Posted by: comfortjunkie | September 1, 2008

Happy “Kangaroo Attack” Monday!

Remember the show, “When Animals Attack?” That was the best show on TV. Oh, how I wish it was a weekly series and I could download whole seasons of animals attacking unsuspecting and stupid people. I fondly remember the hunter who doused himself with elk urine only to be beat down by a cuddly little Bambi deer. The episode where the toddler finds the 14 ft boa in the toilet was the catalyst for my own paranoid snake-in-the-toilet phobia. Then there was the Brazilian family who fell victim to a giant crocodile who climbed up the bank, snapped up a family member and retreated into the murky waters to eat them, causing the rest of the family to jump in and try to save them. They succeeded only giving the crocodile a entree to its appetizer. Despite what you may have heard, crocodiles do not run 40 mph on land. You can read the real deal on crocodile land speeds here. I am terribly sad that the video links are not working. I wish very much to see a crocodile gallop. Why do I care about crocodile land speeds? Because I live in crocodile country, baby.

I know I am a terrible person. I just really love that show. So since other than the now routine beheadings of a dozen people in Mexico (so commonplace now that when I think of Mexico, I picture severed heads rolling like tumbleweeds through the desert), I have no decapitation stories for you, I will give you this kangaroo attack story. I also enjoyed the guy who was killed by the boa last week since it’s always been my position that you’ve got to be pretty slow and/or stupid to be eaten by a giant snake, bigger than two humans combined. I mean, they aren’t that fast and one would imagine that once the snake starts to encircle you, it might be time to lock it in a closet or leave the room because despite what the pleading, puppy dog eyes suggest, the snake does not just need a hug.

Yesterday was an impromptu b-day party for a friend. Since I am still on the Olsen twins diet, I didn’t actually eat any BBQ, instead I saved up all those calories for what really matters; Kahlua chocolate cake and champagne. I swam in the pool, baked in the sun and got tipsy on the best champagne you can get in this country, which conveniently happens to cost $8 a bottle. I’m not being sarcastic. It’s actually really good.

Over the weekend I finally broke down and set up Google reader. I do not read that many blogs (20) regularly and I do enjoy actually visiting the websites, which I feel (providing they are designed well) provide a certain ambiance to reading blog posts, BUT I cannot take the disappointment of going to some of my favorite blogs day after day and finding that no, they still have not updated and yes, they did do only a single post for the entire month of August. I assume, unlike me, that most people who keep blogs do care somewhat about readership and I can tell you, a single post per month is not that likely to keep me coming back when there are so many good writers that post weekly. Here, on my own blog, we go for stream of consciousness quantity and not quality (something that should be self-evident).

In other news, we are celebrating the return of Carolina, my housekeeper, who I went without for exactly 10 days in order to divert funds to my outrageous electric bill. Carolina is a godsend. My house is sparkling and clean, my laundry clean and folded and my rugs are drying in the sun. Still, despite the fact that I pay well, I am worried that eventually she will leave me because she thinks I am a devil-worshiping witch. While she will easily find people who agree with her, this actually stems from a candle that I bought at a witchcraft store in my old town. The people of this country are Catholic but many of them also believe in various potions and powders, saints and other entities to be worshiped, alters of candles and offerings, and so on. There are a number of occult type stores that offer all kinds of exciting treasures. At one of them, I bought a fabulous candle in which the grim reaper is encased in gold sparkly jelly. Right up my alley. A few weeks ago, a month ago, whenever, I discovered the reaper under the kitchen sink and not on the bookcase where I put him when I moved in. He was at least half burned anyway, so I didn’t press the issue. No sense in losing a great housekeeper over my need to burn Satanic candles. But in addition to the candle, I have a variety of terrifying masks on my living room wall, a horse skull, assorted other skull decorations including a skeleton candle and to top that off, from my trip to New Orleans, a number of voodoo dolls

During our recent road trip, particularly when it came to things like the sad, decaying Jesus, I could be heard to exclaim, “How grotesque! I simply must have it for my living room!” Anything that my friend found disturbing, I found delightful and a welcome addition to my house of horrors. That’s just how I do. It cements my place at the neighborhood oddity, the crazy animal voodoo lady who never gets dressed and spends all her time loafing on the couch with her laptop, unable to even take out her own garbage. I’m surprised they don’t charge admission to climb on on their roof to peer in at me, exotic creature that I am.


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