So I have this bizarre goal now. I have gotten it into my strange little brain that I simply have to find out exactly how much my big ol’ Crayon bank holds…in pennies. See, I got to thinking about how, a long time ago, someone told me that a Jack Daniels bottle, when completely filled with pennies, holds approximately $25. So I started to wonder, if a J.D. bottle holds that much, how much does a big Crayon bank hold? So I started collecting pennies to fill my bank. I quickly realized that this could be a far lengthier process than I had initially foreseen. I have become a tad bit desperate in my quest for pennies–begging folks for their unwanted pennies and hounding innocent bystanders every chance I get. I fear I still may be decades before I even get close. But I’m not giving up, darn it! I will discover how many pennies it takes to fill up this damn bank if it kills me! Unless, of course, I die of old age before I get it filled up.
I’ve decided Satan invented one-click shopping and now sits back and laughs at all us poor, defenseless book addicts as we click away. I swear I find myself saying, “Oooh, it’s only $.99!” often enough to make my bank account cringe. I try to have willpower! Truly I do! It’s just that…well…it’s books! I devour books the way a fat kid devours birthday cake! I totally resist the urge to buy all the other stuff I dig on Amazon and such–I didn’t even give into the urge to buy the hilariously snarky socks or zombie Yahtzee! But books are another matter entirely. They’re like my crack or something. And evil old Amazon one-click shopping is my detestable dealer. I wonder if I should contact the Intervention folks about this.
I don’t go out drinking or bar hopping or any of that. I thoroughly enjoy watching documentaries about all sorts of things. I adore all things zombie. I read staggering amounts of books of all kinds (a non-fiction book about a holocaust survivor followed by a zombie book then a nice apocalyptic novel and a non-fiction book about the 1900 Galveston hurricane). I spend most of my time alone, chilling with my cat and watching stuff on the DVR. I am completely freaked out by leeches and maggots and lice and such, but find autopsies and all that absolutely fascinating. I own gobs of ridiculously goofy things that I obtained simply because they make me smile, regardless of how silly they seem to others. My biggest fan is a 7 year old little girl and that’s awesome. So, overall, I think I’m a teensy bit odd. But I’m cool with that.
Randomosity: What is it about maggots that instantly makes me behave like a hysterical school girl? As soon as I see those nasty little buggers, I’m all flailing and shuddering and spazing out. It’s like bats–All logic just vanishes, leaving behind nothing but that shrieky panic voice freaking out in your head. Like, logically, you can be all like, “Maggots can be a good thing and are even used by medical professionals to remove dead tissue and aid in healing.” Or, “Bats are no more likely to carry rabies than any other animal and they don’t purposefully attack your head and attempt to snare your hair and they are actually quite helpful and eat all sorts of nasty insects.” But the second you’re faced with the vile beasties, that logic dis-a-frickin-pears–evicted by the illogical, screeching voice of pure, unadulterated panic. And there you are, a wailing, hollering, whimpering, flailing pile of spaz. Puzzling shit, that. I bet it would be neat to have a pet pygmy slow loris. You could totally take him with you everywhere!
I think I’d name him something like Barnaby Alowishus or something like that. Seriously, how fricking adorable are these things??? So they have a little problem with a tiny toxin issue, so what? They are just too darn cute!
Hasta manana, Piranha!