Unless They’re EEEEEVILLLL Archie Comics!!

I’ve just sabotaged my own night’s sleep.

Stephen King, hot dog!

I tread a fine line when it comes to horror stories and suspension of disbelief.  I really enjoy horror stories, movies, and tales of supposed ghostly encounters, and have been doing so since I was but a mere whelp.

So you’d think I’d be seasoned enough to not get scared by a little bit of light fiction.

Crouch End.  Have you ever read this short story?  It’s in King’s collection Nightmares and Dreamscapes, and although I’ve read it a number of times, it still manages to scare the living heck out of me.

I can’t even swear, I’m so scared.

What do you do to get rid of the heebie jeebies when they’ve overthrown your logic?

I usually read Archie comics.

Tight and Empty Skin

I know I’ve been spending too much time talking about dreams recently, and I’m sorry.

There’s just nothing else on my mind that’s worth mentioning.

My private life is too private, my public life is too boring, and my overeating is too embarrassing.

I could do a weather report on my feelings tonight, which I will:

What started off as premenstrual laziness, and a desire to stay at home and watch many episodes of Six Feet Under, quickly gave way to a warm front of boredom and loneliness.  Or maybe that would be a cold front, I don’t know, I’m not a meteorologist, I can’t read this stupid map.

Suffice to say, I’m bored, lonely, kicked off of my lazy couch and waiting for cramps to keep me up all night.

Blech.

I wish I was still a Christian.

Crones and Guts

Two scary dreams from last night:

The first was yet another haunted house dream, this time with a twist.

I was in a department store, and had to go to the bathroom.  The bathroom in question was a public one, with three or four stalls, and no lights.  There were windows letting in a meager light, and I was alone in the room.  When I looked into the mirror, however, I saw the reflection of an old woman towards the end of the room.

I remember being scared, but pleasantly surprised to actually see the ghost in this dream, whereas in all the other haunted house dreams, there was no visible ghost, just a haunted feeling.

Two:

I was watching a truck careen out of control down the road.  As it passed under a bridge, it swerved around 180 degrees, and drove over three different cars, crushing them all.  There were heaps of body parts all over the road, squashed and bloody.

I couldn’t even count how many people were killed in this careless act.

As I’ve mentioned before, I get these haunted dreams on a semi regular basis.  Usually they occur when something is wrong in real life.  I’m not really sure what it is that’s haunting me this time around, but this is the second haunted dream I’ve experienced in recent weeks, so there must be something stuck inside my head.  I’m hoping that by seeing the ghost in this most recent dream, I’m getting closer to confronting whatever problem I’m dealing with.

The blood and guts dream is another dream that is familiar, although much more rare.  I experienced several within a short period of time quite a few years ago, but none since then, and I’m excited to have had another.

They are so creepy.  The feelings that accompany these dreams are always an extreme horror, and I bring those feelings back with me into my waking life, after experiencing them.

I’m an 8.5, Personality Not Withstanding

I saw a woman get stood up this weekend, and it sucked.

She was really cute, and maintained her dignity far better than I would have, under such circumstances.  I would have gotten noticeably angry, and my waiting time would have included shots of hard liquor and many swear addled phone calls to empathetic friends.

I assume.

While I haven’t actually been stood up, I have been forced to wait for hours without notice or sincere remorse (I’ll take this time to mention that I would not have waited more than thirty minutes had I not been planning on attending that particular event regardless, and had I not known another half dozen people attending said event.  Also, this guy was hot and I really wanted to fuck him and never talk to him again.  I got half of that wish granted), and I’ve been canceled on a couple of times, too.  All of these experiences involved shots of hard liquor and/or swear addled phone calls to empathetic friends.  And some blog posts, too.

Inconsiderate scum, these stander uppers.

But it’s usually for the best.  If some man is so weak of character that he can’t even honour his plans to meet me properly, then what business do I have with the likes of him?  I already know I’m awesome, and if some dickless douchebag can’t see that, then why would I waste my time and energy on him?  There are plenty, PLENTY of guys out there who would readily take the opportunity to snuggle up close to the likes of me, and I’m sure this girl has the same selection.

That’s what happens when you’re on the Hot Chick Honour Roll.

Smurf Me, Baby, Smurf Me Hard

I went to a tiki bar last night.

Having never traveled to anywhere even remotely tropical, I had never been to a tiki bar.

Is Hawaii considered tropical?  I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been.

So anyway, this bar was awesome.  They had frothy mixed drinks that were served in coconuts, a patio covered in sand and topped with thatched grass umbrellas, and a mural which featured a dancing Hawaiian woman.

This particular dancing Hawaiian woman might have been portrayed in a less than traditional manner, as she possessed blue skin and a unibrow.  Once again, having never been to Hawaii, I wouldn’t know for sure.

A debate was sparked on this subject; would you rather fuck someone with blue skin or a unibrow?

Blue skin won hands down.

So, let this be a lesson to all of you with unibrows:

If you want to fuck, don’t forget to pluck.

Mood Shampoo

I’ve been stuck in a strange mood since yesterday.

At first, I thought it was just a mysterious hangover; although I hadn’t gotten drunk enough the previous night to merit a hangover, I was experiencing all the emotional qualities of a hangover induced panic attack.  Not a big deal, I was probably just tired.  A good night’s sleep would cure all that.

But then I woke up today, still with the death and dying on my mind.

I’m sure that a few hours of waiting tables and living life will fix me up nicely.  Nothing like a little bit of vivid irritation to wash away the charcoal smears.

No Angel on This Shoulder

Blargh.

If I had a dime for every time someone told me I was a bad influence, well, I’d have enough money to buy us some more hookers and blow.

However, I did wake up in my own bed, alone, and I still have money in my wallet.  That’s good.

Of course, that could just mean that my liver is starting to fail, but I like to think it means I wasn’t as ill behaved as I could have been last night.

I did come to my crossroads pretty early in the night.  Two beers in, I decided that I wanted to go home and sleep.  I have plans for today, plans that would go down better without a hangover, and going home after two beers would have fit nicely with these plans.  But my friends are enablers, and convinced me to try a third beer.  That third beer turned into several more, and invited some Irish Whiskey into the mix, and now that crossroads is but a distant memory.

Not entirely sure if the Don’t-hit-on-the-bartender mantra lasted, but it’s no secret that I’m a sucker for young guys named Biff.