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.

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 7^th 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.

Uuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmm.

　

WHAT?!??!

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

 

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!"

Wait.

 "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?"
 "YEESSSS!!!"
"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?!

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!

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?"
"THEN IT IS WATERPROOF, BRIIII-YUUUNNNNN-NUH!!!"
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!

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:

LEAVE  THE MUSIC OFF!!!!!
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!

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. :)

My Little Brony

Gillian was very excited to buy a new video game with her own money. As the tall, scrawny, glasses-clad 20-something 'kid' rang up our purchase my daughter noticed a My Little Pony figurine prancing lifelessly under the register's screen. "Hey! It's Pinkie Pie!"
"That's mine, actually." said the previously mentioned ADULT MALE Toys R Us employee. "And do you know who THIS is?"  He then pointed to  a smallish (think Happy Meal Toy)  bright pink and purple pony glittering garishly from a long, thick silver chain around his neck. "Ummmm yeahhh.. uhhhh she LOOKS FAMILiarrr.." Gillian's brow furrowed in concentration. "It's Purple-Nurple, of course!" Ok, her name wasnt Purple Nurple but I dont know WHAT he said! AND THEN, he pointed to a THIRD PONY in the form of a TIE PIN tacked to his employee badge lariat. "And THIS," he said proudly, "is Trixie. I am a HUGE Trixie fan." LAter he showed us his MLP-clad iPhone cover, as well as the  screen saver on his phone, which was, OF COURSE,  an image of Trixie. He went on to describe the ENTIRE culture of the MLP phenomenon. He  boasted "We're the new Trekkies!" He even informed me that Q from Star Trek:The Next Generation was a GUEST voice and basically played Q in pony form.
"So how did you get in to all of this?" WHAT THE CRAP?! WHY DID YOU JUST ASK THAT YOU STUPID, STUPID NOSY WOMAN!!! I yelled at myself from the safety of my head as I smiled a seemilngly engaging, but really totally devoid of joy pageant smile his way. Smiling. Another big mistake. THat just made him tell me about very specific episodes. "And one time somepony-"
"Did you just say 'somepony?' "
"Yeah, one time somepony" did something really cute and funny and the fanbase went wild which led to more cute and funny stuff.
"My Little Pony...blah..blah..blah..artwork. It's magical...good, strong life lessons.... and my fellow Bronies, I'm a Brony, that's guys who like the show we all...." OH I had to bite my tounge HARD to NOT make a snide comment about THAT one!! BROnies? I looked around for a Candid Camera. This guy could NOT be for REAL, COULD he?!

But he was real. Soooooo verrryyy real.

And then, y'all... AND THEEEEEE-UUUUNNNNNNN he started talking-waitforit-about-waaaiiitforit- MY LITTLE PONY -WAIIIIIITFOOORRIIIITTTTT- CONVENTIONS.

WHAT. THE.

This very tall, skinny, grown-ass man, this "Brony" if you will, and you will, who honestly and purely  LOVES  a cartoon originally intended for little girls,  has been to no less than 5 MLP conventions. For him, it's all about collecting, and the artwork of MLP and connecting with other ADULTS worldwide who love the show. He even told me what websites were kid-friendly and which were for the adult fan-base (uh yeah, I'm not letting G on ANY of these websites, btw).  This Brony once went to a convention where 7000!!! people showed up! And it was supposed to be a SMALL convention! He went on to tell me which voice actresses he met and which were his fave eps.

I know what you are thinking. This guy is a perv, a pedophile interested in hurting little girls. But I really don't think so. Number one, he paid little attention to my 9 year old  girl as she was nearby  playing a sample video game. The only time he even really engaged her in the conversation was when she piped up at his mentioning "Derpy" a horsey whose eyes are off kilter (one up, one down). Apparently Derpy was named by the fanbase and is HUGEly popular even tho she rarely has a line, (also, her off-eyes were originally an animation glitch but the fans loved her that way so she stayed all.. derpy, I guess!)  Number two, his face just LIT UP when he was talking about the culture, the show, the characters. Not unlike when Gilly talks about Harry Potter.

Sometimes a Brony is just a Brony, man.  It's as simple as that.

Sweet Genius?!

I just had the pleasure experience of watching the Food Network’s “Sweet Genius” for the first time. Just from the commercials, the host/Genius has always reminded me of a nefarious alien creature from a low-budget horror movie. Yet I was intrigued. And I lost the remote. So I watched some more. And holy cow and I am sooo glad I did. When Mr. Creepy Genius introduced the first challenge ingredient in his oddly unplacable accent, I stopped sorting laundry and gave the TV my undivided attention.  "Made to imitate mother's milk, baby formula is a vitamin-rich source of nutrition."  INFANT frickin FORMULA!!!???  I started taking notes.

The first contestant, the mother of a 10 month old,  actually said these exact words: "That's disgusting. I have a baby. I have tasted formula. It's not anything you'd wanna drink or cook with..."   But I guess the vile concoction is fine for babies. I mean what do they know, right? Shheeeesh. The mom decided to make devil’s food cake because she hoped the bitterness of the strong chocolate would mask the "funky taste of the formula." Which she voluntarily feeds to her infant son every day, several times a day.

Another young contestant who stated she had never tasted infant formula (was she breastfed I wonder?) said it was “gross and chalky.” She decided to make ice cream out of it and use A LOT of vanilla extract in order to mask the infant formula.  

One contender chose to “hide some of that awfulness” by making chocolate mousse.” She also said “Baby formula smells BAAAD” prompting her to use rosewater in her mouse to diffuse the remaining formula flavor.

My favorite moment of the show was when the alien-esque host informed the TV audience that “Baby formula is not cow's milk. It has a totally different composition. It's very low in lactose, high in vegetable oil." Wait, didn't he  say that formula imitates mother's milk? Sooooo I grabbed a bottle of vegetable oil from my pantry. Hmmmmm. According to the label, my Crisco brand PURE VEGETABLE OIL (which had soybean oil listed as the sole ingredient) is "not a significant source of dietary fiber, sugars, vitamin A, vitamin C, calcium and iron.”  The ONLY vitamin listed is “Vitamin E 10%.”  Well, maybe on whatever planet HE comes from that is what the baby aliens survive and thrive on. But here on earth, I am 1000000% positive that the milk MY BODY made for MY baby didn’t have ONE DROP of veg oil in it. EV. ER.  Lactose is a sugar that the human body needs to grow, particularly the brain. It should also be noted that the lactose in infant formula does, in fact, come from cow’s milk and does not at all mirror the lactose in human milk.   Just FYI.

Back to the show, Mr. Creepy announced the taste testing portion by saying “I’m  a baby and I want to be fed.”*shudder* Maybe by his vegetable oil-producing alien mother? “That’s disgusting.”

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.

A Stranger in a Strange Land

I was an alien in a foreign place. Stranded.  Alone. My own world had forgotten me. This place was oddly familiar yet distantly so. The language seemed to be close to my own native tongue so I attempted to engage one of the locals, to figure out where I was and how to get home. Surprisingly, I understood her directions, or so I thought.

 I ended up lost in the woods. Surely, this must be where they send sacrificial offerings to their undoubtedly terrifying god-deities. Or maybe they eat my kind and I was sent to the slaughtering fields for harvesting and such. I eventually found my out, only to be standing in the EXACT SAME SPOT I had started in. Oh heavens.

Flummoxed and seeking accurate directions home, I decided to dash into what resembled a general store. The cashier-type-entity accepted the currency of my world, no questions asked. A refreshing swig of carbonated beverage (you know what they say: don’t drink the water!)  helped me to contemplate my current predicament with clearer senses. I couldn’t understand it. I wasn’t that far away from home. In fact, the twinkling lights of my world’s cityscape were sparkling and dancing in the distance, calling to me like a beacon. My body felt the siren call of home. Every fiber of my being wanted to be there.

 I tossed my beverage into a waste receptacle and plopped back into my small, sleek silver transporation device. There had to be a way back home. Well, that is, another way, as the portal by which I had originally travelled was no longer an option. So I summoned an Elder who was familiar with this land, one who wouldn’t scold me too much for being so far off mission. My dear friend chuckled at me and gave me the accurate directions I so desperately needed. As it turned out there was a very simple trick to getting myself back to where I came from, one that I had known all along but had forgotten in my panic.

As I headed down the pathway to my homeland, I glanced up at the portal from where I emerged into this land shook my head at the sign that posted at its now-defunct entrance,

“PROCTORVILLE BRIDGE CLOSED.”

 I snaked and swooped and looped my way along the alternate route I had been given and once I found my way back into this Town of Hunting I breathed a sigh of relief and comfort. And prolly more than a lil coal dust.

Ahhhhh, home sweet home!

Just askin'...

Have you ever been so crazy frustrated busy that you don't even have a chance to take a shower? Even though you really need one? You are so insanely over scheduled that you can't even take the time for a quick "sink bath,"? And the only option is to just change your undies and hope for the best? And then all day long you try not to do too much so as not to work up a ...lather?
No?
That's never happened to you?
Oh.
 Yeah, no, me neither. I was just asking. Ya know, for a ...friend.
Yep.

By Gillian

Y'all think I'm good, get a load of these tales penned by my 8 year old daughter Gillian Rose!
Lego Harry Potter: Snape's Revenge

Chapter 1: The Big Lab

"Watch TV Time!" said Snape. They all watched A Bug's Life. "Flik, after much deliveration-- Whoa!" said Princess Atta. All of the students laughed and laughed. Even the teachers! "And by that, Hermione," said Harry. "I mean 'LOL'." "But wait," said Ron. "Snape, we're suposed to watch TV AFTER School." "I don't care!" said Snape. "I do what ever I want today, Weasley." "Whell!" said Hermione. Then Snape chose the other outtakes. "Eh--" said Dot. "What's my line again?" Everyone laughed harder and harder. More harder then "Lol". But usally, EVERYONE came. Even Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and Voldemort. After school, Snape was going to a secret lare. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed him.Snape laughed evily.Harry, Hermione and Ron followed him. Snape saw them. He ran faster and faster. So did the gang! They found Snape's lab. "Whoa, this place is huge!" said Hermione."You're tellin' me." said Ron. Suddenley, Snape saw them. They fought for about two hours. Harry was tired. "I'm thursty," said Harry. "Snape, do you have any water?" "Yes. Here you go, Mr. Potter." said Snape.



And Another by Gillian:

Dear Lightning, Hope, & Fang
My name is Jillian. I start with a G. My new dad, Brian Rublee has your game! He says you're stuck in Ill'C. I've sent SO many letters to Vanille, but in pencil. I just WISH I  could be with you guys. I'll soon get an electric sword. It's a sword where the pointy edge is off, and it zaps electric zaps and kills SO many bad things and animals. When you, and Vanille see how brave I am, you would soon be happy, Lightning. In pencil I used to write sloppy and not beutiful. But NOW it's SO pretty. But when you guys are UNstuck, you could come to my house!


       Love,
      Gillian
  



P.S. My address is: Huntington, West Virginia, (street address deleted by Summer) and my planet is Earth.

Batter Splatter

“And the next time you leave me with no gas and no money when I have to drive for miles on end hurtling thru the night, blindly, BARELY on a wing and a prayer, with only corn fields and river banks on either side, both of which could easily harbor murderers, rapists and other various escaped convicts along with boogeyman, scary monsters and probe-loving aliens, who could rape and pillage me to death when I run outta gas on this desolate road, I will DEFINITELY haunt you!”
After receiving THAT text from me Brian apologized for not putting gas in the car and I grudgingly accepted. I did not, however, forgive him and I went to sleep angry. I usually do in cases like this. What’s the point? Brian won’t argue with me. Needless to say, my dreams were vivid, active and scary (except for the brief one where I received a grin and a wink along with a piping hot, comforting Caramel Macchiato from a Starbucks Barista who was a dead ringer for Nathan Fillion -that was a good one!) and I woke up untested, weary and tense.

All day long I was frazzled and stressed. I KNEW I had to make cupcakes for work and for an order. Once home and I began assembling my ingredients, I realized that I had NO powdered sugar for the frosting. I steadied myself, taking a DEEEP breath. Then I poured some wine into a Mason jar and after a few long, throat-and-esophagus-burning glugs I felt a bit better.

I returned to my mixing bowl, deciding to focus just on the batter for now. To my horror, the bowl began floating. Off the counter, straight up in the air it went just before taking a terrifying tip and then it fell smack on the floor. I swear that is how it happened. It could just be a coping mechanism, my imagining things in order to assign blame elsewhere, deflecting it from myself. Could also be the ½ glass of Mason jar wine I swigged? Who knows? The thick cherry flavored cake batter splattered everything on its slo-mo downward arc. The counter, the dishwasher, the fridge, cabinets and me.

Right then Brian came home. What a sight he beheld. In the middle of the kitchen, Brian faced a wild-eyed maniac with shiny red goo glopping and streaking her hair, face, clothes and hands. It was a very “Law and Order” opening scene kinda gruesome-looking moment. “I have no powdered sugar.” was the odd phrase I decided to greet him with. He oh so grudgingly agreed to make a Kroger run for me.

At the door, Brian turned to me and said, “You’re minus one Slurpee now.” (I’ll explain that another day.)

“Oh no! NO SIR! I am minus NOTHING!! This is a gimme!”

“What?! Why is it ‘a gimme?”

“Because I am still pissed at you for last night! No GAS in the car?! REMEMMMMBER?! ” To which Brian responded that he was pissed at me and then I told him that was reaaal mature, “You can’t be mad at me just because I am mad at you!” I squalled.

“Who doesn’t check the gas gage?!”

“WHA!? It wouldn’t have mattered if I had checked the friggin GAS GAGE! I!! HAVE!! NO!! MONNNEEEYYYY!! How was I supposed to get gas?! WITH MY MAGICAL POWERS?!? JUST go and get my *bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep” POWDERED SUGAR, you*bleep*hole!!”

He SLAMMED the door and was off.

I cleaned up my mess then started the cherry cakes allll over again. To my dismay, the second batch of cupcakes did not turn out either. I was beginning to think my cakes were cursed. By 1am I was pulling out the THRID and mildly successful (they baked up weird but they BAKED UP so …yay.) and final batch. Whipping up the frosting was uneventful thank goodness. After a shower, I crawled into bed not at all sleepy OR relaxed. Brian noted that I was sighing a lot (I do that when I’m stressed, angry or nervous) and asked if I was still tense. Well, I was also still upset with him for being all argumentative when I sooo did not need home to be so I just bit my tongue and nodded. I was resigned to the fact that I would be going to bed angry again.

Suddenly, the lights snapped off. “Hey! What are you“my book was pulled gently from y hands and I was being guided into a sitting position. I huffed and heaved a GIANT sigh. Did the guy have a death wish? CLEAAARRLY I was NOT. IN. THE. MOTHER. FUDGING. MOOOOD-uh!! To my surprise and to Brian’s credit, I was getting a back, shoulder and neck rub! YAY! And he wanted, or asked for anyway, NOTHING in return.

So off to a happily sleep I drifted, dreaming only of meadows and, ok more Nathan Fillion.

After only 3.5 hours of sleep, I am loop, silly and gigglier than EVER today and I am warning everyone who eats the cupcakes that I hauled into the office this a.m. that they were NOT made with love and care. Oh no. These cakes are full of hatred, spite and cuss words.

I only hope they don’t taste bitter.