Last year, I sent out a bat signal on Facebook and Twitter, asking people what horror films I should watch as a complete newbie and certified giant chicken. I got a few responses, which led me to now one of my favorite movies, Train to Busan, further had me falling in love with Gong Yoo, and also introduced me to the disappointing Cabin in the Woods (Joss Whedon has lost his luster for so many reasons, and I’m not going to apologize for it).

Plus, look at Gong Yoo.



Anyway, I’m going to use the month of October as our forefathers would have wanted: to freak myself out just enough to entertain me but not enough to give me The Human Centipede nightmares. My primary platform for this is going to be Twitter because I have so much fun live-tweeting things, but depending on how I feel about some of the movies I watch, I may write up a critique or something. I’m not making any promises here, especially considering I’m 1) working full time, 2) just started class, and 3) maintaining a blog, even as sporadically as I do, is work, y’all.

I already have a couple of movies that I know I’m going to watch (listed below), but if you have any suggestions? Please comment below!

  • Night of the Living Dead
  • Get Out
  • Mandy
  • An American Werewolf in London
  • The Babadook
  • The Conjuring
  • [REC]

ETA: Do not leave me any body horror movies. I am not there yet, and I have doubts that I ever will be kthx.

Art Credit: Eukybearlovesdrama


I didn’t realize how emotional about this I would be until I sat in a chair in my living room, staring at my computer and thinking, “I’m actually doing this.”

Like … it shouldn’t be a big deal. I just read a chapter, listened to a single, ten-minute module lecture (with PowerPoint for reference), introduced myself in the discussion thread, and watched a couple of videos. And yet? My eyes are welling up, and it’s a little hard to breathe. Well, harder than it usually is, but life with asthma, am I right? I had given up on myself and didn’t realize that I had. Even as I typed that, the realization of that fact settled even more deeply than it did when it first popped in my brain.

I had given up on myself. This was the best my life was going to be. I was little more than a woman in arrested development, gradually edging closer and closer to old age with little more than a few physical (and plenty emotional) scars as evidence that I lived. I was slovenly, unlovable, crass, broken, and pointless. The only things that loved me were a weird, misshapen dog that wasn’t even mine and two cats that destroy everything (and I wonder about their level of dedication sometimes, anyway). I was right back to where I was when I was married. Nothing had changed.

There’s so much to unpack here, and I don’t think I can do it in one entry. But this move? I’m healing. I’m actually fucking healing. So I’m going to go after this BSN degree with everything I’ve got, if for no other reason than to prove that I’m not stuck anymore.

I am getting better. I have work to do, but I am getting better.


Y’all. Y’all. I start school tomorrow, and I’m … well, I’m freaking out about it? I know it’s just one class (until mid-October – then I start chemistry), but it all means that my life is gonna get a bit … unpredictable, methinks. So I’m getting back into doing these to-do lists. They’re probably going to be more academic-based than anything else after this one, but I’m gonna try this whole work-school-life balance thing.

Wish me luck?

  • Complete one (of three) Domestika watercolor course.
  • Work on The Legion.
  • Work on Jill & Abby script.
  • Unfuck my bedroom (yes, it continues).
  • Go thru kitchen items and organize them.
  • Take books/DVDs/video games to McKay’s to sell.
  • Go thru makeup and skincare and organize bathroom/top of dresser.


And I don’t mean this in a metaphorical sense. I legitimately don’t know how to breathe apparently.

During my latest appointment with the NP that diagnosed my asthma, I was complaining about how deep breathing was still difficult for me, and I wondered aloud if I needed a different inhaler that might … I don’t know, make my lungs less anti-breathing or something.

“No,” she said, giggling to herself. “You just need to learn … well, how to breathe.”

After I had a brief bout of “offense, that’s rude,” it suddenly clarified a lot. Of course I don’t know how to breathe like a non-asthmatic person does. I have been overcompensating for over 36 years and was not even aware of it, and with the assistance of my inhaler, my lungs – for the first time ever – are like, “Oh, we don’t have to do a work-around? This is new. Wait, how do we do this?”

So I’ve been doing some vocal dysfunction exercises on YouTube, as prescribed by my NP, and it’s … weird. Like, I feel very odd, like when you adjust your posture after slumping in front of your computer for a few hours. It doesn’t necessarily hurt, but everything feels uncomfortable and also relieved simultaneously? Yoga has also been helping, although I am so inflexible that it’s sad. I remember being able to do plow pose with no issues, but I think there are other issues at play here than my inability to breathe like a normal person.

But anyway, I still wear a fucking mask and don’t have any issues, so take that as you will.


January 20, 2007, is a day that will live in infamy. Why, do you ask? Well, because that is the day that I decided it would be a great idea to ride my brand new Harley-Davidson Sportster 883L down to Murfreesboro to 1) see some good friends of mine that I hadn’t seen since graduation the year before and 2) to show said motorcycle off.

First things first. I was unemployed at the time I made this decision. I had purchased the bike when I was still gainfully employed as a temp worker for DirectBuy, which was one of the many very foolish choices I made as a younger person, but by the time this story starts, I had been laid off (they eliminated my position, and on my birthday, no less) and was struggling to find new work.

Anyway, it was a little cold that day, but it wasn’t so bad that I felt uncomfortable riding. My cold weather riding gear kept me nice and toasty, and it wouldn’t get to below-freezing temperatures until later on that night. But then, my dumbass decides that, sure, I can have a few more drinks with my friends, enough that I can’t legally drive until around 11:45P, and guess what: it’s now 29 degrees. I really should have just spent the night at a friend’s house, but …

For those of you not familiar with Middle Tennessee, Murfreesboro is about 30 – 45 minutes away from Nashville, depending on where you’re going and which route you take. I could have taken I-24, but I would have been traveling 70mph in 29 degree weather; so I opted for what I thought would be a saner route: Hwy 96. I’d be going about 55mph, and while I might have to drive a bit longer, at least the chill wouldn’t be as brutal.

On my way to 96, I see this big pickup truck out of the corner of my eye and start to feel frustrated. They’re matching my speed and are trying to get my attention by revving their engine, so I turn my head a bit and catch a glimpse of the guy pointing down. Well, as it turns out, my right leg is on fire.

“I should probably pull over.”

That is literally what my inner monologue said, with an eerie calmness that I’ll never forget.

I pull the bike over, prop it up on the kickstand, and jump into the grass next to the road, doing that stop, drop, and roll bit you learn in first grade but never think you’ll use in your life (it works, btw). I sit there for a few minutes, trying to mentally grasp what just occurred, and think, “It’s probably just a first-degree burn. Nothing a little Advil can’t fix.” I’m purposefully ignoring that the multiple layers of pants that I’m wearing appear to be fused to my leg.

I had to lie to myself. At the time, I only had COBRA health insurance. Which … okay, fuck COBRA. And had I told myself the truth – that this injury was much worse, and I knew it was – I might not have had the fortitude to continue. Like when my jaw popped out of socket and I was freaking out about possibly having to go to the emergency room without any healthcare coverage. Had I not been stressing over the cost of treatment, I would have calmed down much more quickly, enabling me to loosen my jaw enough to snap it back into place. Instead, it took nearly an hour.

I hop back on the bike and continue down Hwy 96, which in some parts is little more than a two-lane country back road, and I start to feel a wee bit woozy. It’s a strange sensation: I am aware of the loopiness but also super focused on the yellow lines in the center of the road, but my grip on that focus is slowly dissipating. Luckily, I reach the intersection with I-65 and catch sight of a little Mapco Express – my salvation. Coffee and Advil at the ready. I go instead and the guy behind the counter looks at me strangely, as if it’s strange to see a woman wearing a pair of pants that has one leg partially burned off, but he doesn’t say anything as I pay for some crappy gas station coffee and generic ibuprofen in a packet.

My leg starts to feel even more off than it was before, and the logic side of my brain starts being much louder than I had allowed it to be before: this injury may be more serious than I realize. I ask the clerk where the nearest hospital is, fully expecting to have to drive the rest of the way to Nashville, but he graciously points me in the direction of Williamson County Medical Center, literally a grand 20 second-drive away.

When I walk into the emergency room lobby, the nurse at the entrance has the same flabbergasted look that the gas station clerk did. So I point to my leg and say one of the most pointless sentences I have ever uttered.

“I got burned.”

She rushes me into a room with a pink curtain, giving me a brief introduction – I think her name was Kelly – and draping a hospital gown on the edge of the bed with instructions to remove my pants so the doctor can get a good look at my burn. Really, it should have been easy, but when I get to the injured leg, I can’t force myself to remove the pants. I just stare at them, this overwhelming fear setting in.

And then it hits me: the shock. About five to ten minutes have passed since I’d come to the ER, and my body has finally thawed out from 29 degree temperatures. It really is one of the strangest sensations I’ve ever experienced: my body is shaking uncontrollably and my eyes are pouring tears, but I feel absolutely no pain. This, of course, freaks me out, because I have no idea what’s going on, and from outside the door, I hear the nurses whispering, “Oh, she’s crying. We need to help her.”

Um, yeah. I’m convulsing and bawling and yet somehow completely detached from it all, so help would be nice.

One nurse shuffles in and notices with a slightly furrowed brow that my pants are halfway off, but she quickly dismisses it and asks me to lay back on the examination table. I am now introduced to the wonderful thing that is intravenous morphine. Within a few seconds, I was fiiiiiiiine, which was when the other nurse took off the other pants leg.

It’s a bizarre thing, starting at your leg and watching several layers of your own skin peeling off with your pants, which have been fused with your leggings and tights you were wearing for warmth. It’s even more bizarre to not feeling anything when this happens, and even more so when you notice that, hey, your skin has turned an eerie neon green. I am fascinated and also very, very high. Thanks, morphine!

I do not really remember much from the rest of that evening, on account of the morphine, but my boyfriend at the time arrives as the ER doctor is saying something about third degree burns and something else about referring me to the burn unit at Vanderbilt on Monday, where I learn I will have to go under the knife twice to repair the damage. Two surgeries, four months of round-the-clock narcotics, and plenty of physical rehab later, I am $60k in medical debt and LOLOLOL still unemployed. I spend almost a damned year trying to work with the hospital on payment. Well, actually, it’s with a debt collections company, but whatever.

Nearly one year exactly later – January 18, 2008 – I get a letter from Harley-Davidson: it’s a recall notice for my particular model. Apparently, the heat shield for the exhaust was not designed long enough, which “could cause the pant leg to char or burn … [and] could lead to the possibility of injury to the rider.”

Why, yes. Yes, it totally could.

I’m not going to bad mouth Harley here. I called up the lawyer on the notice the following Monday and explained what had happened. My injuries were heavily documented since one of the surgeries I had was newly FDA-approved; I have before and after pictures, and I have every single bill I owed. Harley paid my medical bills (which is all I really wanted), fixed the bike as they promised, and then also paid me for the bike (which I turned around and sold because yeah, no, not riding anymore thanks). I mean, I know they didn’t necessarily do this out of the goodness of their hearts’, but hey, I don’t have any medical debt and I got a pretty kickass story out of the whole thing. And you can’t even really see my burns now unless you’re looking for them.

Ultimately, this is a win for me.


First off, this is a terrible movie, and I legit loved every second of its insanity. It’s also listed among a bunch of equally terrible-looking horror movies on Amazon Prime that I am definitely going to have to watch at some point, and for this, I am thankful.

Second, the above poster’s dinosaur looks nothing like the full body dinosaur suit they end up using in the film, but I’ll bet you already guessed that.

But anyway, here are some of my thoughts about this movie (warning: there will be spoilers):

  • It has A+++ dialogue. Example: Carol the Hooker with a Heart of Gold: I don’t know much about God. / Doug the VelociPastor: I don’t know much about dinosaurs.
  • You’re never quite sure where the movie takes place. Like, Doug goes to China which is helpfully indicated by big bold yellow letters, and then inexplicably comes back to … where he was before, and the bad guy is maybe in China but also maybe not? Who knows and, really, who cares?
  • Doug develops force powers by the end of the movie, willing a sword into his hand, and it is quite possibly the best part of the movie. Except for the part where Doug is wandering around a forest which looks eerily like the one he was wandering around in China and he’s wearing one of Carol’s sweater dresses. Oh, or when he expresses shock after Carol reveals to him that he transformed into a dinosaur.
  • Despite the fact his dad said several times that Doug was his only son, Doug has a brother? Which somehow made his dad and mom, who were both murdered by a car bomb (planted by Carol’s pimp for … some reason?) in the hilarious opening sequence, pretty terrible people for erasing their other son (older? younger? it’s anyone’s guess!) There is literally no context here. And Doug doesn’t even seem to remember?
  • I love that the actor playing Doug’s mentor, Father Stewart, has an entire sequence in the movie where he’s younger, and it’s literally just the actor wearing a blond wig.
  • Why was Adelaide, Father Stewart’s old love, in what was I think supposed to be Vietnam?
  • And they never show when Father Stewart actually met Altair, the elf-eared Satanic exorcist guy he takes Doug to (don’t ask), even though they seem to explicitly flashback to Stewart’s time fighting in A War to explain how the two men know each other?
  • The movie may have been poking fun at how all of Asia is simplified by Hollywood, because the main bad guy from China didn’t seem to be speaking Mandarin or Cantonese (granted, I have very limited experience listening to either language, so I could be wrong here) and may have been speaking Thai or Vietnamese, the writing at the Bad Guy Camp was in Japanese, and there was this Korean guy who randomly had a voiceover. My sister and I were playing the game of Guess the Asian.
  • The sex scene was like it was out of a 1990s drama, specifically Silk Stalkings. And Carol and Doug woke up the next morning wearing their underwear, only to have to fight ninjas. Like you do.
  • I need Brendan Steere, the writer and director of VelociPastor, to help me name characters, because Frankie Mermaid, Carol’s pimp? Named such because he is “swimming in bitches?” Top notch work there.

It’s seriously an awful movie, but I feel like a better person because of it. It also reminds me of this meme:

I really do feel so much better about my own work.

Art Credit: Medium, MemeDroid


I’ve missed the past couple of weeks on these, and … well, I’ve been pretty lethargic for the most part. I’m not saying that me abstaining from making to-do lists is the reason – thanks, depression and anxiety! – but since I’m in this weird limbo of Before School (I start on 9/28/2020, if you’re wondering), I want to make sure that I’m not doing what I did on vacation.

Which was basically me being lazy, giving myself several spa days in a row, playing video games, and not thinking about work. Productivity was not my friend, although I guess it’s not so bad to be in Non-Work Mode. But this list is going to be a little shorter than the last two. I think I overwhelmed myself with tasks.

  • Complete one Domestika course (I purchased a watercolor class bundle to up my game a bit)
  • Call county clerk to see how to get the title to my car changed into my name
  • Work on the Jill & Abby script
  • Work on the outline/treatment for Fairplay (working title)
  • Come up with a schedule and create a calendar (this depends on school, honestly)


The past few weeks have been a whirlwind. Like … you have no idea.

  • First, I thought I was gonna be starting school in the Spring but then I found out that I could start this fall. So I got enrolled in College Algebra because it was a prereq for MTSU’s nursing school. Freaked out about the cost of a TI-84 calculator and the textbook because I somehow forgot how expensive school is.
  • Second, I attended an informational Zoom meeting with someone from the nursing program that left me feeling discouraged because admission into upper division nursing was based solely on GPA and prereq grades*. I’m not worried about the latter, but the former? I was a dumb teenager the first two years of college and made a lot of mistakes (example: I failed aerobic dance. Failed. Because I was foolish and scheduled an 08:00 aerobics class and only went twice (I ended up repeating it during the summer of 2003 and getting an A because I actually attended). And so my work ethic, job experience, and passion mean absolutely nothing because there’s no way I will bring my GPA even close to 3.5.
  • Third, I applied and got accepted into Marian University’s pre-nursing program, in which I would graduate in September 2022 instead of December of 2023 like I would if I went to MTSU. Even got awarded decent financial aid!
  • Fourth, I dropped out of algebra (waiting on the refund check). I am very relieved about this, mainly because of the cost of that damn calculator.
  • Fifth, I registered for two classes (chemistry and developmental psychology) out of the four I have to have completed in order to start actual nursing school in May 2021.

The second thru fifth literally all happened over the last nine days. It’s been exhausting. But I’m enthused beyond belief. It’s transformed from this ambiguous concept and into a reality that simultaneously terrifies me and motivates me. My life is going to be overwhelming, to say the least – especially since I’m still going to be writing, maintaining this blog, and working on a couple other artistic projects – but I am determined to make the next two years the best of my life.

* This is a terrible way to admit students into nursing school. There are plenty of people who may not have the GPA, test well, etc., that would make much better nurses than people with a 4.0.