It's a Stephen King Story...In Reverse

According to multiple news sources, a ghost ship full of rats is headed to shore.

The Pied Piper is apparently returning his spoils. From Canada.

I have nothing else to say about this except even if you're one of those people who have rats as pets, being overrun by ten bazillion small creatures of any type is pretty horrifying to imagine. Particularly since, being a Medieval and Ancient history nut like I am, I KNOW what rats were used for (and what they brought along on ships...well, hello there Black Death).

I declare today Monster Monday in honor of the Ghost Rat Ship.

I adore monster and paranormal horror (slasher movies like Texas Chainsaw, Freddy and Jason, etc bore the shit out of me. The "let's see how much blood/guts we can spray on film" and "all victims do the SAME STUPID SHIT" stuff is really old.

I saw Tremors when I was 9, only I didn't see the WHOLE movie. Meaning, I didn't see the monsters die at the end (um, spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't seen a 25 year old giant people-eating-desert-worm monster movie).  I MUST see the creature die at the end, otherwise there are nightmares. I lived on a 40 acre farm in Northern Minnesota...no worms in sight. But I still ran my ass off from the house to the barn every time I went outside for a good month that summer (OBVIOUSLY the cement floor in the barn would protect me from any giant tentacle-mouthed-worm-monsters!).

I also still freak out in over-my-head water (oceans or lakes) because I have NO IDEA what might be eyeing up my plump, pasty legs as a potential snack. Sharks, crocs, giant eels, Cthulhu, Megaladon...they don't keep me out of the water, but I definitely have moments of "oh shit I'm too far from shore and could NEVER out-swim a shark!" panic. Because I'm silly.

What monster most terrifies you?

"Nice! I Have a Cadaver Bone in my Jaw. Stay Warm People."

There is nothing I could possibly come up with for a title better than that.

Today's text conversation between my sisters and I today.  Punctuation fixed (it's hard to punctuate on text properly!)

S1: We got a new furnace finally!
Me: Yay! Just in time for -0 this week. Whew!!
S2: Nice! I have a cadaver bone in my mouth. Stay warm people.
Me: WHAT. THE. F. You eat dead people??
Mother: Heehee*
S1: That is literally amazing!!! What if it's from a criminal and it makes you go rogue?!?
Me: What if it's from a super secret agent spy and you get all Bourne Identity?
Mother: Don't give her any ideas!!!
S1: Heehee!!
S2: Lol sickos
Me: If you have a sudden calling to Catholic missions in Calcutta, it's Mother Theresa's bone.
S1: and if it's a craving for fava beans and a good Chianti...well...**
Me: This entire conversation belongs on the blog. How are you feeling after your...procedure? (Every possible way I tried to write that using "bone" sounded sick, FYI."
S2: LMAO yes, just sore. Otherwise went fine. :)
Me: If I write a haunted cadaver bone implant SyFy channel D movie I"ll be sure it says "inspired by REDACTED: S2" and give you 1/2 of the $10 I get for the script. Mwahahahaha!
S2: AWESOME.

Of course, I couldn't stop there...I mentioned it to my co-worker (who also writes). She immediately jumped all over the idea of a haunted cadaver bone in your jaw that haunts you or makes you do bad things, and the only way out is to remove the bone. Hence the SyFy channel D movie script plan.

*Oh yes, I know EXACTLY from whom I inherited my disturbed sense of humor.

**If you don't know what this references, first of all WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?? Second: go out immediately and rent/stream/watch The Silence of the Lambs. 

And invest in coffee, because you won't sleep for a bit.

And in other news, today in the office I've discussed guns in depth with the new guy, confirmed to a co-worker that Bermudians do, indeed, wear 3 piece suits with Bermuda shorts (and socks up to their knees) instead of pants, and just overheard my boss talking about opening wine bottles with a shoe.

I'm not entirely sure what universe I'm in today, but it's fucking cool and I'd like to stay a while.

The Desolate One: Ephelba and Mr. Bill's Spawn

As it turns out, poor Samael the Starbucks Greeting Demon is unable to withstand the violent changes in Minnesota weather. Slowly but surely, he's following in Mom's (the Wicked Witch, of course) damp footsteps as we hover around 32 degrees today.

Clearly, the expression on his ever-shrinking face is that of his father, Mr. Bill.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about... Samael The Desolate One serves coffee at my Starbucks.

But not for long. I imagine he has that tiny evil voice similar to the Halloween demon in Buffy, right before she stomps his tiny ass.

Help Me! I'm melting...oh NOOOOOO.

Today's Caffine Served by Samael, The Desolate One

This morning I stopped at Starbucks, because I'm an addict and I'm not sorry I stop every morning that I go into the office (today is an office day), and this little dude greeted me:

Samuel waving hello...or, screaming for help. 

FYI: THEY named him Samuel, not me. I would've named him Samael* The Desolate One and told everyone he was reaching out to swallow your soul. Or possibly given him sharp teeth like the Doctor Who snowmen...

*Spell-check doesn't recognize "Samael" as a word. Read your damn mythology, spell-check. Seriously.

In other news, the last couple of days I worked from home because 1) I felt like crap and 2) I'm trying desperately not to slip into a post-holiday/post-project-go-live-extravaganza depression. I'm tired. Really REALLY tired, and achy, and everything just doesn't feel good. Therefore, I stayed home and worked in my office there. I had companions.

Because it's hard to go anywhere in my house without companions, including the bathroom (particularly now that it's winter and the bathroom door doesn't quite latch...so Thor can open it, check on what's going on, and leave...after pushing the door all the way open. Asshole.)

Also, they snore, which isn't a big deal except while I'm working it's a constant reminder that they get to nap and I don't. I call shenangians.

Thor's special superpower: Sleep Contortionist. 

NOBODY gets past Chewy, bitches.
Also, please ignore that my bed is unmade. I hate making the bed: it seems wasteful since I'll just mess it up again anyway. 

I've Been Working, I Swear

I have a couple of pending posts...but in the meantime, if you don't read The Bloggess all the time anyway (WHY DON'T YOU??) go read this. Because it made my crappy week at work one bazillion times better.

http://thebloggess.com/2014/01/the-lion-and-the-unicorn-were-fighting-for-the-crown-and-for-my-heart/

You're welcome.

I'm Done SHOULDing All Over Myself

Screw resolutions.

I've spent my entire life hearing "should" and some variation of "ought to (generally it's "otta").

You should lose weight. You should eat better. You should write more. You should pay more attention. You should be sexier. You should be more professional. You shouldn't act so crazy. You should be more fun. You shouldn't hide. You shouldn't be an introvert. You should move to the city for a better job. You should buy this. You should be more open. You should trust "me" (from various people, both romantic and not, both betrayers and not).

Worse than that...I've been SHOULDING all over myself for years. I'm sick of it.

I should lose weight. I should get in shape. I should be prettier. I should wear makeup. I shouldn't sleep in. I shouldn't game/watch all-day-bad-horror-movie-marathons. I need to save more money, I need to spend more time doing "X". I should eat my vegetables, I should be vegan. I should eat meat. I should clean my house (ARGH!). I should do laundry (sigh). I should feed my dogs (ok, that one's necessary and the boys are quite vocal if I'm more than 10 minutes after feeding time, so no real danger of missing it).

SHOULDING is messy. And stupid...and it doesn't actually do the psyche any good.

When I'm SHOULD on (by myself or others), I'm given an obligation. I'm imposed upon. I'm not choosing. SHOULDING is the act of imposing values or actions instead of CHOOSING those values or actions. I'm done shoulding on myself, and I'm done allowing others to should all over me (because seriously, that's gross).

That doesn't mean I don't do many of the SHOULDs anyway: I actually enjoy a lot of them. I feel calmer when my house isn't a disaster. I feel better and have more energy when I work out regularly (particularly when I do something I think is fun). My brainpan has needs to express via writing and calm via meditation. I (GASP) LIKE vegetables. 

The freedom and responsibility of choice is far more fun, exciting, and fulfilling. Therefore, I have no resolutions, because resolutions are just SHOULDs in devious disguise.

I choose to work, because I generally like getting a paycheck, I like the environment, and I'm pretty decent at the work itself.

I choose to spend time with friends, family, my husband because I LOVE them all and (even when I'm lazy and cranky) I'd rather be with them than anywhere else.

I choose to eat better and work out because I FEEL better when I do so, and in doing so I improve my physical appearance, my creativity, and my psyche.

I choose to do yoga and meditate, for the obvious (and a few less obvious) benefits.

I choose to write more, because working at it is rewarding and I want to nurture that talent toward my ultimate goals of how I want my life to work. My first book is about half done...and I greatly anticipate the accomplishment (and ROCKING celebration) I'm going to have

I choose to do household chores more often because I sneeze less and feel less anxious when my house isn't a disaster.

I choose to stop SHOULDING and change my mindset to embracing opportunities and choice, even when the choice is the unpopular one.

My gut isn't broken: I choose to listen.