Yesterday my buddy Kevin calls me up and asks me if I want to go location scouting with him and his brother for a new story he’s prepping for his anthology feature. I immediately said yes, mainly because it was right down the street from me (literally, like a mile away) and I always have fun hanging out with those guys.

However, even though I did meet up with briefly, something unexpected came up and I had to leave them to their own devices, traversing through the woods and general other riffraff.

Sometime later, I had all but settled in for the evening and was about 20 minutes into the horror film Wrong Turn when my phone rang. It was Kevin, letting me know they had finished up and asking me if I wanted to come over his brother’s house and watch the movie Matinee. I of course said sure, what the hell. I’d never seen the movie, and even if I had, since his brother lives even closer than where they were scouting, it wasn’t like I was driving across town.

“When are you guys going to be there?” I asked.

“Well, we’re going to stop and get pizza first. As soon as we get out of the woods.”

“You aren’t out of the woods yet? It’s dark. Do you have flashlights?”

“We have headlamps.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Not exactly. I gotta go. We have to figure out how to get out of here.”

I laughed as I hung up. Then I stopped because I was watching Wrong Turn. Then I laughed again at the irony.

Time went by, and just as I was about to call Kevin back to see if I needed to call the National Guard, my phone rang (which was eerie because I was literally-not-figuratively reaching for it to call him when it rang). The two had made it safely out of the woods.

That’s cool My pals didn’t die at the hands of some inbred hillbillies.

And Matinee was pretty good.


I take the metro to work every day, and when I’m not reading or watching TV shows on my Kindle, I like to play a game I call, “Guess the Serial Killer.” It’s exactly what you think it is. I pick out the person on my train who is most likely the serial killer and come up with how they go about their business and what they do with their victims.

More than a month ago, I was playing that game while in the middle of a text conversation with one of my friends. She is aware of this game I play, and I told her should anything happen to me, look for the guy who looks like Reverend Kane from Poltergeist 2. That’s this guy for those who don’t know:

Reverend Kane

This motherfucker terrifies me.

Anywho, my friend texts me a reply, demanding a picture of Serial Killer Kane. Of course, I oblige. I get comfy, pull up my phone, open up the camera, line it up, get the focus, and snap the picture.

Oh, you see what I didn’t do? TURN OFF THE FUCKING SOUND. Serial Killer Kane looked right at me.

But I didn’t panic! I have ice water in these veins, buster. I’m a quick thinker. Without missing a beat, I took another picture, then another one, all the while making faces. I made like I was taking selfies until he looked out the window.

Crisis averted, and I get to live another day.

Quick thinking.

I am old.

Don’t let that title fool you. This isn’t going to be a post about how my body has started falling apart the moment I turned 40 (although it has). This is more of a piece on how something made me happy recently, and it’s ridiculous because I’m old. That something? A new vacuum cleaner.

For a while now, I’ve been thinking about replacing (or at least upgrading) my vacuum cleaner to a new one. My current one was pretty bad ass when I bought it. I know I got it on clearance because a newer model was coming out, but it was a spectacular deal for a damn decent vacuum. I think I paid like $40 for it, when it retailed for like $100. But that was like 10 years ago.

So, last Wednesday, Amazon this Hoover on sale for $65. I checked Camel Camel Camel, this great site that tells you Amazon price history (thanks, James!), to see if it was a good deal for real (and it was, it’s $100 right now), and then I ordered it. Expected delivery was today.

And here’s where the “I am old” part comes in. I actually looked forward to the new vacuum. The reviews were solid, and I know that my current one just doesn’t have the suction it should. I was eager to check it out. So eager, in fact, that every time I heard a stupid truck going by my house today, I went to the door. And when the post man finally drove up, I ran outside like a child eager to open his presents on Christmas day. I must be part ninja because when I came up to the postman’s jeep, I scared him. He goes, “You must be real excited about this Hover.”

“Uh…yeah.” I had nothing. Because his sarcasm was appreciated and pretty spot on. I was unnecessarily excited about a stupid vacuum cleaner.

I took the box, unpacked it, put the vacuum together, and proceeded to put it to the test. Now I vacuum about once a week anyway, and I just vacuumed a few days ago because I had dropped some chips, but holy shit, yeah, I was long overdue for a new one. This sucker showed a noticeable difference to my rug, and it was picking up far too much stuff for a rug that I had just vacuumed a few days prior.

But there’s no reason for being as excited as I was for a stupid vacuum cleaner. I have no excuse for it except I might be 70.


Buy that for your boyfriend.

There’s a Yankee Candle outlet down the street from me that I hit up on occasion because not only because of their phenomenal prices, but they always have shit on clearance and nine times out of 10, their candles are on sale for an even better price. And, seriously, I don’t give a shit what anyone says, Yankee Candles are the best.

Aside from needing candles, I also needed a topper thing because if you don’t put a topper thing on your candle when you burn it, it burns faster and sometimes out of whack. The topper equalizes all that. The last one I had broke, but I haven’t seen (a manly, I know, I know) one that would be a suitable replacement for the old (manly) one I had. But I figured since it was close to Halloween, maybe they’d have some darker-themed toppers.

Quick off topic story regarding the trip over:

The drive to the outlets involves me going across the Bay Bridge, and on certain days, they have many if not all of the booths open, so what happens is you have like eight or 10 lanes that need to converge into two. So naturally there’s  a backup. I’m used to it, so it’s no big deal. I’m not a dick about people wanting to get in front of me (unless they are one of the assholes that make zero effort to merge until the last possible minute, screwing up everyone, then fuck you). I’m also pretty assertive when I need to get over and I will drift and drift over until the person lets me in because I have insurance. That happened today.

People were in the jam, going about five miles an hour, merging and such, and I saw an opportunity to get over. So I put on my turn signal and proceeded to start getting over. Of course, as soon as I put on my signal, the cunt behind me started getting up on it so I couldn’t get over. So she thought. I just kept drifting over, not a care in the world. She finally got the hint and put on the breaks and I got in. I glanced in the mirror and saw she was yelling and her boyfriend was yelling, and me? I busted out laughing. Fuck you. Don’t be a dick. To teach her a lesson, I let three more cars in front of me, and I was pleased to see that someone else forced their way in front of her even as she tried to pull the same shit. Ug. Ignorant.

Moving on, I made my way to the outlets and found a SWEET parking spot (the kind that was not only close to the store, but I was able to pull straight on through from the spot behind it so I was nose out, good times). I saw from the outside that the current sale that they had was six large jar candles for $60. I know, right? That’s crazy insane pricing right there. I didn’t need six, though. Just two. And a topper.

I went in and headed straight for the toppers so I could pick one out quick if necessary. Sometimes they have a very limited supply on them, so I wanted to make sure if I saw one, to grab it. I didn’t see any on the shelves, but I found an endcap with Halloween-themed accessories for 65% off. Score! I managed to get a topper and a base for $10 total. That’s insane. The topper isn’t quite as manly as I wanted, but it was Halloween-themed, so that’s cool. I like Halloween.

Then it was time to move onto the candles. I asked the lady how much they were indivdually and she said $13.99. That’s not $10 each if I bought six, but a great price nonetheless (for those that don’t know, they go for like $25 retail). As I was looking for a suitable scent, a saleslady came up to me and said, “Smell this, your boyfriend will love it.”

I busted out laughing. I said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I wasn’t even mad. And I kind of felt bad for her because her face kind of fell, like she stepped in it and realized I wasn’t gay. Or I made it super awkward for her by saying, “I  don’t have a boyfriend,” instead of, “I’m not gay,” and she didn’t know what to think. The other lady, looking to cover her, said, “Oh pay her no mind.” I told her I didn’t. It doesn’t bother me what way people think I go. It’s irrelevant.

My friend Karin did bring up the point of, “You were at Yankee Candle, can you blame her?” And she has a point, but my counter is, “Fire, good smells and great for sexy time. Everyone should love candles, bi, gay or straight!”

Karin doesn’t like them. I question who doesn’t like fire because…fire. And fuck it, I like my house smelling good. Especially when I forget to put that Styrofoam thing the chicken came in in its own seperate bag before throwing it away. Candles mask that shit until it dissipates.

After my Yankee Candle experience, I spent the rest of the day watching horror movies. It’s October after all.

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A spider and some carcasses.

There is a spiderweb on the back of my kitchen sink. Not on the bottom, in the cupboard, where no one would notice it. I mean, why would that be an option. It’s right there on top, below the window, going from some glass milk container I have to return to the grocery store for $3 and the bell jar that sits next to it. The spider who occupies the web is just a little guy, something that doesn’t even make much of a blip on the radar my spider fearing ass.

But I let it be. Why? Because I don’t have an ant problem anymore. Well, I do, but it’s cleaning up their tiny little carcasses.

So I texted the following to Joy, my sister, tonight:

There’s a spider that lives just behind my sink. On the top, so I can see the web. But I let it go because it eats all the ants. Either way, I’m kind of trashy.

Her reply:

The spider probably says, “There’s this fat fucker that lives in my house, but I let it go because it leaves food out that draws ants. Either way, I’m kind of trashy.”

For the record, I don’t leave food out.