Thursday, October 22, 2015

Morteus Cricketicus Maximus

I screamed like the slutty cheerleader getting her brains eaten in every scary movie ever made. As I sit here typing, I am shaking and quaking, my tummy REALLY hurts and I have a headache. AND I LITERALLY PEED MY PANTS. Forget Mary Poppins. This is way way scarier! My house is INFESTED with the notorious Morteus Cricketicus Maximus. (MCM)  AKA: Killer Crickets or Camel Crickets. The lil F-ers shoot laser beams out of their cold, creepy-shiny black eyes and will eat flesh. They can fly and bend time. If you are within three feet of these crunchy creatures of death and destruction, they will begin to control your thoughts as well as your body. They will make you do strange things. Like pee your pants and throw up at the same time.
When I first spotted the terrifying tiny monster this evening, I immediately yelled at  my pup (a purebred West Virginia Brown Dog) ,Maybe, NOT to eat it. Only because at first glance the disgusting bug looked like a giant light brown hornet. But then, as I was swattng her away, IT JUMPED!!
When I say I screamed I mean oh my Celestia, I am sure some phone calls were made to 911 because my neighbors had to believe that I was being slaughtered in my own house. I had JUST put my daught3er Gillian to bed, and usually that precarious time after Lights Out is a delicate balance of quiet alone time and catching up on my tv shows on DVR.  But tonight,  nothing could hold back my screams of sheer terror. AND THEN! I LOST IT!I LOST THE MCM!!
  I could NOT find the damn thing on my beige and brown flecked berber shag carpet. Poor Mabes couldn't find it, either. I was gripping the broom ( luckily i had been trying to measure something just moments before. Ahhhh, The broom. Ye olde Appalachian Measurin' Stick!!) so tightly I thot the cheap metal handle would crumble. "FIND IT MAYBE! EAT THE *bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep*ING THING!" Finally the sweet mutt and I spotted the miniscule minion of Satan.
 I pointed and commanded my trusty dog to commence to eatin! But I think the CMM must have flicked Maybe with its scorpion-like tail because the poor thing puffed, huffed and jumped back. Finally, after gathering her courage Mabes managed to keep her nose on it. But bless her lil puppy heart, she  couldn't bring herself to eat it. I cant blame her.
Finally, Maybe nuzzled the MCM out of commision. I ginglerly pressed the bottom of the broom on top of the micro-sized hellish beast and slowly added my full weight to the bristles. I was PRAYING that I would NOT feel a...a... a pop. *shudder*
I just checked it under the broom. It was still. So I poked it. AND IT *bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep*ING MOVED!! Brian the hero hubs will be home in 45 minutes. I cannot go anywhere. I WILL not go back in there. I am being held hostage by a bug. I am a wuss. But so is my dog. ! I KNOW there is alien life on Earth! MORTEUS CRICKETICUS MAXIMUS ( totally made that up, btw)IS THE PROOF!
ps-im gonna have nightmares.

Friday, August 14, 2015

That Time Gillian Did Not Come Home From School

For weeks, Brian and I had been discussing the new changes that Gillian would have to face while making the rather quick transition from elementary to middle school. Now that she was going to be a big ol' Sixth Grader, we encouraged her to make some decisions on her own. She even picked out some clothes when we went shopping. Usually this child is so disenchanted by the whole shopping process that she  just holes up under some clothing racks somewhere till it’s time to leave the store. Our Aspie daughter was very “nervouscited” (nervous and excited) about going to Middle School. She also decided that THIS would be the year she rides the bus to and from school.

So we looked up the bus schedules, made sure she knew the bus number and that the drop off and pickup location was the same, just down the street from our house, at both the start of and the end of the day.

So when the first day of Sixth Grade dawned, Gilly jumped out of bed, ready and raring to go. So much so that we were 10 minutes early waiting for the bus! If you are familiar with her attendance situation last year, you will appreciate how monumental this earliness was!

From the moment she hopped on to that giant nightmare of a toxic-yellow hued hellbeast also known as The Schoolbus (news flash: I don’t like busses), I was eyeballing my phone all day, checking the ringer, the call logs, in case I had missed something in the 2.3 nanoseconds my eyes were away from the screen. But nothing. Her first day passed with out incident! Around 3pm, Brian and I brewed an afternoon pot of coffee and headed out the door to watch for Gillian’s bus.

Two heaving, sighing monsters crested the hill at the bus stop and spewed forth their contents onto the boiling hot asphalt. In other words, two busses came and went. Each dropped off a coupla kids and sped off. No Gilly.  But maybe there was another bus coming because neither one was #766-the morning bus number that had whisked her away from me and the safety of our busy lil street. Before we knew it, the time was 3:45pm. No other busses were coming. As Brian and I realized this, panic set in. I posted a question on Facebook about what time the busses usually ran in this town of ours (let’s face it, that is the QUICKEST way to contact a buncha moms and get an IMMEDIATE answer) and pretty much all of our local friends said that their kids were already off the busses and happily at home.

That did NOT make us feel better.

So I contacted PJ, a life-long friend of mine who happens to teach 7th grade at the middle school. PJ said that because it was the first day, busses often run very late, but Gilly should have been home already. She also mentioned that the busses make different routes before and after school, so the morning bus, #766 that we had drilled in to Gillian's head,  would not be the bus to drop her off in the afternoon. Another bus would do that. Well, that would have been nice to know.

4:00pm. Terrible, chilling thoughts were swirling and twirling in my head and heart like maddening little pieces of panic and dread-shaped confetti. But the other part, a very small part, was trying to remain calm. I tried to think like Gillian. I am very plugged in to her screwy ill brain. I wondered if she freaked out when she didn’t see her bus (again we THOUGHT it was #766) and maybe she was still at the school, just NOT knowing what to do. As if reading my thoughts, PJ messaged me and said she was headed back to the school to look for my child AND she texted the principal letting him know that G didn’t make it home. Meanwhile, worried sick, Brian took off to search the neighborhood. I wanted to go with him, or run off and search on my own, to FIND MY BABY!!! But I stayed home in case G DID end up there somehow.

All the while, more and more friends of ours who had seen the Facebook post were contacting me to tell me they were in the area and looking for her as well (thanks, friends!).

Nothing. No one had seen my one and only oh-so-very-slightly special needs sweet baby girl since around 3:10-the time the bussers load up and leave- at school. Brian called and said he had no news; He was going to check at my parent’s house as a last resort. We knew there was no way Gillian would walk there because it‘s about a half a mile away, and she doesn’t know the way. Plus she is super lazy. She gets that from me.

So as Brian was stalling on the front porch of my parents house, trying to decide what to say to them about our missing child so as not to alarm them, PJ texted me and said G wasn’t at school.My child was literally NO WHERE. That was it. I was calling the police. As my fingers hovered over “911” Brian called. “She walked to your parent’s house.” He said quietly. I could tell by his tone that he was equally angry AND relieved. He found her backpack and jacket in their usual after school spot in the kitchen, but no one was home. He called my mom’s cell. Brian said when he heard Gillian’s sweet little voice answer my mom’s phone, he thought he was going to cry. Awwww. He’s such a good, sweet daddy.

My parents had taken Gillian and they were on their way to my mother’s Physical Therapy appointment.




Apparently, MY MOTHER told G to call or text either me or Brian to let us know where she was. The child did neither. And rather than CONFIRM that Gillian had, in fact, contacted us, MY MOTHER just assumed that she did. Which she MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT. How could MY MOTHER, who worries about things that HAVE NOT AND WILL NOT EVER HAPPEN, HOW did she not FREAK the F out when my sweaty tired baby walked into her house?! FROM SCHOOL?! A HALF A MILE AWAY?! Sure ,I made that walk every day for 3 years in high school but that was the 90s. Back then, when kids disappeared it was from far away places and big, dirty cities. Drugs and bad guys weren’t lurking around each corner like these days. Even right here in Supersmalltown , WV.

Just after I had found out that Gillian was okay, another dear friend of mine, Erika knocked on my door to check on the situation. Turns out, she had been near my neighborhood when she had gotten a call from PJ about Gilly being missing. After filling her in on the current situation, Erika contacted PJ to let her know she was free to end the search. I did the same on Facebook, thanking everyone who had been encouraging and helpful.

I then had Brian come pick me up and I stormed into that PT office like a straight up bad ass bitch. When I quite literally almost knocked down some cripped up old lady, I didn’t stop. I did not apologize. I was a woman possessed in a rage of worry and good-old fashioned PISSED OFF-ness. I spotted G and my dad lounging on some medical-looking cushy slab-thingy and I pointed at G when we locked eyes:. “You. Come here. Now.” My Daddy gave me the big puppy eyes and said “Oh no, is she in trouble?’

I GLARED at him. “Yeah, You ALL are.”

“Awwwww, but-“

“No. Stop. G, we are leaving. Let’s go.” I turned and left the office, leaving Brian to collect Gilly. Once outside I made her give me a hug and she said she just got confused at school and SAID she was a walker. “HOW did you know how to GET to Mammy’s?!” I asked.

“I know my way around!” she said HILARIOUSLY. With that, I LOSt it and cracked up. It felt good to laugh. We also talked about why she got confused and that she needs to ask for help in those situations.

Turns out that MY MOTHER had spent the previous evening TALKING G OUT OF RIDING THE BUS. Because MY MOTHER wanted the child home with her after school, like she always had been after elementary. It should be noted that the elementary school is practically right across the street from my parents’ house. NOT a half-mile away.

Yes, Brian and I confirmed with Gilly that she was riding the bus. We had for weeks before school started. We did that evening before bed and that morning at the bus stop. But I think when she had to recall the info, she struggled with wanting riding the bus and going to Mammy's house like she always had, that was her ROUTINE after all,  and then she made a quick decision and went with it.

She was very proud of herself for walking to my parent’s house. Mmmmm-hmmmm.

As we pulled into our drive, my meddling mother called me. Nope. Not ready yet. So I ignored it. Then she sent me a text. Still not ready. Ten minutes later she pulled in the drive. I sent Brian out to talk to her. I couldn't do it. I would say waayyyy too much bad stuff. So I stayed in the house chugging alarming amounts of vodka and lemonade.

I still haven't talked to MY MOTHER today, but I did draw a really ugly pink star on my arm and texted my mother that I got a tattoo. The Drema HATES tattoos. She IMMEDIATELY responded all angry and bossy. So then I drew a really awful blob of a black cat. And said I actually got another one. My mommy threatened me so then I HAD TO draw a red heart on my arm and wrote “mom” in it, texting her the pic of it and saying THAT new tatto was my fave. Obvy.

I did that because I want her to be angry and also want her know I am messing with her. Because that’s how I was raised. I learned passive-aggressive revenge, manipulations, and controlling possessiveness from THE BEST.

I am glad my Gillian is safe and sound.  This morning, she wrote the bus number, and the dismissal time on her arm. At school, she had lots of people looking out for her. They even showed her EXACTLY where the bus would be parked in the afternoons at dismissal.

I received so very many texts and messages saying that people actually saw her GET ON that bus. I got a message that her kindergarten teacher happened to be passing by and saw Gillian GET OFF the bus on our street- her kids are in daycare somewhere off of our street. And then Brian sent me a picture of her sweet lil face at home and captioned it “Proof of life.” I actually laughed out loud at that one. I’m including screen shots of the texted conversation about the fake tattoos I had with my mother. So that you can see what I am dealing with here.

It has often been said that it takes a village to raise a child. Well, apparently, it is going to take that and an Elementary School, A middle school, a psychiatric hospital, a fleet of busses and ALL of y’all on Facebook to raise mine!

Thank you all, I love you sooo much and after yesterday, I think y’all might love me, too! <3


Saturday, December 7, 2013

Left Behind

I had to be at back at work this morning less than 12 hours after I LEFT that place last night. But I was up and ready to go. G, notsomuch. Because of her pokiness I was running about A THOUSAND MINUTES LATE. "Oh no I forgot (one of 27 random things she "needs" to get thru a day with me at the mall even tho she will just end up playing on my phone the whole time anyway)!!!"
"GILLIAN!!" I screeched angrily. "GET IN THE CAR!! I'll go get (random thing)."
As she went out the door, I dashed back inside, locating and grabbing said random-yet-uberimportant-item all in less than 30 seconds (yay one story floor plan!). I raced to the car, slammed the door and gunned it out of the driveway. I was sooo frazzled and sooo late. I was all the way to the stop sign at the end of our busy street when I thought, "Wow. G must know how mad I am. She's being so quiet. I don't even hear any vids or games playing on her ipod!"


 "She's so quiet. Is she even back there?!" I joked to myself silently. Looking in the rearview mirror, I started to tell G my little joke. But I didnt see her reflection. She must have been laying in the seat. I looked back.

"HOLY (string of incoherent swearing) I LEFT HER!!!! OH MY GOD I LEFT MY BABYYYYY!!!"

Because my busy street spills out into an even busier street, I couldn't turn around right away. I had to DRIVER FURTHER AWAY FROM MY BABY. Whom I had left. All alone.
I whipped around the first chance I got and SPED back home.  I found her standing still  and sobbing on the driveway. Desolate and abandoned.

 I was trying not to laugh. I KNOW I KNOW. But It really was kinda funny.
My 10 year old daughter  just stood there, crying, waiting for me to scoop her up, hug and comfort her.

NOPE. I just sat in the car as she got herself together enough to climb in to the backseat. "YOU LEFT ME!!!!" She sobbed.
"Yes I did. And what lesson did you learn form this? " SILENCE (except for crying) "Did you learn to ALWAYS get in the car when I ask you to?"

"Well, I am sorry I left you and I am sorry you were scared. But sometimes mommies have to teach their kids tough lessons."
"I know. But I'm going to be mad at you all day." I told her that was okay. I DIDN'T tell her that I was pretty mad at myself too. Bc I DID NOT leave her on purpose to teach her a lesson. I actually just... well.. LEFT her. On accident. 

Gilly has told EVERYONE that I left her behind today. She told my boss, my mom. Our Elf on the Shelf, the waitress at dinner and she cant WAIT to tell BRIAN (he knows, I texted him) when he gets home!!
 BUT! G does always finish the story with "But I learned MY lesson! Always listen to Momma!"
And isn't that REALLY the most important thing, here?! ISNT IT?!

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Aunt Holly's House By Gilly

This was a practice writing of Gillian's for standardized testing that all 3rd graders have to take in WV.
I thought it was hilarious and sweet and wanted to share!

Favorite Place in Town

"I really like going to my aunt Holly's house.

They even have a Wii U! I love the new basment they're making. It's supposed to be my great-great- great-great-great gramma, Mimi's new room, I like playing Mario games, and lucky me, they have Mario Kart Wii and Super Mario Bros U.  The storage room became a room with books and a board with magnetic letters that came with it.  They also have my favorite kind of GaterAid.
My aunt is rich because she bought tons of apps on her iPhone, but she had to delete one. She has tons of lego sets, too.

Sometimes I smell delicious lunch or dinner. And I see my 2-year-old cousin Harry. And the blanket tht's on Harry's bed feels so good, I coulod sleep for hours on that thing!

That's why I love going to Holly's house. "

She got a pretty decent score of 4/6 points on this one. Just needed to elaborate more.

Not bad for a practice run! And Holly's house truly IS Gilly's FAVE place in town!

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Arm Pit Candy

As Brian leaned in to kiss me hello after a long day of work, I caught a whiff of SOMEthing just AWFUL! A sickeningly sweet, thick odor surrounded me in a  green cloud of nastiness.  "Oh my GOD what IS that?!" I said in my 'I'm gonna die if that smell enters my nostrils and attaches itself to my brain' voice (aka 'stuffed up nose' voice).
"What? I don't smell anything."
I shrugged and stirred the spaghetti I was preparing for dinner. I didn't smell the offending odor again until he hugged me and thanked me for a yummy dinner during our post-meal clean up. ( I know, RIGHT?! He's too good for words!) To Brian's sweet, and satisfied thanks I responded, "UGH GET AWAY FROM ME!!" I covered my mouth and nose with my hands.  "YOU SMELL LIKE LIKE- LIKE A CAN OF RED BULL THATS GONE SKUNKY!! GOOD LOORRRD WHAT IS THAT?!

He chuckled like a rotten kid and said he didn't smell anything.
"Well, I didn't either," I said from behind by garlic and tomato scented hands "until you just hugged me. OH! And when you first got home. UGH!! WHY DO YOU SMELL LIKE OLD LADY CANDY?! Oh GOD, YOU'RE DISGUUUSTING!!'

Before y'all lay into me about being overly dramatic (who? ME!? NEVAH!!!) keep in mind that I am super-sensitve to smells and just about ANY and EVERYthing can ignite a migraine and lay me out for two or three days. So my outrageous reaction to Brian's odd and offending scent of choice is MORE than warranted.

Brian just shrugged and said that what I might be smelling might be his NEW deodorant.
"WHAT?! WHAT 'NEW' DEODORANT?!? I DIDN'T APPROVE ANY 'NEW' DEODORANT! YOU KNOW ALL HOUSEHOLD AND BODY SCENTS HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME FIRST!" Again, before you label me a crazy, controlling bitch please re-read the above paragraph re: smells and headaches. I'll wait...

Done? Great. Let's move on.

"How about if I change my shirt?" Brian offered sweetly.
I agreed that that MIGHT help.

After the undershirt chagne, I didn't smell that god-awful odor anymore, but he was on the couch and I was across our small tv room lounging on the recliner so I wasn't close enough, either. UNTIL BEDTIME. As I went to snuggle him I found myself embattled in  an unrelenting onslaught  attack upon my olfactory senses.

"Brian!!" I flailed and thrashed my way out from under the covers and out of bed. Once again I covered my nose and mouth. "GO WASH YOUR STINKY PITS!!'

This grown up 40 year old man I call 'mine all mine'  once again giggled like an 8 year old  boy who had farted but blamed it on his lil sister. "I DID wash em!" he protested through his rotten giggles.

"No way!! You washed those stinky pits with SOAP?!"
"Well, I mean... I RINSED em. With water."
'WATER?!" I cried, outraged. "Is that deodorant also an antipersperant?!" I demanded.
"Uhhhhhhhh. yeah?"
HE argued that nuh-uhh it was NOT waterproof.
"Oh no? Well answer me THIS; what IS sweat? ? Is it not water that comes out of your body?! AND IS THAT STINKY, SMELLY RANCID HALLOWEEN CANDY SCENTED STUFF THAT IS ABSOULTELY WAFTING OUT FROM UNDER YOUR ARMS STILL ON SAID BODY??!! Yes, Brian. Yes. It. Is. And do you know why?! "Because IT IS WATERPROOF!"

"FINE!" He relented. "I'll go wash it off!! For real!"
I followed him AND supervised. He was laughing at my Drema Death Stare and the fact that I was sitting on a toliet lid watching him wash his arm pits at 11:30 at night. "Well! We  wouldn't BE in this awkward sitch if you hadn't made  poor and unauthorized decisions about the scent of your personal hygiene products now would we?"

When he was done, he asked me to sniff his armpits. "Ummm noooo. I will trust that they are Spring Clean freshy- fresh now and that you no longer smell like church candy found in the bottom of some dead old lady's purse. Let's go to bed now."

And I dreamed a delightful dream of meadows and rainbows with no arm pit candy in sight- or smell!

Sunday, December 2, 2012

A Migraine, Mr. Muzak, and Special Santa

Being functional while having a migraine is probably not unlike what a new born vampire must feel. Senses are heightened.  Insticts are more keenly felt and the need for survival is overwhelming, yet the want of sweet, sweet death isn't far away.  Emotions are charged as well. Something small that may only have been  merely bothersome under normal human circumstaces is now an event worth sobbing over. A slightly humorous event causes a fit of hysterical laughter,. Someone pisses you off and you very vividly imagine ripping their annoying-as-hell, ugly little head off and violently chewing it up like a piece of bubble gum from a quarter candy machine. 

For the past four days -and counting- I have had the misfortune of experincing  such a migraine headache while trying to help  coordinate two of the major events of the season at the mall, where I am employed with the Marketing Department: The Family Holiday Fashion Show,  and our Special Santa event for people with special needs.

On Friday I was miserable but I let Jen, my coworker, take the  reigns of the planning process. She usually does anyway, and she always does a great job.

But then...SATURDAY happened. And all unholy hell broke loose, literally AND figuratively, in my head.  Arriving "promptly" @ 8;45, a mere 15 minutes late, I clocked in and noticed that I had more trouble than usual lining up my time card. BECAUSE I COULDN'T SEE IT. I was expereincng a werid visual distortion. A "sun spot" as I call it, had appered before my eyes, as if I had looked into a light or at the sun too long. Which I had not. Shruggin it of, I gathered up my promotional cart of Sensory Friendly goodies (squishy balls, splat eggs, bowls of dried beans and noodles and SO MUCH MORE!) and held on for dear life as I dragged the thing to my station behind Santas House. On the way, I crashed into the walls and doorways , becuase I was so dizzy and couldn't see, but dammit I made it there. I was quietly setting up my Sesnory Friendly Waiting Room for Special Santa when all of a sudden, the Muzak BLASTED over the loud speakers. I dropped my  bowl of dried beans. The clattering of the beans along with the heinous Muzak was absolute thunder ripping through my head. I covered my ears and tried to breathe, thinkin it was only THAT loud to me. Then one of my helpers gingerly tapped my shoulder. I unsquinted one eye to see that she was also covering her ears. "Isn't that sposed to be OFF?" she yelled over the din of "White Christmas"reverberating through my soul.  I just STARED at her and realized she could hear the noise, too. I nodded. The music in the mall was to be turned off duirng Special Santa. I called Margi, my boss so she called the Muzak guy and after thorughly chewing him out, she called me back assuring me the offending sound would be silenced for the remainder of the morning.

 WRONG. A few mintues later, the music overhead swelleld again. I contacted Margi, she in turn, contacted the Muzak guy. This happened three more times, each event tearing thru my ears and soul like a  hellish banshee screaming her demonic wail of terror. The last time, when we were  assaulted with Barbara Streisnad's GOD AWFUL jazz version of  "Jingle Bells" I took  matters into my OWN very shaky and sick hands. I texted Margi, "Music on. I'm hunting down Mr. Muzak now. I'm on zofran, pain killers, and ibuprofin. The police mught just have to taze me to pull me off this guy."  I sprinted (aka walked very quickly and with purpose. Momma don't run) to the Muzak closet and upon finding the sound board  abandoned, I  summoned up all of my strength and womanly powers ala She-Ra and PUNCHED!! all  off the ON switches  to "OFF"!! I then wrote a very seriel killer -esque note  to the Muzak guy:

Until 11:00.

 Which i taped to  the Muzak closet door before slamming it shut. I also accosted poor Mr. Muzak when I ran into him in the hallway. "HEY! HEY YOU!!! LEAVE THE MUSIC OFF!"

"It IS off, ma'am." he said skittishly.
"I KNOW  IT IS BECASUE I TURNED IT OFF!!" I roared as I sped past him back to the Sensory Friendly Waiting Room at Santa's house.

Other than that Muzak blip, Special Santa went remarkably well. I got a high five AND a fist pump from a cute lil boy with Down's Syndrome. I also  got to play in some beans with another cute baby boy with Down's who was sporting a  MOHAWK! Shut up, that was the CUTEST thing I have ever seen in all of my days. . I think. It'ss hard to tell when there is a swirling, pulsating wide blue dot in the middle of your field of vision.

Right  after Santa was over I had to switch into Fashion Mode and assist a young model in exchanging  her clothes, an HOUR before the show was to start. The store had opted to put this very young teen in a "biker mom" ensemble complete with studded, spiked black heels, and a leather jacket  which resembeled 18 year old  Sandy's bad girl jacket  in the finale of "Grease". Ummmmm NOOOO.   *I* disapproved IMMEDIATELY.  Upon hearing my words of disdain and disapproval, the skinny and surly store manager's  head spun around, and she got the crazy swirly red eyes of insanity  I'm not kidding. that happened for real. Pretty sure...

On auto-pilot by this point, I was the picture of professionalism, tact and grace as all the head bobbing attitude and vile words of condemnation and frustration spewed my way from the ridiculously serious store manager. Eventually, after I turned  down jeans ripped up to THERE and Hatler top after BAND-DOOO top (It's french, BITCH and it's pronounced,  "Band-O")  the inappropriate outfit was exchanged for a pretty, age appropraite one, with FLAT shoes and lovely winter white overcoat.  FINALLY, I fled that store in hopes of sitting down and chugging some much needed caffiene (caffiene helps migraines but I also can't SLEEP when I have a migraine so I REALLY needed that coffee and sugar rush) but nope. Another model had issues with her clothes (yes they try them on days before, but these are GIRLS we are talking about so there is ALWAYS drama!) so I was off to yet another store. This particular  store, known for their all-american style and silly commercials with 'live' mannequins was MUCH easier to work with and very undestanding that certain things happen last minute and were VERY accomodating.

So with THAT taken care of, I was off in search of coffee. Till I got stopped AGAIN. No coffee for me, time to start the show. I have very little recollection of the actual show, to tell you the truth. I know it went very well though!!!

By the time I got home, I felt like I had been run over by a truck(AGAIN!!) , tossed into the air and after landing on a guard rail, I then fell backward over a cliff and bounced all the way down before plunging into a  body-smashing, violent river of rapids and after figithing my way OUT of the murky, swirling water,  a giant hawk grabbed me in her cold, death-grip-of-death (yeah thats right) of her talons, her giant black iron claws cutting into my tender flesh, only to drop me hard on the ground because I was tooo squirmy and not worth the effort of hauling me to her nest, awaitng her dino sized babies to hatch out of their enomous eggs and eat me. THAT is HOW AWFUL I felt fter leaving the mall yesterday. Not one lil bit of exaggeration. Nope. Not one bit.

I am feeling better today, btw.  Less "new vampire" and more like the "fat, old Summer " I'm getting used to feeling like. The migraine is almost gone and I am spending the day with my baby girl for some much needed rest and relaxation. Also, my daughter Gillian is sick today. (GILLIAN) Hope I feel better! (SUMMER) I hope so too, baby!

Monday, August 20, 2012

Hermie the Skunk Hunter

My mom and dad have lived in the same house, in the same neighborhood for all but 2 of my 35 years of life. And many of the inhabitants of  their lil neighborhood's tucked-away block have been there quite a while as well. So when anyone from our family sees a stranger 'round the old homestead, our interests are piqued.

Today, Holly, Baby Harry, Gilly and  I met someone new as we were outside taking a mini walk up and down Elm St.

"There a skunk around here?" we heard from behind.

Holly and the baby (ummm I feel compelled to mention that "Baby" Harry is a  GIANT 2 year old!) and I spun around to face the inquring voice. Gillian was a lil bit ahead of us and came running back.

To our surpise, a sprightlly elderly gentleman, perched upon an older-model bicycle  was the source of the question. He was dressed in a smart white and blue-striped button down dress shirt and creased khakis. Well-worn loafers ensconsed his feet, one perched on a bike pedal, the other balancing on the asphalt road.  To me, he looked like a modern day, real-life version of Hermie the rogue elf from  the  Rankin and Bass  classic (AND TERRIFYING)claymation Chrsitmas special, Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer.

"Yeah, I can SMELL him!" Gillian piped up, delighted. She ADORES skunks. She even loves  the nose-hair-singeing stench of skunk.  Weirdo.

"Weel, you wanna trap 'im?!"asked Real-life  Hermie, all excited-like.
Holly and I LOOKed at each other and had a silent conversation:

"TRAP a Skunk?! I can barely change his diaper!" Holly said in my head, eyeballing her Newfoundland Hound- sized toddler.

"I know, right? Who IS this guy?!"

"Do we look like wild mountain women?!" We both appraised our apparel. Me in a workaday pair of black capirs and tasteful black and white top,  my sis in a fashionable orange tank and classy jeans.

"NO!" we  silently sang out.

"Ummmmm...errr..." I stammered politely at the bike-bound stranger. "Well," he said "lemme know!" as he pedalled away he called back to us, "There's lotsa critters around here! We caught some racoons over there by the river! Got us a skunk down by *unitelligible* so just ...lemme know!"

Another silent communication:
Me, "What the HELL?!'
Sis, "I KNOW! Who ASKS strangers, PRETTY strangers (my sis is nothing if not modest) to WRESTLE WILD LIFE?! "

"You'll set him free, right?! If you trap  the skunk?!" I called aloud  to Real Life Hermie's quickly disappearing back.

"Yeah! Ok! Sure!"

"Like I am sure you set the racoons free!?" I screeched desperately in his direction. He held up a silent wave in response, pacifying me.

I mean , what did I expect? Claymation Hermie PULLED the TEETH of the ABOMINAL SNOWMAN in order to render him harmless.

Skunk Rasslin'!! On a WEEKday?! No thanks! Clearly I have more important things to do. Like post a new blog. :)