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I am watching Coppola's Dracula, while meticulously shredding a pair of black pantyhose so they will look properly deathrock. While drinking absinthe.
(Mind you, I probably lose cliché points because I put a glass over a possibly dead spider, then called The Husband at his D&D game to let him know he was going to have to dispose of this. I did this after shrieking faintly at the sight of it, then praising the kitties for being Fierce Hunters, indeed.)
(Mind you, I probably lose cliché points because I put a glass over a possibly dead spider, then called The Husband at his D&D game to let him know he was going to have to dispose of this. I did this after shrieking faintly at the sight of it, then praising the kitties for being Fierce Hunters, indeed.)
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Oh, what a horrible notion.
(I know that Alchemy Gothic, purveyors of lovely cheestastic Goth accessories, make a wine glass where the base is a (life size, ieeee!) pewter replica of a tarantula. NO, THANK YOU, I DO NOT WANT THAT ANYWHERE NEAR ME.)