Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. This week's challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.
The writing prompt is in (bold) itallics...
I plucked the Tylenol bottle from the top of the trash. As plain as day I could see her struggle up my porch, see her brown spotted hands gently place the grocery bag next to the door. “We’re sick Grandma” I’d said, “we have no one but you”. Really, she’d saved our lives with that delivery. Worst flu ever. She’d do anything for us. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. That old Tylenol bottle was a symbol of love, that’s why it meant so much. An Officer handed it to me with her other belongings. Apparently, it’d rolled out of the bag.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Whats love got to do with it?.......
Daddio is a man who likes what he likes.
He's been known to send me on a shopping mission with a few instructions.....
"Can you find me a shirt with a 1/2 inch collar, not one of those big clown collars or a pointy one. I hate those real pointy collars. It needs to be fitted. You know I don't like wearing something that feels like a mumu. Like I'm wearing a big box. I'd rather it be a solid color. But not one of those weird colors you like. The material needs to not be too thick, but not too thin either. If it's too soft it will feel like a slip. I hate feeling like I'm wearing a woman's slip. Make sure the button at the top is not so high that it will choke me. Maybe a green one would be okay. But not the light green that looks like a leprechaun, that color sucks. I don't want any stretchy crap in it either, all cotton would be good. Maybe one that is not a wrinkled mess when it comes out of the dryer. Make sure you get long sleeves, I don't want my tattoos to show. Two buttons would be nice on the cuff, make it a small cuff, I can't stand those big cuffs, roll em up and they feel like a notebook on your forearm".
Ummm sure.
(I'm thinking of searching for the Holy Grail at the same time)
He's finicky about his lunches too...
He knows what he wants.
He can go hours and hours at work without any food...(you may have read my post about him needing to eat every two hours like a newborn, well that is only when he's home, or maybe it's only when he sees me...the sight of me makes him hungry...like a nursing newborn),
anyway, I try (every day) to pack him something good to eat.
"What did you put in there?" he asks pointing to his lunch box.
Before I can answer he flips open the top and starts thumbing through the contents.
"I don't want this" he says...
"or this,
or this either."
Soon Daddio has a box filled with two bottled waters, and an apple.
Lunch fit for a king.
This morning I was planning on slipping in a sub sandwich and some red grapes.
A ham, salami, two kinds of cheese, pickles, tomatoes, mustard and a little dab of salt and pepper sub...yummmm
He walked into the kitchen while I was wrapping it up.
"Is that for me?" he asks.
"Cut it into small pieces" he instructs.
"So I can eat it while I work"
(by the time I had it cut into small pieces it was a slimy slippery mess)
"You don't have any sauce on there do you?" he yells from the living room.
"I don't want to get all sticky".
I admit that there is mustard on the sub... but I don't disclose that there are slippery pickles and I keep mum about the messy tomatoes.
He's wearing a nice solid colored not too thick not too thin 1/2 inch collared two small button sleeved green shirt and he looks nice and fresh.
I can hear it now....
"That sub dripped all over me." he will say when he comes home tonight " And it gave me a stomach ache. Don't pack me any other stuff like that to eat anymore, okay?"
"Only an apple and some grapes."
"Grapes are always good."
"Except for today...the ones you put in there today were too juicy. I need to have grapes that don't shoot out of the bottom of the casing. Or squirt when I pull them off the vine. Look at my shirt, I have grape spray all over me."
"What's for dinner?"
"Don't give me too much, I don't like those thick hamburgers, they sit in my stomach like a lead weight. I'll take a salad, but don't put any cheese in it okay, I had enough cheese today at lunch. Yeah, there was a lot of cheese on the drippy sub you sent me. Do we only have those cheap hamburger buns? I hate those buns, there's something not right with those buns, they stay in the cupboard for a month and they are still soft, but they stink. Do they make thin buns? Buns with not so much bread? You know what, don't even bother with a bun, I'll eat it on a plate. That's too much food. I only want a little bit. I think you're trying to kill me. You feed me too much."
"I ate it all, and now I'm too full. That was a lot of food on the plate you know. I think tomorrow I'm going vegetarian".
"No meat for me tomorrow"
"You have to like vegetables to be a vegetarian" I tell him.
"And when you don't eat meat, you are hungry an hour later" I remind him.
"Well maybe we could try to eat some fish." I suggest.
"I can't eat fish, you ever look at a fish up close? Maybe there is some kind of meat that isn't so heavy? Isn't so meaty?"
Jesus, grant me strength.
He's been known to send me on a shopping mission with a few instructions.....
"Can you find me a shirt with a 1/2 inch collar, not one of those big clown collars or a pointy one. I hate those real pointy collars. It needs to be fitted. You know I don't like wearing something that feels like a mumu. Like I'm wearing a big box. I'd rather it be a solid color. But not one of those weird colors you like. The material needs to not be too thick, but not too thin either. If it's too soft it will feel like a slip. I hate feeling like I'm wearing a woman's slip. Make sure the button at the top is not so high that it will choke me. Maybe a green one would be okay. But not the light green that looks like a leprechaun, that color sucks. I don't want any stretchy crap in it either, all cotton would be good. Maybe one that is not a wrinkled mess when it comes out of the dryer. Make sure you get long sleeves, I don't want my tattoos to show. Two buttons would be nice on the cuff, make it a small cuff, I can't stand those big cuffs, roll em up and they feel like a notebook on your forearm".
Ummm sure.
(I'm thinking of searching for the Holy Grail at the same time)
He's finicky about his lunches too...
He knows what he wants.
He can go hours and hours at work without any food...(you may have read my post about him needing to eat every two hours like a newborn, well that is only when he's home, or maybe it's only when he sees me...the sight of me makes him hungry...like a nursing newborn),
anyway, I try (every day) to pack him something good to eat.
"What did you put in there?" he asks pointing to his lunch box.
Before I can answer he flips open the top and starts thumbing through the contents.
"I don't want this" he says...
"or this,
or this either."
Soon Daddio has a box filled with two bottled waters, and an apple.
Lunch fit for a king.
This morning I was planning on slipping in a sub sandwich and some red grapes.
A ham, salami, two kinds of cheese, pickles, tomatoes, mustard and a little dab of salt and pepper sub...yummmm
He walked into the kitchen while I was wrapping it up.
"Is that for me?" he asks.
"Cut it into small pieces" he instructs.
"So I can eat it while I work"
(by the time I had it cut into small pieces it was a slimy slippery mess)
"You don't have any sauce on there do you?" he yells from the living room.
"I don't want to get all sticky".
I admit that there is mustard on the sub... but I don't disclose that there are slippery pickles and I keep mum about the messy tomatoes.
He's wearing a nice solid colored not too thick not too thin 1/2 inch collared two small button sleeved green shirt and he looks nice and fresh.
I can hear it now....
"That sub dripped all over me." he will say when he comes home tonight " And it gave me a stomach ache. Don't pack me any other stuff like that to eat anymore, okay?"
"Only an apple and some grapes."
"Grapes are always good."
"Except for today...the ones you put in there today were too juicy. I need to have grapes that don't shoot out of the bottom of the casing. Or squirt when I pull them off the vine. Look at my shirt, I have grape spray all over me."
"What's for dinner?"
"Don't give me too much, I don't like those thick hamburgers, they sit in my stomach like a lead weight. I'll take a salad, but don't put any cheese in it okay, I had enough cheese today at lunch. Yeah, there was a lot of cheese on the drippy sub you sent me. Do we only have those cheap hamburger buns? I hate those buns, there's something not right with those buns, they stay in the cupboard for a month and they are still soft, but they stink. Do they make thin buns? Buns with not so much bread? You know what, don't even bother with a bun, I'll eat it on a plate. That's too much food. I only want a little bit. I think you're trying to kill me. You feed me too much."
"I ate it all, and now I'm too full. That was a lot of food on the plate you know. I think tomorrow I'm going vegetarian".
"No meat for me tomorrow"
"You have to like vegetables to be a vegetarian" I tell him.
"And when you don't eat meat, you are hungry an hour later" I remind him.
"Well maybe we could try to eat some fish." I suggest.
"I can't eat fish, you ever look at a fish up close? Maybe there is some kind of meat that isn't so heavy? Isn't so meaty?"
Jesus, grant me strength.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The "F" word......
Food.... is the bain of my existence.
It's a love hate kind of thing.
Since I was a little girl I've loved to cook, or maybe it is feeding people that I like.
Food is love you know.
Daddio has been known to say that I lured him into a relationship with me by feeding him some delicious fried chicken.
He claims that once I hooked him, I never made it like that again.
His description of the bone dry chicken has me thinking that it was horribly overcooked and over seasoned and that once I figured out how to do it properly I was never able to duplicate the mistake.
When I was expecting the Sweet Prince Buttercup I wanted Daddio to support my decision to nurse. I told him all kinds of horrible things about baby formula.
He was all on board.
His support was especially apparent when he would give me a shove at 12 am and 2am and 4am and 6 am to let me know the baby was crying and I (or rather my boob) was being summoned.
Daddio likes to eat too...a lot.
He will gladly tell you that he nearly starves to death every weekend, when were not on a schedule.
I do feed him about every two hours, just like a newborn.
I've even offered to try and get him an IV that could pump the food 24/7...that's the kind of good wife that I am.
Yeah...Daddio likes to eat, but he doesn't like to cook.
Once when the kids were small I left them with him to attend a bridal shower.
I'd planned to be gone only a couple of hours, but it drug on and on (like they alllllways seem to do) and I was gone for the better part of the afternoon.
When I got home the gang was waiting for me...they were pale and lethargic.
"I thought we were going to starve to death" Daddio said.
The kids just whimpered.
Too weak to lift their tiny heads.
"We ate bread" Daddio continued.
"Bread?"
"All you fed them all day was the entire loaf of bread?" I asked holding up the empty bag.
Oh brother.
At work I'm all about food too.
Planning menus, grocery shopping, feeding hungry people.
Food is love you know.
Tonight, after I'd filled the coffee pot (with some liquid food) and plugged in the cell phones I decided to write the kids a note and tell them goodnight.
"Your mama loves you" I wrote.
I added x's and o's and little bubbly hearts.
This morning when I went for my coffee I could see a note sitting next to the pot.
I grabbed my coffee and the note.
I expected to see some expression of love.
And I guess I did.
It read.....
Hugo (the hamster) needs food.
Haley (the cat) needs food.
Trouble (Googie's other half) needs food.
Food is love you know.
And dammit...
I AM LOVED..... ;-)
It's a love hate kind of thing.
Since I was a little girl I've loved to cook, or maybe it is feeding people that I like.
Food is love you know.
Daddio has been known to say that I lured him into a relationship with me by feeding him some delicious fried chicken.
He claims that once I hooked him, I never made it like that again.
His description of the bone dry chicken has me thinking that it was horribly overcooked and over seasoned and that once I figured out how to do it properly I was never able to duplicate the mistake.
When I was expecting the Sweet Prince Buttercup I wanted Daddio to support my decision to nurse. I told him all kinds of horrible things about baby formula.
He was all on board.
His support was especially apparent when he would give me a shove at 12 am and 2am and 4am and 6 am to let me know the baby was crying and I (or rather my boob) was being summoned.
Daddio likes to eat too...a lot.
He will gladly tell you that he nearly starves to death every weekend, when were not on a schedule.
I do feed him about every two hours, just like a newborn.
I've even offered to try and get him an IV that could pump the food 24/7...that's the kind of good wife that I am.
Yeah...Daddio likes to eat, but he doesn't like to cook.
Once when the kids were small I left them with him to attend a bridal shower.
I'd planned to be gone only a couple of hours, but it drug on and on (like they alllllways seem to do) and I was gone for the better part of the afternoon.
When I got home the gang was waiting for me...they were pale and lethargic.
"I thought we were going to starve to death" Daddio said.
The kids just whimpered.
Too weak to lift their tiny heads.
"We ate bread" Daddio continued.
"Bread?"
"All you fed them all day was the entire loaf of bread?" I asked holding up the empty bag.
Oh brother.
At work I'm all about food too.
Planning menus, grocery shopping, feeding hungry people.
Food is love you know.
Tonight, after I'd filled the coffee pot (with some liquid food) and plugged in the cell phones I decided to write the kids a note and tell them goodnight.
"Your mama loves you" I wrote.
I added x's and o's and little bubbly hearts.
This morning when I went for my coffee I could see a note sitting next to the pot.
I grabbed my coffee and the note.
I expected to see some expression of love.
And I guess I did.
It read.....
Hugo (the hamster) needs food.
Haley (the cat) needs food.
Trouble (Googie's other half) needs food.
Food is love you know.
And dammit...
I AM LOVED..... ;-)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Hide nor hair......
My wee boy was away at camp last week. I missed him terribly. There was no one here to make piles of laundry. Or leave a sink full of cheese encrusted plates. No one to give my last ten bucks to. No one to bicker with Googie..... Sniffle, sniffle
Truthfully, I missed him.
I missed his walk up behind me surprise back rubs.
I missed his funny stories.
I don't like when the kids that are supposed to be here aren't.
It's not quite as horrible as when they move out for good and you really have a huge gaping hole in your heart....
Theno good ones that forget to call you for days and days and days...forcing you to turn into "Stalker Mom"...
"Mom, is something wrong?" missing child asks "you've called my phone like 56 times, and I think I just saw you circle my block in your car"
Anyway my point here is that when my chickadees are away this mama chick is all discombooberated (yes, I know that is not the word, but this is my blog and I can misspell, misuse and miss what ever the heck I want to, including, but not limited to my missing children).
So at camp they are told not to bring their phones.
My son, the wee missing one, isoften sometimes a rule breaker stretcher.
To take his phone away for a week would be tantamount to an appendage being removed.
"I'll hide it in my pillowcase" he tells me.
When I begin to protest, he seals the deal... "if I don't have a phone, I can't call you for a week and you will have no idea what is going on in my life, you won't know if I'm alive or dead, I could be a victim of one of those teenage camp killers, I could be kidnapped and you wouldn't even know it". (Okay, he really didn't say those last few things, but hey remember... its my blog and I'm allowed to embellish if I want to).
"Take the phone kid" I say "and if you get caught...I had NO knowledge of it going to camp with you".
Like a good son he texted me each and every night....
Well, each and every night until Wednesday.
On Tuesday he sent this....
(I have been accused (maybe once or twice) of being a bitpreoccupied dreamy sometimes when my kids are trying to tell me something.
I will admit that on occasion I dozone out get overwhelmed and appear to not be paying much attention.
And I suck when it comes to texting so I keep them short and sweet and for the life of me I can't seem to find the patience to switch from option to option to get the proper punctuation marks so often the kids need to "read between the lines" when they get a text from me.
I wondered why he hadn't texted me and I needed to know when to pick him up from the drop off point.
In other words..where are you and when are you coming home...)
His reply.....
Are you kidding me....?!
ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You're WHERE???
At camp?
SERIOUSLY???? (silly me) I HADN'T NOTICED YOU WERE EVEN MISSING.
"Hey Googie" I asked the day after I got that text "have you noticed something missing around here?"
"Seems a bit quiet...I can't quite put my finger on it...but something is missing".
What.... the..... frick?? Does this kid think I smoke crack?
I KNOW WHERE THE HELL MY KID IS....(at least I like to give that impression).
Truthfully, I missed him.
I missed his walk up behind me surprise back rubs.
I missed his funny stories.
I don't like when the kids that are supposed to be here aren't.
It's not quite as horrible as when they move out for good and you really have a huge gaping hole in your heart....
The
"Mom, is something wrong?" missing child asks "you've called my phone like 56 times, and I think I just saw you circle my block in your car"
Anyway my point here is that when my chickadees are away this mama chick is all discombooberated (yes, I know that is not the word, but this is my blog and I can misspell, misuse and miss what ever the heck I want to, including, but not limited to my missing children).
So at camp they are told not to bring their phones.
My son, the wee missing one, is
To take his phone away for a week would be tantamount to an appendage being removed.
"I'll hide it in my pillowcase" he tells me.
When I begin to protest, he seals the deal... "if I don't have a phone, I can't call you for a week and you will have no idea what is going on in my life, you won't know if I'm alive or dead, I could be a victim of one of those teenage camp killers, I could be kidnapped and you wouldn't even know it". (Okay, he really didn't say those last few things, but hey remember... its my blog and I'm allowed to embellish if I want to).
"Take the phone kid" I say "and if you get caught...I had NO knowledge of it going to camp with you".
Like a good son he texted me each and every night....
Well, each and every night until Wednesday.
On Tuesday he sent this....
On Wednesday, when I hadn't heard from him and it was time for me to hit the sack I wigged out got mildly concerned.
When I woke up in the middle of the night (It wasn't quite that late) and there was still no message I sent him a text.
(I have been accused (maybe once or twice) of being a bit
I will admit that on occasion I do
And I suck when it comes to texting so I keep them short and sweet and for the life of me I can't seem to find the patience to switch from option to option to get the proper punctuation marks so often the kids need to "read between the lines" when they get a text from me.
I wondered why he hadn't texted me and I needed to know when to pick him up from the drop off point.
In other words..where are you and when are you coming home...)
His reply.....
Are you kidding me....?!
ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You're WHERE???
At camp?
SERIOUSLY???? (silly me) I HADN'T NOTICED YOU WERE EVEN MISSING.
"Hey Googie" I asked the day after I got that text "have you noticed something missing around here?"
"Seems a bit quiet...I can't quite put my finger on it...but something is missing".
What.... the..... frick?? Does this kid think I smoke crack?
I KNOW WHERE THE HELL MY KID IS....(at least I like to give that impression).
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Friend me....
Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. This week's challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.
The writing prompt is in (bold) itallics...
Driving six hours is a long time on the road.
Six hours spent singing car-aoke and taking in the picturesque scenery, but mostly reminiscing about the good times.
But those days were long gone and my mind was in a different place now.
Or was it?
My pulse quickened as I passed the road sign which read "Medford 27 miles."
.....5280 feet, or 63,630 inches till I hit town.
I’d calculated it once and never forgot the numbers.
Here I was about to crash Medford High's class of 2010’s 25th reunion… I’d been keeping track of all the goons since the 9th grade.
Facebook,
Myspace,
There wasn’t much I didn’t know about their lives.
Scary when you think about it.
I freshened up in the car and then it was time to make my grand entrance.
Josh Brown took my offered hand.
Searching my face as he pumped it up and down.
“I’m sorry” he said “I don’t recognize you.”
The writing prompt is in (bold) itallics...
Driving six hours is a long time on the road.
Six hours spent singing car-aoke and taking in the picturesque scenery, but mostly reminiscing about the good times.
But those days were long gone and my mind was in a different place now.
Or was it?
My pulse quickened as I passed the road sign which read "Medford 27 miles."
.....5280 feet, or 63,630 inches till I hit town.
I’d calculated it once and never forgot the numbers.
Here I was about to crash Medford High's class of 2010’s 25th reunion… I’d been keeping track of all the goons since the 9th grade.
Facebook,
Myspace,
There wasn’t much I didn’t know about their lives.
Scary when you think about it.
I freshened up in the car and then it was time to make my grand entrance.
Josh Brown took my offered hand.
Searching my face as he pumped it up and down.
“I’m sorry” he said “I don’t recognize you.”
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
"Misty water colored mem-reeees light the corners of my miiiiiiind......."
Like any mother I don't like to see my babies suffer. Nevermind that my babies are (mostly) grown people who can and do make their own bed decisions and should have to lay in it deal with the consequences.
My step mom likes to tell me that if you do help them too much you rob them of their memories.
Hard times are usually the ones we remember most.
Unless you're like me and like to block all that crap out.
I think my rose colored glasses fit me perfectly.
My sister Susan (you remember...the one who writes the dirty shopping lists) can always be counted on to jog my memory about our growing up years.
When I complain about a kid of mine skipping out on doing their chores or not getting the concept of saving or paying bills Susan reminds me that the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree...
"Don't you remember?" Susan will ask "that whenever you owed mom money you would tell her she couldn't get blood from a rock"
"And when she asked you to clean your room, you'd hide all your junk in the closet or under the bed and then call her in and show her what a wonderful job you did."
"You're lucky mom let you live to see adulthood."
A bit before Daddio and I married my mom made a move to Arizona. We'd all been invited to join her and her husband.
When we balked at leaving our "oh so very" established lives, she said "you can stay in the house and pay the bills if you don't want to come".
Well that sounded like one hell of an adventure and we took her up on it.
And while we loved the adventure often times were tough....really tough.
A strange thing happened during those times, I came to the realization that sometimes you can get blood from a rock.
So Susan reminds me of a time when a desperate time called for a desperate measure.
We really were dirt poor early in our marriage and for a short time right after our wedding my sister lived with us. One day not long after our wedding she was in the bathroom and started hollering for me to bring her some toilet paper.
We had not one square.
“Ok, how bout some tissue?” she asked.
“Nope” I replied.
”A paper towel?” she pleaded .
“We're out” I reported.
“Wait a minute” I yelled outside the door…I just remembered, I had a whole bag of leftover tissue flowers that you shape like an accordion and puff out, the ones that we’d put on our” Just Married” car.
I banged on the door, it cracked open a bit and her skinny arm poked out, palm up. I placed a couple of the flowers in the center of her hand and closed her fingers around them.
She screamed when she saw what I’d given her.
"Hey" I said "they even have a little string on the bottom to make them easier to hold."
“Freak” she yelled.
We used that bag of flowers to wipe our cans for at least a week…before they ran out my dear sister suggested that they shouldn't be kept in a paper bag on the floor, so she found a pretty basket to put them it.
She always was the classy one.
My step mom likes to tell me that if you do help them too much you rob them of their memories.
Hard times are usually the ones we remember most.
Unless you're like me and like to block all that crap out.
I think my rose colored glasses fit me perfectly.
My sister Susan (you remember...the one who writes the dirty shopping lists) can always be counted on to jog my memory about our growing up years.
When I complain about a kid of mine skipping out on doing their chores or not getting the concept of saving or paying bills Susan reminds me that the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree...
"Don't you remember?" Susan will ask "that whenever you owed mom money you would tell her she couldn't get blood from a rock"
"And when she asked you to clean your room, you'd hide all your junk in the closet or under the bed and then call her in and show her what a wonderful job you did."
"You're lucky mom let you live to see adulthood."
A bit before Daddio and I married my mom made a move to Arizona. We'd all been invited to join her and her husband.
When we balked at leaving our "oh so very" established lives, she said "you can stay in the house and pay the bills if you don't want to come".
Well that sounded like one hell of an adventure and we took her up on it.
And while we loved the adventure often times were tough....really tough.
A strange thing happened during those times, I came to the realization that sometimes you can get blood from a rock.
So Susan reminds me of a time when a desperate time called for a desperate measure.
We really were dirt poor early in our marriage and for a short time right after our wedding my sister lived with us. One day not long after our wedding she was in the bathroom and started hollering for me to bring her some toilet paper.
We had not one square.
“Ok, how bout some tissue?” she asked.
“Nope” I replied.
”A paper towel?” she pleaded .
“We're out” I reported.
“Wait a minute” I yelled outside the door…I just remembered, I had a whole bag of leftover tissue flowers that you shape like an accordion and puff out, the ones that we’d put on our” Just Married” car.
I banged on the door, it cracked open a bit and her skinny arm poked out, palm up. I placed a couple of the flowers in the center of her hand and closed her fingers around them.
She screamed when she saw what I’d given her.
"Hey" I said "they even have a little string on the bottom to make them easier to hold."
“Freak” she yelled.
We used that bag of flowers to wipe our cans for at least a week…before they ran out my dear sister suggested that they shouldn't be kept in a paper bag on the floor, so she found a pretty basket to put them it.
She always was the classy one.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Debbie does Dallas????
I met Googie at the doctors on Thursday morning. While we waited for her to be seen I made a phone call and asked her to play secretary and write down a number for me. She pulled my cute little notebook from my purse and jotted it down.
Later when I looked in the pad for the number Googie wrote I saw there was some other writing inside.
It was a list...
Number one,
-clean house
number two
-buy recreational drugs,
HUH???
number three?
-buy rubbers
What the hell?
-buy batteries for "Rabbit Ears"
-Rent Debbie Does Dallas (at Classic Videos)
and finally,
-buy lubricant....
Hoooo-kay
Now that's what I'd call a list.
I studied the list for awhile and then decided that Googie was playing a joke on me. I have to admit, I was surprised impressed concerned that she knew the movie Debbie Does Dallas.
The classic porn film from the 70's does feature cheerleaders...and Googie, my sweet classic girl was one hell of a cheerleader.
"Googie" I said, (tee hee) "you left your shopping list on my notepad."
"Ummmm, what are you talking about?" Googie asked, pretending to be confused.
After a couple minutes of rapid fire questioning my first suspect was crossed off the list.
Well if Googie didn't do Dal... then who did???
Who had access to my purse?
The loveables, nope..I keep it locked up.
I had handed the pad to Googie, but she insisted it wasn't her.
My mind then wondered to some yahoo farting around in Party City picking up notepads and writing strange notes...
(Man, your mother must have left you to cry it out....
who does crap like that?)
Then it struck me...it would have had to be a pretty old "kid" to know Debbie Does Dallas.
DunDunDunDuuuuunnnnnnn......
While trying to put the pieces together and figure out a profile for this sex fiend...
My phone rang.
"Sounds like the crazy shit my brothers would do to me" my friend said after I ran the mystery by her.
hmmmmm....
It hit me then.
Quickly, I hit the end button on the phone and just as quickly I dialed her number....
"Debbie does Dallas....huh????"
"What took you so long?" she giggled "I almost forgot I did it."
"Hey" I said "about those rabbit ears......."
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A promise is a promise....(unless you have ADD)
A few days ago I made a promise to my blog readers. I take a promise quite seriously, unless of course I forget that I promised or something comes up that prevents me from following through on said promise.
Which is what happened today.
I poured myself a strong cup of coffee, got all comfy in my chair, cracked my knuckles and prepared to create another earth stopping post.
Uptown...part duex was to be the title.
Suddenly I found myself sweating bullets.
(Just more evidence of me falling down on the job. From the song...I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan...and never never for------get bout the fan (or something like that)....
Anyway the freakin fan was clogged with dust.
Which is what happened today.
I poured myself a strong cup of coffee, got all comfy in my chair, cracked my knuckles and prepared to create another earth stopping post.
Uptown...part duex was to be the title.
Suddenly I found myself sweating bullets.
I tried this....
and this...
and I was just about to get naked when suddenly I thought about the fan in the hallway.
I set it up to blow right on me and I cranked the bugger to #3.... it whispered, when I expected a roar.
After an quick examination I see the problem.
Anyway the freakin fan was clogged with dust.
Never mind it was.....
5:40 in the morning.
I went to work fixing the problem
And using some advanced and intricate tools I worked toward making things right.
The fear of an electical shock had me using a rat tail comb to dig the dust out....(I probably should have unplugged the thing before I took it apart).
It soon became obvious I needed to bring out the "big gun".
Then this little bimbo
joined the vaccum in making so much noise the whole damn family was soon going to be up...She barked till I kicked her in the jaw (just kidding, just kidding).
I was getting frustrated trying to get the fan put back together...
My fake claws made the job tougher than it should have been.
When I got the fan put back together and turned on it still was barely blowing.
I was almost ready to give up and jump my sweaty azz into the shower...suddenly...SUDDENLY, I channeled my inner Daddio and I knew what to do to help with my HOT hot flash....
Yes, I turned on the air conditioning.
And all was right again in my hot little world...except I ran out of time to follow through on my promise....
Uptown, part duex coming soon to a blog near you.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Our dirty lil bar of soap.....
"Have you noticed that if you haven't got something to worry about, you make something up to worry about?"~ My Dad
Okay, so I guess my mind was getting a bit too uncluttered and that means that obviously it's time for a new obsession.
Somehow Googie and I got on the subject of bar soap verses soft soap.
"I think it's disgusting that we all use the same bar of soap" she said, sitting pretty on her high horse.
Suddenly I remembered watching a comedian do a routine about shared bar soap. I was a teenager at the time and when the comedian joked about the whole family sharing the bar he talked about how he could envision his sister taking the soap bar and using it to wash her nether region...then he jumps in the shower after her and grabs the bar and washes his face, he then swipes his ass (I'm quoting here) and leaves the bar for his dad.
I was on the floor laughing...it was hysterical.
Then I thought of my own dirty baby brother...probably just a stinky tween at that time.
He'd purposefully wash his rear with the bare bar soap.
Then laugh like hell when Susan or I used the shower after him.
I know he did this, I just know it.
I remember after watching this comedian that I had little trust that that bar of soap was safe to use. I remember knocking it off the side of the tub and into the water using my toes. I'd rinse it with hot water, before I'd even touch it. Then I'd pick it up and rinse it off again just to be safe. I used a wash cloth and never again used the soap naked.
Until I had my own children.
Then things got a little crazy.
So I admit I don't really remember if I washed all their faces first and then did their butts???
However, my memories of early child rearing have me doing everything beyond perfect sooooooo,
I'm quite sure I used three bars of soap and three sanitized wash cloths to do the job.
Of course I did faces first, for sure. I know it, I just do.
So if I'm remembering things in perfect, they all have been taught to hot rinse the bar before using, and to only lather up on their hands and then apply the soap to the sanitized wash cloth and proceed from there.
Keeping the bar as clean and sanitary as possible.
Okay who in the hell am I kidding?
Soft soap in a pump can be expensive...of course you can buy the cheap stuff, (if you want to itch like a dog with fleas) or you can decide to go el natural.
I can picture it now....
"MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! There's no soap in here!!!!"
"YES, I KNOW DEAR.....CRANK UP THE HOT WATER"
*Edited to add...
Enjoy your day :-)
Saturday, July 10, 2010
You belong to me.....
Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. This week's challenge is to write 200 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent. It has to be Harlequin Romance style....(I don't believe I've ever read a Harlequin Romance novel...so forgive me if my "bodice ripping" is reserved for the imagination.)
The writing prompt is in itallics...
Without thinking I brushed back the bang that had fallen over his eye.
As my hand dropped he reached for it and held it for just a second.
That second was long enough to make my face flush. And my heart race.
A reaction as familiar to me as my own name.
I knew him well enough to know he felt it too.
“How long you here for?” I tried to make small talk.
“Just till Monday” he answered.
Three days. Not a lot of time, but maybe, just maybe, enough.
Come home and see your children I want to say. Come sit in your rocking chair and pet your dog. While you’re there maybe you can check out the furnace, its making that strange noise again.
“Where would you like the kids to meet you?” I ask.
I smell her, even before he looks over my shoulder to acknowledge her, I know she’s there.
Still, when I turned around I was startled to meet a green-eyed gaze...
My oldest, dearest best friend ever, the wrecker of my formerly happy home, within striking distance.
I want to bloody her perfect peach glossed lips.
They turn up at the edges in a smirk.
“He’s mine” her smile says “I had him first.”
The writing prompt is in itallics...
Without thinking I brushed back the bang that had fallen over his eye.
As my hand dropped he reached for it and held it for just a second.
That second was long enough to make my face flush. And my heart race.
A reaction as familiar to me as my own name.
I knew him well enough to know he felt it too.
“How long you here for?” I tried to make small talk.
“Just till Monday” he answered.
Three days. Not a lot of time, but maybe, just maybe, enough.
Come home and see your children I want to say. Come sit in your rocking chair and pet your dog. While you’re there maybe you can check out the furnace, its making that strange noise again.
“Where would you like the kids to meet you?” I ask.
I smell her, even before he looks over my shoulder to acknowledge her, I know she’s there.
Still, when I turned around I was startled to meet a green-eyed gaze...
My oldest, dearest best friend ever, the wrecker of my formerly happy home, within striking distance.
I want to bloody her perfect peach glossed lips.
They turn up at the edges in a smirk.
“He’s mine” her smile says “I had him first.”
Friday, July 9, 2010
Uptown....
My sister, brother and I were blessed with two wonderful grandmothers...they were both loving and fun and treated us like royalty when we visited their homes.
While there in her little neck of the woods Grandma K would let us do what ever it was our little hearts desired.
Often she'd let us play "Store"...
She'd provide a roll of masking tape, some paper to make play money, and a jar full of coins.
She'd also let us have free reign of her teen son's bedroom and all his belongings including his clothes.
Using the masking tape we'd tear off little pieces and print the "price" of the item, then stick it on.
One of us would paw through our uncle's things making choices of what to buy.
The other would play cashier and ring up the stuff.
My uncle was a "cool guy", a far-out banging 70's hippy bomb dude.
AND....he played guitar in a long haired rock and roll band.
Impressing chicks was his favorite pastime.
The poor guy had no clue we were using his bedroom as our store and his things as our merchandise.
The game came to an abrupt end one Saturday morning.
After a gig the previous night our uncle was putting the moves on some foxy chick...she was all impressed by his long hair and fancy guitar licks and with it being the early 70's and all, he figured (and rightfully so) that this honey would probably take him home for a little free luv.
They were hammerin out the details when suddenly she leans in and picks something off his shirt sleeve.
It was a piece of cream colored masking tape.
"Wow" she said "you forgot to take the price tag off your shirt."
He spent the better part of the next thirty minutes trying to convince the girl that he had no idea where that tag came from.
We were never allowed to ever ever step even one foot into his bedroom ever ever again.....
Part 2 of Uptown to follow soon.
My mom's mom brought us to her home every year in time to go to the Street Fair, or Uptown as she called it.
Usually we'd go over at the beginning of the week and hang out until the Street Fair began on Wednesday.
Then we'd spend the entire weekend hanging out Uptown.
While there in her little neck of the woods Grandma K would let us do what ever it was our little hearts desired.
Often she'd let us play "Store"...
She'd provide a roll of masking tape, some paper to make play money, and a jar full of coins.
She'd also let us have free reign of her teen son's bedroom and all his belongings including his clothes.
Using the masking tape we'd tear off little pieces and print the "price" of the item, then stick it on.
One of us would paw through our uncle's things making choices of what to buy.
The other would play cashier and ring up the stuff.
My uncle was a "cool guy", a far-out banging 70's hippy bomb dude.
AND....he played guitar in a long haired rock and roll band.
Impressing chicks was his favorite pastime.
The poor guy had no clue we were using his bedroom as our store and his things as our merchandise.
The game came to an abrupt end one Saturday morning.
After a gig the previous night our uncle was putting the moves on some foxy chick...she was all impressed by his long hair and fancy guitar licks and with it being the early 70's and all, he figured (and rightfully so) that this honey would probably take him home for a little free luv.
They were hammerin out the details when suddenly she leans in and picks something off his shirt sleeve.
It was a piece of cream colored masking tape.
"Wow" she said "you forgot to take the price tag off your shirt."
He spent the better part of the next thirty minutes trying to convince the girl that he had no idea where that tag came from.
We were never allowed to ever ever step even one foot into his bedroom ever ever again.....
Part 2 of Uptown to follow soon.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A baby's brain and an old man's heart.....
The lazy days of a summer vacation probably should be over for my just graduated son.
He's chomping at the bit to get on with his life...get a decent job, begin college.
He's also suggested that maybe he'd take a year off before starting college....
Ummm, no.
"18, he gets confused everyday."
His cousin left for the Marines and his oldest friend is scheduled to leave for Camp Lejeune in December.
"I'm a boy and I'm a man."
Yesterday, I was brain dead slumped in Daddio's Lazy Boy watching some cheesy made for tv goofball movie when he and his buddy walked in.
They both wore shit-eatin grins on their faces.
"What the heck is up with you two?" I asked
"Just passin thru" my man-child answered.
"I'm in the middle without any plans"
They went upstairs, downstairs, outside.
Then, inside, upstairs, downstairs, outside.
Didn't take long, they were out the front door.
"Seeeeee ya ma" my kid yelled.
"Well I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin' in outer space, yeah, yeah"
A bit later my boy came home alone.
"What'd you guys end up doing?" I asked
"We bought an air horn and went to a golf course" he said.
"You should see how pissed off the guys get when they're just about to tee off and we blow the horn"
I try hard to stifle my giggles.
"You're going to get your assed kicked one of these days" I warn.
"Yeah, there was one guy who got pretty mad, he was yelling at us." he admitted.
"Did you take off then?" I asked.
"Nah, we blew the horn at him so all we could see was his mouth moving".
Never in your life will you be 18 again....
Oh how I wish that weren't true.
I think I'd give just about anything to be 18 again...(but only for one day.)
"I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen and I like it
Yes I like it, oh I like it, love it, like it, love it
Eighteen, eighteen
Yes I like it, oh I like it, love it, like it, love it
Eighteen, eighteen
I'm eighteen and I like it " ~ Alice Cooper
He's chomping at the bit to get on with his life...get a decent job, begin college.
He's also suggested that maybe he'd take a year off before starting college....
Ummm, no.
"18, he gets confused everyday."
His cousin left for the Marines and his oldest friend is scheduled to leave for Camp Lejeune in December.
"I'm a boy and I'm a man."
Yesterday, I was brain dead slumped in Daddio's Lazy Boy watching some cheesy made for tv goofball movie when he and his buddy walked in.
They both wore shit-eatin grins on their faces.
"What the heck is up with you two?" I asked
"Just passin thru" my man-child answered.
"I'm in the middle without any plans"
They went upstairs, downstairs, outside.
Then, inside, upstairs, downstairs, outside.
Didn't take long, they were out the front door.
"Seeeeee ya ma" my kid yelled.
"Well I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin' in outer space, yeah, yeah"
A bit later my boy came home alone.
"What'd you guys end up doing?" I asked
"We bought an air horn and went to a golf course" he said.
"You should see how pissed off the guys get when they're just about to tee off and we blow the horn"
I try hard to stifle my giggles.
"You're going to get your assed kicked one of these days" I warn.
"Yeah, there was one guy who got pretty mad, he was yelling at us." he admitted.
"Did you take off then?" I asked.
"Nah, we blew the horn at him so all we could see was his mouth moving".
Never in your life will you be 18 again....
Oh how I wish that weren't true.
I think I'd give just about anything to be 18 again...(but only for one day.)
"I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen and I like it
Yes I like it, oh I like it, love it, like it, love it
Eighteen, eighteen
Yes I like it, oh I like it, love it, like it, love it
Eighteen, eighteen
I'm eighteen and I like it " ~ Alice Cooper
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Put me down....
I took a week off from the Funny Farm.
I needed a rest.
And my house is a sty.
And summer is passing me by, again.
The loveables, the other staff and I have been busy...busier than usual.
I agreed we'd take a "catering job" which entailed preparing food for an extra 50 people every day for eight days straight.
Thank God....last Thursday wrapped that extra duty up.
I am no caterer.
You can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear.
Or something to that effect.
One of the loveables, a pint sized strong man who goes around picking people up picked me up the other day.
He came up behind me and threw his arms around my arms and up I went...feet dangling in the air.
50 year old feet dangling.
In the air...
I'm pretty sure I laughed at first...I think I was so caught off guard and shocked that that was my first emotion.
Then I hollered "PUUUUT ME DOWN!!!!"
One of my coworkers was standing near and ordered him to "LET HER GO!!!"
When my feet were planted firmly on the ground once again I had a strange thought....
My own boys have picked me up before...and when ordered to "put me down" they respected me and did as I said.
When my brother did it, and didn't put me down I elbowed him in the ribs and donkey kicked him in the nuts...he dropped me, then ran like hell.
Okay so while I didn't feel threatened...I also didn't feel the respect that I should be gettting from this youth.
So how to handle something like that???
If I had ordered him to put me down, and the other staff hadn't been in the room to order him as well...I wonder how long the "game" would have gone on???
He has no idea I used to pound my siblings into the ground.
They knew one thing about my fighting style...
God help and pity the fool who takes her off her feet.
The plea "self defense" worked before...
I have no doubt it will work again.
I needed a rest.
And my house is a sty.
And summer is passing me by, again.
The loveables, the other staff and I have been busy...busier than usual.
I agreed we'd take a "catering job" which entailed preparing food for an extra 50 people every day for eight days straight.
Thank God....last Thursday wrapped that extra duty up.
I am no caterer.
You can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear.
Or something to that effect.
One of the loveables, a pint sized strong man who goes around picking people up picked me up the other day.
He came up behind me and threw his arms around my arms and up I went...feet dangling in the air.
50 year old feet dangling.
In the air...
I'm pretty sure I laughed at first...I think I was so caught off guard and shocked that that was my first emotion.
Then I hollered "PUUUUT ME DOWN!!!!"
One of my coworkers was standing near and ordered him to "LET HER GO!!!"
When my feet were planted firmly on the ground once again I had a strange thought....
My own boys have picked me up before...and when ordered to "put me down" they respected me and did as I said.
When my brother did it, and didn't put me down I elbowed him in the ribs and donkey kicked him in the nuts...he dropped me, then ran like hell.
Okay so while I didn't feel threatened...I also didn't feel the respect that I should be gettting from this youth.
So how to handle something like that???
If I had ordered him to put me down, and the other staff hadn't been in the room to order him as well...I wonder how long the "game" would have gone on???
He has no idea I used to pound my siblings into the ground.
They knew one thing about my fighting style...
God help and pity the fool who takes her off her feet.
The plea "self defense" worked before...
I have no doubt it will work again.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
To do.....
Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.
The writing prompt is in itallics...
The surgeon looked uncomfortable as I peppered him with questions and thoughts.
“What will the recovery be like?”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Pretend I'm your wife, or your sister."
“What would your advice be to them?”
He hesitated, then said “You’re 79 years old, is this surgery really necessary?”
I pretended to weigh my options, even though I knew what I was going to do.
"Are you sure that's the one you want?"
I felt a little lump in my throat as I peered down at my choice, held tightly in my hand. I didn't think this would be so nerve-wracking. Was I making the wrong decision? I couldn't agonize over this any longer.
I took a deep breath before managing to say, "... Yes, it is
“May I borrow your pen?” I asked opening my pocketbook.
I unfolded the tattered list and crossed off #98...
Acquire a set of 38 DD's.
Only two remaining.
Purchase long beige overcoat.
Locate Fabio.
The writing prompt is in itallics...
The surgeon looked uncomfortable as I peppered him with questions and thoughts.
“What will the recovery be like?”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Pretend I'm your wife, or your sister."
“What would your advice be to them?”
He hesitated, then said “You’re 79 years old, is this surgery really necessary?”
I pretended to weigh my options, even though I knew what I was going to do.
"Are you sure that's the one you want?"
I felt a little lump in my throat as I peered down at my choice, held tightly in my hand. I didn't think this would be so nerve-wracking. Was I making the wrong decision? I couldn't agonize over this any longer.
I took a deep breath before managing to say, "... Yes, it is
“May I borrow your pen?” I asked opening my pocketbook.
I unfolded the tattered list and crossed off #98...
Acquire a set of 38 DD's.
Only two remaining.
Purchase long beige overcoat.
Locate Fabio.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
When number seven goes missing....
I would like to extend my most sincere apology to you if you stopped by the last day or two and found nothing new to read...except Monday's old news, which really wasn't news at all.
I've been in a funk, a slump, a pile of poo.
And not necessarily in that order.
I'm uncomfortable in my bland skin, I hate the feeling of dull.
And blah.
I'd much rather be like a sparkler.
Than a dud.
Of course sparklers can get you into trouble.
Sorry mom...didn't mean to conjure up any bad memories or anything.
I don't remember who's idea it was to light the sparklers in the house using the kitchen stove.
I do remember running them through your house trying desperately to get the popping bits of fire out the back door.
I tried to contain the hot sizzling jumpers in my tiny hand.
In our defense, we weren't allowed to play with matches.
Your new linoleum was pretty messed up with pock marks from the hot sparkles.
I'm pretty sure it was Susan's fault.
(But don't tell her you heard that from me).
Last night I was laying upside-down on the couch, legs stretched and feet resting on the back. My head was on the floor...I was hoping the bag of fudge stripped cookies resting in my gut could morph into a pile of feel good endorphins, then rush to my brain and help me feel better.
Do rushing endorphins feel anything like a stroke?
I quickly decided I didn't care for the head rush and I righted myself.
I thought a walk might help.
Instead I ate a pound of super sharp cheddar cheese and a small bag of salty Sun Chips.
When it was too dark for a walk I thought about riding the exercise bike.
Instead I ate a hand full of Rolos and some stale gumdrops (Googie, don't bother asking about my stash...its bone dry).
Then I staggered upstairs, drunk on sugar and carbs to the computer room where I skipped around a bit from website to website until I remembered that Bear's Senior All Night Party was online...
He wanted me to see the clips of he and his classmates being hypnotized.
I wasn't sure I could believe that the kids were really hypnotized...until I saw my son.
I watched as my normally painfully shy boy jumped for joy and then cried when he got all the numbers to a winning $50,000.00 ticket the lady hypnotist had handed him.
I held my hand over my mouth and watched as he reacted to losing the Miss America beauty pageant.
I know that pout, and it was real.
I literally cackled when he and the others "lost" the number seven.
The hypnotist put them all to "sleep", woke them up and then did some math with them.
She had them count the fingers on their hands.
Ten was the number they all agreed on.
As sure as they were of their own names they knew they had five fingers on each hand.
Then she put them back to sleep and told them that they would not remember the number seven.
She woke them up and asked them each to count their fingers...
They would stretch out their hands and begin...flipping a digit at a time, one...two...three...four...five...next hand..six,
wait,
again,
one...two...three....four....five...next hand...six...eight...nine...ten...ELEVEN.
Ahhh, yes eleven.
Eleven fingers.
They were in agreement.
She asked them to do it again.
Each and every one looked perplexed as they came again and again to number eleven.
Each and every one of them hesitated when they got to what should have been number seven.
They looked momentarily confused and then made the decision to leave seven behind and keep on until the job was done...
Eleven..they were as sure as they were about who they were that the fingers on their two hands added up to eleven.
Then the hypnotist had them go back to sleep. She instructed the ones she tapped on the knee to remember number seven once again.
Those few tapped were asked to count again.
They shook their heads up and down and nodded to each other...."yep, 10" they said.
The others, not yet tapped, looked down at their hands and still were getting eleven.
On some level they knew that they should be getting ten and this was throwing them for a loop....
Maybe that's my problem...I'm missing number seven.
I've been in a funk, a slump, a pile of poo.
And not necessarily in that order.
I'm uncomfortable in my bland skin, I hate the feeling of dull.
And blah.
I'd much rather be like a sparkler.
Than a dud.
Of course sparklers can get you into trouble.
Sorry mom...didn't mean to conjure up any bad memories or anything.
I don't remember who's idea it was to light the sparklers in the house using the kitchen stove.
I do remember running them through your house trying desperately to get the popping bits of fire out the back door.
I tried to contain the hot sizzling jumpers in my tiny hand.
In our defense, we weren't allowed to play with matches.
Your new linoleum was pretty messed up with pock marks from the hot sparkles.
I'm pretty sure it was Susan's fault.
(But don't tell her you heard that from me).
Last night I was laying upside-down on the couch, legs stretched and feet resting on the back. My head was on the floor...I was hoping the bag of fudge stripped cookies resting in my gut could morph into a pile of feel good endorphins, then rush to my brain and help me feel better.
Do rushing endorphins feel anything like a stroke?
I quickly decided I didn't care for the head rush and I righted myself.
I thought a walk might help.
Instead I ate a pound of super sharp cheddar cheese and a small bag of salty Sun Chips.
When it was too dark for a walk I thought about riding the exercise bike.
Instead I ate a hand full of Rolos and some stale gumdrops (Googie, don't bother asking about my stash...its bone dry).
Then I staggered upstairs, drunk on sugar and carbs to the computer room where I skipped around a bit from website to website until I remembered that Bear's Senior All Night Party was online...
He wanted me to see the clips of he and his classmates being hypnotized.
I wasn't sure I could believe that the kids were really hypnotized...until I saw my son.
I watched as my normally painfully shy boy jumped for joy and then cried when he got all the numbers to a winning $50,000.00 ticket the lady hypnotist had handed him.
I held my hand over my mouth and watched as he reacted to losing the Miss America beauty pageant.
I know that pout, and it was real.
I literally cackled when he and the others "lost" the number seven.
The hypnotist put them all to "sleep", woke them up and then did some math with them.
She had them count the fingers on their hands.
Ten was the number they all agreed on.
As sure as they were of their own names they knew they had five fingers on each hand.
Then she put them back to sleep and told them that they would not remember the number seven.
She woke them up and asked them each to count their fingers...
They would stretch out their hands and begin...flipping a digit at a time, one...two...three...four...five...next hand..six,
wait,
again,
one...two...three....four....five...next hand...six...eight...nine...ten...ELEVEN.
Ahhh, yes eleven.
Eleven fingers.
They were in agreement.
She asked them to do it again.
Each and every one looked perplexed as they came again and again to number eleven.
Each and every one of them hesitated when they got to what should have been number seven.
They looked momentarily confused and then made the decision to leave seven behind and keep on until the job was done...
Eleven..they were as sure as they were about who they were that the fingers on their two hands added up to eleven.
Then the hypnotist had them go back to sleep. She instructed the ones she tapped on the knee to remember number seven once again.
Those few tapped were asked to count again.
They shook their heads up and down and nodded to each other...."yep, 10" they said.
The others, not yet tapped, looked down at their hands and still were getting eleven.
On some level they knew that they should be getting ten and this was throwing them for a loop....
Maybe that's my problem...I'm missing number seven.
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