Album showcasing my flea market/thrift store finds.
One day at my local supermarket, there was a buy one, get one sale on Dr. Oetker’s frozen pizza. Never one to pass up a bargain, I picked up two of the less threatening looking ones, Pizza Mozzarella.
Upon pulling the pizza out of its retro box, I was greeted with an extremely thin crust with blobs of chalky white cheese. Herbs and tomatoes were sprinkled over the top, with an undercurrent of red sauce and pesto. Seems unassuming enough I suppose, plus I was super hungry and decided it couldn’t be that bad.
After cooking, the pizza surprisingly looked the same as it did raw. The blobs of cheese had not melted or even oozed into slightly appealing larger blobs. The tomatoes became mushy and the pesto turned a sick green color, like swamp scum. Becoming more frightened by the second, I decided to still give it a chance. We delved into the pizza.
It would not cut with a normal knife. We had to get a huge kitchen knife and sawed for 2 minutes before Dr. Oetker’s delight split in half. We settled down on the couch and proceeded to eat our treasure. The smell was what first assaulted our senses. A smell that cannot be described other than it was unlike anything I had ever smelt before. My hand shook as I brought the pizza closer to my trembling lips. The first bite was on the outer edge of the pizza where there was little topping. The crust was chewy and dense, with a distinct cardboard taste. As I went for a second bite, I got more of the toppings and blobby cheese. The taste of that pesto… I still shudder when I think of it. It was like eating slime, like… like GAK. Cooked GAK. The rest went into the trash. I spent the rest of the night trying to wash that awful taste out of my mouth with Crown Royal.
I came home from a long, easy day at work to find the scariest creature that God ever put on this earth hanging on my door. I kicked it across the porch, whereupon it seemed to laugh at me and shake its unholierthanthou head up and down.
The sheer size of this creature becomes apparent when you notice my foot next to it.
Within minutes of posting on facebook, I had my answer as to what in the name of all that is sacred this was.
A male Dobsonfly, often found near fast-moving streams in the eastern United States. I happen to live right next to a river. I feel a move is in order soon.
No worries, soon after, my landlord stopped by, noticed it and decided he didn’t like the looks of it either and killed it. Thanks.
Photos here: Lizzie Borden Photos
I’m a fairly skeptical person, but one who is interested in the paranormal. I’ve read a lot of information on Lizzie Borden, I’ve read books dedicated to the murder and watched the Legend of Lizzie Borden movie starring Elizabeth Montgomery (which can be found on YouTube). Last week, my friends and I took a road trip to Fall River, Massachusetts and took a tour of the Borden home, which is now a bed and breakfast. (Spend the night if you dare!)
My mood as the tour began was of amused interest. Who doesn’t know that infamous skipping rhyme?
Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one.
This was going through my head as the guide was talking.
We started out in the front room, which faces the street. The furniture is period and adds to the overall ambiance of stepping back in time.We moved into the dining room where a curio cabinet houses replicas of the bashed in skulls of Andrew and Abby Borden. Beside this macabre display is another replica, this time of the autopsy tables that were set up in that very room, where both bodies lay for 3 days in the sweltering August heat of 1892.
Off the dining room is the sitting room where Andrew Borden was murdered as he lay on the couch. I stood in the doorway while my friends sat on the couch (not the original!) and listened to the guide explain about the various theories of who the murderer was. All of the sudden, the adjoining door to the dining room opened with a slow creak. The man behind me said “hey that door just opened!” Thinking it was the wind, the guide pulled it shut (hearing it latch) and pushed the sitting room door closed. After 10 seconds the door opened again, this time with an audible turn of the door knob! There was no one on the other side. The guide seemed put off and stammered a bit that sometimes strange things happen. The mood in the room darkened considerably as we all looked around at each other as if to say “is this really happening?”
The tour moved upstairs to the guest room where Abby was murdered. I kept looking at the carpet and thinking how someone died there. The room had a heavy feeling, hard to explain. As I took a picture of the photo on the wall of Abby lying on the floor, the window reflected the shape of a head behind me. My friend thinks it was someone else on the tour, but we are having trouble figuring out who judging from the size and hairdo. It’s just creepy.
The rest of the tour was fairly uneventful. The upstairs attic is said to be haunted by two children murdered on the property years before the Bordens died. The room smelled of baby powder in one spot and was colder than the rest of the house. We left feeling as though we had experienced something out of the ordinary. I think it has to be seen to be understood.
We made some delicious red velvet cupcakes. I smeared one eye with my fat finger, so we decided to call it our Sandy Duncan cupcake. We then added the blonde hair, glinting glass eye and red rimmed mouth. We laughed and laughed and then I ate her. I went home and looked online for a picture of her to post on facebook as a reminder of our evening and I came across the very spitting image of the cupcake!
I laughed so hard I choked. God has reserved a special place for me in Heaven.
Finally received my USB turntable (a steal at $27 shipped on Ebay) and I recorded Myron Floren’s Disco Polka album. Very retro. Here’s a medley of Lover’s Concerto.
It was tough because the record was slightly warped and it skipped through the two best tracks, Disco Clarinet Polka and Beer Barrel Polka.
Long Live MYRON.
Everyone has phobias, and most people share the same ones. Spiders, clowns, public speaking, etc. I’m afraid of deep water and the ocean as well, owing to a near-drowning experience as a child. Understandable, right?
But what about my phobia of stuffed bunnies in prairie clothes?
This can’t be normal, right? It’s not like a crippling phobia where I can’t function while looking at one, but I have had nightmares. The Easter Bunny is a glaring example of course, with those red eyes and mirthful grin that holds so many secrets. Then there is the Donnie Darko bunny which is a whole other category. But what about this?
It seems unassuming enough, but let’s look further. The bunny is trimmed in pink, which is automatically vomit-inducing to me. The Little House on the Prairie clothes are a further ick factor, with pink puffy sleeves and bloomers. The ears askew as if the bunny is listening to your innermost thoughts and coldly calculating its next move. The legs akimbo as if the bunny has been in a horrifying accident and is seeking revenge on anyone it crosses paths with.
But the most disturbing thing to me is those wide-set soulless eyes. Buried deep enough in the head to still scan practically 360°. And what is that pink blob above the right eye? A clump of eyelashes or a sty?
I could probably handle seeing this bunny in person. What I couldn’t handle however, was the one I spotted by the side of the road one dark night. I was driving down a deserted back road on my way to work when a dark shape by the road appeared. As I got closer, my headlights shone on it and revealed a horrifying 3 foot stuffed bunny in prairie clothes with a bonnet. Just standing there at the end of a driveway. I was thoroughly freaked out. When I went home in the morning, it was gone. Hopefully someone put it out of its misery.