Scared Spitless

I am scared of two things:

Snakes and midgets.
Both are low too the ground and creepy. On the one hand I can run away from a snake or just hit them with a stick, or even make a belt out of them but I can't so much with midgets. Although I did push a grocery cart into one of the little devils once, and I did throw up on one another time. I will tell you of it in the future when my stomach calms down from mentioning their concentrated evil.

Postcards to My Asternaught

I will write you soon and tell you the details of all that is happening here. Stuff about the war in Georgia, and the strike in Pakistan. More about the Syrian troops invading Lebanon, what Kelly and Regis dress up this Halloween as, and who spent enough to spin the press and win the election.
Write back soon, ok, and let me know the really important things like is the part in my hair straight and does Tang taste better in space.

Skinning the Cat

Her body tensed before the huge lion pounced on her in the night. She felt the huge cat's breath hot on her face as his sharp vice like teeth punchered her skull. The girl fought the beast with everything she had. With an upwards thrust she mistakenly claimed a short lived victory and she began to skin the wild animal. With her knife under the cat's top lip she saw it's warning snarl too late, and when she woke his incisors were still embedded in her head.
She fumbled for the migraine pills in the dark bathroom with her eyes closed wishing she really was in a jungle anywhere but there.

Road Blocks

Top 10 diversions that keep me from blogging:

10-Surrogate mothering alien baby embryo's.

9- Filling in as body double for Jullianne Hough On "Dancing with the Stars."

8-Spray painting dirty remarks about self and phone number over every campain sign in neighborhood.

7-Waiting hopefully by phone

6-Carrying "Survivor Man's" cameras across the Amazon. ("Les. Les! Wait Les! Play your harmonica for me and I'll give you a Snickers bar! Stop running!)

5- Bulking up for winter on the chocolate cheese cake flavored donut diet.

4-Calling hubby's new job. Tell his hot assistant I am an undefeated extreme fighter with anger issues. Ask her over for dinner. Or throat punching.

3- Write own honest quarterly job evaluation for boss. Show boss and have him sign. Fax the fake glowing review into office instead. Spend undeserved raise at strip club at lunch break.

2-Shop for a lake side cabin on Craigs List. Trade both kids for cozy fixer upper with semi-detached meth lab a short distance from swamp.

1-Shaving head. Gluing fresh cat to scalp daily.

Baby On Baby

People. Babies are killing babies out there. This must stop. I, as a mother will make sure this will happen.
How you ask? How will one woman do this?
This is how. Listen up.
I as a woman will not let a violent flu bring me down, allowing my baby to be stolen by his father into the northern woods without me. Taken to the deep dark woods like savages to stalk deer. Unsuccessfully. Only to be dropped off at home, heart broken without any game.
My baby waved good bye to his departing father, and took up his gun once again. With a vengeance, he pointed his rifle in the direction opposite his fleeing dad.
"BOOM"
The shot knocked me off the sick bed.
I had to help dispose of the babies body. Heavy, heavy body. ("Mom, don't cut the heart mom. Is that the lungs or the liver. Good thing you don't have anything in your stomach 'cuse of your flu ' cuse that is BLARGHHH.")
I lay awake all night wondering how I would turn the body over to the authorities the next day.
In the darkness we hung the body. In the darkness the next day we cut it down.
A rigamortss stiffened body will not fit in the back of a Jeep.

Mothers. do not let your babies put you through this.
Hunt with your children. Coach them to wait for horns. Teach yourself how to use a pulley. Have readily available muscle mass. And a truck.







*Father did not truly abanden us. Just drove off to work out of town. (YEAH! Out of town!)

Middleage Adolescence

One the rainy afternoon she thought of him. She often thinks of him. Too often. Then she typed his familiar name into her search engine. He came up in New York. He was always the city boy, even when the city was a town of two hundred.
She held her breath and dialed his number, not know what she would say, her heart pounding in her thought.
He answered on the second ring. "Hullo?"
He wasn't ever home on a Sunday afternoon. Never. He was out racing fast bikes, knocking up cheerleaders, out running the cops.
She expected his answering machine to tell her this.
So she gasp and hung up the phone like a giddy adolescent.
And worried after all these years he would know it was her. It was always her.
She knows she should write her story. But that part of him belongs to her. And she noes not want to share.