Oct 282011

Yesterday was the official voting for the Halloween decorating contest at work, but I had to spend the first hour of my shift in an Adobe Acrobat training session, and the BOSS was also in this class, which made it drag on and on because she kept asking questions and for the first time in my life, I honestly knew what Pee Wee felt like in the motherfucking Alamo, with everyone asking stupid questions and all he wanted to do was get to the goddamn basement.

Or, in my case – the ballot box.

I even floated up out of my body at one point. It was so frustrating.

Afterward, I had to sit at my desk and pretend to do work while Barb had a crowd around her as she counted the ballots and everyone was taunting me, making me feel paranoid.

At one point, I was honestly convinced that I was going to lose and I was scanning papers while practicing my best faux-gracious loser face. (Which doesn’t actually exist so I guess the proper thing to say is that I was trying to invent one, not practice it.

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Meanwhile, I used this as an opportunity to steal away to the other side of the floor and plant incriminating evidence in Glenn’s desk locker (a skull with a former employee’s name tacked to it) and then I casually strew a finger and key across his keyboard, which had originally been inside a secret box cut inside the killer’s diary.

Anyway, I wound up winning, but by a very slim margin.

It took Henry AN HOUR to congratulate me and then he MOCKED my winnings by saying, “Yay, cigarettes and gasoline for everyone!” But then he’ll be the first person asking to use it.

“Please! Just let me use it on one stick of beef jerky!” Fuck you, Henry.

(Oh, he just texted me and said “That’s awesome” in response to a card I made. Look at him sucking up already. Anything to fill up the tank!)

Glenn eventually figured out that he was the killer, but not without Sean and I holding his hand and walking him through it. Then he came over to my desk and admitted that he hadn’t really read Ken Lobe’s diary, which—-hello!—-had most of the clues in it. It all started to come together for him though, and what a treat it was to watch.

I guess tonight I’ll start taking my stuff down.

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I’m going to miss sitting amongst bloodied plastic liners, teeth in a salt shaker, fake skin and a pig mask. Goddammit, I’m getting all choked up.

I’ll probably at least keep my pictures of Lizzie Borden and John Wayne Gacy in the frames.

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Who needs pictures of their children on their desk, anyway? I see my kid every day.

Oct 212011

My friend Chris from Castle Blood has lent me some tattooed skin for my desk, which has seriously increased the creep-factor.

My boss was looking at it the other night and asked me repeatedly if I was sure it wasn’t real. I guess she just expects some asshole like me to come carting in the real deal.

Another one of my bosses was reading the diary and I was telling her about how I plan to finish everything off next week.

She looked alternately worried and impressed.

“You’re scary smart,” she said, which was nice to hear because I didn’t even think I was “regular smart,” so it was a really great night after that.

I’m really happy with the way these add to the macabre motif, and that some people are questioning whether or not I gave Henry a good carving.

I also made some additions to the killer’s diary, but I forgot to take pictures of that. And I took the night off work so it’ll have to wait till Monday. (I have so much time accumulated, that I’m just picking random days to take off at this point. It’s kind of nice.)

And now that our killer, Glenn aka Ken Lobe, is back from vacation, it’s been even more fun watching him look at everything and fall just short of connecting all the dots. I stole one of his desk keys for next week’s finale and he hasn’t seemed to notice yet.

I haven’t really been able to explore my darker side since I quit writing short stories, so this has been a really great release for me. I don’t want it to end.

Oct 142011

There are still only about 4 of us who have decorated at work, but I can’t stop fussing with my desk. I know that if I add too much, it’ll just be gilding the lily, but I’m obsessed.

Sandy’s husband Ben was generous enough to give up his mannequin head (affectionately named Head) for the month and Sandy even threw in her uncle’s old rotary phone for good measure.

Both really add a perfect old-time creep factor and I love it!

Leave it to my competitive streak to turn this quaint Halloween decorating contest into a veritable political campaign. Wednesday really brought out the dark side of me because someone (BRIDGET) had the audacity to say I might lose, so I got all up-in-arms and indignant and practically attacked every person who walked past my desk, forcing them to swear their loyalty.  Then I panicked yesterday when Mary texted me and said someone’s  (my competition’s!) decorations were all laying in a heap when she arrived that morning because god forbid someone point at me and start screaming sabotage.

I asked Chris, one of the analysts, if he’s going to vote for me.

“Considering that fucking pig mask scares the shit out of me every day, I’d say you have my vote.”

Another analyst said she’s voting for me based on my framed portrait of meat slabs alone.

I’m about to order macarons from Kaitlin and let the sweet bribery carry me to the finish line. Try to say no to me and my basket of macarons, motherfuckers.

Last night, I worked with Tyler. It was the first time he worked a late shift since all this hullabaloo (Battle of the Network Stars shout out!) started.

“Your desk gets creepier by the minute,” he said. “But you know what you need? A lock of hair!”

“Oh, I have that already!” I exclaimed, flipping open the Diary of Ken Lobe to show him the page it’s taped to.

“Of COURSE you do. Why WOULDN’T you already have a lock of hair?” he said with a sarcastic laugh. “You’re three steps ahead of me!”

That’s because I have no life, Tyler.

Someone asked me what the prize is going to be and you know what? I have mustered up every drop of panache for this that I don’t even care about a “prize.” I just want the title and glory. IT IS ALL I HAVE GOT RIGHT NOW.

(But seriously, there better be a fucking prize.)

Oct 102011


Killer Ken Lobe’s shopping list. Glenn, the co-worker that Ken is based on, apparently likes cashews.

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That’s the only specific food I could get anyone here to tell me that he likes. Metamucil because he’s old, olive-colored shirts because I just made fun of him recently for wearing an olive-colored shirt, lipstick because I picture him slathering it on after he makes a kill.

Bloody latex glove strewn across my desk light.

Hot Naybor Chris let me borrow an old table lamp, in which I promptly stuck a red light bulb. I still need to find an old lampshade for it that I can slash and splatter with blood.

Splattered blood is kind of the theme around here.

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On the outside of the glass in front of my desk.

My blog bro Brandy has been posting some awesome DIY Halloween ideas and when she shared one about creepy things in jars, I knew my desk would be amiss without some of that action. Thank you, Brandy!

Once the festivities here at work are done, I’m not going to want to take everything down. I’ll probably just set up a permanent area for it at my house. Maybe in Chooch’s room. I’m sure that will help with the issues he’s having at school.

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Oct 062011

I’ve made it this far without anyone complaining to the boss I guess, because when I came in yesterday, everyone still had their decorations up and there was even a photo floating around of the boss wearing my pig mask. I was so relieved! I haven’t even come close to finishing yet, plus I’ve decided that the “killer” is going to be Glenn (of Wacky Worm fame) so I’ve been dropping some clues to see how long it takes him to figure it out once he returns from vacation.

I’m using an anagram of his last name, which is Ken Lobe. I’m so excited about this twist, it’s stupid.

I clearly have little else going on in life.

Our killer has expensive taste in murder vans.

In other news, life is good, and here’s why: I’m feeling much better, tonight is the official start of the hockey season, and I was summoned for jury duty! Beyond stoked. I hope I get picked.

Oct 022011

Barb convinced the boss to let us have a Halloween decorating contest. We were cleared to go all-out so long as there’s nothing that makes noise (because god forbid people annoy each other with something other than repetitive, murderous paper stamping) and I imagine anything involving permanent damage is also out, which sucks because I was trying to get Ty Pennington in there to build me the facade of Bates Motel.

While I would love to run out to the Halloween store and drop a few Benjamins, I’m broke. And then some people were all, “You’re totally going to win this” when really, I’m pretty terrible (read: lazy) at decorating. Halloween is my favorite holiday but I don’t really do anything special for it because that’s what’s inside me all the other 364 days of the year. I don’t need to throw up spiderwebs and blacklights to quantify my love for scary shit. Still, I felt pressured.

My desk already has zombies, plush Michael Myers, CLOWNS, and pictures of my kid and Marcy on it. That’s some scary shit in itself, not to mention my Christ in the Smokies souvenir guide.

But I really want to play, too! And it occurred to me Friday night that I don’t have to really spend any money at all. Not if I go with what I know best: serial killer motif.

So far, the only thing I spent money on was a composition book. Borrowing from “Seven,” I wanted to quickly make the journal of a killer. I soaked it in the sink to give it an aged, warped feel and then pasted random newspaper clippings about murder, scattered thoughts scrawled with my left hand, and I even taped down a small clump of hair I pulled off a brush.

“Do you think that’s too much?” I asked Henry.

“Why? They already know you’re weird.”

Still, I was mindful not to get too crazy with it.




That hand mirror had been in this house for god only knows how long before I moved in. I found it one day when I dragged a chair into the bathroom to see if anything was on the top shelf of the closet, and there it was, all antiqued and dented.

“It’s probably not as old as you think it is,” Henry said today, being his usual killjoy self. “It’s probably only from the 70s.”

“And the dent?” I asked snidely.

“Probably fell off the counter.”

“Or! It’s from the 1800s and the dent was from bashing in someone’s head,” I offered, tuning out the rest of what Henry had to contribute.

I sprayed it with blood and it looks even better.



Then I created a small library.

“Why is one of these books my high school yearbook?” Henry asked suspiciously.

Yeah, that was intentional.

I knew one day, Chooch’s teeth would come in handy.

I also have a map of a residential area & a classifieds auto page with random vans for sale circled, and a little box with a finger resting on a bed of bloodied cotton.


I printed out photos of a slaughterhouse (I need to be creeped out, too!), John Wayne Gacy, Lizzie Borden and H.H. Holmes to replace Chooch’s pictures in my frames.

This is all I have so far, but it’s enough to get me started tomorrow. I pretty much did nothing all weekend but collect all these small details, and I think there were moments when Henry was genuinely concerned.

I’m so stoked! Hopefully I won’t get fired or forced into a psych evaluation.