2016 Book List

Well, not as many as I would have liked, but here’s my book list for 2016. If you have any recommendations, put them in the comments!

The Portable Dorothy Parker – Dorothy Parker
The Dark Side of the Road – Simon R. Green
Pet Sematary – Stephen King (reread)
Monster Hunter International – Larry Correia
Wheat Belly – Willliam Davis
Ready Player One – Ernest Cline
Bottomland – Trey Holt
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children – Ransom Riggs
The Fireman: A Novel – Joe Hill
Dying for a Living – Kory M. Shrum
End of Watch – Stephen King
Dying by the Hour – Kory M. Shrum
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon – Stephen King (reread)
Hollow City – Ransom Riggs
Dying for Her – Kory M. Shrum
‘salem’s Lot – Stephen King (reread)
Dying Light – Kory M. Shrum
The Colorado Kid – Stephen King (reread)
Worth Dying For – Kory M. Shrum
Pines – Blake Crouch
Wayward – Blake Crouch
The Last Town – Blake Crouch
Library of Souls – Ransom Riggs
Gerald’s Game – Stephen King (reread)
The Dead Zone – Stephen King (reread)
Stiff – Mary Roach
Scary Stories Treasury – Alvin Schwartz
The World’s Largest Man – Harrison Scott Key
The Satanic Bible – Anton LaVey
Burying the Honeysuckle Girls – Emily Carpenter
The Things I Love Will Kill Me Yet – Rob Pierce
The Girl on the Train – Paula Hawkins
Different Seasons – Stephen King (reread)
Rose Madder – Stephen King (reread)
Christine – Stephen King (reread)
The Halloween Tree – Ray Bradbury
Insomnia – Stephen King (reread)
Charlie the Choo-Choo – Beryl Evans
The Girl with All the Gifts – M. R Carey

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Halloween is Being Ruined by Helicopter Parents

Trunk or treat. Are you kidding me? There is NOT a child molester/crazy person who will poison your kid around every corner. That whole thing got started by some dude who purposely poisoned his kid for the insurance money. Don’t believe me? READ THIS: I killed my kid for money.

STOP being assholes, people. Halloween is supposed to be scary, and it’s fun as hell. YOU ARE RUINING IT BY BEING AFRAID OF A PROBLEM THAT DOES NOT ACTUALLY EXIST. There is not a pedophile or murderer around every corner. Your kid is more likely to be abused by SOMEONE YOU KNOW. Maybe you should start looking there.

In the meantime, stop fucking ruining Halloween, you neurotic assholes.

Men Don’t Get It. Perhaps They Never Will.

Women are born looking over their shoulders. Know why? YOU. Your gender has some really bad actors and I think it’s time the good ones start telling the bad ones to stop their shit and go the fuck away.

We get catcalled. We get touched, all the time, when we don’t ask to be. You wouldn’t touch your guy friends like you try to touch me. Keep your damn hands to yourself, and don’t be offended if I scream at you to keep your damn hands to yourself. You are not allowed to touch me, ever, especially if I met you five minutes ago. And don’t act like it’s “cute” if I tell you to stop touching me. STOP, or I AM going to hurt you. Bad. I used to tolerate a lot of this bullshit but I am older and wiser now, and I WILL hurt you. I might be the exception that proves the rule, but dude, you will learn. Also, keep your damn hands to yourself.

We get called a “fat bitch” if some jackhole on OKCupid hits us up for a hookup and we don’t comply. (I will never understand this one; you wanted to fuck me RIGHT UP until I told you no. NOW I’m a fat bitch? Sweetheart, I didn’t change in the ten minutes it took you to figure out I wouldn’t fuck you).

We were raised from the time we could remember to watch out for men, don’t get in situations where you can get in trouble, always watch your back. Not ONE man I’ve ever met has experienced or understands this. WE HAVE BEEN TOLD TO BE WARY OF YOU BECAUSE WE NEED TO BE. ALL THE GODDAMN TIME.

You “good” men need to start leaning on the “bad” men. You want to know why I won’t tell you where I live, and why I meet you in a public place? You’ve got a lot of bad actors in your gender. Why I had a setup with my girlfriend to call me in an hour as a “check in/date ender?” bad actors. Why I don’t reply to your “blank” profile and you’re oh-so-witty “how r u” messaging (okay, really, that’s because you’re illiterate and can’t bother to read a profile and compose a complete sentence, but still) because I’m not stupid and all you want is a hookup.

I’ve given up online dating for all of these reasons, and frankly, I’m done. If I meet you IRL and we click, great. But online dating today, and a lot of men in general, are complete mysogynistic assholes, and I’m not having it.

And in real life, you idiots might want to consider that a) some of us have martial arts training and b) some of us are packing iron.

Also, grow up. Would your mother approve of your bullshit?

The Prince is Dead.

Well, I’ve lost the first major icon of my teenage years. Prince died yesterday. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this one.

When Purple Rain came out, my sister, a year and a half younger than me, REALLY wanted to see it. Our parents were willing to let us have the car to go to the theater. I wasn’t really interested, but in a rare show of older sibling nicety, I said, “Okay, we’ll go see it.”

And we did. I was blown away. BLOWN AWAY. Little did my sister know she had catapulted me into a love affair with an artist that would overshadow the last of my teens and my early twenties.

Prince had a lot to say, and in my impressionable 18-20’s  a lot of it really resonated with me. I began looking up his older stuff as well as anticipating new stuff – I loved him. I had Prince posters all over my room, which irritated my fairly racist father, but he never actually MADE me take them down, so I think that was a big step for him.

I got to see Prince in Detroit when he did his Purple Rain tour, and he was phenomenal. I’m so thankful I did that.

I lost touch with Prince’s music in my mid to late twenties, but I still loved his older stuff. And now that I’ve heard of his passing I’m feeling oddly emotional, and I suspect that’s because a piece of my young adulthood has died with him.

I’m an Enabler, and I’m Okay with that.

I haven’t walked to my local liquor store in some time, but I encountered the Three Amigos as I passed THE CITY BUILDING. Like, let that sink in. They were sitting outside the city building panning for change.

I had the dog; she LOVES liquor store runs, as THEY GIVE OUT DOG TREATS. So. I’m fairly certain if I don’t walk her there for the next three years, she’ll still know. Dogs, amirite? *eyeroll*

These gentlemen commented on my dog, just to comment on my dog. I brought her over to meet them, as they seemed nice and they were really interested in her. One of them even knew her breed. Now, I know 90% of the population would have just moved on, and in a bigger city I might have, but here we literally have like 15 homeless people you ever see on a daily basis if you walk around downtown, so you get to know the characters. Luckily so far all the ones down here are completely harmless and, contrary to popular belief, really fucking smart. Like scary smart. And, contrary to popular belief, super nice. Like, nice nice. I can’t even make this up.

So, they meet the dog, and of course the worst one off in the group (I’ve encountered him before; he’s really into his alcoholism; I feel sorry for him but, you know, it is what it is) asks for money. The other two, to my surprise, shame him.

I only have my cc and my ID, but, since they’re nice and hey, the two “better off” ones are looking out for “worse off dude” I’m all, “Hey, I have to come back this way, I’ll hook you up”.

Please, feel free to flame me for giving alcoholics alcohol. I grew up with a high-functioning alcoholic as a father, please tell me what part of this I don’t get. Don’t cry when I hand your ass to you.

They drink. They live on the streets. Can I give them food? Oh, I could IF I had a restaurant nearby I didn’t have to drive to. I was on foot, with the dog. Do they drink? OF COURSE THEY DO. And really, they are begging money for booze. Now I feel like since they have the booze I gave them they might actually go eat. So.

I’m not sure it’s actually charity, but come on. They’re happy, I’m happy, it’s not like one of them is going to clean up and run for congress (although I’d probably vote for him). It’s fucking human decency. I spent $9 and they’ll be happy for 3-4 hours. I’m okay with that.

 

To the Asshat Who Used My Dog to Make More Puppies

Thanks, you ungrateful, horrible person. Because you are a jerk, and a rescue got my dog out of your clutches, I got the best fluffy fuzzbutt pet EVER.

Fuck you for using her as a breeder. Fuck you all the way to Hell and back. She is a LOVELY dog; she’s sweet and amazing, in SPITE of you and your bullshit. You suck, and if I could name and shame you I totally would.

I’m always amazed that dogs that get treated like shit like this still have love for humans. Mine is a total sweetheart. How she doesn’t hate our race is beyond me. But, she loves me; she  also lets random humans scratch her chin, and she’s a total treat whore when we go to the office to get a package (SPOILED).

Dogs > humans.

I love her. She’s totally amazeballs.

Adorable

It’s Not “Just an Animal”

In light of a friend’s tragic loss of a beloved pet, and the close proximity to the 18th anniversary of my husband’s death, I feel the need to tell this story.

I dated Carl for about a year and a half before I married him. In that time, I had often expressed my desire to own a bird that talked. I thought they were fascinating, funny, and would be a great pet to have, but I never got around to having one.

Right before we got married, Carl brought home this little cardboard box. Inside was the cutest little piece of yellow fluff the world has ever known. My wedding present, Meep.

Meep01

She came with her name (she was a year old), and we soon figured out why. She didn’t chirp; her sound of choice was “meep, meep, meep!” It fit her, so we kept it.

She was *supposed* to be my bird, but she was daddy’s girl all the way. He had a mustache; she would scream happily when she heard him come up the steps, fly over to him, settle herself on his chest, and groom his mustache. She was totally his baby. She loved me too, but he was #1 in her book. It was incredibly cute.

She also never learned to talk (so much for a talking bird; I still loved the hell out of her). She could whistle; we tried desperately to teach her to do the theme from “The Addams Family” but she never quite got there. We loved her anyway.

When Carl died, poor Meep was hit the hardest. We shared a staircase with the next door neighbors, and while they didn’t share Carl’s enthusiasm of bounding up at top speed, she still thought that sounds on the stairs meant it was him.

After the funeral, and after everyone had gone home, and things returned to “normal”, I watched her dance around on top of her cage one night as the neighbor came up the stairs. She thought Carl had come home.

The hardest thing I have ever done in my life was to look at her and say, “That’s not daddy”. I kid you not, that bird looked at me, looked at the door, and turned her face to the corner. For a couple hours. It literally broke my heart.

So the next time someone tells you, “It’s just a cat/dog/bird” cut those people out of your life. They truly don’t get it. Not at all.