Back in the Saddle Again

Tomorrow morning, I am off to the Big House for another round of FLAG, which, if you recall, was the same chemical cocktail I got in my second round of induction therapy that pushed the Zombie Leukemia Cells into remission for a short time. We're hoping that lightening will strike twice and knock those suckers back a few paces, at least until we can get the bone marrow train rolling.

If my memory serves correct (and I am sure I can look back over past posts to see what I pissed and moaned about at the time), my worst side effects from FLAG were excruciating heartburn and skin issues (When do I not have skin issues?). And I will more than likely lose what little hair I've grown back. Plus, my doctor prescribed super strong antibiotics as part of my aftercare which included the infamous Liquid Gold.

I have high hopes about what I want to get done during my incarceration, namely to finish this big ole long book I've been reading forever and get more Thank You notes written. We'll see how that goes.

The Mister and I had a nice dinner and date night tonight. Apparently some time during the movie, it started raining. Lord have mercy. We have a theory that God finally granted us rain because Adrian pulled a random drawer out of the middle of Parham Road this afternoon. You know like Noah and the flood. Except different. Sort of.

Whatever. Tropic Thunder was pretty dang funny due in large part to Robert Downey Jr., Danny McBride, and *shudder* Tom Cruise.

I'll check in with the world when I finally get settled into my new cell.

Until then (and for you non-Pajiban readers out there), here's some fun claymation. If I ever have to hire a domestic, I will definitely ask about their skills with power tools.

Step to the Beat, y'all

I'd love to relay in sordid detail the 30-second beat down between two teenage boys that I witnessed at the end of my street whilst getting my mail yesterday. However, I am woefully behind on my e-mailing. It's positively pathetic. Tonight I am going to try and catch up on all my unanswered e-mails.

So, I'll leave you with a few things to munch on until next I post something of interest.

I've been writing for a few other blogs lately. Check them out here and here.

Despite being an only child, I love to share, especially when a song gets stuck in my head. If you've been watching the Olympics, you'll probably recognize it.

And here's enough cuteness to crash your computer.



As a parent, you hope that your child will come to love or at least appreciate the same things you do. After our visit to King's Dominion on Sunday, I'm delighted to report that Little A is blossoming into a bona fide thrill seeker. Long may he ride roller coasters with Mommy and Daddy.

You want the base model or a fully loaded MurderTank?

This one's for my pals over at Pajiba. Frequently in the comment threads, there is mention of a mythical MurderTank that serves as the method by which the Pajibites will wipe out the fetid, poo smear that is Hollywood. Don't ask me from whence the MurderTank originated because, like many terms (Whiskeybabyninjastar and Godtopus) that sprang forth in full armor from the minds of Pajiba, the first mention of it is buried deep within the confines of some long forgotten thread and has now become the stuff of legend.

Anyway, because he is a fellow zombie warrior my uncle sent me a link to a pretty funny Wired article about the best post-apocalyptic vehicles. Two of the vehicles profiled provided me with pretty decent visuals of what the MurderTank looks like, which up until this point in my mind looked like Land of the Dead's crazy dreadnought RV/tank.

For your consideration:

The Dingo pictured here looks pretty basic but it does boast a heavily armored exterior, 7.62 mm machine gun, 40 mm grenade launcher, and for an added plus, it's air conditioned!

But then there's the Stryker.


Um yeah.

When you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherf***ing zombie in a five mile radius, accept no substitutes.

Do you think Henrico County will have a problem when I start parking one of these in front of the house?

Have a great Independence Day everyone!

I *Heart* Deron Murphy

It's good to have friends who don't just tolerate your eccentricities but encourage them. Even toss water on them and feed them lots of sugar past midnight.

My pal/former co-worker Deron fills that role in my life with regards to my mild obsession with zombies. He was fortunate enough a few weeks ago to be able to attend a talk given by Max Brooks (My Hero!) as part of Brown University's Zombie Film Festival.

I, on the other hand, decided to forgo said film festival in favor of my ten year college reunion.

Because I am a moron.

But Deron, being the wonderful, enabling friend that he is, offered to take my copies of The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War with him to get signed. Yesterday, my books returned to me, and I almost passed out with joy.



I sincerely hope Max makes it down here to the RVA to speak. According to Deron he was engaging, sarcastic, and entertaining. I'd love to chat with him about whether or not he thinks George Romero's social commentary works in the zombie film genre or if Romero's just blowing smoke, trying to put more significance into his creepy gorefests than they are worth. Also, I'd like his tips on surviving the zombie apocalypse with a toddler in tow.

Then maybe I'd get all superfan geeky and tell him that his Survival Guide was the catalyst for helping me overcome my tremendous phobia of zombies. And that because of him I ask for a machete every year for Christmas. One with a black blade.

You never know when you may have to jam.

My college chum Vanessa, like myself a crafty girl with macabre leanings, sent me a link to this fabulousness: The AntiCraft. These women are all my new girlfriends. How marvelously they marry crafting with the morbid!

I want to make sweet love to them down by the fire.

Vanessa made sure to point me in the direction of the End of Days Kit: The AntiCrafter's Emergency Stash. My excitement could barely be contained.

The project is wonderful, indeed, but let me recommend a few changes:

1. Zippered Tote Bag or Large Sturdy Tin- Check. Excellent portability, which is crucial during the zombie apocalypse. You should always keep moving when the dead rise to feast on the living. We've all seen what disaster unfolds when people try to hole up in some old farmhouse and wait the situation out. Munch, munch.

2. Red Duct Tape: Good thinking about the red cross. That plus the fact that you won't be shambling and moaning should be dead giveaways that you are not amongst the recently reanimated dead.

3. Flashlight: Good. Check.

4. Weapon: The author recommends a rotary cutter. Those buggers sure are sharp but a little small. Wielding them would put you right in range of a zombie's bite zone which should be avoided at all times.

Best non-gun weapon would be a machete, but since most people don't have one lying around their house, a baseball bat (preferably wooden), cricket bat, long piece of piping, or marble rolling pin should all work nicely. What you want is something portable but long enough to crack the head of a reanimated corpse without intruding on its personal space.

5. Manuals: Everyone should own a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide. I have this great plan of leaving them in hotel nightstands right next to the Gideon bible. Also, the Army Survival Guide is good for basic knowledge.

Or you could just kidnap my dad. He knows how to live off the land and all that survivalist shit. Cause he's nuts.

6. Knitting and Thread Snips: Unlike the author, I am not a knitter. The tools of my crafty inclinations tend to be a Dremmel and various types of epoxy and pliers, none of which could do double duty as anti-zombie weapons and entertainment when hiding. I'd just as soon carry my handgun and a deck of cards.

7. Hydration: Crunk Juice is inspired. Perfect blend of stimulant and intoxication necessary for battling armies of the undead.

8. Sustenance: Dark chocolate would also get me through the harsh days and nights of zombie fighting. And maybe some candy corn.

9. Cigarettes and Matches: Check. Double check. I'd try and cram at least a carton in my kit.

10. Tissues: Tears are for the weak.

11. Camera: I don't know if I would have the presence of mind to snap pictures of the undead. Maybe I can find one of those guns like Ryan Reynolds had in Blade:Trinity with a camera already built into the body. Yeah, that's right. And a flamethrower too...

I Am Lame

In his last two posts, my husband has written some compelling pieces on biofuel and issues with gun control and the FOIA. I write about pop culture, adventures in childrearing, and fashion. Yeah, my ass is shallow.

But to provide a brief commentary on his posts (Please read his posts as they are quite interesting.) in my typical mildly nutso fashion:

Looks like the miracle of biofuel is just a big ole' CF. So we're raping natural resources and destroying one of the Earth's most unique ecosystems to no longer be dependent on "foreign oil" and decrease our "carbon footprint" Look, this whole foreign oil B.S. is ridiculous (Except when it comes to any petroleum from Venezuela 'cause that Chavez dude is messed up.). Take a look at the clothes you're wearing, the various electronic products around the house, hell anything that doesn't move and I guarantee there's a label somewhere that reads MADE IN CHINA. And we're suddenly concerned about where our oil comes from?

I also wish that everyone would crawl out of Al Gore's ass and realize that harming the Earth isn't all about emissions and global warming. Crap, Indonesia (typical of a developing nation rushing into a money generating scheme without first heeding long term effects on their country and people) is destroying their rain forests so that they can grow corn to provide us silly reactionary Westerners with biofuel to assuage our gas hysterics. At this rate in twenty years there won't be a wild habitat for many species of animals. Not to mention the effect production of this biofuel crap will have on the world's food supply. Sigh. I know I'm no climatologist, but how did the Earth emerge from the Ice Age when there were no Yukon Denali's and Chevy Suburbans to heat things up?

Regarding the asshat who saw fit to post the name and address of every Virginia citizen with a concealed weapons permit (including a member of my family). It amuses me no end to tell people I own a handgun. Their reaction is sometimes very similar to one I might get if I told people that I killed children and then bathed in their blood to keep my skin looking youthful. See, I don't walk down the street with my gun tucked into the front of my pants just waiting to shoot someone in the face. Hell, I don't even take it out of its case on a regular basis. I own a gun for basically three reasons:

1. It's pretty.
2. I like to target shoot.
3. A handgun will be necessary protection from zombie hordes. At least until I can secure my very own AK-47.

So this notion that I as a gun owner am somehow a threat to society amuses me. Unless you are a reanimated corpse attempting to eat me or any member of my family or you are entering my home intending to harm me or my son, I will not shoot you. Should the day of the zombie apocalypse come and you unfortunately fall in with the flesh-eating mob, well then buddy, all bets are off. Until then, I'm safe as kittens! Whee!

Hey, Grindhouse opens this weekend. Tarantino AND zombies. I get the shivers just thinking about it.

Happy April everyone! Best month of the year!

Fried Oreos, Ralph Stanley, Zombies, and Canada

I've been busy brewing up a kid and having a life. That's all I'm going to say about that.

A few weeks ago the State Fair was in town. We got to introduce our friends to the time-honored Fair traditions of demolition derby and fried Oreos. Amazingly they still speak to us. Plus, I had one of the best corn dogs ever. It's a nutritional blessing the Fair only comes once a year.

The next weekend, The National Folk Festival was held downtown (and people say there's nothing to do in Richmond...). While there were many fine acts throughout the festival, I was especially excited about seeing the legendary Ralph Stanley perform. He's a trip and a wonderful musician. It's great to see him performing even at his venerable age. Richmond gets to host the festival for at least two or three more years, and I look forward to what every year has in store.

A week ago, my mother and I were shopping in Carytown when we saw across the street a crowd of about fifty zombies shambling along the sidewalk. Granted, it was pretty obvious to someone as knowlegable as myself that these were faux zombies and not actual flesh-eating reanimated dead. Still it was pretty bizarre to watch a city block-worth of costumed and makeup-ed folks shambling down the sunny shopping thoroughfare. The patrons of the bistro Can-Can all stopped mid-munch to gawk at the sight. Pretty much everyone on both sides of the street stopped to watch the undead parade. It appeared that the stunt was part of a film school project as there were a few cameramen interspersed in the crowd, filming the spectacle. It's a boon that the horde didn't come down my side of the street or I might have flipped my shit and ran.

Watching as people gaped along the sidewalk, I couldn't help to wonder if this wasn't a small glimpse into the reality of a zombie invasion. Should the average person come across a horde of zombies in the street, he would more than likely stand and stare in disbelief until some ghoul was chewing his face off and then evasive action would be impossible. People are just not prepared for the reality of a zombie attack. Granted on this particular day, I was unarmed but buddy, even at seven-months pregnant, I could have hauled ass to the car beating off zombies with my purse.

Last week I (and my unborn son!) went to Canada for a few days on business. I spent what felt like half my life on a plane or in an airport. Novia Scotia is very lovely and clean. The people are all especially pleasant. It was chilly. I played a slot machine for the first time ever. Good trip.

Now I am back in the office trying to resist my strong urge to beat my co-worker Choad/Turtleman into a bloody pulp with my shoe.

Halloween is only a week away. Adrian put on his costume last night, and I laughed so hard I nearly fell down the stairs.