Thanks For Being Born, George Romero

Yesterday afternoon, we went to a George Romero Birthday Party at my friend Kristy’s house. She is pretty much the zombie aficionado and even turned her basement into a Zombie Lounge. It’s impressive and Chooch’s eyeballs were spinning like your basic penny slots, there was so much for him to take in.

The next time Andrea visits, I need to get her and Kristy together so they can drool and shamble around aimlessly in mutual zombie adoration. And I’ll just stand there and take pictures.

We watched some zombie movies, Chooch and the guys played Rock Band (Chooch’s attention span lasted way longer than I imagined it would for that), and there was even some piñata action. (Kristy made it herself! Now I know where to go for Chooch’s next party.)

(Actually, I think I’ll just pay her to flat out plan the whole thing.)

When it was time to watch another movie, I misheard Kristy and thought she said she was putting on Evil Dead. She asked me if I saw it and I was all, “Pshhh, yeah, of course.” However, it was actually some New Zealand movie called Brain Dead which I actually have not seen, so I then sat there on the couch, alone with my internal dialogue, feeling like a big fat liar, like one of those assholes who says “Um, yeah!

” no matter what because they want to look like some douchebag cinema elitist.

I swear I’m not that person.

(I’m only like that with music.

)

Twirling with entrails.

Kristy has a collection of nuns in the Zombie Lounge bathroom, yet another indication that we were meant to be friends.

That was a pretty awesome way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Happy birthday, George Romero! Your #1 fan threw you a super sweet party!