Date Archives March 2010

Do you take each other to fight zombies?

Compounded by the loss of an hour due to daylight savings, a group of friends awoke extra early on Sunday morning to drive to Chehalis for a friend’s wedding. It took me a while to get ready, as I have two basic modes of dress: schlub and whore. Now, when one is attending a wedding, dressing like a schlub is not acceptable, so whore it would have to be. I’m jealous of the girls who can do casual dresses, who can dress nicely without looking too dressed up–it’s a skill that I simply do not have. I ended up wearing this dress with some heels, the girls I went with were a little more casual.

The theme of the wedding: zombies. The ceremony was short and sweet, sans the metaphors about love and marriage which the bride and groom did not want, referencing lovecraftian horror and asking them to fight the zombies of daily life as tattooed hero and heroine, and aiding one another in not becoming zombies by taking the time to have joy in the small things.






It was after the wedding that the trouble started–for me, anyway. That’s when my latent freak magnet powers kicked in.

She approached me from across the room; hair bleached to within an inch of screaming and falling out, skin tanned into crocodile leather, voice gravelly from years of smoking, drinking, and gargling rocks. She complimented me, saying I looked beautiful, and I felt badly for judging her mere moments before. She then inquired if I was married, and I told her I wasn’t. When will I learn that the answer is ALWAYS yes? Yes, I have a husband! Yes, I have a boyfriend! Yes, I already have plans for that day! Yes, I’ve already eaten! Yes, I am familiar with whatever story you are going to tell!

But no, I had to answer in the negative. I am a fool, a moron, a wretch incapable of learning, and the next lesson was soon to begin as she grabbed my wrist in her steely talon and dragged me over toward two single relatives. “Boys, this is Melissa. She is single and SEXY.” One look at their faces and it was evident that they were not in agreement with The Claw about my perceived level of attractiveness, and they weren’t even going to attempt to fake it for politeness’ sake. It was clear from my posture, from my facial expressions, from the very awkward small talk I was trying to make with The Claw standing over my shoulder that I had not put her up to this introduction, that I was not looking to trap them into InstaMarriage or leap on them and crush them with my monstrous thighs while making wildebeest noises, but still they wanted to take no chances by interacting with me.

My eyes widened into those of a trapped animal as she then grabbed the wrist she was still clasping in iron fingers and forced it up to shake the reluctant hand of one of the pair. The other, who clearly did not get the memo that ‘schlub’ was not appropriate wedding attire, made a face, rolled his eyes at me, grabbed his beer, and walked away without speaking a single word to me. My friends all stood, watching this exchange in increasing horror: I was now a spectacle. The single saving grace was that The Claw had released me when I shook Remaining Douchebag’s hand, and after thirty more seconds of the most stilted conversation in the history of man, moreso than even those had by the progenitors of language when both participants did not know the same words, I was able to flee back to the people who witnessed the entire awful scene.

We eventually decided to go outside and visit with the bride’s dogs, who were shut in the room underneath the porch. A child watched us go in and started insistently banging on the door and peering through a crack at us, demanding to be let in. Someone told him there were no children allowed–when he asked why, I told him it was because children are stinky. We collapsed into laughter and he ran off indignantly, only to return a minute later with the withering comeback of “No! YOU are stinky!”. He then ran off to tell his mom on us, returned again and shouted “HEY! I have something to tell you! Kids don’t stink no worser than adults do!” and THEN his mom attempted to peer in through the crack, demanding to know who was inside.

…as it turned out, his mom was the wedding guest whom we had come to refer to as the Cave Troll—the one with the permastoned face and carabiners hanging in her ears with plastic skulls dangling from said carabiners, what looked like a butt tattooed on her back dangling from a pentagram, vomit tattooed on her right upper arm, knee-high buckled boots straight out of Hot Topic paired with a sequined dress so tacky it had to have shipped from the Pyramid collection…and who REEKED of B.O. No, child, it is my sad duty to inform you that not all adults stink–just your mom. And hobos.

“Did that guy just say he had a stromboli in his pants?”

On Saturday, I met up with girlpirate, mystikdragon7, and rfjason to attend Emerald City Comic Con: The Dorkening. When I texted Kiki to let her know I’d arrived, she responded that it was insanely busy and they were headed over to Gameworks to get some food and see if the crowds would die down a bit. I decided to go in and grab my badge before heading over to Gameworks, and immediately saw what she meant, and felt it. The hall was so full of people, my claustro-people-phobia kicked in almost immediately. I’m mostly good in enclosed spaces, but when it comes to spaces crammed full of people, I am not so good. I get a little panicky and feel a lot like nerd-punching. There, in a sentence, why I am not interested in attending PAX pretty much ever again.

Luckily, before I punched any nerds, I ran into evillin, who defused my crowd rage by ranting about slow-moving crowds herself. Soon after, I swapped my ticket for a badge and rushed back out into the fresh air.

Gameworks was fairly empty, so much so that they were not serving entire sections of tables, only not informing customers of that fact who were patiently waiting for booze. Jason called out that I should flash my tits at the bartender to get him up to their table, and while I wasn’t at whip ’em out stage just yet, I did manage to get him to tell us where we actually SHOULD sit in order to be served.

While we waited approximately a year and six days for them to make three orders of fries and a hot dog, we played with action figures and watched Iron Man on Jason’s phone. This one is entitled “Eat me like a rancor”.


After sating our hunger (or in my case, covering myself in an insulating layer of a 25oz, eight dollar beer), we were prepared to face the crowds again, which had actually gone down significantly to a much more manageable level.

We then proceeded to mock people. Look at this guy’s pants. Can anyone tell me what’s going on with this guy’s pants? It’s sweatpants tucked into socks with shorts worn over the whole mess. Is this a thing now?


I would also like to know what’s going on with purple wig over the ponytail girl.


I had a horrible, horrible moment when I saw the guy facing the camera in the righthand corner of the purple wig photo. He looked shockingly like an ex of mine, also known as The Worst Person Alive, and I wondered if I was going to have to kill a man with a plastic lightsaber to the throat. Luckily, it was just a resemblance and no murders had to go down. Also, it was not my lightsaber, so there’s that, too. There’s only so much you can get away with, covered in blood and screaming “JEDI BUSINESS!”

People I ran into at the con: evillin, ravenmimura, goosezilla, strand, amazoni + husband, and Amber + Greg.

I also ran into His Hotness, Aaron Douglas. A couple of years ago, Kiki and I both paid for pictures with Jamie Bamber, but paying for photos and autographs was not in the budget this year. Aaron is still my faaavorite, though, and I saw he’d stepped away from his booth and I ambushed the poor man, starting off the conversation with the eloquent and tactful “*GASP* HI YOU’RE MY FAAAVORITE!!!”

He smiled and introduced himself, shook my hand, and I asked him if he remembered taking a picture with Tonya last year and resting his face on her chest. “Like…a shelf of boobs? Oh yeah, I remember those–uh, her!” I then inquired if the only way to get a picture with him was through, uh, official channels, and he smiled and immediately posed with me for a photo in his manly, manly arms. And at that moment, I died a little. With happiness. My faaaaaavorite.


Kiki then asked for a picture, threatening to cry if she did not get one, and he complied. I am glad to live in a world where obliging men will take photographs with fawning ladies and not ask for their money.

I then took an unauthorized photo of Leonard Nimoy, causing one frazzled security guard to plead and cry. Cry on, crybaby, if Spock is allergic to photographs that don’t cost $60, you should really enclose him in an area that’s not accessible by the general public.


We saw that people were going through the line and NOT getting autographs, just saying hi, and we figured there was no reason we couldn’t do the same. The woman collecting money asked each person in line for said monies, and my response was “I am of the lower class and would just like to meet and greet” and she waved me through. Then, for a brief moment, I held Leonard Nimoy’s hand in mine, and stole his powers. Just long enough to be uncomfortable, but not long enough for him to have to ask for it back. Just at that awkward level at which I consistently operate. I guess at least I didn’t squeal “You’re my faaaaaavorite!!” this time, which is progress.

One person I would’ve liked to meet but did not want to wait in the hours-long line was Jhonen Vasquez. Had I met him, I suppose our conversation would have been “OH MY GOD YOU ARE LIKE TOTALLY AWESOME AND UH LIKE WOW…UH…BYE” so neither he nor I missed much and he was probably better spared.

Some dude was wandering around with a camcorder, asking people “Wil Wheaton or Sheldon Cooper?” Apparently, I was the only person to make a face and answer “I DON’T CARE.” Good luck in your dork wars, boys.

After Kiki picked up her rad commission from Hijinks Ensue (which they are totally selling on their website now), we were pretty well done for the day. Next year: so much Jedi business in more senses than you could even imagine possible.

Festivus Pole Part II

The Angriest Person Alive is at it again, AND has spread his/her turf:









I must admit, ‘Faggod’ made me laugh. But seriously, pole-writer, have you considered atheism? Then you might be able to stop feeling all this anger and a lack of control over your own existence. Just a suggestion.