9:09 on 9/9/09 - Miss Famine

I was at Fenway last night for a Zombie Red Sox game (raising The Babe and Ted Williams from the dead was the best thing to ever happen to this team. Also, Ted Williams' jersey number is 9.) And I looked up to the jumbo-tron during the 7th inning stretch to find that it was in fact 9:09 on 9/9/09.

A little piece of me was hoping that we might relive the apocalypse just then. How cool would that have been? I blame myself for dropping the ball on this. We should have had a GREAT BIG FANTASTIC POST-APOCALYPSE PARTY! You know, relived the old days of fire and brimstone, reigning ash, fog, draughts, etc. Does anyone remember that bad ass Sea of Fire Miss Conquest summoned about 200 years ago? Those were the good old days.

Well, here I am, just kicking myself for being too consumed with wedding and party planning for friends to think ahead. So I spent the rest of the Zombie Red Sox game feeling guilty.

I went home and went directly to bed (self-enforced punishment.) No dessert for me! And I proceeded to have one of the most vivid dreams I've had in a very long time. However, what makes me most nervous was that I don't think it was a dream, I think it was premonition.

I dreamed that zombie Michael Jackson was chasing me. No, I'm not kidding.

"Too soon?" You ask. No, not soon enough.

All I have to say is that I flippin' hope that someone had enough sense to encase that tomb in concrete and protection symbols. MJ is one zombie I do not wish to encounter. The decomposition would be really far along at this point, given his head start. And I have no doubt he's grown fangs. That just seems like one of those over-the-top surgeries he would have opted for.

Premonition of impending MJ zombie-ism or a Fenway Frank that just didn't sit well.

YOU DECIDE!