WELCOME TO THE MOST FESTIVE FUCKING BLOG EVER

Ouch. Why?

I injured myself yesterday.  You might be wondering if this injury occurred while I was rescuing a child from a burning building, but no. It didn't.  What happened was that initially, my head was facing straight forward.  Then I decided that I needed to look at something to the right of myself and I turned my head in that direction so as to center the object in my visual field.   And then God was like "You shall be punished for this!!!!!!" and He sucker-punched me right between the shoulder blades.   And then He whipped out his switchblade and started stabbing me in the spine and I was like "OH GOD NO! WHAT DID I DO???  I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME!!" And then God kicked me in the neck for questioning His decisions.

So there I was, writhing on the floor in agony and then I realized that writhing was making it worse, so I stopped writhing and settled for contorting my face into an expression that said "This is ouchie... please make it stop."  But that also seemed to aggravate the wounds that God inflicted upon me so I tried to lie perfectly still but I still had to beat my heart and it is completely unfair when beating your heart is painful.  That's like being stabbed every time you don't die.  Or something.  I guess I pretty much just described normal stabbing.  But that's what it's like.  And it is unfair.

I eventually got bored with lying on the floor, so I tried to crawl to my couch.  You know those scenes in war movies where the soldier is bleeding from every possible surface on his body and his face is covered in blood and dirt and there are explosions all around him and he probably won't make it but he's trying to crawl to safety anyway?  And then he gets shot one more time and you think he's dead, but no.   He's still crawling?  I think I finally know how that feels.  And aspirin doesn't fix it.

Here is the place where I ask all of the people who only recently discovered my blog to go and read this post  instead.  Surprisingly, you will respect me a lot more that way.  Please do it.  For both of us.

Anyway, I'm really, really, really obscenely bored today because I can't do anything at all except for sit with awkwardly rigid posture.  And type.  And I can't even type very well because typing involves looking at my computer screen and that means that I have to tilt my head slightly downward.  Oh, and I'm high on Lortab.

EDIT:  And then I posted a totally inappropriate Christmas card and I admitted to having enjoyed playing Magic: The Gathering when I was young and I thought it was all going to be hilarious but actually it was like this one time when I told my ex-boyfriend's mom a joke about a dead hooker and apparently she wasn't really all that enthusiastic about dead-hooker jokes.  Anyway, then my high kind of turned paranoid and I decided to delete all that stuff until I can decide whether or not it was actually as terrible as I think it is right now.  You're welcome.

P.S.  If you didn't get to see the things that I posted before, I am sorry.  However , the possiblity exists that I will wake up tomorrow and go "Oh, that wasn't so bad... it's not like I talked about how I used to have a crush on Rick Moranis..." and then maybe I'll decide to repost it.  Maybe.

UPDATE:  Okay Veronica... I'll post one picture.  Just one.  And only because you are my internet girlfriend.  Do you want the inappropriate Christmas card or one of the four Magic cards I edited myself into?  Choose wisely.

Veronica chose the Christmas card:

Can you believe I'm giving this to you for free??  It probably would be best to print this out and send it to your loved ones with no return address and no signature.  Please also consider including a single dollar bill.  The recipient will wonder "What am I being paid for?  Why just one dollar?  Is this a tip or something?  OH GOD WHAT IS IT FOR????"

UPDATE:  Okay... FINE.

Urban Dictionary Thinks I'm an Alien Clown. Also? A Blow Job

When you find yourself in the midst of an existential crisis, it is often helpful to consult the internet.  The internet is just full of useful ways to find out who you are.

For example, I can go to Urban Dictionary and type in "Allie" and it will tell me all about myself and what exactly I mean to the world:

Confusing? Yes.  True?  Probably.  But maybe I'll look a little further for clarification...

Nope.

Maybe if I try my last name...

That is informative but completely unhelpful.  I shall keep looking.

Really, internet?  Really?

There has got to be a better definition...

I'll take it!

UPDATE:  I Googled "Allie looks like" and this is a sampling of what came up:

 Fuck you, Internet.  What does "Allie is like the John Galt of professional sex" even mean?

It's Like There Was a Zombie Apocalypse and Then There Was Something That Came Along and Got Rid of The Zombies and Now it's Just Me and Boyfriend

At around midnight last night, it started snowing.  A lot.

I got absurdly excited about it.  I was like "Ohmigoditssnowingletsgoforawalkrightnow!!!!" And Boyfriend was like "It's 12:30 AM..." and I was like "So?  We need to go to the grocery store anyway." And then Boyfriend looked at me like he just caught me eating eating paste off of the floor and there was this tense little moment like that time in first grade when a little Mexican boy joined your class and you were like "Hi!" and he said "Hola! Hoy es Miercoles!" and you were like "oh shit... what do I do?  I'm only six!  I am not prepared for this!"and then you realize that you and this person are desk-buddies because he can't speak English and you can't write R's and suddenly you are forced to find a way to communicate through crude hand-gestures and grunting noises and pretty soon you've invented an entirely new language and you still can't make R's and Paco still can't speak English but it's okay because you understand one another and that's all that matters.  

My point is that after staring at me in silence for a few long moments in which I am sure he questioned some of his life decisions, Boyfriend was like "Fine."

So Boyfriend got all bundled up while I checked to make sure everything was unplugged because I didn't want the house to catch on fire while we were gone and then I got dressed while Boyfriend sat on the couch in his snow-clothes looking like he was on some sort of detonation timer and if the timer went off we would no longer be allowed to go for a walk, so I put my hat and gloves on really fast and then I was like "I'm ready!" and Boyfriend sighed and heaved himself off of the couch and we walked outside and there was already like, three inches of snow on the ground!

Boyfriend wanted to stop and take pictures of the snow and the pretty lights, but I was so excited that I took off running:

And then I stopped because I had a really good idea and I yelled "Hey! You should take a picture of me so I can put it on my blog!"  And Boyfriend yelled back "Yeah, I already kind of did that because you ran into the frame."  And then I was like "Well, you should take another one because I wasn't looking at the camera."  And then boyfriend sighed and I could actually hear it from that far away.  I guess it was more of an anguished grunt.

Anyway, that's Main Street in downtown Hamilton, MT on a Saturday night.  It's pretty much just like Las Vegas except with fewer fountains.

We got to the grocery store, and guess what?

Not open.

Someone should tell them that it probably isn't good business to close at noon because they'll miss the dinner rush.

Boyfriend said "Well, what should we do?"  And I was like "We could go to Super One..." and Boyfriend said "Super One is like nine miles away" but really it's only one and a half miles away and I told him that and he made that same tortured grunting noise but I think he was secretly excited about walking all the way to Super One because who wouldn't be?

When you live in a town this small, late-night walks are a pretty surreal experience.  It wouldn't have been hard to pretend that we were the only two people left in the world:

We finally arrived at Super One.  Even the inside of the grocery store felt like it was part of an alternate universe:

And there was some guy in that alternate universe who had the unfortunate job of stocking shelves at 2:00 AM but nevertheless he took his job really seriously and prepared for his shift like a fucking champion:

... with an energy drink and 64-ounces of gatorade.

I saw the guy wandering around in the store.  He looked like Gollum.  He was a creature of the night, dressed all in black save for the red "Anarchy" symbol that was safety-pinned to the back of his ratty T-shirt.  Unlike Gollum, this man was fucking purposeful.  He walked like you'd walk if you had just found out that your hot wife was giving birth to twin eagles but before you could go to her side, you had to save the earth from aliens and then the camera panned out and you started walking in slow motion to some Rage Against the Machine song and then you turned into Will Smith and you fucking brought it   and the aliens were like "daaaaaayumm, we should never have attacked Earth... our bad." And then you turned into William Wallace for a second and yelled "FREEEDOM!!!!!!!!" and then you turned back into Will Smith, only this time you were also part Samuel L. Jackson and you pumped some alien ass full of lead because that's what you were born to do.

That's how this guy walked.  Only more than that.

I felt reassured that if I actually was one of the only people left on Earth, this guy would be able to protect my ass from ALL the shit.

Boyfriend and I made our purchase (yogurt, an economy-sized box of candy canes, almond bark, Craisins and justice) and began the return trip.

Somewhere along the way, we came across a parking lot that was covered in completely undisturbed snow.  This is what Boyfriend did:

And this is what I did:

Don't try to read that.  It doesn't say anything because it's just random running.

Boyfriend was like "Hey Allie!  Look what I made for you!"  I looked at what Boyfriend made and then I glanced over my shoulder at what I had made, and there was clearly an incongruity between the two.  In my head I was like "Touché, Boyfriend... you win this time.  But I will get you... I will get you."

Okay, I'm getting tired of thinking of transitions between all of these pictures because you can only say "and then we kept walking" so many times before it just sounds weird.  So I'm just going to skip over all the walking bits and show you the exciting bits without any context whatsoever.  Okay, maybe a little context.  But not enough.

This is the only Internet Service Provider in town:

That's the front of the building.  I'm not tricking you by taking a picture from some alleyway and then saying "Oh look how ghetto and rape-y this place is!"  No.  This is the real deal.  If we look a little closer, we can see this in the window:

You can't see it very clearly because I had to use the flash (I'll take a picture in the daylight at some point), but it says (and I quote) "THe ol' Peek Hole!" And "Peek" is underlined once.  "Hole" is underline twice.  And yes, there is an exclamation point there.

You can see why rape may have been a legitimate concern when Boyfriend and I were getting our internet installed.

Anyway, it is probably not fashionable to end one's blog posts talking about rape, so here are a few more pictures.  Forget about the rape part.

It has warmed up considerable since last week!

That's Boyfriend holding a crossing flag.  There aren't real crosswalks in our town.  You have to flag down traffic your damn self.

Okay.  The End.

Nevermind.  I lied.  There is one more thing.  THIS  is a clone of my blog that I test things on before editing this site.  Brian (the vigilante hero of courage and justice and now web-design too) has been helping me figure out how to solve my layout problems and it looks like he did a really good job of it.  If you were having problems viewing before, would you please visit the link and let me know if the layout Brian made looks okay on your computer?  Thank you.  And now Brian has eleven trillion points because he spent all night helping me with my blog and he even sent me cat pictures.

Now it's the end.

Yet Another Good Example of Why I Shouldn't Blog at 2:30 in the Morning

Boyfriend and I watched a movie tonight and the movie had Michael Cera in it.  During the movie, Boyfriend said "You totally have a crush on Michael Cera..." and I was like "Yeah."

Two hours later:

Boyfriend:  "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me?"

Me:  "Eleven million."

Boyfriend:  "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love Michael Cera?"

Me:  "Nine."

Boyfriend:  "That's not a big gap."

Me:  "Yeah.  Especially not when you factor in how long I've known you versus how long I've known Michael Cera.  Are you jealous?"

Boyfriend:  "No."

Me:  "What if I was like 'I want to bone Michael Cera'?"

Boyfriend:  "I wouldn't take you very seriously because you can't even say it with a straight face."

And then I looked Boyfriend straight in the face and without even a whisper of a smile I said "I want to bone Michael Cera." And then Boyfriend asked me if I was thinking about dead kittens because I usually think about dead kittens when I'm trying to keep a straight face, and I was all "Yeah"and Boyfriend was like "So you just said 'I want to bone Michael Cera' while you were thinking about dead kittens?"

And yes.  Yes I did.

Anyway, I have found that matters of the heart are best solved with statistics.  If I truly hope to figure out whether I like Boyfriend or Michael Cera better, I'm going to have to crunch some numbers.

Figures and Charts:

Figure 1:

After careful analysis, it looks like Boyfriend wins 4 to 3.   Unless he turns out to be a rapist.  But if Boyfriend and Michael Cera both turn out to be rapists, Boyfriend still wins.

Figure 2:

It still appears that Boyfriend has a slight lead over Michael Cera and the trend would indicate that my affection for Boyfriend will continue to stay high while my affection for Michael Cera is mostly dependent on whether or not I've recently seen a movie that he was in.

But how do Boyfriend and Micheal Cera fair when compared to all of the other things I love?

Figure 3:

It still appears that Boyfriend beats Micheal Cera by a slim margin and he beats that one part in "Midnight Train" by an even slimmer margin.  In fact, the chart would indicate that when "Midnight Train" is combined with my favorite part of "Midnight Train," the resulting section takes up over 35% of  my capacity for love.

Well, I'm going to try to go to bed because being nocturnal doesn't appear to be good for my blog.  Also, Boyfriend went to bed about an hour ago and he was like "I'm going to bed."  And then I was like "I'm going to google Michael Cera" and Boyfriend was like "I doubt Michael Cera will protect you from the orcs in the meth-cellar..." which is probably true.

P.S.  Okay FINE, Technorati, here are your precious numbers:  TJ3VMN5RS9YE  

THEY WERE IN MY ROOM THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!!!

Oh my God, you guys:

=

(If you were confused by that picture and/or didn't recognize it, go HERE first.)

How did I not see it before?  (tilt screen back a little when you are looking at the first picture... those are 100% genuine ice-monsters)

Also, I want to thank you guys for so many reasons not the least of which includes alerting me to the existence of ice monsters and pointing out that yeah, maybe I should have looked behind me while I was flipping off my window.

If it was not for you guys, I would have never known that there are ceramic space heaters that DON'T SET THINGS ON FIRE, or that there are plastic sheets that you can melt onto your windows with a hair dryer and then your house will be warmer.   Or that there are probably already rapists and murderers hiding in my room and I'm going to die anyway so why not just sleep in the meth-cellar?  Or that I can use toothpaste to blind the rapists and murderers that are hiding in my room and/or meth-cellar when/if they attack me so I'm pretty much invincible.  Or that, duh, I should use Bruce to stay warm because there's nothing quite as thermally protective as a Snuggie-dragon.  Or that all orcs are rapist-cannibals who also hunger for human flesh, not just the orcs that live in my basement.  Or that there are some places in the world where it is 60 degrees right now and maybe if I ask nice enough I can come visit.

Oh, and I didn't choose to live in Montana, per se.  It just kind of happened.  Like diabetes or getting involved in a game of Risk.

UPDATE:  Okay Sarah P, I'm putting ads in my feed.  And maybe I'll put AdSense on this blog for a few days just to see what kind of targeted ads it comes up with.  I guarantee that there will be some ads for hentai if ads for hentai exist.

UPDATE #2: This is yet another good example of why I love you guys:

Comment from CWD:

"I have been thinking about your Ice Monster Problem, or IMP as I like to think of it. The best solution to you IMP is a homemade flamethrower !

I know you are on a budget so I found a recipe for a $30 homemade flamethrower. It has two major advantages:

1. It’s cheap

2. It is as reliable as a $30 homemade flamethrower. I don’t see a downside.

There are some do’s and don’t’s (see how I had me some fun there at Mr. Apostrophe’s expense?) I think you should consider when operating your $30 homemade flamethrower when dealing with your IMP. Here they are:

DO: wear Bruce so the IM’s (and Orcs! can’t forget them) know you’re serious.

DON’T: ever ever ever say “hey, watch this!” before firing your flamethrower. Saying “hey, watch this!” the most common cause of death or high temperature traumatic exfoliation known to science, this is followed closely by “here, hold my beer”.

DON’T: target IM’s already inside your house, unless, and this is important, you have a bottle of cheap whiskey and a sombrero. See: final scene of John Carpenter’s “The Thing”.

DON’T: for the love of all that is holy watch any of John Carpenter’s “The Thing” but that last scene! Consider the last scene scientific research. This is for your protection, Allie. The Alien DNA stealing touch monsters will horrify you. Based on your reaction to LOTR, you will never willing touch another living thing after viewing JC’s “The Thing”.

DON’T: target Orcs except under controlled conditions. While it’s been my experience that while IM’s get all moan-y and melt-y when hit with a $30 homemade flamethrower, Orcs tend to get scream-y and run-y. They may spread fire in an uncontrolled manner. Once again the cheap whiskey and sombrero exemption applies.

On reviewing this list I am surprised to note that I can only think of one “do” and four “don’t’s” (suck it Mr. Apostrophe! I snicker meanly at you!) to consider when using a $30 homemade flamethrower.

Allie, keep in mind that I usually don’t offer weapons or defense advice, I normally consider it rather psychotic and even a little sad, but you sound as if you have a serious IMP on your hands and I care. Please be safe when using your $30 homemade flamethrower.

Best regards,

CWD"

This almost makes me feel normal. Until I realize that I just Googled "How to make a flame-thrower for under $10" because I don't really have $30 and then I was all disappointed when I couldn't find anything within my price range because PVC pipe is fucking expensive, especially when you have to line it with molten lead.

Boyfriend Would be a Headless, Dignity-less Torso Without Me and That's a Really Disturbing Title Now That it's 3:00 AM

I may have mentioned that I am nocturnal now.  I go to bed sometime around 5:00 AM and I wake up at noon.  I do this because I am afraid of being murdered in my sleep by a fugitive or an orc.

I should probably explain a little better.  Remember how I live in Montana?  And remember how montana is really cold?  And remember how I can't afford to buy heat?

Anyway, Boyfriend and I are not prehistoric bear-people and we probably are going to die.  We have been confined to our living room for three days now because it is the only room in the house that is warm enough for survival.

We covered all the doorways with another layer of quilts and wool blankets and we drew the blinds to block out a little bit of the cold that radiates from the window panes.  Then we set up camp on the living room floor, rented all three Lord of the Rings DVD's and fought over who got to sit on the electric heating pad.  I won because I'm a fucking survivor.

Our plan was to watch movies and never leave the living room.  That sounded great until I realized that it meant I would have to sleep in the living room and not in my "panic room" and there was probably a fugitive or an orc hiding somewhere in the house and if I actually went to sleep it would come out and kill me and then I'd be like "I wish I would have slept in the panic room.  It was a reckless decision to sleep in the living room" but it would be too late because I would be dead already and I should have thought of that before I let down my guard and slept in the living room.

I kept quiet until around 1:00 AM.  That was about when we finished the Lord of the Rings DVD's and then I started thinking "Shit.  What if orcs are real?  There's probably one in the meth-cellar right now..." and at first I was just like "pshh, don't be silly..." but the more I thought about it the more legitimate it seemed and pretty soon I was almost positive that there was either an orc or a rapist or possibly an orc-rapist laying in wait in the darkness under my kitchen floor and I said "We should go upstairs..." because I really, really wanted to be in my panic room but Boyfriend didn't respond because he was already asleep and that made me feel even more alone and terrified of whatever was in the meth-cellar, so I tried to wake him up by jabbing him in the ribs but he just made a little sputtering noise and rolled over.  I kept trying.

Me:  "Hey!  Wake up.  Wake up.  Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up..."

Boyfriend:  "Hszzmmuh? What are they?"

Me: "What?"

Boyfriend:  "What should we call them?"

Me:  "The orcs?"

Boyfriend: (Silence punctuated only by a creepy smile)

Me: "What are you talking about?"

Boyfriend: "Uh-huh."

Me:  "Are you asleep?"

Boyfriend "No..."

Me: "Then what were you talking about?"

Boyfriend: "I don't know."

Me: "You are definitely asleep."

Boyfriend:  (indignantly) "No I'm not!"

At this point Boyfriend tried to look at me to prove that he was awake but he wasn't actually awake and his eyes were kind of rolled back in his head and he was smiling like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" and it just made me want to be in my safe room even more so I said "WAKE UP!!!" and it came out way louder than I expected because I was starting to panic and then Boyfriend actually did wake up and he started to panic because I was panicking and he was like "What??  What's going on?  Are you okay?" And I was like "I want to go to bed!"  and Boyfriend said that we were already in bed but then I told him about how I changed my mind and I didn't want to sleep in the living room anymore because it was too close to the meth-cellar and Boyfriend said "well, we definitely aren't going to sleep upstairs" because Boyfriend is a huge vagina and he can't sleep when he's "shivering and probably almost dead."

I definitely didn't want to be locked in my panic room all by myself, so I decided that I was going to try sleeping in the living room but that didn't work and I just ended up staying up all night being vigilant.

At around 4:00 AM Boyfriend woke up and he was like "have you been awake this whole time?" and I was all "yeah" and then he finally felt sorry for me and agreed to go upstairs and sleep in the safe room with me but he ruined it by acting all cold and miserable and I felt bad but I still judged him for not being a survivor like me.  I finally fell asleep around 5:00 AM when Boyfriend stopped shivering so violently because he was either dead or in such a late stage of hypothermia that he had started to feel warm again.

I woke up again at around 8:00 AM because I heard a loud crashing sound downstairs and it was probably a rapist and I started to congratulate myself for being smart enough to sleep behind a locked and barricaded door but then I noticed that the door was not locked or barricaded and Boyfriend was gone.

I went downstairs because I figured that Boyfriend was probably lost or something, but no.  He was sitting on the couch drinking coffee and playing computer games.  I said "You abandoned me."

Boyfriend: "It was too cold upstairs."

Me:  "So you just left me all by myself in an unlocked room?"

Boyfriend:  "I was down here on the couch the whole time."

Me:  "What if there was a murderer in the spare bedroom and he snuck into our room and killed me before you could run up the stairs and save me?"

Boyfriend:  "That wouldn't happen."

Me:  "You sound so sure of your ability to get there in time."

Boyfriend:  "No, I mean there is not a murderer in the spare bedroom."

Me:  "But what if there was?"

Boyfriend:  "There isn't."

Me:  "You don't know that."

Boyfriend:  "Yes I do."

Me:  "I suppose you also 'know' that there are no orcs or rapists in the meth-cellar?"

Boyfriend: "Yes.  Yes I do know that."

Me: "I'm never going to sleep again."

It turns out that that's a pretty empty threat.  I usually make it until 4:00 or 5:00 AM and then my eyelids get too heavy and I fall asleep for a few minutes only to awaken in a panic because I let down my guard and I am sure that I'm about to die and I open my eyes and everything is just shapes and darkness and I'm almost positive that I see an orc lurking in the corner so I fumble for the light-switch but I can't find it fast enough and I get that all-encompassing tingly feeling that starts at the base of my spine and spreads outward until I am absolutely positive that I will be attacked at any second and I NEED LIGHT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!! and then I finally find the light-switch and the light comes on and I see that no, it wasn't an orc, just a table, and I am flooded with humiliation and relief.  That adrenaline spike is usually good for another 15 minutes of intense vigilance, but I inevitably fall asleep again and end up repeating the whole process until Boyfriend wakes up to go to work or tricks me into falling asleep in my panic room so he can sneak out and leave me for dead since he's so sure there aren't any murderers in the spare bedroom.  It's like he's never even seen a horror movie.  Murderers are fucking everywhere and if you leave your bedroom door unlocked, sometime during the night the camera will zoom-in on your doorknob and the doorknob will turn slowly and guess what?  There's a serial killer or a zombie or a rapist on the other side and now you're dead because you were so sure that there wasn't anything in the spare bedroom.  But I'm too smart to fall for that because I'm a survivor and Boyfriend is more like the guy who goes to check on the weird noise and pretty soon he's just a headless torso with the words "YOU'RE NEXT" scrawled across its chest and then it turns into a media frenzy and I have to frame the story to preserve Boyfriend's dignity because otherwise he'd just look retarded for dying like that when his death was so clearly preventable with a little bit of common sense.

I'm pretty much the only reason he's still alive.

UPDATE:  I am still up at 3:00 AM partly because I'm scared to go to sleep in the living room and also because I wanted to get a screenshot of this:

I could go outside right now and spit on the ground and it would freeze within seconds and then I could spit on top of the spit and it would also freeze and I could keep doing that until I made a tower of frozen spit.  Like a sand castle.  Kind of.

UPDATE #2:  And that's why I shouldn't post at 3:00 AM.  I end up writing about spit-towers.  And then writing about how I wrote about spit-towers.