Is there a ghost in my house?

Maybe I'm being a baby because I was home alone last night, but this was a little creepy, guys.

So, last night I lit a few tea lights to add some ambiance as I plowed through the bulk of the first season of Dexter (maybe not the best idea). I blew them out around 11:30 and went to bed a little after midnight.

When I woke up this morning (full disclosure: I'm a HUGE baby and slept on the couch), one of the candles was burning. Creeeeepy. I know I blew them out (that's what she said) and there's no way a puny tea light could burn for seven hours, right? And I would have noticed it burning when I fell asleep in the dark. Oh yeah, and I just checked. The candle in question has a good amount of wax left to burn...the same as the other candles that were only lit for about 90 minutes.

So are we thinking ghost? Ice truck killer hiding under my bed and biding his time? Or did the wick somehow smolder for hours and then amazingly re-light itself at some point this morning? Please tell me scenario C is the case and you've all had this happen to you a million times.

Somebody needs to dazzle me with some marvels of science talk to put me at ease.

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society

Hello, yous!

I have been so absent and so inert when it comes to this blog (and wearing pants that don't have an elastic waist).

It's really interesting what having a job that requires you to make your own schedule does to you. On one hand, it's incredibly awesome. I can grab my computer the second I wake up and basically get going. No need (on some days) for pesky things like breakfast and the brushing of the teeth that comes after that. On the other hand, with so much freedom comes the danger of slacking on everything except work. Such as, ahem, blogging.

Now that I've sort of started to settle into things, I've found new ways to coach myself to live a more "normal" existence. It doesn't matter that my motivators are things like: "I need to get dressed so the UPS guy doesn't see me in these red pajama pants three days in a row." and "I need to go out and run some errands so I have stories to tell Marc when he comes home that aren't an hour-by-hour rundown of the cats' napping schedules." Hence, the blogging again.

Plus, I've started going on appointments and meeting my clients, which is so very fun. I basically get to visit people in their awesome shops or studios, learn what they're all about and find ways to help them.

So anyway, thanks everyone for being patient with me and my inertia. Would you believe I still haven't gone to Steak N' Shake to fetch my camera? But hey, at least I'm all showered up today.

OH, and I almost forgot about the title of this grovel-y post! So, Marc was out of town this weekend, and I'm a total baby about sleeping in an empty apartment. It was bad enough that I'd just finished re-reading World War Z last week. I was up every hour listening for creaks and moan. BUT, I was wise enough to opt not to watch a movie about zombie Nazis. Instead I got my spooks from running through old episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark?. Do you know most of that shit is up on Youtube? Oh, nostalgia!

Holly jolly blah blah blah

So on Sunday, I went a-thrifting and found some low vases and this giant glass ball--I'm serious. GIANT. I had to wash this thing in the bathtub because it doesn't even come close to fitting in the kitchen sink. I can't really even lift it when it's full of water.

I haggled and got it for half price after patiently listening to the guy at the thrift shop serenade me with his most bluesy, sultry rendition of "Baby it's Cold Outside."

One day, I think it will make a rad terrarium or vase, but for now, I'm forcing paper whites in it.

So now I present you with our stupendous table of mystical dazzling holiday fantastical fantasy magical delights. AKA cat Narnia.

Don't think I won't cry and act surprised when one of the a-hole cats tries to stick his head in that big ball and the whole setup comes crashing to the floor.

Blocked

Blergh. Every day this week has been the same. If you could only see how many drafts and half-baked ideas I have saved in my folder...

Nothing's really gelling like Magellan for me, post-wise.

Kind of like that almost-there room up there. If I were to walk into it, the first thing I'd do is heave those ugly chairs out the window. Then I'd smile.

Help! What do you champions do when you hit a brick wall creatively?

Quinks?

I was remiss and didn't do a links round up last Friday. As atonement, I'm going to answer some of our most existential questions.

What time is it? It's BINGO time!

Is there any way to duplicate my own handwriting?

What ever happened to the Monroeville mall where Dawn of the Dead was filmed?

Who's there? Oh, it's just me and my dad.

Where can I find a dress to wear seven different ways? Ok then, what if I need one with more options?

Can you help me find something peanut buttery and delicious to make this weekend?

How does one go about living in the past?

Will I ever find you again?

How do I let the world know how grateful I am?

(top image via Bomboland)

Nice package

I'll be the first to admit I'm one of those people who takes the time to "repackage" all sorts of crap in my house. I have special, unmarked jars for my rice and pasta and water. I keep q-tips in a ceramic dish, cotton balls in an apothecary jar and lotion and mouthwash in clear glass bottles. Basically, I have white people problems.


It's more than a little embarrassing then that I really would like some of this vodka just because the packaging is so minimalist-pretty. My kitchen could look so much more like some sort of scientific lab--or a Kiehl's counter. Whatever.

Plus, I just really enjoy my vodka.

Anyway, I found these bottles on Lovely Package, which has opened a whole Pandora's box of book-by-its-cover lust for me.

SO, maybe I'll feel better if I'm not alone on this one. Is anyone else just in it for the looks? Does packaging come into play at all when it comes to your favorite products? Or am I just a big ol' label queen?

Black is the new black

I've been magpie-ing away pictures of black rooms to satiate my ever-growing need to paint something else in my house black (or more accurately, Poppy Seed). I've got my eye on you, front door.

Anyway, of course--of course--the incredible Desire to Inspire swooped in with a post that should be able to still my shaky paint-roller wrist for at least another week or so.

I still have a few snaps squirreled away to warrant an entry here on the web log. Let's all paint everything black!
(Via Sara Thira)

(Via Apartment Therapy)

(Via Domino)

(Via Marie Claire Maison)

(Via Marie Claire Maison)

(Via Marie Claire Maison)

(Via Marie Claire Maison)

(Via Living Etc.)

(Via Living Etc.)

(Via xJavierx)

(Via xJavierx)

(via I Suwannee)

(Via House Beautiful)

(Via House Beautiful)

(Via The New York Times)

(Via The New York Times) *I know I posted these recently, but I couldn't resist tossing them into the mix.*

And from the QB herself, all of these below are from Desire to Inspire




I saved this one for last because it's my fa fa fa favorite. But it's not helping at all!
All I really want to do now is throw down a tarp and paint all my doorjambs black and then rub my face all over that shiny, shiny floor.

Maybe it's time to see a therapist.

Oh no, what's worse than TEEN zombies?

Teen zombies with eating disorders.

I predict these will be classic YA novels. Right up there with Judy Blume. I would totally read "Are you there Undead Overlord? It's me Margaret."

Bats, bras and zombies

You know how sometimes you get a birthday/Christmas/Arbor Day gift that is so totally wrong you have to wonder if the person, who is presumably a close friend or relative, even knows you? Yeah. Mine was a porcelain Lenox sculpture of some dolphins frolicing in a frothy, cresting wave from a well-meaning aunt.

It was like this, but larger and uglier:


That's not to say I have good taste, it's just she didn't get me.

On the other hand, the person who sent me these links--she gets me. How awesome is this zombie lawn sculpture?

Not creepy enough? How about finding a baby bat in in your bra? I mean, everyone's done the "static-cling panties stuck to your leg" shake, but going about your day with a living creature nestled in your cleavage? That's a story!

Sunny Sunday afternoon of the dead

Man, spring has finally strolled into Chicago. This weekend was gorgeous.

Not wanting to waste a lovely, sunny Sunday, I spent yesterday afternoon curled up on my couch, drinking cheap (but kind of overpriced since it was from 7/11) white wine and eating Boy Scout popcorn while watching Day of the Dead.

While this is definitely the weak link in Romero's trilogy, I did notice that the actress who played sassy scientist Sarah looks a lot like a less-pointy Feist.

For your consideration:
Sarah


Feist


My roommate and co-viewer, who is even more of a pigmentally challenged Indoor Kid than I am, agreed. So we spent the duration of the movie shouting out, "Kill 'em, Feist! Kick his ass! Good, good. Now sing 'Mushaboom!'"

Are zombies thrifty shoppers who enjoy movies in the comfort of their own homes?

Cause that's the only thing I can think of to explain this Netflix ad I just saw on the NY Times article I linked.

Braiiiiiins

As a longtime George Romero fan, this plate is about the most romantic piece of tableware I could ever receive