March 2010
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WatchNearly blindly, severely congested and dying; but, still, a happy bear. (<- Her breathing’s so loud (due to her blocked nose) you can’t hear her bruxing beneath the noise.)
We’ve been waiting for death to take Shakey naturally, but the Reaper hasn’t come calling. In the past 48 hours her quality of life’s quickly deteriorated to the point where both of us feel...
Twittermancy. →
sycamore:
“This is a tool for performing divination through the medium of Twitter. You supply a keyword which we do a Twitter search on, returning a tag-cloud-style jumble of words taken from matching Tweets, which you can interpret.”
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EXPERIMENTAL 8:30 AM DINNER.
TUMBLR, TODAY I STUFFED A BONELESS TURKEY THIGH WITH A FETA FILLING (FETA CHEESE, GLUTEN-FREE TOASTED BREADCRUMBS, TOMATO PUREE, GARLIC PUREE, OATMEAL AND ITALIAN SPICES), SLAPPED A LAYER OF SALAMI OVER IT, ROLLED THE MOTHERFUCKER UP LIKE A SWISS ROLL, TIED IT UP LIKE A WHIMPERING GEISHA AND THEN BASTED IT WITH SMOKED BACON GREASE AS IT ROASTED.
IN THEORY IT //SOUNDS GOOD//, BUT I’M NOW...
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trixietreats:
imperiousrex:
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shivian:
All this has happened before. All this will happen again.
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...WHOOPS.
OKAY, SO MAKING A BATCH OF GLUTEN-FREE UKRAINIAN BISCUITS (WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THE SOURING WHOLE MILK, THROW IT OUT?) AND A POT OF PECAN, CINNAMON, MAPLE SYRUP AND RUM-FLAVORED COFFEE WASN’T ON THE AGENDA, BUT IT SHOULDN’T HAVE THROWN ME TOTALLY OFF COURSE, RIGHT?
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Ms. Graveyard Dirt's TO DO List
When I found out it was Palm Sunday recently, I nearly threw up. Guess who doesn’t have her shit together for Easter AND her wedding?
Today I have to finish up everything below to stay on schedule. Tomorrow I’ll be baking paska (<- TRADITIONAL UKRAINIAN EASTER BREAD THAT REQUIRES AT LEAST THREE FUCKING RISES AND A PILLOW - NO JOKE! - TO COOL ON) which is an all day affair,...
The Forgetful Cannibal
d4:
tamburina:
davethebrave:
graveyarddirt:
I can’t believe I drunkenly ate some of my mother’s cremated remains at a Russian-themed bar last year on St. Patrick’s Day AND THEN FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT IT. (NATURALLY, I’M MORE DISTURBED OVER MY BAD MEMORY THAN THE FACT I MADE AN ASH COCKTAIL OF MY MOM.)
This is the best tumblr post I’ve ever seen.
Yes.
Oh yeah, “naturally.”
YES,...
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BAD DOMOVOI.
MY DOMOVOI FORGOT THE LINT ROLLER, THOUGH. (<- HOW THE EFF AM I SUPPOSED TO PUT AN ALTAR TOGETHER IF I CAN’T REMOVE LINT FROM MY MOTHERFUCKING ALTAR CLOTHS? HOLY SHIT, UNIVERSE, I’M NOT ~JESUS~.)
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trixietreats:
cargohoo:
Throbbing Gristle -...
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A DOMOVI WHO CARES.
GOD BLESS MY LITTLE DOMOVI WHO MADE SURE I HAD //JUST ENOUGH// PLEDGE IN THE CAN TO POLISH ALL THE WOOD IN THE LOUNGE. (<- CLEANING’S DONE. NOW TO EAT BBQ, REST AND THEN DIG OUT ALL OF MY RITUAL CLOTHS TO BEGIN PIECING TOGETHER MY ALTARS.)
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TIME TO GET MARRIED.
RIGHT! HOMEMADE BBQ BRISKET? IN THE OVEN. NOW IT’S TIME TO EMPTY THE LOUNGE OF MY IN-LAWS’ TAT, AND GET THE ROOM CLEAN SO WE CAN BEGIN BUILDING OUR WEDDING / EASTER / SPRING ALTARS. (<- HOLY SHIT, DUDE, IS IT TIME TO GET MARRIED ALREADY?! WHERE’S MY EFFING MAENAD DRESS?!)
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March 2009
How’d y’all enjoy March 2009? (DOES ANYONE NEED A SICK BAG? SEDATIVES? SOME USED PANTIES? <- JOKES ON YOU, I’M NOT ACTUALLY WEARING UNDERWEAR, N’YAH.) If you find yourself desperate for another perverse, black magic-themed dose of incoherent expletives there’s more to be found in my MARCH 2009 archive.
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Black Magic Cat
Mr. Mistoffoless, my elusive, mysterious, two-booted black magic cat, only visits on V. special nights. In total - over the course of nearly two years - I think I’ve see him (HER? I’LL TELL YOU ONE THING, IF IT //IS// A “HER” THEN SHE’S -STILL- “MR. MISTOFFOLESS”) five or six times, while we see the OTHER cats on a nearly daily basis.
(“OTHER...
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The Forgetful Cannibal
I can’t believe I drunkenly ate some of my mother’s cremated remains at a Russian-themed bar last year on St. Patrick’s Day AND THEN FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT IT. (NATURALLY, I’M MORE DISTURBED OVER MY BAD MEMORY THAN THE FACT I MADE AN ASH COCKTAIL OF MY MOM.)
(journal entry via my diary)
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MOCK EGGPLANT MEATBALL PARMESAN
I experience a deep, personal crisis whenever I have to take a personality quiz. Inevitably this Aries with a Pisces moon will be forced to choose between describing her ideal life - spontaneous, or routine. Once I reach that Sophie’s Choice hurdle I fold and call it a day because, as much as I’d love to fall under the stereotypical generalization of Aries (spontaneous), I know that...
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Biologically Advanced Parasitoid
(WOW, MY GOD, THAT’S SORT’VE LIKE HOW I WAS BEING ALL TONGUE-IN-CHEEK SNARKY ABOUT THE MISAPPROPRIATION OF LANGUAGE BY POP CULTURE BY USING PRE-EXISTING WORDS AS UNWITTING (AND ULTIMATELY DOOMED) HOSTS WHOSE PREVIOUS, UNIVERSALLY ACCEPTED DEFINITIONS ARE MANIPULATED INTO NURTURING THE PARASITIC REDEFINITIONS GERMINATING WITHIN THEIR ORIGINAL CONTEXT AND THERE I WENT, LIKE THE...
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Sunday Breakfast
THANKING EFFING DIVINE CHRIST I FINALLY WON SOMETHING OFF FUCKING EBAY. (You wouldn’t BELIEVE how much shit slipped through my fingers this afternoon.) TIME FOR BREAKFAST, TUMBLR. (Fresh coffee, homemade pancakes and smoked bacon never sounded so good.)
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