My Thanksgiving Was Way More Interesting Than Yours

I have so much to be thankful for.

I'm particularly thankful this year for the friendship of Nicolas Smoot.

Poor Nick. He was going to be alone for the holiday, so I offered to bring him along to my family. I've gone to the Kochers' Thanksgiving nearly every year for the past fifteen. We don't share blood, but they are absolutely my relatives. We fight, laugh, make barbed remarks, and eat together. Was I concerned about bringing Nick into the middle of all of this? Of course! Especially considering the fact that I married the only other person I've ever brought to dinner, with our families finding out a week after.

They seemed a bit put out by that. Funny how that works.

Nick also showed up a good half hour before my mother and I did. See, I started out the day... ill. After a distressing period worshipping at the porcelain throne, Mom and I seriously discussed dinner and decided to bravely soldier on. We arrived at my aunt and uncles' house without further incident. From me, at least.

The real excitement started right after grace was said, around six pm. I noticed Mom wasn't there to lead the singing, which she always does. I went in search of her.

I found her collapsed on my sister's bathroom floor.

She was conscious, more or less, but not very capable of speech. We went back and forth about what we should do, but my wish to call the paramedics won out in the end.

As it happens, one of said paramedics was an ex's father, because my day just hadn't been interesting enough. I had thought he didn't like me, but he just didn't like my taste in men.

At least my mother could agree on that mark.

So Nick, bless him, spent four hours in the ER with me. Dinner was a box of Goldfish crackers and a bottle of iced tea. We watched YouTube videos and discussed movies and history and actually had a pretty good time, considering the circumstances.

Mom's diagnoses was sudden onset vertigo. She got some awesome drugs for her trouble. I did not. She has been resting, but is otherwise fine.

In closing, I am thankful for-

• Nick <3
• Auntie Cindy, for taking care of the dog and helping us carry Mom into the house.
• Goldfish crackers
• Arnold Palmer
• Chocolate peanut butter swirl ice cream
• Gin
• Internet
• Indoor plumbing(!!!!)
• Mom
• The fact that Mom didn't die on Thanksgiving, unlike some other parent I could name.
• Chris, my bestest friend
• Katherine, my little sister, who was the most upset and worried of all of us.
• My roommate, who hasn't lit anything on fire (that I know of) in my absence
• Anyone who has ever read this blog

Much love, kids. <3

Adventures with the Biffle

My presence was demanded. In keeping with the fact that I haven't slept in my own bed in two months, I made the journey from Duke University in North Carolina to Flowery Branch, Georgia. No, I didn't know such a town existed, either.

I stayed five days, in a house of horrors.

"And on this episode of Intervention..."

Beyond the hoarder-like qualities of the decorating scheme, it was all so... nice. And... decorated. 

Have I been around college students too long? Is this a normal thing? Do people actually take time out of their lives to pick out colors and matching curtains? And then do activities like vacuuming and dusting?

I'm so out of the loop.

Okay, well, making fun of Chris aside, I will continue on with the post... making fun of Chris.

First off, he is the cutest widdle snuggle bunny-

I accept the fact that he will try to kill me for this. I also accept the fact that I will probably deserve it.

Also, Chris attempted to teach me how to play Halo. It was an exercise into why we can't have nice things. Like the jeeps. We can't have jeeps. I immediately drove two off a cliff. And I accidentally killed Chris. Twice. He says the three times he killed me were accidents, but I really don't know how much stock I put in that. There was giggling.

Did you know that you can punch aliens? Did you also know sometimes they wander past you while you're figuring out what the buttons do? The moment was perfect. We raised a glass in celebration of my accidentally punching things.

There were a lot of accidents in playing that game.

We went to the mall! It was great! We had a lot of fun! Right up until the point where we were stranded outside!

See, Chris is in a wheelchair, through very little  no fault of his own. Which, you know, means he can't take the stairs. Which wouldn't be a problem if the service exit we took after the mall closed... didn't have stairs. And, you know, if the door hadn't locked behind us.

I knew at the time it was probably a bad idea. Sure, there was a lit exit sign, but were we actually allowed? And why did the door click so ominously behind us?

So I went on an exciting adventure around the perimeter of the mall to find help! Fun fact- when the mall closes, everyone leaves. So I spent twenty minutes looking for someone, anyone, to let me back in the mall. On random chance, I found the area that security vehicles were supposed to park in. "Finally!" I thought, "Someone who can surely help!"

There was no one there except for a guy from Sbarro who was desperately attempting to leave.

Having effectively begged him, he finally let me back into the mall.

Bonus plus points- I scared the shit out of Chris when I kicked the exit door open to let him back in.

The next day, Chris had a cold, so we stayed in.

He's kind of wimpy that way.

I love him. He's my twinsie. <3

Also his cats like me better

AKA Shit people who love me put up with

Where am I? What state am I in?

From my powers of deduction, I believe I am in Savannah. I have a collection of small fuzzy creatures demanding my attention and using me as a shedding receptacle/jungle gym. There's also an aura of despair and misery, so that's a hint.

Anyway, I'm here to share with you the joys of having prolonged and detailed discussions with me. There are, of course, boatloads more, but they're probably only actually funny to me.

Conversations with me

"You're like... a broccoli-eating squirrel."

"It sounds like Skrillex ate a printer."

"You never told me I had to be sociable!"

"It's a ball!"

"You should get a dog and name him Samuel Pupys."

"Put the dog in the bathroom with the wasp. I will recognize the survivor as my true pet."

(More to be added if my adoring public demands it)

MASSIVE UPDATE

I've been too busy to write. So now you get five posts rolled into one! Lucky you!

HALLOWEEN
The little assholes children never came to the door. I realized later that, as it was a Wednesday, trick-or-treating was probably scheduled for Saturday. Peter didn't care.

 Peter is the original grump

 

But I was dressed as a medieval maiden. Peter went as Tommy Lee Jones a Man in Black. He won't let me post pictures because he refuses to have fun.

 

But here, have one of me!

 

 

And then we watched "Hellboy" and I ate all the Twix. It was great. Exactly sixty-six percent of the household had a good time, if you include the puppy.

 

Fancypants Marine Ball

I WAS THE FANCIEST.

 

Peter doesn't understand what smiling is

 

There is, apparently, a whole world of party dances! The Electric Slide was not played once and half the songs had some kind of freakish assigned choreography. It was an experience in sociology. The sociology of hippity-hop.

 

Also, the bartender made me a vodka and Sprite. And by that I mean he kind of waved the Sprite over it so the glass could absorb the general ambiance. Since it was about three shots in one go, I decided to just have the one. Peter called me a chicken, because he doesn't know that you can be a fun and likable person whilst sober.

 

I did not cause an incident. We were all shocked.

 

Dungeons and Flagons

I got to wear the medieval dress again! :D I tried to charm a lady, failed, and woke up hungover in punishment for my efforts. Also there was shopping cart jousting, which is just as violent as it sounds.

 

No one died. We were all shocked.

 

More posts to come later, including Adventures with Chris and Conversations with Peter.

 





DC HIRL

This particular shenanigan started about three days before I actually got out of the apartment. The lovely Emmy, hatcher of plans, realized that, with three of us being in neighboring states, we could actually hang out!

Of course, that would mean leaving the internet, but we could be brave little soldiers.

So we shipped Adam and Caz from Florida to the DC suburbs, and spent the weekend together!

Not pictured- Suzanne and Adam



You cannot even comprehend the sheer amount of hugging that happened. Or drinking. We were just a great big mushy puddle of love and intoxication. And chicken masala. Holy crap. I may have to get adopted by Suzanne, just for the cooking.

My Sip-a-saurus was baptized with wine. He continues to be unnamed.

 

Saturday morning (well, approximately. Post breakfast quiche and morning snuggles and incredible amounts of coffee), we went to downtown DC to see the Natural History Museum (FINALLY! HOLY SHIT. IT ONLY TOOK A FUCKING MONTH TO GET THERE) and the Vietnam memorial.

 

 

You can call me Hermione

 

I even made animal friends! I was a real-life Disney princess. It was magical. I even burst into song on the sidewalk.

 

 

I named the squirrel George

 

 

Also this happened-

 

 

That night, we had Thanksgiving dinner. In October. Before Halloween. It was glorious.

 

And then I died.











OH GOD

There is a wasp in the bathroom.

Not your average wasp, the kind that's the size of my fingernail. No, this is a monstrosity. This wasp could tangle with Godzilla, and probably win. It is, in fact, roughly the size of a whole finger. Not that I spent enough time around it to estimate size accurately.

There is no picture of it because ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU THINK I'M GOING TO GO GET MY PHONE, COME BACK, AND TAKE A PICTURE?

Yeah. No. I fled. Screw that.

You're really just going to have to take my word on this.

Oh! And it is also, apparently, indestructible.

Peter (big strong manly man, champion of helpless maidens) (shut up about the maiden part, dammit) first killed it with a fly swatter. He killed it again by spraying it with bleach. He killed it a third time, again with the fly swatter. Three times he killed it! And each time it got up and resumed the attack. A few hours later, as I prepared to take a shower, I noticed it sitting on the towel.

Watching me.

I may never bathe again.

Now, as it is morning and I really would like to wash my hair, I am attempting to construct a flame thrower of sufficient power to burn the building down.

It's the only way to be sure.

Klout you are silly

Klout has told me I am influential about beer.

Well, then.

It's true that I am a fan of fermented beverages. I like wine (whites and blackberry are best) (although blackberry wine is not very classy) (in other news, I'm not classy). I like vodka. I actually like vodka quite a bit. I also have a raging, untamed lust for cider (OM NOM NOM ANGRY ORCHARD).

Did I mention vodka? Because that's pretty fantabulous.

Beer?

Beer is gross.

One afternoon, when I was first learning to drink, my uncle insisted I try a sip of every kind of beer. It was an... unpleasant experience. For everyone involved. One that I pray never to repeat. Beer just tastes bitter to me. No other flavor or variation- just bitter. I have tried everything the liquor store carries. It all tastes the same, and it is all pretty gross.

What the hell, Klout. What the hell.

Is this a regular thing? I have heard of Klout telling people they are influential in George Clooney and the sea. While I wouldn't mind influencing George Clooney... Mmm...

Wait. What was this post about again?

Mental Health Break Begins!

I'm in Fredericksburg, Virginia. I can see the sun setting from my view on the porch, and my phone is in my bra because the puppy already ate my Otter Box and I don't trust him anymore.

(I'm actually more impressed than upset about that. I couldn't even get the Otter Box off half the time, and I have thumbs!)

This is the first leg of my epic journey across the east coast to visit people before my equally epic move. I'll be here until early November, then off to North Carolina!

I'm here because I want to live in the Smithsonians (someone should probably come stop me from setting up a pup tent in the Natural History Museum) (Or don't. That works, too.) and because puppy.

Jameson was supposed to be a holdover name until Peter thought of something better. You can imagine how well that turned out.

Peter's here sometimes, too, I guess.

Since arriving four days ago, not a lot of adventuring has been done. I've mostly been content to hide in my brain and come out on occasion for food. There's been some going out and about and touring the town, however.

Today, since I was feeling more up to being outside, Jameson (which is I guess is his permanent name now) and I explored a bit of the nature park behind the apartments! There's a stream and mysterious forest trails and a historical site! We navigated a treacherous mountain path up a course hewn from a stony outcrop. It was three feet wide with an immediate thirty foot drop. Jameson kept stopping to look over the edge. Probably just to fuck with me.

 The lighting was much more magical than my non-archane camera phone can handle.

He is a buttface.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

One of the parts of Atlanta I'll miss most is Lips Down on Dixie, the local shadowcast for RHPS. I've been a member on and off for three years at this point.

There's been quite a bit of drama since I started getting on that stage, and my frequent breaks are often because of it. But hey. You throw a bunch of theater kids, some in school for it, some even professionals, what do you expect?

All the same, there has never been a more welcoming, loving, or inclusive group I've ever been a part of.

I'll miss you, guys. <3 Thank you for giving me the self-confidence needed to dance onstage in my undies, the happiness of finding a passion, and the support I've needed through these past few hellish years. Thank you for throwing me in the way of opportunities outside of Rocky, like modeling and events and meeting amazing people.

And thank you, especially, for being there for me this past month. I don't know what I would have done without you backing me, making sure I got out of my apartment, and just talking to me and making sure I'm okay.

Much love to everyone, newbies (to me!) and oldies. I will cheer you on from afar!

I'm the one in the white hat! :D

Forever Far Away

I'm procrastinating on getting food with a blog post.

Two days from now, on Saturday, I am flying to Virginia to stay with a friend for a month. After that, I make many, many smaller trips around the east coast to see friends and family, before moving permanently to California.

Let us recap what has happened in the past two months-

-I got divorced.
-A former friend turned into a stalker who was sexually harassing me. He threatened to kill my ex-husband, two of my closest friends, and himself if I stopped talking to him. I took out a restraining order and now fear for my life.
-An entire group of friends suddenly stopped talking to me, or responding to any attempts at contact. Ironically, just when I need friends the most.
-Zombie Fishfish, for who this blog is named, died on Sunday.

I think Atlanta is trying to kill me. It's doing a pretty damn good job of it.

I'm so tired, and I'm so sick of feeling angry and bitter and lonely. I'm sick of being so depressed I fall into bed and can't get out for hours, missing things I really did want to do in the meantime. I'm sick of watching my phone for someone, anyone, to ask if I'm okay.

I'm not.

So goodbye, Georgia. I'd say it's been swell, but these fifteen years have been hell.

Amanda Fucking Palmer

A little bit ago (I think a week and a half ago?), I went to see Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra in concert. I went with a good friend (who was supposed to make a vlog that I promised to include here, but her camera derped. Oh, well. Her blog can be found here.) and ran into someone I haven't seen in a while, so that was all great. There was pre- and post-coffee, because I have a problem.

Amanda Palmer has been with me through the last two depressive spells of my life. Admittedly, this particular one is more hatred and anger and misery than sadness, but she has songs for that, too!

I got into her when the Dresden Dolls were still a thing the first time around (apparently they got back together two years ago? Why wasn't I aware of this?) when I crashed at my friend Mike's place for a couple of weeks while I escaped the grossness of Savannah. He was convinced I'd like them, so in between trips to Flying Biscuit and being anti-social at MonsterBash, I was exposed. I was in a studio. I had no where to escape to. I had no choice but to like them.

"Mike, give me back my goddamn hat. Oh, whatever. I have a book."

Mike and I have since swapped hairstyles.

 

(People keep telling me Savannah is a major tourist destination. I have no idea why. Is it that you people just LIKE parking lots, abandoned buildings, and a higher murder rate than NYC two years in a row within the past decade? What? Well, yes, I am bitter about having had to live there. Why do you ask?)

Anyway, Amanda Palmer is awesome. The show was just lovely, even though I kept bursting into tears- when she read the #inmyroom tweets and during "The Bed Song" and I was generally a mess.

She didn't play "In My Mind", even though I was really hoping she would, but I can forgive her for that. It has been the anthem of my quarter-life-crisis.

On Ghetto Horses

I am in the process of changing my name back to my maiden surname. This is apparently way more fucking complicated than I thought it would be.

I went to the social security office, but apparently they don't consider temporary (paper) ID's valid. Even though there is no mention of this on the website. But whatever.

So I attempt to go to the DMV, to yell at them (for the fourth time) for never getting my hard copy to me. Fortunately, throughout this ordeal, I have two friends (Chris and Andrew) to keep me company via texting.

Well, the bus was five minutes early, so I was just in time to see it drive past my stop from across the street. I was forced to wait another forty minutes for the next one. That should have been my first clue to just go home.

Then, the bus, which was different and separate from the first bus, that was supposed to take me to the DMV didn't. Google maps is a LIAR. Instead, I was taken on a very exciting tour of the Atlanta super ghetto! I spent an hour and a half attempting to find a window or door that wasn't barred, smashed, boarded up, or some combination thereof. I was disappointed.

There was also a terrifying stint where the driver stopped, opened the doors, and left the bus for about five minutes. We were parked across the street from an abandoned soul food restaurant with a hand-painted plywood sign. I suppose this is better than the cardboard and Sharpie combination outside a... "cafe"(?) that seemed to be run out of someone's house about twenty minutes behind us.

Chris- "Don't you dare leave that bus."
Me- "SO NOT EVEN AN ISSUE. TRUST ME."

Most wonderful, though, was the real, live horse in someone's yard! It looked healthy and average. It was just chilling. In someone's yard. In the middle of the Atlanta ghetto. I seriously considered stealing it and riding it home.

Andrew- "Just remember to return it when you're done. It probably has more power than the bus you're on."
Me- "You take all the fun out of everything."

To add insult to injury (well, theoretical injury, since I was fairly certain I was going to be shanked at any given moment), about ten minutes before we finally got to a train station, we passed the DMV.

There were no survivors.

P.S. I finally made it to the DMV the day after this happened.

DRAGON CON

Well, firstly and most importantly, I was only actually costumed on Friday. I made a half-hearted effort on Monday, but mostly I just wore street clothes.

I AM PRETTYFUL

Notice the wire elf ears! Notice them now, for you will never see them again! I managed to keep track of them all day, until about fifteen minutes before I went home. Then they were lost, never to be seen again. I had assumed they were in my bag, but I was mistaken. Infinite sadness. At least I have a picture of them?

Also, I ran into Garrett Wang a grand total of three separate times in three separate locations. I have no idea how Life managed this, except that Life has an absurdist sense of humor.

I took some photos of panels, but they are mostly all spectacularly crappy. Maybe I should invest in an actual camera, rather than just using my phone... Anyway, I went to some awesome (and a couple of not-so-awesome) panels. Richard Dean Anderson, some people from True Blood (my mother is obsessed with that show. I blame Twilight.), Jonathan Frakes and Michael Dorn, Patricia Quinn (who was delightfully smashed for her panel), Juliet Landau, James Marsters, and several discussion-based panels.

 

MIchael Dorn showed up on time for his panel. He made some disparaging comments about Frakes and his ability to tell time, when lo and behold! Someone jumped up from the back and started asking personal, embarrassing, and inappropriate questions! He would not be silenced! He demanded detailed answers! He was Jonathan Frakes!

And then they ignored all legitimate questions and just started singing through their favorite musicals together. It was fairly wonderful.

The last night, kilt blowing happened! Don't know what that is? Well, you take a kilt. Specifically, a man wearing a kilt. And then you get a leaf blower...

Pretty much the most SFW photo I took

There was also a surprise, actual, wedding at the end. Yay, Dragon Con, where that is completely normal.

Every Con, I allow myself one splurge. Two years it has been corsets, last year it was a dress, and this year was a KILT.

At some point, I will enlist a photographer friend to do a mini-shoot of the kilt, because it is AWESOME.

And then I went home and slept for two days straight.

Dragon Con Eve

Wow.

So, I was hysterically unprepared for this DCon.

I realized "oh, shit that's next week?" when I looked at the calendar. With all the crappiness and misery of my life, I kinda forgot.

Anyway.

So I've been frantically airing out previous costumes (even though I wanted to do a Yumi cosplay. Sadface.), buying two weekend passes (happy birthday, Mom!), making a schedule and a packing list (I will only be there during the day, but a girl has to be prepared), and running around in panicky circles.

But I made it. Tomorrow is Friday. I should have gone to sleep an hour and a half ago, but I'm too excited.

The day started with me trekking down to the airport to greet the lovely Weishan, with her manservant Chris. Chris, as some of you know, has been my best friend for innumerable years (really it's more like four, but that seems to cheapen it). I was forced to watch them be googly at each other for about an hour. I regretted not bringing a spray bottle. Hey, it works on cats...

Also we were not labelled terrorists or interrogated by security. Shocking, when you consider I was lost and wandering for the first half hour of my being there and that we caused no less than four public scenes. However, Chris did deserve to be punched for that Holocaust joke, and the bystanders were merely jealous of my impromptu sign-making abilities.

After receiving food (I expected nothing less from the woman who made me gain ten pounds in one week), I headed back up to Atlanta to await my mother's arrival from Savannah.

Within the first five minutes of waiting, I ran into Garrett Wang. When I say ran into, I mean that pretty literally. I took ballet for ten years, that doesn't mean I was good at it. Anyway, we chatted and he was super nice and easy-going and fun to talk to (as usual, since this is the fifth DCon we have both been at and I have made an effort to talk to him every time).

He also told me to apply for a job at Trek Track.

I think I died a little.

Well, that would CERTAINLY keep me in Atlanta for a little while longer...

I'm Terrible at This

And I even swore to myself I'd write entries regularly. More than once a week, even!

Well, I promise I didn't die. I have been theatering, amongst other catastrophes.

I have been Assistant Costume Designer/kinda-sorta-not-really part-time Costume Mistress for Aristophanes' "The Frogs". It has been extraordinarily stressful and time consuming and absolutely amazing.

Also, I am in the process of ending my marriage. I would prefer to not answer questions about this, but I do want my friends to know. If you absolutely must ask, private posts or email is what I will answer.

Much love, kids.

I am the Phone Killer

Thus far, my craptastical phone continues to hang on to the last vestiges of life- probably due to some sort of Droidian voodoo or the Dark Arts.

This all started about a week ago, a couple of days before I was to journey forth across the continent. Lo and behold, my phone stopped charging! Even when I turned it off and left it attached to the charger, the battery would drain halfway! I took it to the Verizon store, which went something like this-

"How can I help you today?"

"Well, my phone won't charge. I keep it on using prayers and crossed fingers. Can you find out what exactly is wrong with it?"

(After some poking at the phone by the store person, including a few tense minutes when we realized neither of us really knew how to free it from it's Otter Box prison) "The charger port seemed broken."

"Okay. That sounds benign enough. Can you fix that?"

"No."

"Oh. Well then. Can I get my phone replaced?"

"Yes."

"Excellent! Can I get my phone tomorrow? The day after I'm leaving to go across the continent."

"No."

"I see."

"Also, you aren't listed on this account, so I have no proof that you didn't steal this phone."

"Great. Thanks for the help."

After fleeing with my phone (which, for the record, I did not steal, but in fact bought with my own dollars after my previous phone also stopped charging.

I'm beginning to see a pattern here.), I decided to take it along for the journey and see what happened.

Thus far, said prayers and crossed fingers have worked miracles. Not only does it occasionally charge, it only turned itself off twice! That means only two times this week that I've had to yell and curse and fiddle with charger cord and resist throwing the phone against the wall.

Raging success, I'd say.

Oh My Lord Berkeley

So I've been in Berkeley, California, for four days. Biffle and I flew in to bother mercilessly visit with Biffle-in-Law and for me to play with kids I've known since before I was a twinkle in my father's eye.

One aspect I wasn't prepared for was the botany. Sure, the squirrels the are the same, and a sparrow continues to be a sparrow on either side of the continent, but the plant life is radically different. In Georgia, mere hours from Appalachia, there is Spanish moss and gnarled oak trees and this weird ground vine that seems to pass for grass. I don't actually know what it is, but it's isn't a "lawn" in the traditional sense of the word.

Here, there are flowers everywhere. Every color, every shape, there are flowers hanging from branches and twisting on vines up stairs, on every privacy bush, sprouting from cracks in sidewalks. Wild jasmine is everywhere you look. No matter where you go, you can smell it.

Another were the sheer number of dirt-cheap bookstores. I've been really, really good. Shockingly good. Disgustingly good. I've only bought two fucking books after visiting four fucking discount bookstores. If that doesn't gain me entry into some sort of heaven, I don't know what will.

There's also a plethora of hole-in-the-wall, family-owned, cheap ethnic food. There's a Mexican restaurant where I have yet to actually pay for food, since the two owners are friends with Biffle-in-Law. They've invited me to come in any time and eat all their food and refuse to take my money, even when I throw it at them and flee the building.

They follow me and give it back.

I am seriously considering having Zombie Fishfish, Warrior Princess, and Husband shipped to me and just never leaving. Because I have entered what is the closest scenario to Paradise.

Zombie Fishfish

Apparently, every possible freaking name possible for a blog URL was taken, except for zombiefishfish.blogspot.com.

For the record, this is named after my fishy-

Zombie Fishfish, Warrior Princess, in all her glory

Zombie Fishfish is a survivor. She battled the water filter the first day I had her and won! The filter was replaced. The fish, thankfully, was not.

I guess this blog is somewhat dedicated to her, since she lives on my desk and provides valuable aquatic feedback.

May the shenanigans ensue!