"When it's my time, then I will let you know."

Good news, everyone! I'm not a zombie anymore!

In case you missed the memo, the world ended, again, yesterday. I didn't do so well this year. Neither did the poor SPISH! Oh well. I think of it as being like, we were the stars from the original apocalypse, and we got called back for the sequel to lend it some gravitas, and then we got killed off for shock value, but it's okay because you know the third outing would totally blow and we'd feel lucky to not be involved with that mess anyway.

Anyway, in addition to BLITE, O(t)W! yesterday's post was also brought you by my listening to "The Pedestrian" by the Foxboro Hot Tubs on repeat, and by my playing five straight hours of Snood. Yeah, that game! Still! I have an unregistered version ($19.99? Pfft! I'm not made of money!) but for the day they were letting people try out all the registered features, so I finally got to die at Hexagon City. Good times.

Oh right, that song. I love that song! It's whence this entry's title comes as well as, incidentally, yesterday's. Yes, that was "It's my time to go." put through Babelfish in Zombie. I should point out that the title, and, like, five other words are the only things that I was intentionally trying to write. Any other things that turned into actual words, and the fact that I managed to name-drop God and Jaws is completely coincidental.

It was actually my hope that I would get more actual words in there. But unconsciously, you know? Like a Ouija board? Didn't really happen. But Pat paid me the best compliment ever. Finnegan's Wake as written by zombies was exactly what I was going for. I mean, it was clearly a lazier effort than last year, but there was some amount of story behind it.

Anyway, after the zombie invasion, I got my weekly dose of aliens and robots, and then I read some more crappy vampire fanfiction, so the panoply of monsters got fully rounded out.

I really wanted to make a post about the latest episode of Robots, but the output probably would have been nearly as insensate as my last post. It was so awesome. I was so impressed that I proselytized to several people afterwards. Really. Do you watch Robots? Have you seen Robots? You should. Do it. Yeah, those unfortunate developments from last year still happened, but ... it's good anyway.

I've been in a blogging mood lately, so hold your breath* for a slew of upcoming exciting** posts. ... Unless my mood changes, ... which it very well might.

*don't
**non-

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Um. It wasn't really the zombie apocalypse.

Good thing, too, because I didn't have any gas in my car that day. Isn't that always the way? You think, "Oh, I'll be fine for a few days. I can get gas tomorrow." Well, what if tomorrow is the zombie apocalypse? You see what I mean.

I could have sworn I was here to actually make an entry about something. Oops! I am listening to the Decemberists. As one does. I recently learned that Colin Meloy wrote "Red Right Ankle" for his girlfriend, which means that I can't entertain thoughts of marrying him anymore. That's just so sweet.

Oh, also, because I have a significant other already. Did you know that? I realized after the last entry that I never write about him. But I totally still have one! About that, actually, my boyfriend kind of looks like a blonder Colin Meloy. Sort of. I like him much more, though. One of the reasons that I don't ever talk about my relationship is, seriously, you people are mushy and gross and boring and boring when you do that, and I honestly don't trust myself to be any better. I mean, sometimes! Not all the time. I mean it in a good way. Other reasons include "I hate being candid" and "It's none of your business."

One of my workmates pointed out that I have gray hair today. Seriously. About both the fact that I have gray hair and that he pointed it out. He's a dick. I have no idea why I haven't quit yet. I'm not even sure I like money this much, to be honest.

HOLY CRAP, what is this entry about? If I may, I would like to blame the whole thing on the fact that I have been very very tired for the past week or so. I take long naps and then sleep through the night anyway. And wake up sleepy. It hasn't even been that hot. I really hope I'm not developing some crazy illness. I have quite enough of those.

20 days until Order of the Phoenix! I'm much more excited for this than I was for any other movie, first because OotP is my favorite book in the series, and secondly because I've been following the production updates since they were casting. That's over a year and a half! And then there's the book, which I am so disproportionally excited about I can't even get into it right now. I've been feeling the urge lately to get depressed and read Anne Rice books. I can't though! There's no time! POTTER!

It's the end of the world as I blog it.

I guess they're not just a metaphor for communism anymore, are they, society?

No.

There are none outside. I'm actually surprised. In New Jersey, most densely populated state in America (it still is, I guess?), so far there are none. Which is why I think it's okay to make a fucking blog entry, apparently. There's nothing at all outside.

Honey, if you're reading this ... well. I suppose it would probably be too much to ask for you to come and get me. It would be rather horrible if you made it all the way up here only to have me eat your face. Romantic? Possibly? But in all practicality it's probably not a good idea. I won't be here anyway. I do wish I had a gun, though, so, you were right. Fucking zombies! Speaking of which, though, YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING LIVE. Seriously, I will find a way to get back at you if you don't. Even if there is no afterlife I will still fucking manage it somehow. I love you. ... We probably should have had more sex.

If anyone else is reading this, I just want you to know that you were one of the ones I didn't hate. Even if I may have, at some time, said otherwise. I didn't, really.

Of course I guess it's possible that the only ones reading this are the marine mammals. After they've grown thumbs and found our artifacts and unlocked our technology. Obviously. Many thousands of years in the future. I hope it's the orcas, and not the dolphins. They were on our side. Well, to you I say, humanity definitely went out like a bitch. But when you tell our story on whatever your version of television is, be sympathetic. And get someone attractive to play me. For the orca-interest aspect.

Or I guess it's possible that no one will read this. Probable.

I have to go.

I don't know what to do about the cats. Neither of them will make it.


Oh. Here they come.