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by the power of grayskull

11/5/2012

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i think i might have overused the #fuckyousandy hashtag. but it was warranted, i think.

because in one week, i went from this:

:to living less than a block from this ...

... to day after day of this:

and finally? this:

i promise i'm going to tell you all about it. but right now i'm trying to find a grocery store that has everything i need to finally make that black steak chimichurri that's been requested on "shit i'm making TONIGHT." i already pinned the recipes. and i already know how i'm going to alter them. i just have to find the ingredients. fresh direct can get them to me by wednesday and d'agastino's shelves are pretty bare. ballalalalalas.

thanks to all of you who emailed, facebooked, called, texted and checked in. also, special thanks to jwt for letting me charge up there.

:{D happy movember, btw. i TOLD you you'd thank me for the mustachioed man!

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prophesying

4/12/2012

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so. i was in a ladies room. at a gas station. in gaffney, sc. (and guys, if you don't know — a ladies room only has stalls. no urinals. so it's all privacy, all the time.)

i hear a voice in the next stall, "if there was more pee on this seat, none would be in the toilet." i giggled. it was funny. then i hear, "is someone laughing at me? i keep my bathroom and my kitchen clean. because i can't eat in a place that's dirty and i can't get clean in a place that's dirty." i agreed.

then the voice said, "you know the end is coming, right?" excuse me? "the end of the world. i am the prophet pinkdustar."

seriously. this happened. it gets better.

"i have the four horses of the apocalypse in my back yard. i called animal control ..." she called animal control on biblical creatures. "... and they said they didn't know who's horses they were. so i figured they came from god and god wanted me to keep them for the four horsemen the come." side bar: what do you feed the four beasts of burden who carry the apocalypse on their shoulders, i wonder?

on that note, i flushed. i burst from my stall and ran to the sink. i had to wash and get out of there before she was done. i had no interest in finding out what the prophet pinkdustar looked like.

but i found out: short. like uncomfortably short. not quite midget, but more like zelda rubinstein. ageless, she had a pruney, leathery face surrounded by spiraling blond hair pulled into an '80s-style side pony. her tiny little eyes lit up every time she smiled. she was wearing a hot pink t-shirt with rolled-up jorts and white orthopedic sandals. her nails (both fingers and toes) were painted to match her t-shirt.

she basically looked normal. well, not normal. but i wouldn't have done a double-take or stared had she not opened her mouth and proclaimed the end of mankind form the next stall over.

at the sink she started speaking to me in rhyme. because the bible is written in rhyme. because. the. bible. is. written. in rhyme. she said that. here's an example: "the statue of liberty stands at sea. for all to see. oh woe to me. let it be."

"let it be," she said. she said it after every time she quoted god. and god speaks to her a lot. about the dinosaurs — who were killed by stardust, by the way. (i wonder if it was pink?) about michael jackson — who is both a pedophile and the devil. did you get that? if you die and go to hell, michael jackson is the devil.

she left me with this thought: "if you believe in jesus, i'll see you in heaven soon." i guess if not, i'll be wondering who billy jean's lover really was and whether or not it's black or white for all eternity.

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by the power of grayskull

prophesying

Rachel

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