Eh, it is what it is, you know?

Warning: Survivor's Rant ahead.

I'm what you may call a bibliophile. In fact, please do. I don't have a particularly extensive book collection, but that is in part due to loving the library. Wandering amid stacks and stacks of books, smelling the scents paper and binding glue waft off the shelves, feeling the paper under my fingers, and hearing the crackle of the spines as I open each volume makes me happy. No, not happy: sublime.

Words and sentences, turns of phrase, and utterances of language are like food for my soul. Sometimes I even indulge in junk food for the soul (the perfect diet is one that allows for imperfection). But there are some sentiments that leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Survivor's Toolbox: Zip Ties

Let's face it: some day house cats will take over. It's going to happen. They already have humans on a feeding, petting, watering, petting, poop cleaning, petting schedule. I really want to think that they will be benevolent overlords: I mean for cryin in my soup, just for all the poop we've cleaned we deserve to be treated well!

The Flintstones (1960-1966)

Alas, I seriously doubt that's how it'll go down. I am inclined to think that when the time comes, we humans will be put out at night a la Fred Flintstone in the closing credits of the Flintstones.

When we end up spending our nights outside under the stars, being able to build a sturdy shelter with low weight supplies will come in handy.

Why are you asking where I'm going to be in five years? There are zombies afoot!

I hate when people ask me to predict where I'm going to be in five hours, never mind in five years. I get that interviewers want to see the motivation level of potential employees. People who are not interviewing me for a job deserve to either be ignored or to get an interesting answer:

From Deviant Art

• Breastfeeding our third child.
• Cleaning the blood of the innocent from my brow.
• Dining on the flesh of the uninitiated.
• Sprinkling your ashes over my begonias.