Saturday, April 30, 2011

The Layers - World Traveler Edition

My blog stats (Yes, i am this self-absorbed) are showing viewers from here to Timbuktu. The logical part of me is inclined to think this is bullshit inaccurate. The really ridiculously narcissistic part of me wants to believe The Layers are around 50 people.

The part of me that is a nerdy researcher who seeks truth and explanation wants to know WHY these countries are listed.

The part of me who thinks that one day I might turn into Mary Tyler Moore is going with it.

If you are lurking from Denmark, by all means give me a shout-out.

United States
United Kingdom

Friday, April 29, 2011

Fiiiine. It Was Wonderful and Marvelous...But the Coffee Ranter Does NOT Agree

Ok, so I was totally off about the Royal Wedding. The probable future King and Queen seemed wildly in love with one another and it didn't rain. I was guessing, so give a girl a little poetic license.

I was up at 4 am for some karma-riffic reason, but I REFUSED to watch it from then until next week. I read some boring stuff, ate some cereal out of the box and went back to bed. When I awoke this morning, I made Special Agent wake up to the news coverage. He just luuurves the Royals. It's the Irish blood in his veins.

It would awesome if now it were over, but who are we kidding.

First comes love
Second comes marriage
Then comes Will and Kate with a baby Carriage..

And we will get to hear every hypothesis, premonition, leaked insider info and whispered detail.

The end.

Just because its snowing at the end of April today, and because I couldn't is the crazy ranting guy who frequents the same coffee establishments that I do. Sometimes he loudly rails against the media and government on the phone and sometimes to other patrons (not me, I have a no eye contact policy with weird coffee dudes). And sadly, sometimes he rails to the poor employee who cannot escape him.


Imagine the staccato ranting with this nice girl's voice
 saying "Oh really?" repeatedly.  She deserves a raise...for
not saying what I am thinking, which is "Weird Coffee Dude. Please shut up."

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Princess Wife

I am sick to death of hearing about the Royal Wedding, but apparently I am jumping on the band wagon myself. I keep seeing the lovely Kate Middleton and remembering the stress of a small wedding, let along one of this caliber. I feel sort of sorry for her. Such expectations for a young woman who may merely just want to marry the man she loves.   

She leaned her head against the glass, watching the miserable drizzle of the rain. She sighed.

Her Mum approached, resting a hand on her daughter's hip in a gesture she remembered from being a younger girl. It was the almost-hug, very proper.

Barely audibly and not averting her gaze out the window, the girl quietly said  "Look at them... look at all of them standing there in the rain...just waiting."

"Yes", her mum replied."They are waiting to watch you become a princess."

"I don't even think I know what that means", she replied in a half tone. 

"It means you will be marrying the most important man in England. The one who one day, may be King. Which means that you, one day may be Qu.."

"Oh, Stop it Mother...I know what it means in that regard, but what could that possibly mean to these people that would make them stand in the rain - SLEEP in the rain, when they don't even know me?"

She sighed.

"Darling, don't be cross with me. You're coming into the best days of your life, dear. You will have all you want and more."

"What I want is to marry the man I love and hide away from all of this fanfare which surrounds it! Mum, they are making bets on my honeymoon knickers!" 

Her Mum eyed her more sternly. "Don't be petulant, darling. You are a very lucky girl to have won the heart of a good man, and moreover a prince. There are responsibilities with all good fortune."

She laughed at her own childishness, muttering "Does anyone at all think that perhaps he was lucky too?"

She bumped the wood of the window frame with her fist gently and said, "It feels as if I am in a play and my beloved and I are merely actors who will go our own separate ways after the curtain closes!  This is the most personal and special day in a girl's whole life, isn't it? But I must share my bit of personal with the entire world."

Her Mum hugged her shoulders from behind and rested her head on the side of her daughter's arm. 

"Will it stop, Mum? After the wedding...will it stop?"

Her Mum closed her eyes behind her daughter's back and said softly "I don't think so dear." 

"It looks like a few more days of rain."

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Beautiful Death

Before go get all analytical on my arse...Special Agent does not need a divorce lawyer (Mom...). 

This work of FICTION was an assignment from The Red Writing Hood that said "Your assignment for this week's prompt is to write a piece that begins with the line, "I could never have imagined" and ends with the line, "Then the whole world shifted." I think it is a 

pretty typical take, but I am not usually a fiction girl, so give me some cred.


I could never have imagined how much I could love him. 

I longed for him.
Needed him.
Ached for him.

..had that minuscule peek of a smile when my thoughts drifted to the smell of his collar, which was often.

Hung on the phone like a mooning schoolgirl after we said goodbye, looking at the speaker as if I could see his voice in it. 

We became close.
We became a couple.

We cultivated "couple friends" and saw movies and had dinner in pairs, like animals on the Arc. We talked and sent messages to one another all through the day, sometimes allowing the suggestiveness of later to slip in.  When he asked me to marry him, I could barely understand the depth, but I said yes anyway. 

There would be no going without this man.

Plans were made.
Details toiled over.

I didn't really care about the how, when and why of GETTING married, more concentrated on BEING married, cleaved to one another for life.

We held hands at the alter.
He kissed the bride.

We worked at careers, supported each other in our successes and failures. Made love all day Sunday, amidst the crinkling of the newspaper covered bed. 

We had a child.
And then another.
And yet another.

They made our love brighter, and we nearly burst with it. 

And then the whole world shifted.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Indie Ink Challenge - The Ghost Traveler

Oh. my.

Below is my II Challenge from Wendryn for my virgin voyage into Indie Ink. 

Pick a topic, anything you want to write, but don't use any word with more than two syllables. Minimum length 250 words.

It was not as tough as I thought, which leads me to believe that I am a master of the 5-cent word. And, I can count to 2 fluently.

I have mentioned in the past that I have done a fair bit of air travel. Not jumbo jet, around-the-world type travel that you should be jealous of.

Oh no.

Puddle jumpers, at best. Many times with people who smell. (Why is this? Bathe and deo, people. It's easy.)

Once to meet my love.

Once with an eagle.

And once, on a trip to the tiny, eensy-weensy town of Havre, MT...I flew with an EXPERT.

In what, you ask? The Para...(damn you rules!).. er,.. ghosts.

You heard me. A real-life, no-shit, EXPERT on the, ghosts. It was just he and I, which was one person MORE than I was used to on this flight. I was prepared to travel solo (minus the pilots, duh.), and I was a little dismayed to have to share my plane with this guy:

Hi, I am just a normal guy, flying to
Nowhere, MT..or am I?  And I don't even smell.
He didn't know that on this mini plane, no one cared or noticed  if you sat in your assigned seat, and I was glad he wouldn't sit by me. By this point in my career, i had mastered "travel aloof".  He was also sporting a long toolbag pony which he groomed as he walked by. Fail.

He sat a row behind me and across the aisle (seats were one and one). You heard me. Yes, they make jets that small. Don't judge my almost chartered plane.

This was the usual scene on this flight. Picture Mr. Pony just
behind and to my right.  No, that light ISN'T heaven. 
I was a smashing success at "travel aloof" during the first part of the flight, feigning work. Pony had tried to make comments about the empty flight, but I was too busy having to admit to myself that this wasn't my private jet to do much more than shrug.

He tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was from Havre. I gave in. I am from a state in the middle, we are no good at aloof for long. And I couldn't have him think I was a square-head local.

We made small talk and I shared the hot spots in Havre (none). I asked why he was visiting. He looked at me and paused. I raised an eyebrow. A secret mission to Havre?? Do tell.

He said, "I am giving a talk about the, ghosts at the college."


"No kidding...?" I replied calmly, acting like I heard this type of thing all of the time. I am very cool and well-traveled. Ghosts. Old hat. Go on.

He went on to tell me that he was hired by the college to give the talk for their Ghostly Studies Class, as well host a ghost hunt tour, as Havre is frankly quite haunted.

Um...ok. They don't even have a decent coffee place, but whatev.

Back story: Tiny Havre has a rich history, hosting a tour called Havre Under the Streets, where the town shops moved for a time after a fire burned all of the local stores down. If you are ever running for the border through this area, check it out. Kinda neat. Haunted? The jury is still out.

The man told me his name was Chris Moon and that he was the owner of Haunted Times, a rag for ghost lovers.

My poker face must have been stellar, because he told me all about his work, tours and a machine he built called Frank's box (which allows people to talk to the dead) for the rest of the flight.

(Does one GATE CHECK that, or is it more of a carry on kind of item?? Dear TSA.... )

Um, ok....

But who wouldn't listen? It isn't like he is sharing his ice fishing vacay. Ghosts, man!

Frank's Box may have been an mailbox in a past life.

Mr Moon (real name, ya think?) had nice manners and asked what I was doing in Havre as well. I glazed over the details, since I had nothing on this guy. He was polite and well spoken. He even looked mostly normal, (nuts right?). It was snowing to beat the band and he looked a little scared to land. I wondered to myself if those who pal around with ghosts are less afraid of death? It seemed rude to ask.

While we taxi'ed in, I powered up the crack and looked up his name.

It was just. too. good. I e-mailed it to Special Agent and told him I was leaving him for my seat mate, here.

Pause for effect..................

I wonder if it hurts to maintain this face? Cause
 it is kinda killing

Super, really. That picture made my poker face explode into delight and Mr. Moon noticed. He commented "good message?" as I scrolled with mirth.

On our way out, Mr. Moon invited me to join the tour....*FREE*. I said I would come by,  and I meant it.

There was no way I wasn't going to see this in action.

Garage band senior photo or head shot, you decide
Get a load of the hair. Pretty.
 I checked into the hotel and shook my head.

No way.

No way, no way, no way. How do I always meet these folks? I smiled to myself. I think it's kind of lucky.

I braved the winter weather (it isn't afraid to snow up to your ass in Northern MT) and when I arrived at the meeting place I learned that the tour had to be cancelled. (I know, anti-climax, right?).

I was actually crushed.

I blame the ghosts.

When Did You Choose to be Straight?

(Sorry to those of you who choked on your toast while reading yesterday's blog post. I am not known for my prudish language, but that was an all time high for me at crude writing. I was in a man's head, couldn't be helped. If you are not that man, my apologies. But I kinda think you're lying.... )

Moving on.

I love this.

I. Love. This.

There is nothing quite like seeing someone's light bulb go on about a topic they felt they were certain about. 

To each person's credit, they appear to accept that they might have been wrong. Credit also to the interviewer for keeping the conversation neutral. No one likes to get ambushed.

Credit to and Facebook Pal and Follower LadyMadonna99. 

Friday, April 22, 2011

The Girl Who Got Away..You Stupid A$$hole..

I am lacking inspiration, so I am relying on prompts from other sites to give me ideas. It's a good exercise, and actually a lot of fun. I saw a prompted post from Red Writing Hood on Random Girl's naughty blog and when I perused the list, this one intrigued me. We all want to think our past loves regret ever letting us get away...those bastards. 

* Sorry for the cursing and coarse language, Mom. This is my impression of how men think to themselves. It isn't always pretty. *

The prompt:
Write a short piece of fiction (It's Fiction, people - I have been married since I was eleven) about seeing an ex in the grocery store from the first person point-of-view. Instead of writing from the female perspective, we want you to write from the male perspective.

The scene: Grocery Store, Saturday 4 pm:

Internal dialogue: 

let's see...cereal...bananas........wait a sec...

Is that..?

No...nah...,ooh! it is....((turning away with cart))

(((Looking through hole in bread display))

Holy's her. 

Woooo-ooow, she looks pret-ty fuck-ing good....

Her hips look a little wider, but in a good way. The years have been good to you, old girl. 

My God, the way I used to hold those hips...((squeezing bread))

Whoops..((releasing bread))

Man, why did I walk away from that? That girl was a solid 8 and 1/2. STUPID! 

So what if she talked a little too much?  She was pretty damn smart....

She wasn't the most adventurous lover....

Shut the fuck one could compare to the trashy girl from the bar that could suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch and would let you and whoever do her anytime, anywhere, anyway...This was a nice girl who wasn't afraid to get down in the sack, with only the most obvious limitations... 

I'm an idiot. 

Oh shit, here she comes...((reading back of hot dogs))

Maybe I should talk to her..?

((Eyes rolling)) If she will even speak to me...after breaking it off via text.

I really fucked that up...

I haven't found anyone I liked quite like her since.... What a jerkoff.

Maybe I'll just wave..

What a douche. Waving? What, are we in a fucking PARADE?

Stop being a pussy, man. Just go talk to her. 

((walking up, pretending to need pita chips)) Oh, uh..hey...I didn't see it was you....

I'm fine, I'm fine. It's good to see you; you look great.... 

Yes, I am still managing the project....((slow nodding, shuffling feet))

Yep, still at the gym. Working on my bench (did I actually just say that? What a tool....)

Am I seeing anyone...? (maybe I should lie? No, she'll know...she always knew)

No, no...still looking for the right girl...(And...maybe I just re-discovered her? Pause for effect, sexy look up, think she caught that?)

No, nothing in my eye, thanks for asking. (Fail.)

Girl, you look great, you must have guys chasing you (Now, including hell with subtlety)

Oh...I see. Of course. 


Well, I had better get going before my Hungry Man Dinners (for losers who live alone and let go of great girls because they are self absorbed jackasses) thaw out...

(How did I EVER think I was too good for this girl?)


(Holds Hungry Man dinner against forehead)


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Because Sometimes, I Get Bored of Me...

*sigh* I am a little sick of me. Bo-rang. I have been stalking pestering a new Facebook friend (whose status updates crack me up) to get her own blog. So far, she isn't listening cooperating. I finally convinced her to guest post. She came up with the post in about 10 minutes. She was born to blog. 

And she has an "I love Lucy" thing going on. 

I will never be this cool.

Please to enjoy Trophy Wife.

Trophy Wife

Going to pick my daughter up from school can feel like high school all over again.  You know the ones I'm referring to.  The perfect moms.  The “Mom-petitors”. The ones who intimidate you through their sheer MILF-ness. They do everything right (and tell you about). They don't use T.V. as a babysitter. They only eat organic food. Their kids can't have sugar or Nyquil (Jk. I don't give my kids Nyquil. A bottle of cheap whiskey lasts longer).  Until my daughter started school I had no idea what elimination communication was…

It smells like someone has"eliminated" 
pureed beets in their pants...
There is one such mom at my daughter’s school. She has the most perfect body, perfect hair, $150 jeans. She smells of vanilla. I LOVE her clothes (I'm in a snuggie by the way). I love and hate her. Part of me wants to be her, while the other part is glad I'm not. I could never live up to that. Too much pressure…

Her daughter is my daughter’s best friend. I was invited to her house once. It was like a pottery barn catalog. We ate organic muffins and she gave me some black walnut oil for my dish pan hands. I was never invited back.

After a drunken Scentsy party I found out why. My daughter said "Jesus Christ" while there and the mom heard her. Her exact words were "I was heart-sick to hear such awful words come out of such a beautiful mouth". My daughter is 6. It turns out she’s spent the last few months trashing my daughter to the other moms.

Well……… I'm angry. I cry.  I call everyone who will listen. I drive to my son’s school and cry to his teacher. Then my mind works through old school revenge. Slashed tires? Tell everyone she uses medical marijuana? Make up a rumor we "experimented" together (I'm a sick person, don't judge). Instead I spend the next 2days posting cryptic FB messages and quotes about judgment.

What ended up happening was people sent me messages and texts asking if i was ok. They brought me cookies. They listened to me bitch and moan. I realized i was loved even though I'm not perfect. Even though my kids 
sometimes cuss and we eat Mcdonalds and watch tv. I'm a real person and that’s hard enough.

We have a very unstructured bedtime routine...

If you do try to everything right that’s ok too. Just cut yourself some slack; you're more lovable with flaws.
And if you do run out of organic milk the other stuff won't kill your kid….

(well, not right away anyway…)

If Bob Marley and Roy Clark Had a Baby

Today's post is for my late Dad, Mick.

Boyyyyyyyy, do we ever miss you around here....

My Dad was a character. Always easy going, he was a little like Bob Marley.

 - But with cowboy boots, even in the summer
 - and a cig instead of a joint
 - and a plaid shirt instead of rasta braids

ok, so I am having a tough time getting there too.

He actually looked like Roy Clark.

Dad's evil twin, Roy - Its uncanny.

Ok, so not looks-wise, but in Marley-esque fashion my Dad definitely didn't worry about a thing and thought every little thing was gonna be all right.

And he made you believe it too, even when you knew you shouldn't. He would say "welllllll, sis..." And then he would try to feed you bacon or chex mix. And somehow, you felt better... for a moment.

If you had real trouble, you had better go see my mother, who was about as real as one gets and still is. She would set you on the right path and give you a little shove in the right direction. Not really a sugar-coater, that one. I am more like her. A problem solver.

But I would still float past my Dad for a fix of his unwavering confidence in my ability to dig out of the shit situation I was in, and in that glow I would believe I could do it too. My siblings and I have the highest self esteem imaginable for being so hopelessly average.

He was easy to laugh and rarely got angry. He was a terrible disciplinarian to both kids and dogs. Every person thought he was my Dad's best friend. I secretly think all of his kids thought we were his individual favorite. Except that couldn't be, because I was absolutely his favorite.

Wasn't I?

It's been 4 years, Dad. We ARE all right. But the sun shines just a *tiny* bit dimmer without you in this world.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Best Policy

I am tired and having a vacation hangover, so I hopped over to Studio 30 to see what their writing prompt is for the week. (The prompt is kind of like Viagra for bloggers).

This is what they had posted...


It made me think of how much bullshit being honest can be.

I like to think I am an honest person, was even voted "most blunt" of my Senior class.

What a weird category.

"Most Popular" and "Best Looking" were already taken... by the good looking and popular people.


I will admit, I pretty much "told it like it was" by high school, after years and years and years of saying what I thought went with the company line of high school popularity. Thank God for that, before I became a Stepford Wife.

I've got your rump roast right here, honey...

However, introspection would probably uncover, among some other horrifying thoughts, that I was being blunt and honest in order to mask some other insecurities, or some such psycho-babble nonsense.

I still think I am one who tells it like it is, but I have matured a little since then, and I no longer need to be a petulant brat about it. (No commenting, Special Agent or TWIN)

Using the truth to be rude or shocking is...well, assholery. When truly, the biggest challenge is to stop lying to yourself.

I told someone recently a movie line that I always seem to remember (pop quiz....)

"First rule of poker is....throw in your cards when you know they can't win.."

(Name it)

I think in all of my honesty, truth, the mighty verdad, there are many times when I held onto a hand that I knew

would not
could not
will not


The person said they preferred to stay the hand, and bluff.

The question is, bluff who?

High School Quote-a-palooza

Ok, peeps. Here's mine:

"I'd rather be honest than polite.." 

 (What a bitch I was, really..)

Now, let's hear yours. 

Were you inspirational like Kasey Kasem? 


Song lyrics?

Shared a quote with a friend? (Extra lame)

My layers are quivering with anticipation. Shovel your yearbooks out from under the dust and 

This is what passes for voyeurism at my age. the keg!
Seriously, was this you? *smirk*

Monday, April 18, 2011

Vacation Fizzle, my Shizzle...

To recap, this vacation offered the following things:

Beautiful weather

Serious tourist action: she made us see it ALL.

Good drinks and not so good food.

One plush seal toy eaten by real sea lions.

A highly inappropriate movie offer from the gentleman/Writer/Director/Actor at the rental car agency (he didn't seem to mind we had a van load of kids).

Margaritas that will hold an entire beer bottle and require baby bibs...

Yeah, and we could have consumed many more of these too, if
it weren't for those meddling kids and their mystery machine...!

Stick a fork in me, I'm done....

Fiesta Week really took the wind out of my sails...

And.... so is this guy. (Maybe someone ACTUALLY stuck a fork in him?)

Adios, Texas.