Give the Devil his interest payments

Have I mentioned that Paul is a major Metallica fan? Like, rabid, dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying-fan-club-member-who-never-listens-to-anything-else-except-maybe-the-rare-brave-foray-into-Megadeth-territory? Yeah, still.

Anyway, Metallica is going on tour. Again. Because that's what respectable forty-something parents do, they climb into busses and go on the road and scream about all the anger they don't have, and they release albums shaped like coffins in an attempt to convince us that they are really still all about the death and the pain and the anger, and not about parenting and golf and their 401K. But they are, in fact, in league with the Devil Ticketmaster.

As a card-carrying fan club member, Paul is entitled to four advance sales tickets, which went on sale yesterday at 10am. Yesterday at 10:05 he bolted up the stairs, yelping in a panic, "I need my Visa!!".

"Um, what?" I reply. "You can't. It's frozen."

(See, a few months ago I decided it would be a good idea to get some equity out of the house that is worth considerably more than when we bought it, and do some renos and consolidate some debt. That process was started in May, and I just got the money for it a few days ago. So JUST LAST WEEK we paid off my student loans, my line of credit, and Paul's Visa, which I promptly froze into a block of ice and stuffed in the freezer. For emergencies. NOT FUCKING METALLICA TICKETS.)

"Ticketmaster won't take PayPal! I have like 3 minutes to process these tickets - I need my Visa!!"

"Well use my debit Mastercard, it comes out of my account, and you can just give me the money," I reason calmly. At which point I notice he's taken the lump of ice out of the freezer and is brandishing a hammer.

"I don't have the money NOW," he practically shrieks in anguish, "I only had it in PAYPAL!"

"You can't break that!" I snap, "It's frozen!" ...as if it's frozen in carbonite, not water, and hitting it with a hammer will shatter it's soul forever, or at least the Visa will be a little groggy and useless for a while.

"I have like, 30 seconds!" he bellows, already outside smashing the ice block on our front walk. In his pajamas. As if the neighbours didn't think we were crazy before.

I just grit my teeth as he goes thundering back down the stairs waving his Visa triumphantly. Good thing I went to all that work to pay it down. Because he's SO likely to pay off those charges promptly.

"I am cutting it up now," I say tightly as he comes back up the stairs, out of breath from ordering those tickets online. "Never mind the stupid block of ice, clearly it's ineffective."

"You can't," he says serenely, "I need the original Visa to claim the tickets." He hands it back to me.

I have a mental list of people or companies that are conspiring to keep people in the dark, in debt, or generally miserable. Metallica, Visa, and Ticketmaster just muscled their way to the front of the line. One of these days - I swear! - Security is going to have to ask them to leave.

Flashback

1991 came walking down the street towards me today. It was wearing tight denim cutoffs that were rolled up at the knees, a loose, half-tucked in T-shirt and black gladiator sandals. It had a stylish Matt & Nat handbag as though it were trying to convince people it was retro, not dated. Nobody was convinced.

I was going to say hello as it passed, but I was really drunk the last time I saw it.

Victory!

Wasp exterminator, and 5 minutes of his time: $73.61.

Not having to take the long way around the front of my own $%&! house....

Does this make me weird?

Oh, right. So, the zombies. I should probably explain them.

I only ever have one type of nightmare - the zombie apocalypse nightmare. The locale changes, but it's always the 'Night of the Living Dead' scenario where I'm trying to keep them out with a hairbrush and a flimsy screen door. And running from them through conveniently-placed quicksand. You know the drill.

I've recently come to the conclusion that they represent the fear of being caught unprepared. It's not my only fear - spiders, ew - but it certainly encompasses a lot of them. Because you can prepare for floods, hurricanes, losing your job, death and dismemberment, but who the fuck prepares for zombies?? Being prepared is kind of how I function (yeah, that's right, I'm Batman). I can't leave the house without running through a bunch of different scenarios in my head, can't pack a bag without making sure every contingency is covered.

(Although, this is in complete opposition to the way I parent. I'm a study in contrasts).

So, zombies? Kind of my nemesis.

Although, if I were a less medicated person, I might have started preparing.

Be clear, dammit!

I had a dream the other night that I was standing on the top of a waterfall, and I was supposed to jump. All my friends and family were there encouraging me, and I was totally nervous (which is not usually my style, I'm normally the first one signing up to fling myself out of a perfectly good airplane). I stood there, my toes curled over the edge, and they yelled encouragements from below. Finally I made the leap, and landed in deep water with a really strong current. I struggled to swim to shore, and my friends and family swam out to help me.

This one seems pretty obvious. Right? Take The Plunge. Friends And Family Will Help.

Right.

Except, um, I don't know what the Plunge is. Seriously. I have no major upcoming challenges, no major stresses, nothing I have to make a risky decision about (which, itself, is kind of a problem. But I don't think that's what the dream was about. I wasn't, after all, going in search of waterfalls). So, what? WHAT? What is it I'm supposed to be all nervous about, exactly?

The subconscious is stupid. Why can't it just send an email?

From: keelyssubconscious@morpheus.com
To: keely@zombienightmares.com

Hey,
So you're walking down a road. It's a red road, and you're with that guy you had a crush on in 7th grade. What was his name? Not my department. Anyway, you're heading into the bright sun and this neon blue butterfly cuts across your path.

See, it's a parable. Get it? The road is red because of your desire, and the guy from 7th grade represents unrequited love, and the butterfly...no? Really? You don't get it?

Fine.

DO NOT WORRY IF IT SEEMS LIKE YOUR CHILD HATES YOU. HE DOESN'T.

ALSO, YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS FINE.

Is that more clear? Great.

Just for that, I'm sending you another zombie nightmare.

Regards,

Your subconscious
(Bob)