Watch it, love it, get addicted!

Speaking of “discovering things” (mentioned in my last post, about being diagnosed with RRMS): a little while ago, I was poking around IMDb in search of zombie related stuff to watch now that The Walking Dead has gone on to its Summer hiatus – or, as it has become known as via Supernatural‘s ditto; Hellatus – and found something… Well, very different. The only common denominator is that both shows features zombies. And are shows…
Again, very different zombies.

The show I’m referring to is called iZombie and centers around Liv, whom, due to unforeseeable events, was turned into a zombie while on a party boat. I know, bummer, right? You go to a party on a boat and there’s an outbreak of zombiism. Who’d’ve thought it?

Liv, portrayed by the pale beauty Rose McIver, does what any self-conscious-with-a-conscience-zombie-with-a-medical-degree would do, and gets herself a job at the morgue.
(It’s an all-you-can-eat-buffet, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re, literally, into brainfood. I don’t care if you think that was an inappropriate pun, it was a good one.) 

Anyway, the show’s hilarious! And I honestly never thought I’d hear myself say so with such elation! I mean, I have issues with zombies with minimal thinking capacity (which is one of several reasons why I utterly loathe Land of the Dead), and the so called neo-zombies of 28 Days Later (I’m not even sure that they’re ever referred to as “zombies”, because I’ve never been able to make it through the entire movie – almost, but not quite). Technically, I’m not even a fan of zombies who bleed – since they shouldn’t be able to, since they’re dead, meaning no heartbeat, meaning no blood circulation, meaning no blood splatter. This I have come to accept because it is a MAJOR effect and is used wisely in The Walking Dead.

But iZombie succeeds where others have failed (not counting Dead Snow, because I actually like both it and its sequel), especially since I think it brings something entirely new to the table full of pureed neural tissue.
Being a zombie, Liv does have to eat braaaaaains (her vocabulary does consists of more than “braaaaaaains” and different moan-noises), and here’s part of what makes the show special; when eating a brain, Liv “takes on” personality traits of the victim (remember that I said that she works in a morgue!); some… “better” than others.

So, in conclusion: watch it, love it, get addicted!


It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Umm. Stuff’s happened. Things were discovered (sadly, no map leading to a secret treasure, though I’m still hoping). Dices were rolled. Chances taken.
Well, no. Not really. While chances were technically involved, none were taken, per se.

Last week, Thursday, I was diagnosed with (the mildest) form of MS. That’s Multiple Sclerosis, for the non-initiated, which up until a few years ago, included me. Then I happend across a novel (I kid you not when I say that I searched for the title for at least 15 minutes; remembering full well bits and pieces of the story, but not the author’s name nor the novel’s title – it’s about a woman, I think her name was Maggie, who had a cheating husband – side note – who used to swim several laps every morning (Maggie, not the husband), until she suddenly started fumbling with her keys, started laughing uncontrollably whilst visting/spying on her husband who was in the middle of a final plea in the courtroom; was diagnoses and rapidly got worse, until her mother made good on her promise to not let her daughter become a burden on the rest of the family – sheesh, Google, was that not detailed enough for you?!)

Anyway, by mildest I mean the type called RRMS (relapsing-remitting MS), meaning that I’ll get so called relapses which will, after some amount of time, revert (remit).
Most likely I’ve had it for years, without the diagnosis. That’s today’s medical care for ya. Not that it actually matters in my case, since I haven’t been permanently… damaged? Affected? I’ve got no permanent impairment, and I realize that I am indeed very lucky to not have it worse, and to have such a supportive family as I do (I owe you a larger debt than I’ll ever be able to repay).
My heart goes out to those suffering from the worse types of MS.

As for me, I’ll be put on anti-retroviral medication.
And I have a pretty neat nurse – his explanation of MS was that somehow my “DNA got some information backwards”.

(I do that ↑ a lot anyways.)

What about second breakfast?

Living with a foodie (in shape of a cat), is, I imagine, a little like sharing a smial w/ a hobbit.

Cat in question: *meows incessantly* – in, I can only assume as it is quickly followed by a mad dash to the kitchen, dire hunger.

Me: No, you had breakfast not even an hour and a half ago.

Cat (and there might be a slight question of interpertation, I’ll admit): We’ve had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?

(And no, Mom, I am not starving my cats.)

Img via WeHeartIt

Caution, for those not yet there, | may contain spoilers

I’ve just finished watching the last episode of season 5 of The Walking Dead, and I’m pretty heartbroken – for a multiple of reasons, like: A) The cliffhanger wasn’t half as spectacular as I had expected (in my opinion, Coda was waaaay tougher to suffer through and would’ve made such a horrificly amazing cliffhanger); B) I’m still not onboard the whole Rick + Jessie ship (and probably won’t ever be; incredibly pretty as she may be, I prefer him single… Or, like, give me that particular role…), but Pete‘s stunt made it possible (and seriously, dude, did no one ever tell you not to play with sharp objects, especially while under any kind of influence?); C) REG! I really, really, really liked Reg, and it just doesn’t seem fair, especially considering his bond with Noah, his positive influence over Deanna and, fine, the Monroe family’s recent loss of Aiden, whom I did not care for (but thought he was totes cute) and D) the W A I T. Seriously, October? I’m likely to become a Walker/Biter myself if I have to wait for that long.

I was (…am) contemplating re-watching the first seasons, but oh my gosh, LORI. Some people claim that Andrea was the most hated charcter of TWD – until Father Gabriel – but I have to disagree. Lori beats Andrea by miles and miles and miles

On the possibly positive side, something I found equally amusing and distracting was the fact that you could totally tell that Sonequa Martin-Green was VERY pregnant during the last couple of episodes (she gave birth to a boy in January). In fact, in this, the last ep. of season 5, confusingly – and possibly misleadingly – named Conquer, it was almost ridiculuous.
The beautiful Sonequa (Sasha), wore Bob‘s military (?) jacket to help with the cover up, to little, in my opinion, success, as well as a black t-shirt (because “we all know that black makes you look smaller” – unless you’re pregnant), carrying around big weapons, being filmed either from a “working” angle or from above the baby bump.
My favorite “amusing/distracting” moment was when she laid down on top of the dead Walkers she was busy burying.


Some might call it a mean streak…

Personally I prefer calling it a good sense of humor. To each his or her own!
(See, I suspect that my brother’ll probably be leaning more towards mean streak than a good sense of humor.)

The eldest of my two brothers (to quote – or possibly paraphrase? – a bit of lyric that I have, apparently, misheard since the mid 90’s, “I’m the baby of the bunch”, from Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch‘s Good Vibrations, so I get away with… a lot), is terribly at keeping in touch. It can literally go months before he remembers that he said, in December, that’d he’d “call you next week”.

Of course Mom, my other brother or myself could all remind him, but we’ve done that so many times that most of us have just “given up” (i.e. wait for him to actually remember that he has a mother and two siblings, too, apart from a wife and two sons).

The day before yesterday, Mom had asked me if I realized that it had now gone three months since my brother had said he’d call “the next week”. Which is probably why I decided that it was about time that someone did remind him. At least this one more time.

So I called him, reaching only his voicemail (and I would’ve been very surprised if he’d actually picked up, to say the least; I might actually have had a coronary!). Of course I left a voicemail:

“Hi Anders. This is Erica… You know, your sister, in case you’d forgotten… Umm, did you know that there are 417 people with the same name as you and you’re one of the few with no number listed? Just found that interesting, is all.
…Anyway. I was just calling to hear if you’re still alive. If you are, and you get this message, umm, maybe you could… I don’t know… Call back? Bye.”

I wasn’t expecting him to call back during the weekend, he very rarely does. But it was as if Lucifer (the charming one from Supernatural [gif] ), was sitting right next to me and begging me to pay attention to him, saying he had this really great idea. And all it would cost me was my soul.
So, I decided to send him –  my brother, not Lucifer –  a text, too, you know, to remind him. Again. This afternoon.

“Not to be that person, ’cause I’m not – I’m most certainly not that person, most certainly not! – but it might be so that there’s a pretty penny on the line… You see, I MIGHT’VE mentioned (as a joke – at least it started out that way), that maybe you’d been bitten by a vampire, and due to a drastically changed sleeping routine, are no longer ABLE to to get in touch during the day OR that you are Patient Zero – or had been chewed on by said patient – and therefore no longer were able to use technical devices such as cell phones (I’m not saying that zombies, NECESSARILY, can’t use technology, but in movies and books they can’t, and that’s really all the fact I have at my disposal, so I’m hoping that if you ARE a tech-savvy zombie, that you’ll forgive my ignorance… If you’re able to read this, that is.) Anyway, the joke escalated and now there’s money on the line… So if you ARE a Living Dead, maybe you could just find a way to convey this somehow?”

A few hours later, I realized that I was having a lot of fun (probably more so than I should), and decided to send him another text. Just ’cause.

“P.S. If you ARE a vampire, are you more of a Gary Oldman’s aristocratic Dracula or Twilight’s… sparkling *brr* “vampire”?

I’m not saying that I won’t be seen in public with him, should he be of the sparkling variety, but I think we’d see a lot more of each other during cloudy days…
Not that we see each a lot as it is. (That’s for you, Anders, if you should find your way here.)

I’m not saying I’m a genius…

(’cause that could be intepreted as me being vain, which I rarely am), but clearly someone does.
(Thanks Mom and Dad.)

I actually only brag about my technical skills – which include, but are NOT limited to, a vast knowledge of keywords to use while searching Google for solutions and “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”.


I got this along with a recipe notepad (which I’m guessing I’m supposed to take as a hint of some sort, since I’d recently gotten a new stove from my landlord). So far I’ve had (much) less use of the recipe pad than my genius pad, but that’s only ’cause we – the stove and I – are measuring each other up to find the other’s weaknesses (mine should be obvious – I can’t cook; whenever someone enters the ER with signs of food poisoning the staff start by asking if they’re somehow related to me and if the answer’s yes, what did I serve; it makes for quicker treatment.)

Kidding. Sort of. At least about the ER-thing. I’m honestly not very good with a spatula. Though it could just be because of  a lack of interest. Maybe, somewhere deep, deep, deeeeeeep inside, there lies a dormant masterchef just waiting to be let out of it’s dusty cage?

Parental bliss

Parental bliss. A phrase usually used when describing the first few days with a (preferably your) newborn baby – you know, before they start keeping you awake at night and using alien language to try and communicate with you.

In my case, however, I’m using the phrase to describe my relationship with my parents (and I don’t care if that’s a misusage of words), who not only tolerate me at my worst, but actually still love me afterwards – and considering that I know myself pretty well by now, I’d say that that’s nothing less than a herculean feat.

I know that I say that I love you a lot, but I don’t show it nearly enough.
I know that you’ve fought for me for what seems like ages, and you’ve gotten little to no reward.
I know that you’re tired, because how could you not be?
But I promise that I am trying, some days the fighting is just harder than others.

You mean the world to me and I want you to know that you’re the reason I won’t give up.

Happy birthday, Dad

Today would’ve been my Dad’s 64th birthday.

I don’t have many memories of him, not nearly enough, as he passed away when I was just 8½.
One of my most vivid, and happy, memories of him would probably be him, wearing his torn-from-genuine-wear jeans and “comfy” clogs and a worn t-shirt, tending his vegetable patch in the garden during Summer.

I know from what Mom’s told me, that he was a very compassionate man, and that while I get my stubborness (as well as my unyielding loyalty and support to those I care deeply about) from her, I get my sometimes black&white and non-negotiable sense of what’s just and fair from him.
I also know from what Mom’s told me, that Dad was the kind of man I would’ve admired and looked up to.
And I know that I’ll always love him, I’ll always miss him and even though it’s been years since his passing, and even though I have this amazing and incredible stepdad in Mom’s husband, some days will be harder than others.

Happy birthday, Dad.