds...

5. Chocolate Coins

I am a bonafide Chocoholic. It's a serious addiction that I've come to terms with. I don't blow my paycheck on M&Ms or anything, but I eat chocolate every day, if I can.

So finding pristine chocolate coins from earlier this year was a major win. They vanished before my husband came home. Mysteriously.

4. Comic Books

My husband and I collect comics, so it wasn't a surprise to find the spare room littered with them. I found DC Comics about Harley Quinn, Grimm's Fairy Tales with cheesecake covers,  video game tie ins, and a Dresden Files comic. No time to read them with all the cleaning left. Boo.

3. Toys

My husband and I have a lot of action figures, dolls, and other assorted nerd crap. While cleaning the spare room I found:

• Samus Aran's hat
• Warhammer swords
• Lego people

There was more, but who cares? LEGOS! WIN!

2. Not as many spiders as you'd think

When we clean the house, dozens of those little demons spawn from dark corners and dusty floorboards. But to my surprise, I only uncovered one or two. They were very small and scampered into the walls, away from me. A pleasant(ish) surprise!

1. Booze

I'm a moderate drinker. One or two a week is about all I do. My husband is about the same. Yet about a dozen bottles, most unopened, of booze were in the room. Booze from our engagement party. Gifts from friends. Leftovers from parties. Homemade spirits. They're sitting in a box in the living room, waiting for us to make a place for them.

I guess it makes sense that two people who drink very sparingly would accumulate extra booze, but it was still a shock. Maybe when I go home I'll self medicate this cold away...Wish me luck!

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...

How did I end up as the manager at a funeral home?

I’ve got a degree in English from the local University. I’ve got experience with customers from restaurants, colleges, and a law office. I’ve worked with the creme de la creme and the cream of wheat. So how did I end up in charge of dead bodies?

To be fair, the bodies are already cremated and stored in a little drawer. But I’ve got the key. Or I know where the key is the few times it’s removed from the lock.

Let me back up.

I graduated from Oakland University in 2011 with a B.A. in English. At the time I was employed part-time at a warehouse owned by my deceased father’s good friend. Walking eight hours a day up and down filthy aisles picking filthier items for orders. ‘Adult novelties’ I told polite society. ‘Dildos and lube’ I told my friends. It was hot, cold, back-breaking, unstimulating, and awful. But it was money and I was desperate.

My father was the main wage earner in the family. We worked together in a series of upscale restaurants, Italian and Mexican (sometimes the same place). I was hostess, coat-check girl, busser, food-mover, and novice bartender: wherever I could fill in. Dad was the top bartender, old, smiling (at least where customers could see), and a pro.

Then he got sick. Friday night we went to work as normal. Saturday he called in sick and I went to my future in-laws anniversary party. By ten he was in the hospital for emergency surgery. Three months later he left not in an ambulance but in a body-shuttle.

That time is a story for another day.

While he lay in the hospital, he made me promise not to work at the restaurant: it was in the middle of Detroit, surrounded by danger. Our car was broken into once. I saw hookers walk the streets most nights when were left, blocks from the doors. I promised him. I’ve never been back.

My now-husband moved in with my mother and I not long after, shoring up the lopsided family as best he could. He works part-time as a manager at GameStop: not enough for us to live on. I had to get a job. Dad’s friend offered me a position in the warehouse and I took it.

I worked at the warehouse during college and a year and a half after, my lack of experience keeping me from landing another gig. I left when a nearby law firm hired me as a part-time data-entry and filing clerk. I ended up replacing the other gilr they had, learned how to be a paralegal, and learned a lot about mortgages.

I learned how to be a manager when my 37 year old supervisor died of a heart attack. We weren’t expecting it, even though she had heart issues. I blame the stress of the job: the night before she died she fell asleep in the office. I called the lawyer to report I couldn’t wake her and I was worried, but he brushed me off, saying he’d be by after I left to help.

He wasn’t there when I got the call the next day.

I hired a friend to help me out, since I was drowning in paperwork. I quit later that year, the lawyer’s bullshit superseding the need for money. I’d saved my money and we could live off it for three months. My fiancee was supportive, but I felt like shit. He’d been in a terrible job longer than I had without quitting. Who needed mental helth? I only had anixty attacks daily. I only got called an idiot daily. I only hated me job, life, and everything else daily.

So in November of 2013 I quit. A few months later the lawyer got investigated by the state for fraudulent practices. I gave them honest answers when the agents came knocking, and I haven’t seen them since. Karma.

Christmas came and went, no job in sight. The new year rolled in, and I was just as broke and beginning to get desperate. I’d had few interviews and sent out countless resumes. The most promising one was for Oakland County, where my aunt and cousin work in the jail. I applied for an administrative position, and hoped for the best. I was tested with about a hundred other applicants. My spirits drooped, though my scores had been exemplary and I’d been told positive things by HR. I didn’t want to go back to the warehouse. But my time and money were running out.

Then I had a call from the Elton Black and Son Funeral Home. They needed someone part time to manage the Pixley Funeral Home, literally 2 minutes from my house. I’d take phone calls, file paperwork, enter contracts, take money, print memorial folders, type burial permits, anything the funeral directors needed.

I told them all I wanted to do what help people. That I like helping people. They hired me at the interview.

So here I am, six months later. Wednesday I got back to Elton Black and Son: I’m switching locations with my supervisor. I’ll work 9-5, 4 days a week. Same hours, same money, same work, just a lot more of it. No more time to blog and internet surf when we’re free of decedents.

The Pixley is quiet most day. Today more than usual: the power went out last night. Tyrion (my chromebook) is charged, so I’m able to type while I wait for the day to end. Thirty more minutes. Then on to Shrek rehearsal, sleep, and repeat.

That’s my saga. Death leads to death leads to death. Death got me into the warehouse, death got me into management, and now I manage a place where we celebrate death. Or at least make it less messy.

200 Blogs later...

And I've almost made $100 off the adsense account on Google. Wow!

Seriously, I'm happy I made it this far.

To my friends, family, and random hangers on from Tumblr, thanks for taking the time to read my rants, five lists, and gifsets. 

So, where do I go from here? I've got a manuscript to finish editing and start submitting. NaNoWriMo is coming up in a few short months. Not to mention short stories for Reddit. When will I find the time?

I'll find it. I need the outlet. I've got this and theater, folks. Expect to see a hundred more of these and beyond.

For now, I'm gonna finish my lunch break and go back to work. Maybe squeeze in a short story before guest come over tonight...

LOOK AT THE TIME!

A walk in the woods

Sometimes I forget how close we are to the wild. In Michigan it’s not far off, unless you’re in Detroit or Flint or one of the heavy urban centers. Lakes are everywhere. Strands of trees threatening to become forests. Tall grasses breaking through overpass concrete, groundhogs munching at the side of the road, wild turkeys strutting through Pontiac. It’s close.

If humanity vanished, it wouldn’t take many years for the wild to re-take the land. There are shows about it, detailed and eerie. A horror movie I was in years ago had sentient trees just beyond the borders of humanity. It was poorly done, but the concept was interesting. Like ‘The Happening’, but less stupid.

Middle Earth and Narnia aside, walking trees don’t scare me. Raccoons and rodents rising up don’t keep me awake at night. We’re not about to lose a fight to Mother Earth, if it came to that.

How easy would it be to wander off into a strand of trees and never emerge? Fall down with a broken leg, drown in a nearby mire, vanish into the depths of a lake? It happens all the time. People get drunk and drown. They die in the woods during memorial day camping trips. We forget that we don’t need to go to Death Valley or the UP to find brutal nature. It’s here. It’s waiting. And if we’re stupid or careless or just unlucky, it will kill us.

I like going to the park. I like walking through trees. I like nature. I respect it. I fear it during my dark moments. I just wonder how many others do too. And how many are dead.

Five Skeletons and Skulls

Why? Because I can. Happy Friday!

My husband woke me from a nightmare this morning

I don’t remember much, aside from being upset. Sherlock (the new BBC one with Benedict Funnyname) and Halloween (again, the new one that Rob Zombie directed).

John was dead. I was John. I wasn’t John. It was confusing. John was on the slab, about to be cremated. I/John watched, in horror. Sherlock was emotionless and indifferent, pretending he didn’t see my/living John’s pain. The horror as I/he asked Sherlock what was wrong with John, why we were burNing him, he was moving on the slab, oh God, Sherlock, he was moving!

Dead John burned. I/living John put on a mask, eyes peering out of a blank face, hiding upstairs in a confusing mansion I’ve never seen. 

This mask. There may have been horns.

Sherlock was worried. He hid his emotions. That was Sherlock does.

Visitors came. Harry, John’s alcoholic lesbian sister (unseen but mentioned in the new show). John hid. I wasn’t John anymore. I wasn’t part of things anymore. Sherlock ignored the masked silent man creeping around the mansion, despite Harry asking what was wrong, what was going on.

John was going to kill him. He was going to stab Sherlock to death. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t stop it. I was a nonentity.

Then I was at a theater, a cross between Fenton Village Players and Clarkston Village players. Small. Narrow. A production of Beauty and the Beast falling apart.

John was there, masked. I was John. Someone was going to die. The play was dying on stange.

Then my husband woke me up, saying we had an hour before we had to leave.

I have no idea what any of it meant. But I am disturbed by it.

Five awesome celebrity trivia facts

As my friends know, I'm very in to trivia and pointless knowledge.  Here are some recent fun facts I happened across in my internet wandering.

5. Dave Bautista, Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy, wept when he was told he got the part. It was a long-standing dream to play a Marvel character.

This guy. 

4. Seth MacFarlane had vocal training from the 90 year old couple that trained Frank Sinatra.

And it shows. DAMN.

3. During the first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation Sir Patrick Stewart was convinced that he was going to be fired from the series that he did not unpack his bags for six weeks.

Remember, he's been knighted for acting.

2. Giovanni Ribisi owned a dachshund named Low-Rider.

Enjoy.

1. Max Payne was Mark Wahlberg's favorite role.

Wonderful photo of him.

Hotel Hell, the Applegate River Lodge

I'm watching Gordon Ramsay's Hotel Hell for the first time. I'm a big fan of Kitchen Nightmares (British and American versions), and this is more of the same. Right now Ramsay is dealing with a hotel run by a hippie, his fighting sons, and his beleaguered ex-wife. It's in Oregon, so they're openly smoking pot. Giant mason jars FULL of pot.

So this is a damn entertaining episode.

I'm just waiting for the moment when Ramsay snaps and yells at the father (nickname "Pa Butt") to "be a man for fuck's sake!" I know it's coming, as is the inevitable 'black-light in the bedroom revealing the filth' scene. So far it's been just dillying around, watching the family fight. Interesting, but not the seared earth screaming I expect from Ramsay.

Ah, the guests are arriving. AND this hotel has a big restaurant! The sons run the restaurant, and one of them is "scared" of dealing with Ramsay in there. As he should be.

No TV in the rooms, but there is a big-ass bear rug. Fantastic.

And now there's a jam session with Pa Butt and a HUGE hippie coven right next to check in. One of the sons is in the band, of course. A MAN IS WEARING A DOG. There are giant mushroom costumes hopping around around the room.

To quote Ramsay "These people are weird...Is this a dream? Is this really happening?"

Ahh, the black light. Stains all over everything. "It's like a mosaic of semen." Poor Ramsay. He's sleeping over an ongoing jam session, inside a giant sleeping bag so as to not touch anything.

I feel bad for the poor cameraman standing in the dark, watching Gordon sleep in pitch-black dark. Oooh, he's going to yell at Pa Butt!

So far, no yelling. He called the whole family together. It's 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' sort of speech at first. C'mon Ramsay, don't leave me hanging.

Oh, Pa Butt's trying to argue with Ramsay. The pain is coming. This place is a million in debt, and Pa Butt refuses to acknowledge there's an issue with money. This guy is a jackass.

Lots of shots of the family dog. He's a cutie.

Ramsay's shaming the sons while Pa Butt has a smoke. Seems to be working. One son is crying. At least, his eyes are red...

Guests are registering complaints with the mom, who knows there are tons of problems. It's like Fawlty Towers in here, without the comedy. Some of the guests were offered pot and got offended.That's a strong reaction. Just say 'no', end of story.

"Don't be a cheeeee-kin..."

More crying family. This is more Dr. Phil and less Chef Ramsay. I think yelling at Pa Butt is coming because he's an asshole that Ramsay's written off. It's gotta happen.

Few shots of Ramsay swimming in the river. He's got a good body for a man his age.

Ramsay's STILL not yelling at Pa Butt. "I would ask you to disappear." He wants the man to step aside so the rest of the family can function. Pa Butt agrees. I have been left hanging. I can't be too mad, this is healthier than screaming. Pointless drama isn't going to do any good. Besides, I can see Ramsay yell at cooks all day.

The end of the episode is guests coming, happy with the new lodge, yadda-yadda. The interesting stuff has already happened (or not). My takeways? I like it, but it's not what I expected. Namely, not so much yelling, more touchy-feeley. It's tonally similar to the British version of Kitchen Nightmares.

Will I watch again? Yes, but maybe not for a while. Kitchen Nightmares I can binge on. This is more like a full meal. Satisfying in one go.

I give it thee and a half screaming chefs out of five.

Scary or Die Review, PART 1

Scary or Die is one of the many low to no budget horror flicks accessible on Netflix. It's about a man attacked by a flesh-eating clown that then transforms into a clown monster himself, according to the summary. Points for originality? Hardly.

We open on racist rednecks driving through the desert and drinking moonshine out of peanut butter jars. Sex and poop jokes abound less than two minutes in. I'm not going to enjoy this.

The rednecks stop for traditional redneck junk food (beef jerky, Marlboro cigs, etc)  and annoy the Mexican clerk (wearing an honest to god Sombrero) and two have sex in the bathroom. These guys better not be the protagonists. They're all awful. And the clerk dies somehow off screen. He might have been murdered by redneck #3, but I can't tell. It's not edited very well.

The point of the drive is finally announced: killing Mexicans as they cross the border. The girl thinks they're there for the 'scare' factor.There are literal graves everywhere. Plus there are two live men in the bed of the truck. They were there the whole time. The older man is about to get killed, no doubt. The younger will swear revenge and...I don't know.

Ooh, turns out the younger guy is a citizen. Whelp, that makes this soooo much more evil. The rednecks were only right about old dude! By the way, he fled and got shot. Young citizen begs for his life, but Redneck #3 slaughters him anyway. 

So far this is not scary or about clowns. I'm very disappointed. 

Desert shots, in case you weren't sure where we were from all the other establishing shots. IT'S FILMMAKING 101! Unless they're contrasting the peace of the desert with the violence that just happened. And I am not giving this movie that kinda credit.

AAAAANNNNNND Netflixs just stopped working because we got a phone call. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe I should stop now.

Nah.

Okay, got things working again. Blood on the sand. The two male rednecks jabber about the corpses and getting them buried and idly wondering where the girl went. Maybe to get the cops since you never told her you were coming to kill people and she freaked when you shot the old guy?

And then #3 pisses on the grave. I won't miss you when girl redneck comes back and shoots you. Hey, she's back with a gun!

Aaaannnd a hand comes out of the grave and grabs #3 and the girl. Also, the piss is smoking. Also #3's eye got gouged out. What the hell movie?! Slow down a bit!

Okay, dead young guy is a zombie. Fair enough, that's how Freddy Krueger was brought back in Nightmare on Elm Street #4. And now the girl, who was unaware of what was happening and tired to help, is getting attacked first. That's fair. 

#3 Is screaming about being blind even though one of his eyes is obviously fine.

Okay, they're all getting eaten now. Even the gore looks shitty. WHERE THE HELL IS MY KILLER CLOWN?!

Mexican zombies, far more than there were graves, lurch for the american border. Oooooh, scary. A few hapless guards see the girl, declare 'another goddamn zombie' and shoot her. WaIt, they knew about zombies? Who else knows? The Government? Why aren't they more worried, or more staffed? WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?

What...a computer screen? YouTube videos? What am I...

Oh. OH.

THIS IS A GODDAMN ANTHOLOGY MOVIE. WHAT THE HELL. NOBODY SAID THIS WAS AN ANTHOLOGY FILM. ARGH!

I'm out. That first film was really shitty, even by my standards. Screw you, misleading Netflix summary. I might come back to this some other time...