I Met 011 From Stranger Things.

Well hello.

It’s been awhile.

I have not written anything because I hate Donald Trump so much that I was afraid anything I write would be a flaming, rage filled hate post and I would not be able to ever post happy things again.  It has taken me this long to get to the point where I can do my normal “write without editing” and be fairly confident it will not turn into me spewing hatred towards #45.

I went to the Cleveland Wizard World Comic Con.  I did not originally plan to go, but a few days before the weekend it was here, my friend posted on Facebook that she was selling her weekend pass, so I thought I would see who was going to be there.  I checked several times prior to the actual weekend of the event and no one I was interested in was going to be there.  This time when I checked, there was Dean Cain, Cordelia and Xander from Buffy, and 011 from Stranger Things.

If you look at this post, you’ll see my friend Sabrina the Human and her interactions with Dean Cain.  Well.  When I saw he was going to be in Cleveland, I purchased a photo op because this would be her chance to seduce and marry him.  Yes, she has a boyfriend, but….Dean Cain.

Dean Cain

And who doesn’t love Buffy?  I love Buffy.  The morning of the photo op with them, though, I pulled a major Darcy.  Every once in awhile I get this thing, and I kind of panic, and then I kind of can’t leave my bed.  It is weird.  My constant state is anxiety, but this is me lying in bed staring at the wall, unable to move, even though famous people are waiting to let me stand next to them for five seconds for an ungodly amount of money.  Sabrina the Human took my place.


I finally got my shit together and got there JUST ON TIME to…wait in line for 1.5 hours to get my picture taken with Millie Bobby Brown from Stranger Things.  There were many people in line.  Many.  I finally got into the “picture tent” and they were just pushing people through like cattle, and for every picture, 011 didn’t even look at the person next to her, but she did a completely different face and pose with each person….it’s just that the person with her had no idea what she was going to do, so they just stood next to her while she posed.  When I got next to her, I said “What face are we making?” and she said “This one” and went all cute and girly.  It is time to review a few things about me.

  1. I am not cute and girly
  2. I am short and stubby
  3. I have deformed wrists
  4. I have several chins

Keeping those things in mind, here is the picture that happened.


Let us now analyze the picture.

The hand.  That is the extent to which I can bend my wrist.

The shoulder/body.  It is large and in charge.

The neck.  There are no defining lines whatsoever.

The chin.  What chin?

The lips.  Just…what?? What was I even doing?

I look like a Jewish or Italian grandma trying to get someone to eat more food.

Can I even make a cutesy kissy face, when I am not under the pressure of having to do it while standing next to a tiny person with a cute accent who has a lot more money than I do?  Let’s see, shall we?


The answer is no.

I Hexed A Mean Man At The Casino.

You know how I am a pretty non-controversial person and pretty much keep to myself and stuff – I mean, unless I am at work kicking ass and taking names, that is?

I was at the casino yesterday (Monday) with Josh and Roger and they were somewhere, and I was wandering around, yeah?  I wandered down a row of machines and there were four on each side.  It was a walking area, there is no doubt about that.  I was looking at my phone (Pokemon) (shut up), and I heard…and I am going to quote exactly what this dude said, so please let us all acknowledge that I do not say these words and I am actually having a hard time even typing them.  So the guys says…

Him:  Da fuck are you doing?
Me:  Huh? Me?
Him: You KNOW better than to do that, fuck, you’ve been in casinos.
Me: I…I…what?
Him:  You KNOW what the fuck I’m talking about, get the hell out of here.
Me:  (flapping) What?? I…I…I…walking…I was…
Him: Are you fucking retarded?  You know how this works, you’ve been in casinos before, you have a voucher.
(he is referring to the voucher that prints out when you cash out of a slot machine)
Me:  (still flapping and kind of bouncing) It’s for fifty one cents.
Him: Fifty one cents, I don’t give a fuck.
Me: I don’t know what I did!
Him: Fuck you.

At this point I kind of hopped away.  I know for a fact I did not bump into him, because that would have sent ME spazzing out before he had the chance to react.  I know I did not step on anything, because again, I would have spazzed out first.

I went to a machine that had penguins and put in $20 and laughed stupidly at the penguin animations and then I thought “Da fuck?  That guy has no business!” and so I decided to retaliate.

I went back over to where this guy (and his three old lady friends) were, and I…stood there.  Like this.


You can see Old Lady #1 and Old Lady #2, but you cannot see #3 or The F-Bomb Man.  The main point of this picture is my proximity to the people, and well, if you recognize either old lady please send them hate mail on my behalf.

I hexed the man and his family.  I wished for him to have to pee often throughout the night; for him to see my face every time he tried to get naked with someone; for him to spill his beverage every time he had one;  for his family to never win any money (they weren’t winning, so I think I was succeeding);  and I tried to set him on fire with my brain.

The F-Bomb Man was sitting directly in front of me.  When I stood there, he looked over his shoulder, and I smiled.  He looked back at his machine, then at me.  I smiled again.  Back at the machine, back at me.  More smiling.  He decided to exert his authority to show that I am not allowed to have that machine (I didn’t want it in the first place, I do not just sit in between people, I only take machines on the ends!) by leaving $1 in the machine and getting up and sitting in a chair for a different machine that he was not using.  You see, if someone has their card or money in a machine you cannot just sit and take it.  Someone else walked by and started to try to sit there, not realizing his card and $1 was in there, and he yelled at her.  She gave him a look and walked away.  He looked at me and I looked at him and he glared and I smiled and STARED STRAIGHT INTO HIS EYEBALLS.  Those of you who know me know this is no easy feat.  I held it for a good 30 seconds, and he looked away first.

He played his $1 and then escorted Old Lady #4 (who I don’t think was even with this group, I honestly think he grabbed a random old lady) to the machine and had her play there – presumably, again, so that I could not.  She ran out of money and left.

We’re at 15 minutes at this point, of me just standing there hexing him and smiling every time he looked at me.

You see that lady in green?  When F-Bomb Man and Random Old Lady ran out of money, she put her feet up on the chair in front of that machine and then turned around and looked at me.  I smiled.  After awhile, she started playing two machines – the machine her bottom half was playing, and the machine her top half was playing.

Another lady walks by – and this is where I realized these people are just jerks and it wasn’t a race issue – I am white and the previous lady who tried to play the machine was white.  But this second lady was black, and she asked Old Lady #2 (Green Lady) if she could use one of the machines.  Green Lady said no.  Second Lady said “I don’t think you’re allowed to play two machines at once”.  F-Bomb Man got up and walked towards Second Lady.  Second Lady turned to me and I said “Yeah, they’ve been doing this for 20 minutes now” and we openly and loudly talked about how rude they are.  Then Second Lady said “I really don’t think a person is allowed to use two machines at once” and I said “I’ll go tell on them!” and I turned and went to find someone to tattle to.

I found a group of employees and told them what was happening, and they were VERY nice and sympathetic, but said “What card level are you?” and I said that I do not have a card, but the Bad People had cards (you can stick a card in the machine for like, points).  The employees looked at each other and said they would be happy to get a supervisor, but if I do not have a card, they will do what the people with the cards want regardless of how mean it is.

Then my back hurt really bad and Josh and Roger were leaving, so I left, too, but I regret not staying longer.

I plan on going back and looking for them as often as possible and just haunting the ever loving shit out of them.

Psychics And Stuff.

We had a psychic lady come to work and we each got to do a 10 minute tarot card reading.  Here is the thing about psychics.  I do not believe they know anything, but I desperately WANT to believe they know things, so I have spent money to see them on occasion.  Sometimes it is pretty impressive, for instance, I saw a psychic guy when I was between jobs, and I had JUST been hired at one job that I did not particularly want, but I needed health insurance.  He said “a new opportunity is going to come up and you need to embrace it”, and a few days later, Embrace called and offered me a job.  Now come on.  Who uses the word “embrace” that frequently?

Then I saw him again and everything he said was generic and not impressive.

But the thing about psychics is that they really, really want me to believe my dead maternal grandmother is hanging around me.  They desperately want this.  Every single one has said “You have a dead person who hangs around you, it’s a grandmother, on your mom’s side”.  That could be one of two people.  My mom’s actual mom, who deserted her kids when my mom was 3 and I never even met;  or the person who raised my mom whose parting words to my mom before she died were “I’m going to hell for the way I treated you, aren’t I?”  The only encounter I ever had with her was at someone’s funeral when she told my mom she had some ailment (I thought it was a gall bladder issue, but I don’t know for sure) and my mom said “Oh, I had that, it’s awful, I’m sorry” and then “grandma” grabbed me by the arm when my mom walked away and hissed something at me about my mom being self absorbed or selfish or something.  I was maybe 10 at the time, so at this point, the details are very vague.  All I know is:  a) arm grab was scary and b) hissing something about my mom was rude.  That was my encounter.  Now to some of my cousins, she is legit “grandma” – two of the siblings were treated very nicely, and two were not.  My mom and my Uncle Mike were on the “not” list.  No judgement, but what I am saying is that there is no way in hell either one of those women is hanging around me “keeping an eye on me and helping me in life”.

I desperately want my dead person to be Catharine, of course.  All I want is for a psychic to say to me “There’s a dead girl hanging around you” and then describe Catharine.  It has been 12 years since Catharine died and I am not exaggerating when I say I think about her every single day.  And not fleeting thoughts, either.  You might say I have not “moved on”, even a little bit.

So this last psychic that came to work.  She told me about a dead person hanging around me and guess what – it was grandma.  I said “Are you sure she’s hanging around me and not like, throwing things at me or something?” and she laughed and said “It’s not a perfect thing, let me try again” and she stared at me and she closed her eyes and up to this point, I had said nothing to her.  She laid out tarot cards, I think I picked a card or shuffled or something, but all she knew was my name….which she forgot by the end of the ten minutes anyway.  So she’s staring at me conjuring my dead people and I have lost all hope and she said there was a young lady hanging around, and that she can’t tell exactly what the relationship was but it was very close, and this wasn’t the first lifetime we had been close.  She said this young lady died unexpectedly and did not realize she was dead at first, it was that sudden.  She said that this person is intricately connected to me and remains a part of me, and that she thinks she’s in her 20’s.

Catharine and I always said we were soul mates, and that we had clearly been together in various forms throughout past lives.  That we had “one brain, one heart, three kidneys (four if you include her original dead one that was still shriveled up floating somewhere in her body), and one pancreas”.  Our friendship was instant and as natural as if we had grown up together.  I have never had the sense of knowing someone without ever asking like I did with Catharine.  She died when she was 27, and I would say it is accurate that she is and was intricately connected to me.

Prior to me going to my ten minute session with this lady, people came out of the room crying, talking about dead relatives and stuff.  I am not an emotional person and I do not cry.  I did not cry at this description of what was clearly Catharine hanging around me, but my eyes got watery and I said “REALLY??”  The psychic lady said that this person thinks it’s pretty funny when random things happen to me and that she has a hand in that – whether it is something as simple as misplacing keys and finding them in my hand, or something like me randomly walking in to Joshua Bell’s rehearsal and no one stopping me (she did not reference that incident specifically, she just said “bigger things that might not happen on a regular basis”).

She also said that my recent past shows a lot of deceit and deception (hello, AJ) and that is over and will not come back.  I am not sure if that means it is safe to stop circling the parking lot at the grocery store before I go in, to make sure AJ is not there, or if it just means I should still circle, but I will not run into him?  Anyway, she said I am going to meet someone who is the opposite of that and who values honesty and “quite frankly, unfiltered truth” as much as I do.  I like to think of myself as straight forward, but “unfiltered truth” also works.  But, I said, I do not date.  She said this does not have to be a romantic person, just a person.  I said ok.

That was the end of my ten minute psychic session.

Back when Catharine died, I went to see an “Indian spirit guide” who also told me that Catharine did not realize she was dead when she died.  I do not know if this is a common thing to say when young people die, or what, but I thought that was interesting.

Here is one of my favorite pictures of me and Catharine:

EPSON scanner image

Here is a picture of me and Mr. Meow Meow:


And here are pictures of me and Embrace’s foster kitty, Eve.  Her brother is Adam.

img_5351 img_5355


I Like Deers.

Yes, I know the plural of deer is deer.  I know the plural of moose is moose and not mooses.  That is not going to stop me from saying deers and mooses.

Via Ask the Darcy:

My favorite food is venison tenderloin and it was not Jenna who asked you to butcher a deer. I love deer probably more than you do…….

Hi Chad 😉

It turns out, it was not Jenna who asked me to butcher a deer, it was Chad.

I like me a cheeseburger, and I love me some cows, so I understand this.  I believe, but I do not know for sure, but I believe that Chad hunts strictly for food and not just to kill things.  So I can respect that.  I could not do it myself, but like I said, I eat cows and chickens and pigs.  I justify it in my head by saying they are already dead, so someone might as well eat them.  I also try to justify it by buying happy dead chickens and happy dead cows.  And really, ultimately, I convince myself that what I am eating is not ACTUALLY a dead animal, but preservatives and fake things make to look and taste like a dead animal.

But – I could never in a million years actually shoot something myself.  The very thought makes me spazzy.  I love those videos where deers attack hunters.  I root for the deer.  But then, I have met Chad and he is nice, and I do not want him to be attacked by a deer. I am so conflicted.

This video is from my friend Mary’s house.  They have deer that come right up to them and they feed them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  They do not pet them because of deer ticks, but look how cute.

I have two assignments for you.  First, my blog post yesterday with the poem my friend Erin wrote did not get nearly enough views, so please read it and then share it.  I think it is great!

Second, I have some pending Ask the Darcy items, but give me more.  You can submit anything, really.  Tell me to do something and I will probably do it and write a blog about it, send me a question, a word, a color, a picture (I don’t actually think you can send a picture), a thought – whatever – and I will write a blog about it.

And ya’ll know those words in blue are links, right?  You can click those.


Shel Silverstein And Erin Crilly For The Win.

Shel Silverstein wrote a poem called “Sick” about a kid who says she has all these ailments and can’t go to school, and then realizes it’s Saturday.  Read it, you’ll like it.

My friend Erin Crilly took that poem and rewrote it and I think it is brilliant.  I present to you, Erin’s Version of Sick (with her thank you to Shel Silverstein at the end).  I think you should share this post, too, so other people can read this.

I cannot go to work today
This dark November non holiday
We’ve got the weasels and the rumps
A slash, a bash, and purple slumps
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry
Seems we’re going blind in all our eyes
The voters lined up ’round the blocks
They’ve counted 260 electoral votes
And there’s one more, that’s 270
Now don’t you think our face looks green?
My heart is cut, it’s battered and blue
This could be avionic flu
I’m sure the big old system’s broke
We beg and plead, it must be a joke
What happened to our life of hope?
Our eyes they judge us by our skin
We avoid those who are out, not in
Our country’s wrenched, our morals sprained
We will regret this vote each time it rains
With hearts so cold and tongues gone numb
We’ve more than a sliver in our thumb
It’s a view so stiff, a voice so weak
We will hardly whisper when we speak
As our hearts pour out our mouth
And relationships have fallings out
America, your spine ain’t straight
Your temperature reads of hate
Your brain is shrunk, you cannot hear
The voice projected of hate and fear
You’ve elected another virus, and your heart is—what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say I need my job my home my pay?
Then I guess I put on my pantsuit and go anyway.

(Thank you Shel Silverstein)