So I feel that I wasn't much of a blogosphere presence this weekend. I've been trying to catch up, but Friday and Saturday were pretty much a write-off for reading and commenting. Want to know why?
I mentioned on Friday that Becky over at Suburban Matron suggested I read World War Z by Max Brooks. So I did. And I spent most of the weekend sleepless, looking over my shoulder, deadbolting the doors, and sizing up every building I saw as a potential stronghold against zombies.
My house? Not too bad, kinda small. How long would it take me to put up a brick wall?
My work? Other than the glass storefront (could be barricaded, already has bars) and the lack of shower facilities, pretty good. No kitchen. Need a hotplate.
Seriously, people, for someone like me, the only thing worse than reading zombie fiction is reading zombie fiction THAT IS SO WELL WRITTEN IT MAKES THE WHOLE FUCKING IDEA SEEM TOTALLY PLAUSIBLE.
It's like...it's like, taking someone who has a deathly fear of pickles into a pickle factory.
(Okay, maybe that wasn't the best example, but Becky? I hate you.)
(Just kidding. Luv ya!)
(No more book recommendations though, okay?)