Weighted Blankets and Roar-Barks

I know.

Twice in one day?

You lucky bastards.

Two things:

1. I was unaware of the existence of this truly delicious little freak show until perusing and open-minded skeptic’s examination of the Skinwalker Ranch phenomena.

This thing was posited as one potential explanation for the Skinwalker sightings. And I hate it. Frankly, it’s the sort of sloppy skepticism that tarnishes us all. How a critically endangered and terribly obscure member of the family canidae wandered up to some hellhole in fucking Utah would be second biggest mystery of the whole thing.

And the biggest would be Why. The. Hell?

Just look at this thing. Its vocalizations? Legit scientists straight up just throw their hands in the air and call this thing’s noise the “roar-bark.”

Fucking roar-bark, you guys.

Science.

Holy shit. I don’t ever even have to stop for a second to even consider it when someone asks what animal I am, like on the inside, or what kind of animal would be my familiar if I were a persecuted feminist independent single medicine woman in the 1700’s.

That thing. That’s totally, totally the animal whose soul matches mine. It’s wrong. It’s just so wrong, all over. It’s like a deer and a fox and a hyena had an unbiblical night of sweet sweet sinnin’ and then a few months later this thing just kind of, like, fell out of one of them and ran off into the woods and just, like, duplicated itself asexually for a couple hundred years and now here we are.

It’s the most delightful little abomination I’ve ever seen and I want to make one my sidekick, immediately.

Everything about that scenario would be so fucking right, and you know it.

Okay.

2. My friend Ellen and I, over coffee and handcrafted breakfast sandwiches one day last week determined, for sure, at least two things:

a) probably when you’re hearing unexplained noises in your homes, or seeing shadow people, it’s mostly probably just ex-residents of what is now your home dreaming about visiting their former home, and while you’re in your bed in real life, freaking out and hiding under the covers, they are in their dream trying to figure out why your room has some sort of invisible “don’t come in here” hoodoo forcefield around it and although it’s the only room they must access in order to complete what seems to them in their dream state like a profoundly important dream mission, they can’t because you are too terrified of the way that seeing them in their dream in your real life would liquefy your brain.

and

b) I need a weighted blanket.

Weighted blankets are like Spanx and straightjackets. They are constricting and gently smothering and I need them in my life.

Full disclosure, I do not have lived experience with the straightjacket but am rather making an educated guess.

Well, it just so happened that Ellen had this troublesome queen size full down pillow topper mattress contraption that wouldn’t seem to mozie on to its next home because she was ready for it to be out if her life but had no acceptable way to repurpose it.

I told Ellen that what I really needed to sleep, I feared, was one of those lead dental vests you wear while they take pictures of your decay from the inside. Or, rather, a couple…dozen…swen together into a sort of voluntary restraint system for home comfort.

“I’ve got just the thing,” Ellen said.

And that is why I will always love Ellen. Because she is the type of person who would have just the thing in the one circumstance where literally no one else in the world will ever have just the one random obscure item that you require in order to live your best possible life.

She’s like the Mary Poppins of random things that I need deeply.

It’s very curious.

Anyhow, I just want to let you know that my tranquilizers kick in significantly more quickly when I am able to entomb myself in a 30 pound sack of duck down and love.

Significantly, you guys.

I’m talking statistical significance. The kind of significance that proves theories and stuff.

Look at the depth of this thing.

It’s like sleeping inside of the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man. But not in a weird way or anything. Just a good, wholesome, consensual sort of way.

My cat sinks down inside of it if I put her on top. I’m not exaggerating. She creates a legit crater in the down.

It’s outrageous.

It’s like a personal, portable den.

I cannot express to you how right it feels to have to force myself to toss and turn, and it only happens a few times when it does at all. This thing is every beautiful thing about the world.

If you’re unfamiliar with the utter joy of a weighted blanket then I can only suggest that you both Google it and find one to try.

I loved the weight the most about diving too. Like it felt so good to be tethered by something heavy and considerable. I never really realized how much time I spend feeling as if I could easily just float away.

If the lead dental vest makes you feel kinda amniotic, you’re going to want to get yourself either one of these bad boys, or a weighted blanket.

It’s like a thunderjacket for the people.

It’s man’s greatest invention.

It’s my new favorite thing.

Okay. Think I’m good.

Dismissed.

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