Gino meets his match....

Another Saturday Centus, 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...


“Gimmy your lunch money” Gino said “and I won’t beat you up”.

I dug deep in my pockets and pulled out 35 cents and handed it over.

Same thing I did yesterday and the day before.

Tales of a third grade wimp.

Then… Gino met my sister.

Tales of a first grade maniac.

She chased him for at least a block and jumped him on our neighbor’s lawn.

She punched him in the head. And kicked him in the back.

I wanted to laugh at his green freckles, instead I took the money he returned.

He never bothered me again.

It’s true, the smell of freshly mowed grass can stay with you for years, for decades.

Don't let the pretty "get up"  fool ya, the kid was a scrapper.

Waiting to exhale......

It's 9:30 in the evening and I'm sitting in my computer chair typing this post because there is no way I can do anything else.

I'm waiting.

On pins and needles.

I have a pit the size of a basketball resting heavily on my diaphragm making it hard to breathe.

It all started with a phone call to our landline a bit ago. I didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number.

A couple of minutes later Daddio walked upstairs with my cell phone. Bear had just called.

He was calling to tell us that he was on the way to the hospital, his best friend since the first grade had been injured in a car accident.

With hands shaking so badly it was hard to hold the phone, I called Bear back.

"How bad?" I asked.

"His parents didn't know how bad mom" he answered. "They called me and weren't to the hospital yet."

Then he just about broke my heart when he asked "If he was dead mom would the hospital keep that from his parents so they could make it to the hospital?

I don't know. Do they do that? I didn't think they did that? Please tell me they don't do that.

"No, honey he's going to be fine" I said.

Suddenly I was scared for my own child.

Scared because he's driving and upset.

Scared about what he may find when he gets to the hospital.

Scared to think about how his life could change because his best friend got into a car accident.

Then I thought about his friend's mother.

And I thought about my own mother who lost her son to an accident one seemingly ordinary mid October evening.

And I thought about Bear and his friend's graduation ceremony tomorrow night.

These two boys who became fast best friends when they met in the school supply aisle at K-Mart the first day of first grade.

Bear and Metzie were in the same class and became a perfectly matched inseparable pair.

They would be best friends all their growing up years.

They planned to walk together to get their diplomas.

And now Bear was on his way to the hospital where Metzie was taken after the accident.

A couple of hours and lots of text messages later Bear called one last time to say he was on his way home.

"Anybody want any MickyD's?" he asked when he called.

"Bring your dad a big mac" I said.

"Nothin for you ma?" He asked.

"Yeah" I wanted to add.....go to the store Bear and get some party hats and some balloons. Stop by the church and kneel and say a prayer of thanks. Lets make a cake. And throw confetti. And blow kazoos. And bubbles. Lets dance a jig and sing some songs.

"No kid, just hurry home" I said "and be careful".

Bear's best friend is going to be fine.

Life goes on as planned.

Halleluiah, Hallehuiah......

I'm at a loss for words...

And 'I'm busier than a one armed paper hanger on a windy day'...(a silly phrase my step-mom likes to say)...

Or you could say I'm 'busier than a cat coverin shit...' (my dad's version).

You get the drift.

Today as much as I would like I have no time to ramble or speak (write) drivel....

No time, no time, no time, no time

No time, no time, no time, no time

I got, got, got, got no time

I got, got, got, got no time

I got, got, got, got no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no time

I got, got, got, got no time

No-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no,

no-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no, no time

I got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time
 
No time.

Is it just me or is there a striking resemblance???

Googie and her "bad boy" Trouble

Happy Wednesday...I'll be back. Hopefully tomorrow or Friday or maybe Sunday after the party. Monday for sure. Well, unless something changes and then I could be back here later today. Or possibly next Tuesday. Or the second Tuesday of next week......

Is it any damn wonder I never get anything done?

I haven’t yet begun to procrastinate…I’ll get started on it later.

Seriously...good bye (for now). xoxoxoxo

All cheesy (and not proud of it)......

Saturday evening found me belly up on the couch in the living room moaning and groaning that I couldn't bear cooking one more mundane dinner..that I was so tired of the same old crap that we eat every damn day of our freakin lives and there (seriously) was (absolutely) no food in the house to cook even if I even wanted to.

"What sounds good" Daddio asked, trying to soothe my foul mood.

"Nothing" I pouted.

"Well on second thought, maybe Taco Bell" I said.

I suited up and hit the road.

In my little town you have two options to get to Taco Bell. One is through Town, which means speed limits so low I have to keep my foot on the brake to keep my car going the legal posted speed.....which is CRAWL.

The other is the Hall to Vreeland Road route...which means pot holes, random herds of deer, big (BIG) fast traveling trucks driven by drivers who all seem to have an eerie resemblance to Large Marge.

Vreeland Road also sports a train track with the stupidest train yard workers in the free world.

No matter what time day or night you pass this set of tracks there is a train on its way to being stopped dead over the tracks, I'm talking they sometimes stop the Caboose on the tracks, the one car Caboose... a fat man in suspenders stops the one car train literally within a few feet of clearing the tracks and then leaves it there idling. Pissin people off.

Especially people like me, filled with impatience and nerves wound tighter than a spring loaded seat belt retractor.

Take Vreeland Road, and you know your gonna be playing a game of beat the train.

And when I don't (beat the train)...which is almost every time, I beep my horn and I scream crazy crap out the window at the guy in the suspenders.

Not that he understands or even hears a word I’m saying… but it makes me feel better.

I promise the kids (and I seriously mean it) that one day one day I am going to be the lunatic that crashes into the side of the train...I'll go happy, I tell them.

Tonight I choose Vreeland Road, possibly the lesser of two irritations.

I successfully maneuver around the pot holes, I out run the deer and I beat the train....

Pooo-pooo-peee-freakin do....I am the man (just ask me).

Arriving at Taco Bell I see that I am number 36 in the drive-through.

I people watch, all the while Satan sits on my shoulder and urges me on, I critique the parking lot's walking dead, which seems to be every person entering and exiting.

I'm beyond evil and judgmental.

Waiting to be the next car to order, I'm able to read the entire 10x12 foot menu board in the 15 minutes I spend in front of it.

While reading I see this...

Taco Bell's new Crispy Potato Soft Taco....

A soft flour tortilla filled with crispy potato bites, Pepper Jack sauce, crisp, shredded lettuce, and real cheddar cheese.

OMG.....potatoes and cheese!!!!

I'll take ten.

Just kidding, I ordered 8 crunchy tacos and one potato taco.

The invisible person I was placing my order with asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to ckeoriendljkfneorue and for nowierh;a skjdfb;isuer;awe t.

"Yeah, sure" I answered, still riding high on my excitement about the new taco.

When I got to the window, I asked what my dollar was going for.

The kid left the window and me searching for an answer to my perplexing question.

Silly me, I'm such a pill…possibly I crossed some kind of boundary asking a question like that??

I was sitting at the front of the line holding things up… and getting a tad nervous.

I could see the guy behind me in my rearview it appeared he was getting madder by the minute.

The kid came back and explained that he was collecting dollars for moias'ro;tj werkgaw'r and kha;woeir hwejkf and to help kids graduate.

I gave him the buck; wanting to tell him that my own kid just graduated and I probably would rather give the buck to him...I just cut my losses and went forward.

When I pulled away from the pick up window the bag dangling from my free hand seemed a bit light.

I breathed a sigh of relief seeing that my new potato taco was in there.

But there were only 5 crunchy ones.

I pulled around and parked.

After a little 20 minute wait I was given my shorted tacos and out the door I ran.

Towards Vreeland Road and the flashing red lights.

I cracked open the bag, took out the potato taco, ate a bite and wrapped it back up.

Then I did it again, and again and again.

I was feeling a bit piggish downing that taco in the car.

I crumpled up the evidence wrapper and shoved it way down deep into my very dirty purse.

Cleaned off my mouth.

Dental flossed my teeth.

And wiped the huge smile off my face all before I walked in the front door with our dinner.

“It took you a long time” Daddio said when I came in. He walked toward me, squinting his eyes.

“Why do you have cheese and lettuce stuck to your chest?”

I wasn't sure what I should answer..."the counter guy and I got into a taco fight?"

"My chest is littered with shreaded chedder cheese and lettuce because the guy screwed up my order, and stole a buck from me and I was caught by another train on the way home and the tacos smelled so damn good and I was just too freakin hungry to just smell it any longer and so I tore into it and devoured it in a few piggish bites"...

"AND since you asked......"

"I'll tell you what is really going on and why I have a chest full of lettuce and cheese it's called emotional eating and buddy I am frickin starving....

I'm all stressed out, I'm working on a big party for Saturday, I love/hate parties, I'm worried worried worried and my last kid is graduating and I am scared to be the mother of completely grown children.

 I don't know if I know how to do that.

There I said it...now somebody needs to hide the peanut butter cups and the potato chips.

Glad to meet ya.......

Another Saturday Centus, 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...

“It’s your own fault” I whispered into her ear as I choked the life out of her.

Just like the other times I worked methodically cleaning my mess.

What could I take from this one to add to my collection?

Her cross necklace came off easy enough.

A quick rifle though her handbag earned me twenty dollars and a ticket to the matinee.

I’d look around, never too soon to make a new friend.

They didn’t hang around very long.

I settled into the comfortable movie theater seat with awkward 3D glasses perched on my nose, a small tub of popcorn on my lap, and a bottle of water lodged into the seat holder.

I quickly noticed the pretty, petite blonde ” Excuse me miss” I said, tapping her shoulder “you dropped something”.

High anxiety............

Yes, I am a sufferer....

So when I start to do things like occupy my time (virtually) writing and rewriting and editing and stamping and mailing complaint letters to companies like the one that makes DIAL soap. Letting them know they haven't outsmarted anyone (least of all ME) with the little shrinky dink trick they're attempting to pull with their gold bath bar...

Taking time to (literally) compile evidence...

Or when I find myself jumping out of bed at 3am bouncing off hallway walls, stubbing my fat big toe all to make sure that this is what I'll see on my side of our locked door.

(yes. thank goodness they are home)

When I start to revisit old (BAD) habits....

Candy bars and coffee for breakfast.

It's time to name this stress, this sadness, this anxiety.

My baby, my last baby is done with high school!!! sniffle sniffle sob...

(Okay...enough about him, lets talk about me!!! Do you know how freakin old that makes me??? A tangent for another day)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to find time somehow to spit shine my less than tidy nest to prepare for a grad party to be held in 9 (NINE) days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How in the hell do I know if I've bought enough food??????????

Or enough toilet paper?????????

Or if the skies will decide to cry along with me on the day of his party????????????

And if not, will it be so hot that everyone will need to come inside?????????????

Will anyone show up?????????

Did I choose a bad day, too many other parties???????????

Where can I find marbles to booby-trap the medicine cabinet to catch any snoopers??????????

Holy shit....I really HATE party anxiety.

Don't tell me where to go......

The first words out of Daddio's mouth this morning were "What day is it?"

When I told him Tuesday he said "Um....we forgot to get your work van".

That translates to Daddio being my chauffeur this morning...never a great thing without some advance planning.

You see I drive Daddio totally nuts...when he's driving (and if truth be told, most other times too ).

My unorganized self will ask him to pull back into the driveway one, two, maybe even three times before we can get on the road and on our way.

"Just watching you try to leave makes me tired"  crabby Daddio complained.

I had a lot to take to work today and that usually spells big trouble and room for errors.

He'd already filled the back of the car with four flats of tomato and pepper plants that I babysat over the long holiday weekend.

Daddio was aggravated with me when I handed him more than an arms load of bags, a box, a laundry basket and a small baggie filled with Corn Flakes complete with instructions not to crush the cereal.

When he was fully loaded like a pack mule he asked me to hand him the car keys.....

GULP!!! "The car keys???" I ask, a bit confused.

Quickly I do a mental inventory..keys? Did he give me the keys? Omg!!! He gave me the keys!!! Where are the keys? What did I do with the keys? Wait...I don't remember him handing me any keys.

"I don't have the keys" I say "You didn't give me any keys" I insist.

"They're in your hand" Daddio nods toward the keys dangling from the bottom of my palm.

On the road I make lots of small talk...which to a guy like Daddio sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Or Charley Brown's teacher's wawawawawawawaw."

As soon as I notice his eyes beginning to cross and bug out I quiet down.

After we've pulled around back at my workplace to drop off the plants and we get back into the car I assume Daddio is turning around which will put him going the wrong way to head toward the other parking lot where my van is waiting.

"No!!! Don't go that way" I say "go this way" pointing to a small pothole filled gravel road.

"I'm trying to avoid the potholes...I know which way to go! Don't tell me where to go. You don't need to tell me where to go."

"Okay so maybe I don't need to tell you WHERE to go" I say " But I really really want to tell you WHERE TO GO!!!!

"You want to know where you can go?" I ask.

I begin searching my purse looking for the key to the work van.

My purse looks like an active volcano.

"I can't find my key" I say "I know I saw it somewhere."

"Probably on the kitchen counter" Daddio says, sighing.

As I'm digging a tunnel to the bottom of my purse things are falling out of the sides and onto the floor of the car.

"Man...it must suck to be you" Daddio says "you are very unorganized".

"Yeah it does suck to be me." I say with a growl.

"IT REALLY SUCKS TO BE ME" I say even louder.

Finally I locate the key and Daddio pulled up to the van, stopped and said "get the hell out".

"Good riddance" I said back as I closed the door.

He circled back around and rolled down the window....

"Come home in a better mood" he yelled.

(Which almost made me pee my pants)

I blew him a kiss and headed into work.