The Homicidal Adventures of Old Christine

By all accounts, it was an average Wednesday afternoon. After running a couple of errands on a busy lunch break, I stopped at home for a quick snack. I was barely out of the truck when that weird, and now all-too-familiar dizzy-but-not-actually-dizzy, feeling set in. This time I didn’t hesitate. I KNEW what was happening: Old Christine had decided that now was the time to take me out, once and for all.  
We have a history, that truck and I. Last summer after parking at a gas station, it ‘slipped’ out of gear and Reversed it’s way toward a busy highway, WITH my Gillian in the small backseat area. That vicious truck’s murderous plans were foiled that summer just as they were last week when it didn’t ‘catch’ park yet again and almost backed itself into another business establishment in our office’s shopping center. That’s when I gave the 1993 green Ford truck the “Old Christine” moniker in homage to Stephen King’s murderous, jealous antique car from the 80’s movie, “Christine.”

But this past Wednesday,  Old Christine, that treacherous, demonic vehicle must have decided to get allll KINDSA serious, because she was rolling down my driveway with a vengeance. And with my right foot still in the cab.  I tried to stop her, but with my driveway being on a slight incline Christine was gaining speed, and fast.  Instinct was to protect my head and face as the open driver’s-side door took me down.  Horror-struck, I watched as Old Christine’s front grill, encrusted with calcified insect carcasses, twisted into a heinous, sly grin, her headlight eyes glaring at me like two giant, cataract-covered orbs of evil. She aimed her big, powerful front tire and CRRRRUUUUNNNCHED it slowly and deliberately over my right foot. A primal wail of pain and anger wrenched from deep within my soul.  With a garbled “NOOOOOOO!” I reached out an arm in Christine’s direction, trying with all my might to summon telekenetic powers and MAKE HER STOP.  I imagined in a panicked frenzy of vivid images that Christine would just keep going. Backward she would roll across the street crashing into houses. All through the neighborhood she would go, leaving nothing in her wake but devastating death and destruction. Undoubtedly that was her ultimate dastardly goal but her old age and decrepit state got the best of her.  Old Christine came to an exhausted stop just across the street in my neighbor’s yard. She heaved a noisy, satisfied sigh and fell silent.

I turned my attention back to my injuries. The pain in my foot was becoming more and more excruciating. It was already swelling up, becoming a sickening patchwork of blues, grays and purples. The bright burgundy spots of blood, where my foot had been ground into the pavement added a whole new level of gruesomeness.  My left knee was also a bloody, bruised mess. Bits of driveway shrapnel was embedded into the  tender skin of my palms. I attempted to get up but I honestly couldn’t figure out how to. There was soooo much pain. So I just started screaming for help. Then it dawned on me as a numb sense of clarity fought its way through the fog of pain:  it was smack in the middle of the work day. No one would be home for HOURS.

 I looked around for my purse, thinking it had been tossed somewhere and then I realized with a frustrated cry that I hadn’t even had the chance to grab it before Christine began her attempt on my life. So that meant no cell phone. I was resigned to the fact that I would stay there, paralyzed in my driveway until SOMEone in the neighborhood came home. Then, as if in slow-motion, a golden chariot soared down from the heavens on a glorious beam of heavenly light.  I watched, dumbstruck, as an angel with jet black hair, sprightly blue eyes and lips as red as the brightest rose sprang forth from the chariot and enveloping me in a comforting, strong embrace. “Oh Deb!” I heard someone say. “Oh Deb I can’t believe it’s YOU!” Wait, that was me talking. And although a miracle for sure, my savior wasn’t a true angel from the heavens (although an angel on earth if ever there was one!) it was Deb, my friend and former co-worker! And around-the-block neighbor! She saw me in my driveway and stopped to say hi.  I was sobbing and blubbering and clinging to her. “Deb! Oh Deb! It was awful! I’m hurt! My truck is trying to KILL me! It ran OVER me!” I sobbed. Deb told me later that she wondered if I was drunk. She didn’t SEE a truck in my driveway and how could a car run me over yet I was sitting up and talking?! I pointed again, this time to my lower limb “My foot, Deb! That stupid truck got my foot! I think it’s broken!”

In a blur of babbling and crying, I realized that the heavenly chariot was in fact, Deb’s gold-colored sedan. She was going to take me to the hospital! I visually examined my foot from the passenger’s seat. It was a mess to say the very least, but I’ll be horn swaggled if my cute lil leopard print K-mart shoe didn’t still look fabulous! Not a scratch on it! Hey, that $5 bargain probably saved my foot! Remind me to send them an email later….

Deb waited with me in the ER until Brian came.  And bless her heart, she was in misery herself as she had burned her hand badly earlier that morning and was just coming back from the doctor’s office  when she rescued me. I owe her MORE than Big Time!

In triage, the cute lil nurses asked confusing questions about my ‘car accident’. “Where was the accident?”

“What accident?”

“Didn’t you get hit by a car?”

“Huh. I guess I did. Huh.”

“Were you wearing a seat belt?”

“No, I wasn’t driving.”

“Someone else was driving?”

“No. My truck ran over my foot. On it’s own. No one was in it.”

After quite a few LOOKS from the staff and more that a few telling questions about my sobriety and the safety of my home life, I was shuffled off to X-ray. Less than an hour later, the doctor gave us the good news that nothing was broken! A horrific sprain and possibly some torn ligaments but no breaks! I was ace-bandaged up and sent on my way with crutches, and a couple of prescriptions for pain.

On the way home, the discussion came around to dinner plans, as it inevitably does. I was tired, cranky and in A LOT of pain. So after  Brian turned down three of my suggestions in a row I verbally bitch-slapped him with “How about since your frickin’ truck RAN OVER ME TODAY you get me whatever the hell I want for dinner?!”  We were quiet for a while after that.

Later, at home, we were surprised by a phone call. It was Deb saying she had dropped off dinner on our front porch! Talk about above and beyond! So Brian was off the hook and didn’t have to get me Thai food after all. But he owes me. A. Lot.

I took the next day off work, per Doctor’s Orders and hobbled back in today, alive and well, if not just a leeeetle more damaged than when my co-workers last saw me.

As for Old Christine, well, she got what she wanted after all. No, I’m not dead, but she IS reunited with her true love. Brian drove her to work today. As he will where ever he goes, because I am NEVER getting in that truck again. Ev. Er. Who knows what would happen if I did. She only got a foot this time. I can’t imagine the damage she would do with a playing field bigger than my driveway…

Gilly's Harry Potter Fan Fic

Part One:

Harry Potter and the

Sorcerer’s Stone (With Me In It)

by Gillian R. Lovetro

　

Chapter 1: Living at Home

In this story, I live with Harry Potter, Aunt Petunia Dursley Unchle Vernon Dursley, and their son, Duddley Dursley. Harry’s parents were killed by Lord Voldemort. Now we live with them. “Up! Get up, now!” says Aunt Petunia. Duddley didn’t know that we were awake, so he said, “Guys, wake up! It’s my birthday and you’re gonna miss all the fun!” So we went out of the cupboard, and came into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia told Harry and I to cook breakfast. “…and try not to burn anything,” said Aunt Petunia. “But Aunt Petunia,” I said. “I can’t cook breakfast. I’m only eight years old. But you, Unchle Vernon, I bet the coffee is already in the pot, so I’ll bring you the coffee, and the coffee milk.” “Why, thank you, Gillian!” said Unchle Vernon. So I gave him the coffee and the coffee milk. Then we went to the zoo. A snake was asleep. “Make it move.” “Move.” “MOVE!” said Duddley. “He’s asleep!” said Harry. “He’s boring,” said Duddley . Then they left to see the other animals. Then, Harry was taking to the snake. But unfortunately, Duddley push Harry out of the way to see the snake. And the glass disappeared and Duddley accidentally fell in. The snake also came out FOR NO REASON. I think it was that he was thanking Harry. “Thanksss.” hissed the snake. I guess I was right! “SNAKE!” said a man. Everyone screamed just like in the movie! But bad news for the Dursleys. Duddly was trapped! Unchle Vernon thought we did it. “Don’t worry, Diddykins,” said Aunt Petunia. “We’ll manage to get you out of these FREEZING cloths…” “WHAT HAPPENED!?” shouted Unchle Vernon. “I swear, I don’t know! The glass just disappeared and I don’t know how!” cried Harry. Later, (maybe like a full 10 minutes later), Aunt Petunia said, “Go get the post now.” “I’ll do it!” I said. I saw our Hogwarts Letters. “Oh boy! I’ve ALWAYS wanted to go to Hogwarts!” “Oh my God. I just realized something!” “What?” asked Harry. I shouted so loud, the Dursleys could hear me. I shouted, “I’M GONNA MEET HERMIONE!!!” I burst with exitment. Then, I opend the letter.



Dear Miss Lovetro,

Me and Hagrid know that you want to go to Hogwarts so bad, that we’ve decided to let you go.

We heard that you were exited to meet Miss Granger that you want to sing your song “Hermione you’re the one”. We’ll let you sing it when the feast begins. So congratulations!

Sincerely the greatest headmaster at Hogwarts,

Albus Dumbledore

I was exited for this, too. Then, I heard knocking. It was Hagrid! “Hagrid!” I said. “Gilly! So nice to finally meet you!” said Hagrid. “Come on. Let’s get to Diagon Alley. Come on, Harry!” I said. First we went to Gringotts the wizard bank. “Vault 687.” said Griphook. We saw LOADS of money. I want to be rich so bad that I want to take all of it! thought Harry. But he knew he couldn’t, so he took 298 cents. Then we went to Ollivanders. THEN we got our wands. “Time to go to the Hogwarts Express!” I shoutedwe went to platform9/3 4. After that, we went on the train. “See you, Harry!” I said.

Chapter 2: Platform 9/3 4 (Nine Three Quarters)

　





“Remember Harry,” I said. “The train leaves at 11:OO. Okay?” “Got it,” said Harry.

“Where are you going?” asked Harry. “I’m gonna find Hermione.” “Okay. Good luck!” “HERMIONE!?” “Huh?” said Hermione. I couldn’t belive it! I was getting closer! “Her- Hermione? HERMIONE!!!” “Gillian! There’s my favorite YouTuber!”


She had to stop to go take a bath! I will post more as soon as she finishes it! I'm so excited to see how this story turns out!

Stupid Solar Flares!

In March of 2010 some wacky Swedish scientists decided to smack and smash some atoms together in their shiny, giant Large Hadron Collider in an effort to further explore Dark Matter, Supersymmetry, and A Buncha Other Nerdy Stuff (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Large_Hadron_Collider ). Conspiracy theorists and educated citizens alike feared that this sort of reckless experimentation would lead to "doomsday phenomena" such as black holes, alien invasion (I guess they were worried a rouge spark or two would signal a hovering ship?) or even environmental reaction like earthquakes and tidal waves. 

 
Well, I don’t remember any of that stuff happening. What I do remember is a bad, bad day all around. I blamed it aaalll on the Hadron Collider.  I mean, you just cant go MESSIN with that stuff, ya know?
 

So today, when our entire  woke up late and were scrambling around the house to get ready, I KNEW it was because of those DAMNED Solar Flares. Sure, sure, we were all warned that computers/ internet/ TV and traffic signals may be wonky but no one bothered to tell us about the REAL STUFF that could go wrong during these ‘minor’ cataclysmic events. Because of the sun releasing joules of energy all willy-nilly, Gilly's cough has FLARED UP (get it? FLARED up?!).  My poor baby  is being pumped full of albuterol and two diff steroids. So she is a hyper, emo, hungry Hellen Keller of a mess. Solar flares. Ugh.

I had to skip my am shower AND coffee so I’m feeling scrungy AND cranky.  Slapped my make up on in the car so its all streaky and smudgy, no doubt.

 

ANNNND THEEENNNNN I got caught in the rain with no coat. My cute lil leopard print ballet flats did nothing to protect my feet from puddles and are likely to fall apart due to the fact that they were $10 from Kmart. My make up went from smudged to smeared. Messy hair went flat and frizzy. So when The Rival breezed in to the office, untouched by the elements thanks to her coordinating (but NOT matcy-matchy) Burberry rain ensemble, that was my breaking point. Im calling out sick tomorrow and taking to my bed till further notice.

 
Hmph.

Stupid Solar Flares. They ruin EVERYTHING!

 *Footstomp, pouty face, angy arm cross*

The Twilight Special

 11 pm, Somewhere, WV, A minivan.

"Are we really DOIng this?!" I squealed.
"We so are! It! IS! ON!" my sister Holly yelled, pumping her freakish, baby-sized fist into the air.
Julie chimed in with "I'm SOOOO EXCITED!" and finished her exclaimation of joy with a cute lil happy dance butt-wiggle.

We were on our way! Let the adventure begin! It was  all giggles and smiles until we got to our destination. We hadn't realized what a serious occasion this would be.
"SINGLE-FILE LINES ONLY!! DO NOT PUSH OR SHOVE. NO FOUL LANGUAGE WILL BE TOLERATED. WHETER YOU ARE FIVE YEARS OLD OR EIGHTY-FIVE, YOU WILL BE ESCORTED FROM THE BUILDING IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW THE RULES AND ACT ACCORDINGLY!"

Wow, who knew Walmart employees were so hardcore?

"IF YOU BREAK THESE SIMPLE RULES YOU WILL NOT GET A DVD. IS THAT CLEAR?" Some low mumbles arose from the crowd. "I CAN'T!!! HEAR YOU!!!!"
"YES!!!"
That's right. Holly, Julie and I were in line at Walmart for the MIDNIGHT release of "Breaking Dawn," the first of the two-part ending of the "Twilight" saga. <--- Did I REALLY even have to explain that?
Once in line, we were alerted to the fact that we NEEDED raffle tix. Well, that incited pure panic in the three of us.  We had heard no tale of tickets beforehand! If we needed tickets to buy the movie, we were surely and sorely out of luck. "Oh yeeeaaaah," the girl in line behind us stated. "Yeaaahhh, you kin ooooohhhnly gittem frum the Walmart's employees in them blayyy-yuck Twaaaahhh-laaaahhht tay-shirrrts. They's sellin em. You kin weee-yyun a pitcher (picture) of the kay-ust of the moooo-vaaeeeyy and a buncha other stuff."
Ok, *phew!* we didn't want anything all THAT extra, we just wanted a copy of the movie, thanks anyway. We all clapped and cheered for Larry the Cable Guy's  doppleganger when he waved his thick, tattooed, camo-clad arm in the air as HE won the raffle. "Some redneck woman is gonna make him a VERY happy man tonight." Holly mused. A visual image that made us ALL shudder.

 As time got closer, the crowd got antsier but thus far, everybody was obeying Da Rules. AND THEN a Twilight-eve Miracle happened. Just like Moses parted the water for His People, the gracious Walmart employees delgated our long, serpentine line into 2 parts: Blu Ray and DVD. There was no combo pack, no digital copy was to be had. The lines were clearly drawn and we chose BluRay. That made only about 10 or so people in front of us when just seconds before, we had been at the end of the line!! SCORE!!
The three of us chatted aimlessly, Holly still venting about her unfortunatle mishap in the Express Lane (seriously, who HASN'T had one of those?) and Julie and I lamenting  and dissecting the woes and joys of parenting an Aspie kid.  We bantered over Team Edward and Team Jacob (I still am torn, although for sure I would choose hella-hot Rob over cutie-pie Taylor!).We took silly, stupid TERRIBLE pictures of ourselves. The "Before and After" kind. "Before" we were beaming with unadulterated goofiness. Our eyes were all squinty and are noses were scrunched up and we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. Esp. after we saw that delightfully awful pic! "After", of course, was a shot of us holding our coveted "SPAAAAAEEEE-shul" edition BLU RAYs in our hot lil old lady hands!
Becasue this was a night of indulgence (no kids, a late night and we were purchasing something we most ceratinly did NOT need but absoluuuutely HAD to have) we swung thru the McD drive thru, and like Ye Olde Dayes of College, scrounged together some cash (they weren't taking cards, apparently) and stuffed ourselves with a much needed snack.
I arrived home at just after 1 am and needed time to wind down after THAT epic adventure. So I chilled for an hour or so and crashed. Well, tried to. G had crawled into our bed at some point and would not budge. She flopped, tossed and talked in her sleep until 5 AM when she finally bounded out of bed, who knows why. She then discovered it had SNOWED and stayed awake till dawn's first light when I woke up to the front door slamming and cat pukey noises. No rest for this crazy late-night party mom, I guess.

I just hope I can stay up to watch Breaking Dawn tonght! I am sooo sleepy! I am just waaaayyyy too old for this..... stuff! Hmmmm, I wonder if Larry the Cable guy got any sleep last night...? *shudder*

Before:



After:

Musical Montage, Jr.

My every move is followed by a series of  flattering camera angles tracking every silly, fun, sometimes tragic, always riveting moment of my life.  But not in that all-up-in-yo-bidness-reality show kinda Jersey Shore way. No, my psychosis is waaayyy klassier than that. More like a series of epic, sweeping scenes filled with complex music and long, drawn out silioloqui, soliloq-..., monologues. More like musical numbers from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Or classic broadway.
Today is no exception, of course.  After hours of baby nephew wrestling,  calming my lil sister, arguing with my mean, funny, CRAZy crippled Mom, I then had to buckle down and start on THREE orders of cupcakes I have for this weekend. Let me set the scene for you:

Picture it: Barboursville 2012. In a lil house on a busy street a 30-something woman-who-still-feels-like-a-girl is lovingly whipping up a batch of homemade buttercream frosting.  The aroma of fresh baked-from-scratch chocolate cupcakes fills the noisy, cozy home. The woman huffs an exhausted-but-satisfied breath, floured hands on hips, strands of strawberry (ish?) curls catch on her dark-framed glasses. She is happy with the bounty before her.
Enter cute little girl, spitting image of her momma. "Need help cleaning up?" The lil one asks.
With a nod from her tired mom, the girl grabs cloth and gets to work. Side-by-side the mother and daughter work in quiet happiness until the girl pipes up with, "Hey Momma? If this were a movie or a dvd or a tv show or a play or a, well I don't know what else but ya know what? If this were any of those kinda things and people were watching us from their house or at the movies or at a friend's house like if they were having a party or their grandparents house Like I watch tv at Mammy's? There would be some fancy music playing in the background. Something like this" and then she hums a pretty, fast lil piece of music.

Ahhhhh, it's nice to know that my love for imagined musical montages have been passed along to my offspring(cue  ABBA's"Momma Mia").

I'm whiny today

I am a fragile woman. I just am. And I dont mind admitting it. So why isn't it ok for me to just go lay down in bed in the middle of the day? Why do I HAVE to work? I'm not knockin women's lib or whatever but why isn't it ok for me to NOT WANT to DO anything other than be a good person, follow 'the rules' and have a family? Why do I HAVE to go to work? Why am I expected to MAKE SOMEthing of myself? Why should I? I have waaayy too many thoughts and dreams to just settle on one. ]And I'll tell you right now not ONE of those lofty ideals included being away from my house all work week long, for 8 hours a day, only to be so overwhelmed by the weekend that I can't do a damn thing becasue I am absolutely overwhelmed to the point of paralysis. And while it's true I bring most of it on myself, because I don't hang up my coat every day. I don't have a dresser with a complete set of fully functioning drawers so my clothes end up in a pile beside me bed. And don't even get me started on Gillia'ns room. Or any other roiom in the house.
I tried to clean today and after an HOUR (my house is less than 900 sq ft, ppl) you cdnt even tell that I had done anything. bc I flit from room to room. BTW, It's useless to give me suggestions about stayinbg in one place till it's all done or making lists or asking for help. None of it works for me. Hell, even medications haven't worked for me.

Remember when it was socially acceptable for a wife/mom to 'go away' for 'her nerves' ? Yeah, in my opinion, those were the good ol' days...

Minus the thank you notes...

Thank you notes are stupid. Yep, I said it.

I don't write thank you notes. Because when you give me a gift and I say, "Thank you!"  Guess what? I JUST THANKED YOU. WITH MY VERY OWN SINCERE FACE AND VOICE. What more do you people want from me? I can barely assemble a scratch sheet of paper and writing utencil to jot down a grocery list these days. And you expect me to RE-THANK YOU for a gift you gave me for which you have already been appropriately and heartfeltly (its a word. well, it should be) thanked? COME ON!!! Thank you notes are a complete waste of time and absolutely useless.  Don't ever expect one from me and please don't feel compelled to send one to this address after someone in my family has sent you or anyone in your family a gift. Especially if the gift was given during an event at which a gift would have been expected such as a birthday or socially-approved gift-giving holiday. Then a thank you note almost seems patronizing. "Just in case you didn't realize I was thanking you for this very specific gift that  you gave me at the event at which I just saw you last week, an event at which gifts were fully expected (and it would have been considered a major insult had you not given me a gift during such event)  here' s a letter to reiterate my undying thanks for that, once again, very specific gift. You gave. To me. Last week. When I just saw you. At that event. Thank You, Me."

Oh, and don't you eeeeven tell me that thank you notes are a quaint homage to a simpler time when manners mattered and people killed each other less and the world was a kinder, gentler place. Well, in that case let's get rid of all annoying new fangled annoyances like cars and airplanes. Lets just walk everywhere and all get typhoid and eat each other on the Oregon Trail. Wouldn't that be quaint? Maybe we could even give up our nice cozy houses with real floors, walls and a roof and hole up in some cold dark, dank caves? Our neanderthal days were simpler times for sure! Unga bunga! <-- that means "thank you" in Caveman.

And if you mail me- or anyone in the Lovetro-Rublee household- a gift you may get an email or a phone call, perhaps a text, in order to directly express my thanks. But prolly not. Because I'll forget. But I promise I super liked it!  I'm just busy. And forgetful.  And scatterbrianed. And more than likely I have run out of my adderall prescription. So I'm more than a bit distracted.

So in summation, you can send me a thank you note if you wanna. But it's cute mannerly quaintness will be lost on me. It's just going in the trash. What else am I supposed to do with it? Write you a thank you note for sending ME a thank you note?

No.
Thanks.