Three Brains

“Dude, there is a brain in your driveway! I was out there smoking and I walked out to the road and I swear to God there is a full brain extracted from the head of something in your driveway!”

“Ha ha, really funny. Did you think that was going to scare me or something?”

“Dude I wouldn’t sh*t you about this – there is a BRRAINNN in your driveway! Come and look at it”

“Alright, let me get my shoes on.”

…

“What is that?”

“It’s a brain, I told you! Is someone mad enough at you to throw a fetal pig brain in your driveway? Or maybe it’s from a dead raccoon.”

“What? You think someone cut the brain out of a dead raccoon and threw it in my driveway? ... No, it wouldn’t be big enough. That brain came from something bigger.”

“If it’s fresh shouldn’t it be bloody?”

“It rained like crazy this morning; it would’ve washed it clean so there’s no way to know.”

“Dude! See – it is a brain isn’t it! How did you get a brain in your driveway?”

“That can’t be what it is, let’s look at it closer. Get a stick”

“I’m not going to poke it with a stick! Gross! ”

“That’s ok, I found one, I’ll poke it.”

“Dude, don’t lean so close! What if it…”

“What jumps onto my head and bites me? Yeah right, in the middle of the day in my driveway a human brain gets loose and bites me on the neck.”

“Where would someone get a human brain?... Maybe we should call the police?”

“Hell na! Do you remember the scarecrow incident?! Let’s poke it first”

…

“It’s mushy.”

“I think I’m going to puke”

“The stick poked right into it and brain juice came out.”

“Siiiick. Don't poke it anymore!”

“How in the F* did I get a brain in my driveway? What do we do with it?”

“Well, you can’t just put it in Tuesday’s trash.”

“Let’s ask my mom, she’s going to be home pretty soon”

“We have to wait for her or she’ll run it over with her car.”

…

“Mom! Stop the car! Don’t pull in you gotta see this!”

“Why are you kids standing around the rice cake I dropped this morning? My, oh- my, those really swell up when they get rained on…”















Happy Halloween!

Go see what we were for Halloween at TaterTot's Thoughts today.

Sixteen Years Ago Today

“Karla! I think you should go around the block, I just saw someone in the ditch.”

“What do you mean you saw someone in the ditch?! Like waiting to jump out?”

“No, I mean I saw someone lying in the ditch, like it looked like their leg was all twisted up. Oh. My. God. Someone just got hit by a car and their lying in the ditch! You have to go around the block!”

The car circles the block while five teenage girls search out the window in silence.

“OhmyGod! Someone IS in the ditch!”

“Oh their leg looks bent at a BAD angle, that’s not good.”

“Ohmygod,Ohmygod,Ohmygod,Ohmygod, what do I do? Should we stop?”

“Yeah, let’s stop and see if their ok…”

“What if it’s a prank and someone jumps out at us?”

“OhmyGod, OhmyGod what if their DEAD?!”

“AAAAAH! Don’t stop! Let’s go back to my house and call 911!”

“AHHHH!”

“Eeeeeeeeek!”

“Ug Ick Groooooosse!”

“Ok, let’s go back to your house and tell your mom and call 911”

After much frantic yelling and one concerned call to 911 the girls get back in the car and drive up the street to see what the police find. The street is filled with at least three police cars and as they pull up to the crime scene a police officer walks up to their window. Karla rolls it down and they all lean over to hear what's happening.

“Are you the girls that called this in?”

“Yes sir. Is it bad?”

“You know you girls can get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“OhmyGod Officer we didn’t hit anyone! Are they dead?!”

“We’re going to jail! They think we killed someone!”

“Oh No ~whimper~”

"I swear we didn't hit anyone! I can't go to jail! OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod"

"Listen ladies, we don’t like false reports and you girls probably think it's pretty funny but it costs the taxpayers alot of money when somone pulls a stunt like this, do you understand?"

"huh?"

"Karla, it's a scarecrow... look over there, he's holding it up... it's a scarecrow!"

"We'll let you off this time, but don't you girls go pulling anything like this again ok?"

North Second Street

When you’re a kid and creepy things hit the news where you live you file them away under ‘Proof of the Supernatural’ in your brain and you only open that file once in a while when your sitting around a campfire with close friends or blogging for Halloween. When I was young I filled my file cabinet with stories from the occult. This was during the time of the PMRC and the kid who killed himself after listening to Judas Priest, heavy metal hair bands wore pentagrams on their belt buckles and parents everywhere were ‘concerned’ that Twisted Sister was twisting our sisters.

At the all night skates inevitably we would end up huddled up in our sleeping bags in the middle of the skating rink hearing stories that “I swear to God are true, it happened to my sister’s boyfriend’s cousin…” Around this time, the local news broke a story too gruesome to ignore. A senior at a local high school killed his best friend in some sort of ritualistic occult-like slaughter. If I remember correctly he beheaded him and then hid the body and head under his bed. His dad found the body, upon which the son killed his father and shortly after committed suicide. We talked about it for months around campfires, at parties and at the skating rink surmising the motive and circumstances regarding the deaths, and wondered at the connections to rumors about ritualistic animal killings at a local and close state park or Witch Beulah, or Bloods Point Cemetery. Over the years it all kind of faded away into the microfesh of the brain.

It turns out a house like that is hard to sell after such an incident, they tend to go pretty cheap if at all because they have to disclose the murder. Everyone knew the house and the story and so it went until years later long after we had all stopped talking and people quit driving by a divorced mother of three boys moved to the area to be closer to the son that lived with his Dad. The realtor informed her people died in the house but she didn’t seem to mind. It was cute and cheap so she bought it. Soon she and her youngest son started to hear things in the middle of the night: bumps, pounding, stomping across floors and slamming doors. Her boyfriend, a retired police officer moved in and he installed locks and motion activated lights and soon no body was getting any sleep.

Amidst all the uproar happening in the night the woman’s middle son Brian asked to move in with her – it seemed he was uncomfortable sleeping at his Father’s house, something about rumors or whispers in the middle of the night. Yes, you read that right, Brian’s mother was the woman that bought the house. Poor guy couldn’t get away from it. While he was having problems at his Dad’s house with creepy whisperings and glowing green orbs, across the river over at his mother’s house his little brother was waking up to doors slamming and stomping through the halls. Twice his mother’s boyfriend called the police about the stomping and pounding but when the police could find no one and no point of entry they stopped reporting it.

While there, his little brother had a freak accident with a jungle-gym of all harmless things. He was hanging by his arms when the pipe broke and fell on his face, half his skull crushed inward breaking his eye socket and check bone. He underwent reconstructive surgeries and was never quite the happy silly kid I remembered. The family was mired in bad luck while they lived in those houses; divorces, car accidents, quarrels, miscarriages, dead pets, and in general restlessness and ire. Of course all of those things happen in day to day living especially when with teenagers in the house but it felt excessive for such a normal bunch of people to endure.

Please pardon Blogger is having trouble today

Old River Road

Brian’s parents had bought the house cheap. They were the first one’s to live there after the murders. It had a beautiful kitchen with and island and breakfast nook, five bedrooms, an office, a three car garage and finished basement, a great room, a giant deck and two acres that backed up onto a fishing pond. We used to tease Brian because his parent could never pass up a deal, they bought generic toilet paper and there was never anything good to eat at his house beyond Ramen Noodles and often Brian had irregular winter coats with a zipper that wouldn’t zip or a bleach mark on the sleeve. Our families didn’t have that much money but Brian’s parents were the cheapest rich folks we ever heard of so Brian fit right in with us.

Every Christmas Brian’s parents would go to the Bahamas and leave him and his three sisters home in the big house alone. The Bahamas are cheap over Christmas and they figured the kids were old enough that they wouldn’t mind celebrating in January instead. It made me a little sad for them and I think it made them a little sad too because in retaliation every Christmas they would throw a giant party while their parents were gone. Two full high schools would attend Harlem and Auburn. One year it was so big the police stopped to see what was happening and when we told them it was a wedding reception they helped us direct traffic a little so we could park more cars. Technically it wasn’t a lie, Troy and his girlfriend had gotten married at the court house earlier that day and we had bought a cake but most of the attendees had no idea of the nuptials they were just in attendance to “par-tay”.

After the party there would always be some stragglers who wouldn’t leave. Brian would tell them about the house giving them the full tour. He’d always start with the history and how the boyfriend flipped out and tied up the entire family and beat them to death and then shot them for good measure. He’d move on to how the crazed murderer boyfriend went on living in the back woods hiding out from the police until he ran out of cocaine and committed suicide. Then he would wrap it up standing in the great room where he would point dramatically upwards towards the blood spatters that had sunk deep into the wood ceiling.

Brian’s parents were so cheap that when they discovered the blood on the ceiling in the great room instead of replacing the wood beams they sprayed a little Windex on it and resigned themselves to not talk abut the stains. Well, you can’t give a seventeen year old boy with a preoccupation for gross a better exhibit. Inevitably whenever Brian would end the tour with the grand sweep of his arm pointing upward the remaining party guests would make hasty goodbyes. The night of Troy’s reception went down just like that. Brian had chased the unknowns out of the house with the grizzly tour leaving Troy, Troy’s new wife, John, Shawn, Brian and myself sitting around the kitchen table playing cards and drinking beer.

I sat at the head of the table with the door to the great room on my right and the rest of the kitchen and the door to the basement to my left. As I dealt another hand of Five Card, I heard whispers float around me calling my name over and over “Jenny, jennY, jeNNy, jeNNY, JEnny, jenny, Jenny!” They seemed to start on my right and float right behind me and then end in my left ear. I must’ve looked quite startled because Shawn looked right at me and said

“Did you hear that too?”

My reply was “What! What did YOU hear?”

What he said made my eyes water

“I heard someone calling my name in a whisper like ‘ShawN, SHAWn, shawn, shaWN, SHhhawn, ShAWN!’ right there in the great room and then towards the basement door”.

The rest of the table busted up laughing. Really hard. At us. Shawn got mad and threw his cards down while I changed chairs. John stood up and checked the fridge for more beer, I tensed up as he walked towards the whisper but felt a little relieved someone was going to make sure there wasn’t one last unknown party-goer messing with us. When John went to the basement to retrieve more beer from the bar, I felt a little scarred for him and said

“Shouldn’t someone go with him?” only to be met with more laughter.

All I could think was "This is how the movie starts!" Moments later John was standing at the top of the stars having run back up them three at a time. His face and lips white as can be, all the blood must've gone to his legs to get him up the stairs that fast. Without a word he walked straight out onto the front porch and got his keys out of his pocket before we could discern what happened was this:

He went to the rec room and walked around the pool table towards the bar to get an armload of beer. Before he leaned down to open the mini-fridge he caught a glimpse of the mirror behind the bar and the reflection of a drunk guy standing behind him. John turned around to tell the guy the party was over to find an empty room behind him. He didn’t wait to take a second look in the mirror he just flew up the stairs back towards the sound of our voices. No one laughed at him, he looked too shaky to be laughed at. Someone said “maybe we should go check out the basement”. No body did and those that stayed slept in the great room together that night.

“The Tour” was rarely given after that night and we all felt a little bad for Brian living in that house. We continued to share stories about the whispers we heard in the house and when Brian’s puppy died in a mysterious freak accident involving a plastic bag when nobody was home, we started to suggest he move in with his mom. His mother lived across the river in an equally creepy house but that story is for another day.

The Ol' Jailhouse Downtown

When I was maybe seven I begged my Mom to bring me to the JCs haunted jailhouse downtown. It was an actual abandoned jailhouse and I imagined real ghosts creaking and squeaking around corners scaring the wits out of us all as we tiptoed through. What I witnessed was far more terrifying; ghouls with blood dripping off their hanging flesh rattled the jail house bars with their limbs stretching out and tearing at our clothes all the while wailing to be let go the jailer lashing at them with a cat-o-nine tails from the back of the cell, just inches from my hidden face. Possessed women with hair like seaweed snorted and snarled through their mangled mouths threatening to send evil spirits straight after me if I stared too long as Mom carried me past their green puke filled chambers. Long dark twisting corridors ambled through unknown realms seemingly endless in their terror inducing fervor as I walked sharing the insides of Mom’s coat clutching hold of her with every cell in my body. Finally we emerged out into the warm glow of the street lights and my exhausted Mom peeled me off of her and set my terrified body into the backseat of the car. I begged to go again every year until it closed.

Handsome Jack

Dear Great Pumpkin,
This year I won’t be able to sit in a pumpkin patch and wait for you I have to take my daughter trick or treating, but should you roll past my house and decide I have the best looking jack-o-lanterns please leave me a dozen roses, a box of chocolates, a dishwasher, some new head phones, cute fuzzy knee-high boots, a Beastie Boys CD (“Check Your Head”), a new garbage disposal, some warm socks, toe guards for my skates, a giant planter for my Dracaena-Fragrans and a new pair of jeans that make my butt look great.
Love,
Bombadee

That Other Time I Almost Died

The tree outside our window is finally bare the leaves torn off through many nights of cold winds. It stands out there looking lonely with its only inhabitant a widower squirrel. The tree had a matching companion that was here when we moved in and then gone after one particularly violent summer storm. Half of it fell into our yard and ripped the electrical line down to the ground. We weren’t home when it happened. Dan was picking me up from a hospital in Chicago. I had been working in Addison and the company I was consulting for had rented a hotel for me in Villa Park.

I was on my second month getting the office turned around and had grown pretty comfortable working there. On this particular Friday I was experiencing what I thought was the same old pain I always had when my ovarian cysts acted up. I’d had them for years in fact they once almost took my appendix out because of my pain. Frequent trips to the emergency room in the middle of the night often resulted in being sent home with Tylenol and a heating pad so most times I'd opt to forgo the emergency room co-pay and instead writh around on the floor of my own bathroom for a couple of hours instead.

I decided that when my shift was over I would just spend the weekend in the city instead of the long drive home. Dan was in Baltimore for the weekend and Dave (our neighbor) would take care up the pups and so there was no reason I couldn’t just go lay down at my hotel and sleep through the pain in my side. While waiting for the end of the shift the hours seemed to drag by and the employees kept asking if I was ok and telling me I didn’t look so good. Finally one young man, Joe K. said “That’s it Jenny I’m taking you to the hospital”. I refused and told him I was going to just go lay down at my hotel and he said “No way let’s go”. I could barely stand up. He and Joe M. carried me to his car.

This was all very fitting for the young rebel Joe K. was only 17 and often in trouble at work for not listening or showing up late. I’d thought about firing him but damn if he wasn’t a charming salesman and always making quota. He put me in the front seat and started his powder blue ’67 Chevy; I curled up into a ball with my sweaty head near his leg. He kept sweeping my soaked hair off of my face and asking “Are you sure you’re doing ok?” and for the first half of the ride I was annoyed with his questioning and the second half I was screaming for him to drive faster. When we reached the emergency room he intended to park his powder blue baby but instead slid up to the outside the doors leaving the car idiling keys in it with the passenger side open while he ran in and yelled for someone to come and help. I was drenched in sweat and shaking – my appendix was inflamed and ready to kill me.

Good ol’ Joe paced the hall until my Mom drove in and sent him home. He sent flowers and a little stuffed leopard to the hospital. Poor Dan was greeted on Sunday at O’Hare airport by my Mom and the harrowing story. Shortly after that I quit my job to find something closer to home and family. The tree in my side yard is still gone like my appendix and today I wonder what Joe is doing.

Oil Can, Oil Caaaaan...

Good morning Dear Bloggies. I am moving a little slow today as my joints creak around does anyone have an oil can? Last night was the first night I was able to make it to Derby practice at our new indoor place. What’s the difference between that and the skating rink? Well at the skating rink we have to play nice because there are usually new recruits and little kids rolling about. At the new place it’s just us. We get there and tediously take down all the tables and chairs from BINGO, sweep the floor, suit up and then the fun begins. And by fun I mean skating full speed into each other and then sliding across the cement floor. It was awesome! We practiced falling and hip checks and shoulder checks and sprints and I even slid into a table with the captain of the other team. As she tumbled in front of me I went head over her ribs, we both went into the table and someone’s poorly laid cola went on the floor. It made a wonderful crash and our two teams cheered and howled. This controlled crashing went on for two hours before we stretched and re-setup all the tables and chairs so the little old ladies can come in tomorrow and wait for them to call B-17 in between puffs of Camel light.

Rowdy

Oh my God! If you want to have a freaking great night out… bring 35 derby girls. I can’t even begin to tell you about the mayhem that took place but I can tell you we had over 400 people in attendance and I ran into people from grade school. Grade School! Yeah, it was a little awkward – “Hi, yeah I totally remember you from 3rd grade… Oh, no I really don’t dress like this all the time…” and then inevitably I would feel the need to explain that I went to college and have a husband and a baby at home. I really have to get the hang of staying in character. There were about a thousand pictures taken and I think even some autographs. At the end of the night there was an impromptu Derby Sung rendition of “Sweet Emotion” with the last band. We jumped on and off the stage and danced and spun and yelled out the chorus while the fearless co-captain of the Demolition Dolls sang the lyrics and pointed out into the crowd. - NICE!

Crazy Socks!

Roller Derby

The video is of the Gotham Girls Roller Derby in NY (It’s how I got this to post this morning as Blogger was having problems)

The Rockford Rage is having a fund raiser tonight at a bar called Kryptonite. It’ll be eight bands for $5.00 in case you’re thinking of coming. The team will be there working the door and hanging about looking cool. I will be there looking extremely uncomfortable. I am agonizing over what to wear. We were told “Dress Derby” and for me that means camo-pants, comfy socks and a t-shirt I don’t mind sweating in. Somehow I’m sure that’s not what they mean. I do have some stripey socks and a blue jean mini skirt but I think I’ll have to park a block away and walk through downtown to get there - eek. I could change in the bathroom of the bar, or I could wear nice jeans and my “Derby Girl” tank. I can’t wait until there are uniforms and then the agony of “Dressing Derby” will be gone. Whatever I wear should match with the orange ear plugs I’ll have in my ears (I’m so old).

What's in my Backyard

So we’ve never really gotten along with our neighbors. It started with my Chihuahua slipping his chain and chasing Mrs. Wertz to her back door. Mrs. Wertz is a sturdily built Boy-scout Den-Mother who bikes and hikes and could very possibly play roller derby but when our little eight pound Alijandro got to thinking he was a big dog he’d Houdini that chain and chase her right through the back yard while she shrieked and wailed. Sometimes she’d get a broom and try and whack him with it. I knew this would never do so we saved up and bought a fence. It was the best investment I ever made for us and the dogs but still Mrs. Wertz would kick the fence and shriek “Shut up!” at the barking menace that my dog became.

It didn’t help that he loved this game. Upon opening the door he’d shoot outside like a bullet straight over to the side yard checking for Mrs. Wertz or any family member that might smell like her. The incessant barking would commence until I called him in and if any of the unfortunate neighbors were attempting to enjoy their back yard I would have to walk out into the yard, pick him up bring him back in. She never kicked the fence when I was standing there but sometimes I’d be around the corner watering the garden and I’d hear the chain link rattle all at once because she’d kicked it and I’d fantasize about running around the corner with the hose.

Well since then we had Ella and decided to give little Alijandro to a family with more time to spend with him. He loved to be in your lap which I wouldn’t allow with a fresh faced newborn in my lap. So things have gotten significantly quieter between the neighbors and us. I just can’t help it though every time our remaining dog Wednesday rolls in something gross in our back yard I wonder what Mrs. Wertz threw out there. I know it’s the epitome of paranoid, but I once saw her son throw a brick at my Chihuahua and wouldn’t it be funny to throw a piece of limburger in your neighbor’s back yard so their dog rolled in it and then went in the house and played with the kids and rolled on the couch before your neighbor figured out what that smell was and gave everyone a bath and washed the couch? Yeah – that’d be freaking funny as hell.

Apology

Sometimes I feel like I’m cheating on you bloggies. I don’t often write about what is happening in my emotional life. This type of writing is set aside for the sake of privacy. In light of this decision I sit at my computer a lot of nights wondering what the hell I can write about that won’t portray me as a raving crab-ass or a naïve housewife. There are friends and family far and wide that keep up with the daily goings on of the Garden – but they are only getting half the picture, the proverbial front lawn and I refuse to hang my family’s laundry in the front yard. This makes it especially tough when there’s a lot of laundry to do and not enough time to devote to the front lawn. So dear bloggies I would like to apologize for the overgrown weeds that have happened in the entryway of Bombadee’s Garden (I've been doing laundry) and re-devote to you and me and the Garden. I’m not sure what I’ll grow next and I assure you that our dirty socks look just like everyone else’s and you’d not find amusement in examining them so they’ll just stay on the clothes line in the back yard. But I will try and plant something hearty out front for us all to enjoy.

Perception

Dove - Evolution Commercial (higher quality)

Get your daughters to the computer for this one.

Golden Weekend

On Saturday morning at 3:00 am I awoke, brushed my teeth, put my wet tooth brush into my already packed bags, got dressed made coffee and left to catch my flight to Denver. I met Mom and Aunt M. at the airport and we all checked in and sat around talking until the flight boarded about 6-ish. We landed in Denver, rented a car (PT Cruiser - cool) and drove to the hotel. We checked in stopped and had complimentary breakfast (raisin toast and bagels) and then moseyed to our room to relax for an hour and change for the wedding. I tried to nap but it just wouldn’t happen. We left for the wedding about 11:30 and figured we’d be 15 minutes early and then tried to navigate Denver. Let me say that there Denver has the following streets: Wadsworth Blvd. Wadsworth Pkwy and Wadsworth Bypass all aka HWY 121. Wadsworth also takes several ‘jogs’ or ‘jaunts’ or whatever you’d like to call it when a street ends and then starts up again a block over just to confuse you and cause the driver to say

“I thought you had directions?!”

to which the navigator says “I do, it doesn’t say that the road ends here it just says ‘veer onto Wadsworth Blvd.’!!”

“Do I veer right or left to get to Wadsworth Blvd.?”

“Um – it doesn’t say, I’m going to guess left…. Crap it’s right, we need to head West you’d better whip a u-ie”

“I’ve never whipped a u-ie in my life, is that even legal?”

“Sure, if it weren’t legal they’d post it.”

(first u-ie whipped.)

After 45 minutes, three more u-ies and a clover leaf we finally made it to the wedding. The chapel at Red Rock was gorgeous as was the wedding. It was a picture perfect afternoon for all except my dear cousin’s daughter - poor child. Willow is Ella’s age and upon laying eyes on her she reminded me of Ella so that I wanted to scoop her up and kiss all over her face. Alas she was shy and wanted to hang onto her Mommy’s leg (just like Ella might’ve) and so I waited and bided my time before attempting a scoop. In the interim she stepped on a cactus - ouch. Her Mom and Dad extracted all the needles from her little foot just in time for the start of the ceremony.

I could hardly wait to see my Uncles new wife. I, my Mother, and Aunt C. would be seeing her for the first time as she walked down the aisle and my Aunt M. would be seeing her for only the second time ever so it was all very exciting. The woman playing piano began to sing “Ave Maria” and we Italian Catholics/former Catholics and children of were all brought to tears. It seems this song is played at any important family event taking place at a church.

The little church was packed tight and about half way through the ceremony I heard little Willow let out a terrible wail from outside. It seems she was a little antsy (as two year old sometimes get) and her Mom took her outside to run around until the wedding concluded when she took a spill and cracked her head open spilling blood all down her darling little pink party dress. She took three stitches and a big Dora band aid at the hospital later, so I never did get to know her well enough to scoop her up and kiss her all over her face. I plan to go back and visit my dear cousins and next time I’ll bring my family so we can let the girls play tea party and babies and perhaps then I can attempt a snuggle.

We drove to Golden next, about a half an hour and two u-ies away from Morrison (were the wedding was) were we proceeded with all the wonderful traditions that go with a wedding – food and wine, balloons and cake and dancing. Perhaps the funniest thing that happened all weekend came at the tail end of this reception. We were all standing outside waiting to make a wish and let dozens of balloons go up into the atmosphere in honor of the newly wedded couple when my dear cousin A. said “oh look it’s snowing” and hastily stuck her tongue out to catch dainty flakes wafting about before realizing they were actually a swarm of tiny gnats and when I saw the brother of the bride do the same not 10 feet away from me I really thought I would pee my pants laughing. I tried to take a picture of the giant gnat cloud but it just didn’t work. (Sorry A. I just couldn’t resist telling that story)

The rest of the weekend was spent shopping, hearing music, drinking and dining with relatives (and perhaps a dozen more u-ies) before we made our way back to IL on Sunday evening where Ella and Dan had a grand time buying toys, eating cookies and watching movies all weekend. I did get the chance to have lunch with Willow before I left and she was much happier than the day before as you can imagine. I can hardly wait to get back there.

Home

Hey Bloggies! I made it home in one piece. My trip was super super fun and I plan to blog all about it when I get a chance to sit and write for a bit. I just wanted to let you all know all was well and stay tuned for "What to do in Denver When You're... With Your Mom" aka "Whip a You-ey"

Whirlwind

So I am off to Colorado this morning without Dan and Ella. Mom and I and my aunts are going to my Uncle’s wedding. He lives in IL but is marring a lady from CO and they’ll move back here after the wedding. Mom and I are renting a car and sharing a hotel room and then flying back on Sunday night. It’ll be a whirlwind of family and snow and fun. I am packing a single dress, a change of clothes and a book. I will check nothing and have but one small overnight bag to drag on the plane. If we get snowed in I’ll have to buy clothes to wear.

Happy Birthday to my brother Andy!

North Atlantic Mermaid

I think we're going to go Halloween shopping next Wed. I already bought Ella an Ariel dress and she tried it on twice. Once when I brought it home and once again this morning. She flopped around on the floor exclaiming "I'm a mermaid look at my pretty sparkly green tail when I swim" - flop flop. I will have to find an outfit for her to wear undeneath that flimsy little dress because Halloween in Illinois is COLD and mermaids don't have legs to wrestle into a snow suit. So we'll layer sweat pants over tights under her tail and put a wool sweater under the dress and I'm working on a "Mermaid hat" with shells and seaweed on it. She'll just have to be a North Atlantic mermaid.

A Woman Obsessed

We watched “Flyboys” last night during our return to the much anticipated date night. My history-ignorant self and my highly knowledgeable husband whispered the following conversation over popcorn.

Me: Why does that plane have a banner on it?
Him: It makes him squadron leader.
Me: And that means… what?
Him: He flies in the front and makes the decisions about where to go, he leads them. Incidentally, it also tells the German’s who to take down first.
Me: Oh, so he’s like the pivot.
Him: ~sigh~

Later…

Me: So with all that shooting, that reminds me one of our Derby girls once got shot. I heard she was on the job when it happened... (endless rambling about how tough we are)

Later yet…

Husband on the other end of the phone 30 miles away: I have your keys
Me: What do you want to do… drive back?
Husband: Borrow your Mom’s car and then we can switch around tomorrow
Me: Ok, but I have practice. I better not miss practice. I'll get my gear and bring it home in Mom's car just in case.
Husband: Good idea, don’t forget Ella too.

Derby News!

Our first exhibition bout is scheduled! I am soo excited. It'll be December 2nd 2006 at the Indoor Sports Center in Loves Park. Doors open at 1:00 and the cost is 12.00 at the door. It's all ages so you can bring the kids but there will be beer and yelling too. I suppose it's just like any other sporting event, only with fishnets and lipstick (or in my case stripey tights and Carmex). The other news, I'm no longer a Screw City Slammer, I've been traded to the Demolition Dolls! Great group of gals on each team but the Demo Dolls are going to kick some Screw City Slammer bootay. There's a third team now too the Midwest Maulers and they should also beware. If you live close and plan to come to our bout, put on some orange and black and white so that we know you when we see you.

Morning Rituals

Ella got up this morning and instead of watching her usual shows took her milk into the library where she sat down at her computer clicked on the hello kitty icon on her desk top and proceeded to surf Hello Kitty type videos on You Tube. I can see everything she’s doing from my computer but I still think I think I need to install some kind of filter today. Mom and I had a discussion some time ago about the fate of my child’s handwriting. We think it’ll be bad. She will be able to type 4000 words a minute by the time she’s 4 but won’t be able to form a decent ‘w’. She’ll be starting her first blog before she can tie her own shoe.

1-1-1-189-1-2-2-3-12

1 blacksmith 1 cell phone, 1 wand
















189 stairs down to the river and back, 1 statue of Chief Blackhawk








































2 parade watchers

2 going 3 miles on 12 wheels

Screw City Slammers

We are off to do fall type things today so I've very little time to post. News: I've been placed on my new derby team. I am a proud skater on the Screw City Slammers! Woohoo!

The Search is On

Only 22 days left until The Annual Halloween Party we attend. Costumes are mandatory, there are prizes for best costume and lewdness helps. I must remind myself any costume that could be mistaken for a Fredrick’s of Hollywood gear just isn’t as fun as you’d think while standing around a bonfire shivering your knockers off. Last year the two of us donned red union suits, red gloves and blue wigs and went as Thing One and Thing Two. It was warmer than being Daisy Duke but still chilly and I drank to keep myself toasty resulting in my stuffing Dan’s wig down the front of my union suit and extracting a lock of blue hair through the fly ON CAMERA* to prove the rug matched the drapes so to speak. Not really a stellar moment for me but funny as heck. Just a shame it all happened after everyone voted for their favorite costumes or I like to think I might’ve won.

The search for the perfect award winning witty costume has begun. Though we have something in mind, suggestions are most welcomed.





















*No I am not posting it - it's lewd.

Up to Here

Ok, ok I’ll probably not be chucking the TV. It just goes to show how I can be just like Grandpa Bombadee when I get into a snit. That’d actually be a lot of chucking. We have a lot of TVs and some of our computers double as TVs. I do believe there may have been a time where Grandpa Bombadee chucked a TV out the front door. In fact he was fond of chucking things out the door for dramatic effect. There were some forehead height kitchen cupboards he sledge hammered and chucked out the front doors, several toasters that burned toast, a cordless phone or two, a porcelain toilet and maybe even an occasional teenage boy. I believe each chucking started out the exact same way, with my father having had it up to “here” and then the forcible removal of offending item whilst waxing obscenities and the rest of the family standing helplessly in he next room either trying not to cry or trying not to bust out laughing depending on if it was another toaster or one’s teenage boyfriend/greatest love of their life getting chucked. Once something was chucked it never came back. It’s a good thing too because sometimes my Dad knew better than anyone else when something was broken. Dad’s are good at that.

Disney and North Korea on The List

Yeah I missed a day. So sue me, I got stuff going on ok?! (besides technically it's still today) Mark your calendar I’m in a bad mood. No reason in particular, just that North Korea has their heads up their arses, there’s been 21 American Soldier deaths in Iraq since October 1st, Congressmen now think it’ ok to hit on 16 year olds and there’s a lot going at the Bombadee Estate including one toddler with a fever who is subsisting on four Pringles and one chewed up and spit out grape. Also, who decided that a story about a sixteen year old mermaid who yearns so for a kiss from some hunk that she disobeys her father, cohorts with a witch and signs contract bargaining her soul was a good story to tell little girls?! If that all wasn’t bad enough for you it has a happy ending in which her Father gives in to the teenage daughter because she cries. So much for college or even finishing high school or turning 17 or listening to your dad, I guess it’s ok if you really really love him even if you don’t know anything about him accept he’s rich and handsome. Did I mention Ella wants to be a mermaid for Halloween with pretty red hair and a splarklie green tail? After this cold is gone I’m chucking the TV.

Heavy

Mr. B.: This book is heavy
Me: Oh? What are you reading?
Mr. B.: No, I mean it's literally heavy. It's like ten pounds.

What am I currently reading? Uncle Tom's Cabin, Flowers for Algernon, Mirror Mirror, and Son of a Witch are all in cue but currently I'm reading this week's People Magazine (not very heavy).

I am also however reading The Calm Before the Storm. Milo Freeman's live account of being a soldier in Iraq. Milo is a wonderful writer and if you have the inclination to add a new blog to your roll I highly suggest Milo's. This is also a perfect time to start reading, as Chapter II The Sand has just begun. Once you're hooked you can track back through Milo's prose interspersed with poignant verse for months as he's kept this blog since March 2006.

Keep safe, Milo and write often we'll be anticipating each entry until you are home.

"Monday, October 02, 2006

The Sand
From the air at night, Kuwait City looks like a carpet of topaz against the black veil of the Persian Gulf. Looking closely, one can see palm trees lining every street and highway, and with office towers spearing the nighttime horizon with their light, it's clear to see that this is a bustling city, home to many successful people

The first thing that most people talk about when describing the Middle East is the heat. Descriptions fail it. The air descends on a person like a heavy blanket, from the moment one steps off of the tarmac. The wind smells like scorched figs. From Kuwait City into the outlying areas, the terrain is primarily sagebrush and low ficus, but a few hours west and the terrain quickly shifts to barren desert hardpan. I've never been in the desert before, and so the sheer quantity of NOTHING strikes me mute.

I've been in Kuwait for about a week..."

Lard

Oh hedonist thy name is Bombadee. Dan went over to his friend Jeff’s house to play war games on Saturday night. Ella and I decided to stay home and instead of having a regular evening we dressed up in sparkly clothes, watched cartoons two feet in front of the TV and ate Oreo cookie frosting and the middle of the crème puffs until our mouths were coated with a glossy layer of sugary fat. When we burped little clouds of powdered sugar puffed outwards, and even my dog rubbed her belly with much regret at the end of the night. And to think Dan missed it.