How To Survive Reading This Blog

Days till Christmas: 27

So I've been reading a very interesting book, one that's chocked full of ways to triumph over evil, battle for the greater good, and make sure you get your ass out of danger with minimal damage. This book is "How to Survive a Horror Movie."

Trust me, it's essential to human survival. It lays out all of the different genres of horror movies, from vampires to slashers, to ghosts to possessed dolls, and everything in between. It has many valid points and impressive survival techniques, and I do believe that in reading this book, I am yet another step close to defeating some outbreak of evil that will eventually threaten to overwhelm me.

However.

I feel that more elaboration is needed. After all, each genre has a million sub-genres, and there are different ways for dealing with each of them. For instance, your run-of-the-mill Dracula can turn into a bat or wolf at will, while your Lost Boys vampires can apparently only fly while wearing leather jackets and lots of chains. Also, your typical Buffy vampire is a witty conversationalist with a fondness for pop culture - your 30 Days of Night vampire, not so much.

Wait, I don't get it. Why is Lindsay Lohan's lack of undwear so hilarious again?

I've decided to start including Your Survival Technique of the Day to my daily posts. Mostly because my life often teeters on ridiculously boring or frighteningly absurd, and it'd be nice to have... uh, something of interest to discuss every day. But don't fret, I'll make sure to include all kinds of horrifying monsters, like psychotic exes, backstabbing friends, the girl that always asks "does this make my ass look fat?", and random homeless men that try to hit on you on the Metro. Please, sir, take your hand out of your pants, I don't want whatever it is you're selling.

So, without further ado, I welcome you to:

Your Survival Technique of the Day
How to Survive the Beginning of Christmas Shopping

Step 1: Stock up on stupid things head of time. Your dad really wants that vintage toaster that sings Disney songs and toasts a Mickey Head onto each slice of bread? Try Amazon in July (that's what I did) - no one in their right minds wants something like that in July, but come December, it's only the greatest gift ever created, and if people don't get one immediately, some serious blood is going to be shed.

Step 2: Haggle with the EBayers. Since most sellers on EBay are either 12 year old girls or 40 year old obese men that live in their parents' basement and swap Dungeon & Dragon cards all day for fun, it's often times easy to haggle with them to get what you want. Put down a slightly higher bid, then email the seller and plead with them to end the auction ahead of time. If you're dealing with the 12 year old girl, say you know Zac Efron and can send her an autographed picture. If you're dealing with the 40 year old obese mama's boy, tell him you'll send him naked pictures that totally aren't your ex-best friend's head photoshopped onto some random naked body.

Step 3: Pump some serious iron and check your conscience at the door. If you do need to enter the death den known as "the mall," then you'll need to be prepared to fight to the death for the things you want. The best approach is to start getting in shape sometime around the Christmas the year before, so that for this upcoming season, you somewhat resemble Rocky. Yes, even if you're a girl. And you'll need to not feel guilt when you're punching small children and feeble grandmas, because if you give them even one inch of room, they'll be sinking their razor sharp teeth into your ankles, and shoving canes so far up your rectum that when you swallow food, it'll instantly fall out and into your pants.

Step 4: If all else fails, become Jewish. Latkes are really tasty, and Jews have all the money anyway. We're finished with our Hanukkah shopping by the February before, and then spend the rest of the year rolling around in our money, sipping Cristal from golden goblets, and playing drunken driedle. Oh, and making everyone feel guilty about our past. Awesome!

The Weekend of a Thousand "What the Fucks?"

Days till Our Thanksgiving: 6

Days till Thanksgiving: 17

I woke up this morning with a horrible, gut wrenching feeling of foreboding and danger. I rolled over, glanced beside me, and shrieked in bone deep terror. Yes, I realized that it was indeed Monday, and it wasn't just a bad dream that I had to get up and once again pretend to be a productive member of society. Fuck Mondays.

This was (as the title so aptly states) the Weekend of a Thousand What the Fucks. Let me start at the beginning:


What the Fuck #1: Transformers

Okay, so... I really wanted to hate this movie. Like I really wanted to hate this movie. I'd spent the better part of the last few months making fun of Kristyn for wanting to see it, and telling anyone that would listen that not even Shia "Golden Boy" LaBoeuf and Megan "Porn Star Face" Fox could save it. I mean, seriously - it's a movie about transforming robotic aliens. I'll buy a lot of things, but alien, robotic children's toys starring in their own feature length action film was really pushing it.

This is a Prime time for a terrible pun!

On Friday night we went to the Reds to watch it, and I was all ready to start mercilessly mocking everything about it. But... I didn't hate it. Quite the contrary, actually. Even Megan Fox and her impressive gambit of pout faces couldn't ruin the movie (even if her cleavage was heaving at every possible moment.) I do believe the writers and producers and the director sat down and said "Okay people, we're making a movie based on children's toys; children's toys that are transforming robots from outer space. Transforming alien robots from outer space, people. Obviously, we have to make audiences know just how aware of how absurd we find this. Good? Let's get that Even Steven's kid in here and get rolling!"

The movie was funny, and (thankfully) didn't take itself too seriously. Sure, there was lots of "blow 'em up" scenes, and enough action to keep the guys happy, but there was a lot of humor and a lot of absolute ridiculousness. I really wanted whatever that little robot thing was, the one that kept cackling and stealing all the government's information. It kind of reminded me of Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. Just on speed.

Even the acting was good, considering, again, it was a movie about robotic alien transformers from outer space. So, I have to admit, I was surprised by how much fun the movie was, and I have to stop bashing everyone for liking it. Damnit.


What the Fuck #2: Target's Christmas Onslaught

I'm a firm believer in the Holiday One Month Rule, which clearly states: "Thou shalt not put out decorations for a holiday that is in advance of one month; Thanksgiving decorations shall not be on display until November 1st; Christmas decorations - on punishment of death - shall not be on display until the fourth Friday of November." We need solid time for decorating and getting ready between holidays, which means that when stores start pimping their Christmas regalia before Halloween is even over, their general managers should be promptly hung, drawn, and quartered before a cheering, screaming crowd.

One giant, plastic Christmas tree to rule them all

Erin and I made a Target/Old Navy/Best Buy/Shopper's run on Saturday morning, and from the moment we stepped into Target we knew we were in trouble. The Christmas decorations were out in full force, and from every shelf came the shrill scream of the ceramic Santas, the wire reindeer, and the colorful Christmas baubles aligned in neat, color-coded rows. It was like stepping into the bowels of hell. I was expecting a plethora of turkeys and cornucopias, since it's still early November, and Thanksgiving is clearly the next holiday in our Holy Quadriad of Year End Holidays, but no. Christmas had cannibalized the weaker holiday.

I was hell bent on ignoring the tinkering Christmas carols, and the shiny, gleaming Santas, reaching out with open hands, promising me endless happiness and contentedness if only I'd purchase tree ornaments for $1.99, or tapered candles for $1.59, or the temptingly sinful candy cane shaped candy dish, lusciously begging to be placed on my coffee table for the devastating price of $1.00. I was above that - I was a Holiday Warrior. Guerrilla style tactics like that don't work.

Only they do, because somewhere between Home Goods and Electronics, I blacked out, and 20 minutes later, Erin and I were the proud owners of not one, but two plastic, light-covered, chest-high Christmas trees. I don't remember buying it, but when I came out of my stupor, there they were, nestled in our carts, peering up at us with innocent, inquisitive fake pine branches.

I think I was chloroformed by Christmas.


What the Fuck #3: The Big Hunt

Now, I previously posted that The Big Hunt's reputation as a "human meat market" was not only vaguely disturbing, but an entirely untrue assessment of the vermin crawling between its walls. Admittedly, I was so drunk the last time I was there that I wanted to tear my stomach out, flush it out with water, and never drink again, so I thought it would be a good idea to go back there on Saturday night to get a better feel for the place. What I learned is that I should always trust my drunk judgment: More cleavage is always better, it's perfectly acceptable to chew on strangers' necks in full view of my friends' cameras, and The Big Hunt is full of the cities' ugliest people.

Really? No way, me too! I always go to The Big Hunt!

The bar was crawling with 40-something women jammed into mini skirts, white tights, cowboy boots, and leopard print spandex of questionable origin. I've never seen so many ugly people crammed into one tiny space, and believe you me, I've been in a lot of scary places before. This was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Beer bellies and crimped hair prevailed, and even the under 30 crowd was full of the dredges of the earth. I'm assuming the recent rain puked them up into the gutters, and, disoriented and in need of warming alcohol, they stumbled through the front door of the bar and never left. I suppose if, when I went outside, I was chased by villagers brandishing pitchforks and torches, I wouldn't leave the premises either.


What the Fuck #4: 30 Days of Night

So I finally - finally - went to see 30 Days of Night. Erin and I battled cabin fever by trekking out to Chinatown to the Gallery Regal Theaters to finally indulge our Vampire tooth (uh...) and finally see the infamous tale of a clan of bloodsucking beasts with heinous teeth (I'm assuming they were originally British) unleashing their doomsday abilities upon the very poor, very freezing, very dark town of Barrow, Alaska.

I should probably mention that Barrow doesn't actually have 30 days of darkness (they have 60-70 days of semi-darkness, in which the sun hovers at the horizon between 12-4pm), and they don't have a "Last Call!" flight that, if missed, strands potential victims in the barren wilderness for an entire month (Alaska Airlines has a daily to/from Barrow flight so that no one is actually driven to insanity up there during the winter months.) However, if these details were applied to the movie, it wouldn't have been all that thrilling, so moving on!

98% of the movie was freaking fabulous. The vampires didn't have time for pansy romantic stories (sorry Gary Oldman's Dracula, you know I'd still do you ten ways to Sunday, but you're really far sexier than you are scary), they didn't brood and lament on their own immortal existence, and they sure as hell didn't have brooding, romantic affairs with blond, bubble gum Slayers that spit out so many pop culture references that it makes you physically sick to your stomach. Instead, they were total bad ass killing machines, hell bent on destroying the entire town and feasting merrily on the inhabitants, before lurking off into the night and making sure that humans still believed them to be nothing more than nightmare creatures (much like Paris Hilton's family originally tried to do with her.)

Josh Hartnett was sufficiently in over his head yet strong, the gore was great, the music was awesome, and the camera work was really, really good. Towards the end of the movie, I was ecstatic, as it's not often a horror movie I've been dying to see really lives up to all the hype and expectations.

However, everything changed at the end of the film, in which the directors clearly started celebrating their achievements too early, and got too drunk and too stoned to continue thinking coherently. It was like they were boasting more and more outrageous ideas, and finally picked the most ridiculous of them all, cracked up and patted themselves on the back for a job well done, and proceeded to destroy the end of the movie. David Slade and Sam Raimi, I was expecting more from you.

Of course the ending didn't stop me from crashing at Erin's place, since I was convinced vampires were going to come bursting through my window and eat me alive. I mean... since I was very tired and didn't feel like trekking back in the cold to my apartment. Which is about 2 feet away from Erin's. Right. Exactly. Moving on, people!

So, that was my weekend. I actually went on a date on Saturday night, which was quite enjoyable, but for once I feel it is inappropriate to discuss such matters over a public forum. No, not because I lived up to my reputation as a cheap floozy, but because I have some level of decorum and appropriateness. Seriously, I swear.