I think I'm going to do it.

So...I'm a chicken.  I started this blog, and I love it, and it makes me happy.  I've learned that I really enjoy writing, even if it's only the mindless drivel that is constantly running through my head. 

I've also learned that it is a pain in the ass to be super-secret undercover.  I'm new to all this and just learning the difference between blogger and word press and don't even get me started on Twitter.  I had to make up a fake name to get on blogger because Google just wants to connect you to everyone you've ever met and I wasn't ready for that. 

I still may not be.  I don't know.  We'll see.  I'm slowly making the move to my new blog We Don't Chew Glass, and I hope I don't regret it. 

I am pretty attached to this place though, so for now I'm not going to delete it...but I most likely won't be posting here much.  You can find me at http://wedontchewglass.wordpress.com.


Stephanie

This isn't a post. It's just a long, shouty whine.

I am so ANGRY.

I don't even know how to convey the depth of my irritation here.

*deep breath*

So, you may know that I recently had to stop eating meat, so I wouldn't die.

I did that.  I did good.  No bacon, no burgers, no ham, no steak, NO DELICIOUS FUCKING MEAT!!

Well.  Then I started getting sick when I drank milk.  So I switched to soy milk. (Soy milk is actually pretty good, but let's not get distracted here, I'm still mad.)

Last week I got the flu vaccine.  And had a reaction.  Today I ate a cereal bar ( or possibly two) and had another fucking reaction.  Turns out?  Everyfuckingthing is made with GELATIN which is made from PIG SKIN (and/or COW BONES) which I AM FUCKING ALLERGIC TO.

Sorry about the shouting.  Like I said, I'm pissed.  All the things.  All the good, bad for you, tasty things are making me sick. 

I just have one fucking question, and I'm scared to hear the answer.  Does pie have gelatin in it?

Don't answer that.

In apology for this angry pointless post, I give you a bunny driving a Barbie car.  Please forgive me, I'm just hungry.

                                                            Beep!  Beep!

Kids? Tyrants? Gremlins? You decide.

My children have got the crazy-making thing down.  I mean, they are professionals.  Little ornery agents of chaos, stalking me everywhere I go.  (Seriously.  Everywhere.) 


I have compiled a list of some of the random shit my children have come up with in their never-ending quest to watch me unravel.


1.  Refusing to wear coats.  This may not sound serious, but when it is 16 degrees outside and you can barely get your kid to wear shoes, you've got a problem.  And you might think this is no big deal, but it is a big deal when you know it is not actually a dislike of outerwear, but probably a plot designed to get Child Services called.  They are sneaky, I'm telling you.


2.  Calling me "Mommom."  They never just say "Mom."  It's always "Mom. mom. mom. mom. momomomomommomom."  I believe this is to keep me off balance, always looking over my shoulder for additional mothers.


3.  Throwing my own words back at me.  For instance:  After taking a healthy dump off the front porch, my then 5-year-old looked at me with a straight face and said, "What?  You told me to go outside if it was an emergency." 


4.  Drawing pictures of me at school.  I don't mind the flattering ones, but seriously?  This?

The journal entry for this said, "I ate too much candy and my mom got mad at me.  She got so mad at me, her head almost exploded."


5.  They do not show an appropriate amount any appreciation of my dancing, singing, or joke telling skills.  In fact, they claim unbelievable things like I am "lame" or "not funny."  Pssh.


6.  They are always pointing out my mistakes, like when I put the milk in the cabinet or the toothpaste in a lunch box.  And then they tell other people.  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas; the same should apply here, only with less drugs and strippers.


7.  They are always wanting food.  ALL the time.  Like, every day.  I think they all have tapeworms.


8.  They FaceTime or Skype with people without telling me, so random teenagers see me in my pajamas talking to the cat.


9.  Goading me into playing video games and then mocking my mad skills when my guy is always the one stuck in a corner or aiming at the sky.


10.  Telling their friends that I'm not helpful with studying because I always laugh at answers like "Titicaca."  (That shit is funny.  Don't tell me it's not.)

I could go on and on, but I'm exhausted from trying to stay a step ahead of the little gremlins, so I'm out.  Don't worry, I learned long ago to sleep with one eye open.

Snakes. I don't like them.

If you don't live in the middle of nowhere, you may not be aware that deer and other wildlife have trails; certain paths that they follow, to water or possibly gatherings where they plot my demise.

I am beginning to think snakes also have trails, and that my house must sit right in their path.  Or the other animals elected snakes as their assassins.  I really don't know much about snakes.  I do know that I don't like them, and I REALLY don't like them in my house.

About 10 years ago I (briefly) rented the house that we bought last year.  At that time I was the single parent of two boys.  The baby woke me up and I stumbled into the kitchen for a bottle.  In my defense, it was dark, and I was mostly still asleep.  So I saw what my brain registered as a really stretched out ponytail holder on the floor, and I (stupidly) reached down to get it.  The fucker moved and I woke all the way up pretty quick.  It was about a 4 foot long black snake.  In my kitchen.  Luckily for me, its head was caught in a mousetrap, so it didn't really have a lot of options.  I called my mom and she appeared magically, as she is wont to do in my times of need, wearing boots and bearing a shovel.

Then I moved.  Like, fucking immediately.

Fast forward 10 years, and we (stupidly) bought this house.  Last fall we had approximately three unwelcome guests.  Baby copperheads.  In my fucking house. 

After I finished having a nervous breakdown, I liberally applied glue traps all over the house.  I made my husband pull up all the trim, even though we had remodeled before we moved in, and fill up every hole we could find.  I work from home, and for a time I sat at my desk inside a circle of glue boards so that nothing could get me. 

Now it is fall again, and apparently this is snake baby-time.  Two weeks ago I was laying on the couch when my four-year-old walked up and asked, "What is that?" pointing at a spot in the floor between us.  "That" was a snake stuck to a glue trap.  She may have learned a new word that day.  This snake was dead already and my husband wasn't home, so I called on my Super Mother Powers and somehow got the damn thing out to the porch.  Where I completely lost my shit and began beating the glue trap, sticky side and snake side down, on my porch.  I did this until I couldn't lift my arms anymore.  It's still there.  Glue traps are very sticky.

Last night it was raining and sometimes when it rains we have a leaky spot behind the T.V.  So right before bed I went to have a look, just in case.  This is what I saw:

                                                      Are you fucking kidding me?

So, I did what anyone would do.  I called my mom again.  This time the snake was still alive and, though well and thoroughly stuck, was trying to strike.  We managed to get it outside, which was really hard because I refused to let my feet touch the floor and had to climb on furniture all the way through the house. 

After we took care of that bastard, I convinced myself that there were no more because my glue trap defense is working perfectly.  Then I put out every glue board I had (about 12).  There are probably close to 50 glue boards hidden all over my house at this point.  Even I don't know where they all are.

I'm concerned.  Fall is just beginning, and we've already had two invaders.  I need more glue traps, and maybe some fire. 

I think there is an animal conspiracy.  I believe the squirrels started it, and they've coordinated the whole mess.  They want me gone.  This could get really ugly.

I feel like I should warn you...

Not really.  My Grandma feels like I should warn you.  I am just not that kind of person.

Here's the deal.  I live waaaaay out in the woods.  My best friend, who's been coming here since second grade, still gets lost.  My husband draws maps for people we like. 

Anyway.  The road that goes by my house is marked at both ends with big signs that say things like, "TURN BACK" and "WE ARE HEAVILY ARMED AND SLIGHTLY INSANE."  Or maybe they just say "Private Drive."  Whatever.  So regardless of the implied threat and the lack of paved road, people are always cutting through my damn yard. 

Recently, the county came out and, in a really impressive amount of time, built a whole new road about 10 feet away from the old one.  This was good, because presumably people would use the new road and I could stop worrying about getting outside in time to yell and throw things at trespassers.

The "problem" is that they cut my driveway off.  (This is not a problem for me.  As I may have mentioned before, Private Drive.  Now it's super private - even I can't drive on it.) 

So, they cut my driveway off.  What used to be my driveway is now about a four foot drop off into an embankment which then turns into the new road.  Not a problem.  For me.  However, somehow the trespassers innocent people just driving along are MISSING the new road.  Just scootin' right on by it.  To my driveway.  Which no longer exists.

My grandma wants me to put up signs.  I am thinking: 

1. Possibly the road people should've thought of that?

2. I don't need signs, because these idiots are only gonna have to go through here once before they figure it out, right? 

3. If they ignored my "VICIOUS ZOMBIE DOGS WILL EAT YOUR FACE OFF" signs, they probably just can't read.

I don't know.  I'm still debating.  I could build a fence, but at the rate these fuckers are going they'd just drive right through it.  What do you think?  Is it my responsibility to protect illiterate and possibly drunk trespassers from themselves?  Do I need a sign?  And if so, what is a compelling message?  Maybe it should just be a picture. 

The Speakeasy #133 - Trick or....treat?

I pulled the door shut behind me and repeated, "Remember!  Don't eat any candy until I check it out!”  The kids were too excited to talk back and skipped down the street ahead of me.  I followed more slowly, making sure I had the flashlight and my cell phone.  It was just starting to get dark as I caught up to them, my little ghouls and goblins.  The tiniest ghost immediately started tugging me towards a neighbor’s house.  "No porch light, no trick or treat, kiddo.  If they don't have the light on it means they don't have any candy." 

 

Undaunted, we continued walking.  By the time we had reached the end of the street, we'd not seen one house welcoming us, no warm yellow light, no doors opening with bowls full of treats.  And no other trick or treaters.  I wondered if we were out too early, but it was almost dark, and a school night at that. 

 

"Come on, guys, let's walk up to the square.  They're doing Trunk or Treat."  (Thinking to myself, if nothing else I'll get a coffee out of this deal.)

 

As we approached the town square, I was glad to see cars parked with the trunks open and what looked like Halloween decorations peeking out.  Good.  We could fill up our buckets here, and be back home in no time. 

 

We got closer, the kids chattering excitedly, me answering them distractedly.  Something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it.  Where....where were the people?  The other kids?  Who was giving out candy?  The only sound I could hear was a leaf, skittering across the parking lot.  Even my children had fallen silent and were holding hands.  Main Street was like a ghost town, except for one lit storefront.  The coffee shop.  Well, maybe everyone gathered there, I thought.  Maybe.  I reached for the small hand nearest me, and started walking.  As we passed the cars I noted how realistic the trunk decorations were...it seemed I could even smell the iron tang of the blood and, now that we were closer, hear it drip steadily off a bumper.  How did they manage that, I mused? 

I was practically dragging the children along with me now, I was so anxious to get into the light, to see people and figure out what in the world was going on.  I pulled open the door to the coffee shop, greeted as always by the cheery ring of the hanging bells, but instead of the smell of coffee beans and cinnamon rolls, we were assaulted by the stench of death.  "Oh god!”  I cried, covering my nose and gagging, as the kids whimpered next to me.  My friends and neighbors had indeed gathered here.  But as they sat around in the comfortable chairs at the low tables, they had become the treats.  I watched horrified as tiny witches and princesses and super heroes gnawed hungrily on people I had known.  As the hollow eyes and blood-smeared faces of costumed children turned our way, I tried to push my kids out the door behind me, whispering to them to run, to get away.  That's when I screamed and looked down into the face of my tiniest ghost, just as his teeth pierced my flesh. 

****This is a submission for a short fiction contest.   In case you were wondering.  None of that actually happened. 

 

Anyway, I read some great stories here last week and decided to try my hand this time.  Because, prizes.  Thanks to www.pileofbabies.com for the link to the Speakeasy.

 

 

If you need me, I'll be in my shell.

I feel like this turtle today.  Except some slightly drunk people in canoes helped this guy out, and so far today I'm not seeing any drunk people.  Or canoes.  Dammit.  Where is karma when you need that bitch?