Someone flushed the toilet, which is not all that uncommon. We left the house. Still… nothing new in Denmark. But ten minutes later my 15 yr. old son called in a panic. The overflow valve on the toilet had malfunctioned, the tank filled beyond capacity and, well… it leaked. A huge waterfall of a leak. Flooded out the hallway and the laundry room downstairs. Created bubbles in the drywall of the ceiling in my daughter’s room. Soaked my kitchen table. *shudder* The maintenance man was sent right over to fix the stopper on the toilet. But my carpet will have to wait until tomorrow to be cleaned. Lovely.

In the meantime, I have to launder every single towel we own, as I used them to sop up all of the mini-lakes in my townhouse. Do you have any idea how many towels I own?

…Too freakin’ many.

Bah.

As some of you may have noticed, I’m having a difficult time finding the time to maintain my blog. I post about once a month now, if that. Part of it is apathy. But here lately, I’ve felt as though I just couldn’t say what has really been on my mind. You know, for fear of traumatizing someone. Like my kids, for starters. Or my friends, when I could actually call them as such. I’ve managed to alienate a couple of them, so that excuse is out. It was silly of me, really. I mean, what was I thinking when I spoke out against dishonesty? I must be living in a dream world, eh? I mean, friends lie about you. Right? And then when you call them on it, they don’t own up to it. And not only do they not own up to it, but they turn and point a finger at you, labeling you as the bad guy for deciding that you really didn’t feel like letting this particular whopper slip on by without voicing your disapproval.

What’s up with that?

Seriously. I don’t get it. How am I the bad guy for saying that I don’t appreciate lies being told about me or my husband. I suppose it’s my fault for not speaking up sooner on all the other lies that had been told. You know, everyone should have more friends like the ones I had.

That sounded really bitter because it was.

I have plenty more bitterness that I could throw into the pot, but we’d only wind up with arsenic. Which I suppose isn’t such a bad idea, in a diabolical mad scientist sort of way. I hated Science class. Nearly fainted when the teacher pricked my finger for that stupid blood test thingy. Fainted! I had warned him ahead of time, but he insisted that I participate or receive a failing grade. Bah. I turned as pale as a ghost (which, believe it or not, is paler than usual). My ears started ringing too. Apparently the teacher noticed my deathly complexion, as he immediately asked me if I needed to leave the room. Told ya so. He probably just didn’t want me to faint on his beakers. I managed to make it out into the hall, but then the lights started swirling and the floor started spinning. I slid my back down the wall and then crawled to the bathroom. Barfed my guts out and felt moderately better afterward. Good times.

I had a few good times in high school, but mostly not. Keggers were fun, but mostly ‘cuz the beer always made me feel comfortably numb. I liked that. And I got to hold Harold’s hand. I really liked holding Harold’s hand. Kissing him was exceptionally nice too. He never left me out of his sight for very long. I thought that was so sweet. It really sucked when I found out that he cheated on me with a couple of girls from Sandpoint. It sucked even more when my best friend told me that she blew him once. As I struggled to get over my shock (’cuz I was a reasonably good girl and the notion of such acts left me utterly horrified), she asked if we could still be friends.

???

We remained friends, actually. I knew her for the tramp that she was. She couldn’t help herself. Harold should have said ‘no’. That was my mindset at the time, at least.

I have a strange mind.

It wanders.

…but I’m always smiling on the inside.

I had another one of those bizarre ‘moving picture’ types of dreams last night. If anyone can decipher this one, I’ll name you my personal Dream Guru, ‘cuz it’s a whopper of wackiness.

Note to self: No more Kraft Macaroni & Cheese before bed.

Cheesy Dreams: Part I

It all started when…

I was driving down a two-lane highway with my daughter, Manda, who was in the passenger seat of our vehicle. I was driving a Jeep. I don’t own a Jeep, never have. What sort of a name is that for a vehicle anyway? It’s almost as silly as ‘Yugo’.

We approached a city and took one of the exits to see the sights. As I was driving along, I looked ahead to the left and saw a magnificent stone carving of a Polar Bear atop a mountain. Then, as I looked closer, I saw a couple of Hansel & Gretel type of buildings with Polar Bear statues on top of them as well. They were absolutely, amazingly detailed and brilliant and beautiful!

“Manda, look at that!”

“What, Mom?”

“Look at those Polar Bears. Aren’t they awesome?”

“Yeah, Mom. Cool,” she said, less than enthusiastically.

Cool? I thought they were awesome!

As I looked around us, lots of picturesque buildings and parks and just really cool stuff came into view. And I decided that we needed to take our time to check everything out. This was an incredible place!

“Wow. Are you seeing all of this? Somebody needs to navigate us to all of the attractions, so that we don’t miss anything. …I’ll navigate.”

“Mom.” *sigh* “…You’re driving. You can’t do both.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” *grin* “You navigate.”

“Sure. …But could you please at least pretend that you’re driving? …Mom. Put your hands on the wheel.”

“Heh.”

As I put my hands on the wheel, our Jeep suddenly became a tandem bicycle. We were back on the highway, just entering the city and pedaling furiously to avoid being run down by an unknown pursuer in a rapidly approaching SUV.

“Manda! I’m going to have to take the next off-ramp. Hang on tight, ‘cuz it looks like a really sharp turn!”

“Okay, Mom. Just do it!”

I hung the next impossible right and skidded our bicycle on to the off-ramp.

“Ooooooh shyte! What the hell is this? A freakin’ spiral copper slide!”

“MOM!”

So there we went, screeching and sliding down and around and around a narrow copper slide that closely resembled a gravity-defying roller-coaster of death. And somehow, we both managed to hang on.

Mind over dream matter, right?

Yeah.

I navigated (Ha!) all the twists and turns, bringing us to a bone-jarring halt at the very tip of a drop off.

“Ooomph!”

After burning the soles off the bottom of my tennis shoes (which were applied as brakes), I checked to see if my legs were still intact. Then I peered at the ground below. It wasn’t all that far after all, just a mere 6′ drop down a steep, wet, muddy, grassy incline.

The sun was shining. I should have been thankful for that, right?

“Manda. We’re going to be just fine, but we’re going to have to jump.”

“Mom, I can’t jump. I’m wearing heels!”

*groan* “You’re going to jump. ‘Nuff said.”

“…But it’s muddy down there.”

I took another look to judge the softness of the earth below us, trying to determine how far her heels were going to sink in the mud. In the back of my thoughts, I snickered.

I told her not to wear those blasted heels.

As I looked down, I saw something wiggle in the grass directly below my dangling feet. It was orange-ish-tan and white in color and rather plump. It poked its nose above the tall grass and glanced at me curiously. A gerbil! How odd. And next to it I saw something else wiggle in the grass. This one was much darker in color, a mixture of russet and black. I’m not really sure what it was, but it kinda resembled a groundhog.

I tried to shoo them away, but they wouldn’t budge. They looked up at me with nonchalant stares, as if to say, ‘You want us to move? Hey, lady. We were here first.‘

I shot back with my best–Well, if you don’t scram I’m going to squish your guts out all over the place when I land heavily upon you–look. It didn’t seem to phase them in the least.

So I jumped, landing a mere fraction of an inch to the left of the R.O.U.L.S.’s (Rodents of Unusually Lethargic Senses). The ground was a bit damp beneath my shoes, but it was solid.

“C’mon, Manda. Jump. You won’t sink a bit. …And don’t forget the blanket. We might need it later.”

Blanket? Where’d that come from?

“What about the bike, Mom? I don’t think I can reach it. It’s stuck a couple of feet above my head.”

“Forget the bike, we’ll hike.”

Manda jumped. She made it without squishing any rodents or sliding aimlessly down the hill. I was impressed. She didn’t even get her heels dirty AND she managed to save the blanket. A big, quilted black bedspread, actually.

…The next thing I knew, I was walking in a park on a beautiful, bright sunny day. But it wasn’t an ordinary, run-of-the-mill park. It was like an outdoor museum/botanical gardens. At my feet there was a flat, stone rectangle (about 8′x6”) inlaid in the ground. It contained a portrait of a woman and a man, carved into the grey stone. The woman was wearing an ankle-length dress and was lying back upon a chaise lounge as though asleep. A flimsy article of clothing was off to her right, as if drifting to the ground. The man was standing over her, waving a hand over her midsection as he looked down, smiling softly. In fact, they both seemed rather content.

Movement caught my eye and I look up, using my right hand to shield the sun from my eyes. I saw a man dressed in a long, dark coat. He was standing under the ease of an old general store, the building behind him made up of dark-stained wood. As my eyes adjusted to the light, the man walked towards me. I recognized his face, it was Rufus Sewell. Rufus!

He smiled at me, a small turn of his lips. I smiled back.

But then it suddenly occurred to me that I was having a ‘bad hair day’, so I looked into the mirror to see if there was anything I could do to fix the mop of curls on my head.

No. I don’t know where the mirror came from, it was just there and I looked into it, aghast at what I saw. I looked like Shirley Temple, for gosh sakes! I mean, ringlets? C’mon… not funny.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” Rufus stated in that soft sexy voice of his, indicating the stone portrait. He stood directly to my left, so close that the fabric of his coat sleeve brushed against mine. “…I come here often. Have your heard their story? It’s very romantic.”

“Um, no. …I’m not familiar with it. Will you tell me?”

He smiled again, stealing all rational thought from my mind as I felt his arm gently caress my back, drawing me close. At that very moment, while Rufus began to point out little details and share the romance of the story behind the stone, I forgot how to breathe.

---

…Tune in next week, as Rufus shares even more romance, an alien talking-dog warns of an impending attack, and I have to choose between the Federal door on the left or the metal detector dormitory on the right–’Cheesy Dreams: Part II‘.

So… Had any weird dreams lately yourself?

Technorati Tags: bizarre, moving picture, dream, wackiness, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, driving, Jeep, Yugo, Polar Bear, statues

I noticed a new link to Baboon Pirates on my WordPress dashboard this morning, so I thought I’d check out his post. It turns out that El Capitan was tagged by a ‘Weird Book Meme’, which isn’t really all that exciting but…

At the end of his post he stated that he was tagging those blogs that were gathering cobwebs, and I happened to notice a few around here. So, even though the Baboon Pirate didn’t tag me personally (…’cuz he forgot to pay his Mutual Admiration Society dues), I’m going to play this meme too.

…At least mine will be more exciting than El Capitan’s.

Weird Book Meme:

The rules are: Pass it on to five other bloggers, and tell them to open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, NOT YOUR FAVORITE, OR MOST INTELLECTUAL!

*giggling at ‘most intellectual’*

Okay… closest book. Picking it up now. Peeking ahead to page 56, fifth sentence…

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting.

My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground.

I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I’d parked next to.

But I didn’t have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming.

It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize.

Wow. That was exciting. Doncha think?

Can anyone tell me what book this passage was from?
(I’ll put the answer in comments, but I’m guessing that plenty of people will recognize the content.)

If you’d like to play, go for it! If I tag you and you don’t play, well then, you’re just no fun. Go suck a lemon drop. I didn’t want to play with you anyway.

Heh.

Tagged! You’re it.

MetalMom
Christa
Malnurtured Snay
Java Queen
Mrs. Flipphead

“You have these Magic Buttons…”
My lover says to me.
“There’s one, there’s two,
And, oooh, number three!”

“Search on!” I cried.
“Find more and more!
At least don’t stop
Til you’ve found number four!”

Just taking a moment to let you know that Stacy hasn’t posted in a while because she’s been- …er, busy. In fact… I’m busy too. Talk to you later.

Isabella woke with a start, her heart racing, breath coming in ragged gasps. Palms lifted, she stared in disbelief, her dark eyes appearing distant, consumed by the nightmare tumbling over the memories in her mind.

Serifina Bellini spoke softy, yet urgently. “Quickly, Bella, give it to me.”

A gentle touch enveloped Isabella’s trembling hands; her mother’s voice a distant echo in her ears, as she felt the smoking pistol slide from her weakening grasp. In its place, her mother pressed a silken purse and wrapped her daughter’s fingers around it. “You must leave now, mia cara. Take this. Seek out my friend, Rosa d’Ayala, in Altamira. You remember me talking about her and her family, don’t you? …Rosa d’Ayala in Altamira.”

Isabella blinked, feeling more than seeing the small package her mother had placed in her hands. Numbly, she looked up at her mother, repeating, “Rosa d’Ayala… Sí, mama.” She wasn’t really aware of what she was saying; her attention consumed by her mother’s battered features. Yet under the bruises and the split flesh, Isabella sensed the steel of her mother’s spirit and her overriding concern.

Awareness trickled in, and she looked again at her father lying in a pool of his own blood, a wisp of smoke rising from the hole in his vest, his leather razor strop still his clutched in his fist. Isabella’s eyes went wide as she realized what had happened. …what was happening now. Already, curious shouts were coming from the rest of the house.

“No mama, please… do not send me away. I will die without you!”

“No Bella, you will live without me! Your strand does not end here, little one. Now go, before it is too late… Go now! Down the trellis!”

Serafina swept up her cloak from the coat tree and wrapped it around her daughter’s tiny shoulders. “Now, amore mio! Rosa will explain everything!”

The cries of concern and pounding fists shook the bedchamber door as Serafina helped her little girl over the balustrade. She held her until Isabella found footing on the vine trellis, but before letting her go, she held Isabella by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Bella, Bella, Bella, never forget that I love you.” She placed a kiss on the child’s brow and released her to her fate.

As Isabella scrambled down the trellis, the sound of the sundering doors fell over her like an avalanche, hastening her descent. Her satin-slippered feet lit upon the flagstones below, and turning, she stole a final glance at the lighted balcony above. The horrified screams and accusatory bellows emanating from the room spurred her into motion. Isabella dashed across the lawn, into the shadows, as fast as her little legs would carry her.

Dark eyes flicked to the window, to the present, anxiety demanding a need to break free, run from the demons in her mind. Before thought had time to catch up with action, Isabella was already kneeling atop the desk, her hands tugging at the windowpane. She slipped out of the pirate’s barracks, pausing only long enough to draw a long, deep breath of cool night air into her lungs. Once again, the blanket was pulled around her like a cloak. As Isabella slunk across the grounds, no true goal in mind, she cast a quick glance into the moonless sky; tin pricks in the velvet cloak above her the only light. But she didn’t care. It fit her mood—black as Franco Bellini’s heart.

Is anybody else experiencing major loathing for the ‘New Facebook’ format?

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to punch the person responsible in the eye.
(…that was my alter ego speaking. I am not to be blamed for her transgressions. My *psychiatrist said so.)

But seriously. My Facebook profile page loads like double-decker snail on **Quaaludes. And I’m guessing… The folks at Facebook have never heard the old adage: ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.

Bah. Humbuggers. Stupid Facebook. I didn’t want to play with them anyway.

On a different, equally unpleasant note, my kids are sick and I’m tired. I’ve been trying to list some stuff for sale on eBay and Craigslist, but between Dr.’s appointments and waiting until hell freezes over for prescriptions to be filled at the local pharmacy, I’m not getting much done in that regard. Three measely auctions in three days.

Bah. Humbuggers.

My daughter’s laptop isn’t working. When I turned it on, it issued forth a shrill and excrutiatingly long set of beeps which resulted in a blank screen. I tried to get it to boot in Safe Mode, but once I got in every thing froze. Do you have any idea how annoying it was to see a screen msg that stated: “You’re screwed. Windows is fried along with your keyboard. Whatcha gonna do now, loser? Mwah-hahahahahahahahahaha…”

And then I chose the ‘Recovery’ option to save Windows only to wind up with a flashing cursor on a dos screen that mocked me with a curt ‘BEEP!’ every time I endeavored to touch a key.

Good news: It’s under warranty.
Bad news: After finding out (from my guilt-ridden daughter that she spilled limeade on her keyboard), I’m not so certain the warranty will cover that.

Bah. Humbuggers.

The heating element in my oven is baked. No, literally. A portion of it melted away. So now we have to wait a few days for a replacement to be shipped.

Looks like it’ll be Hamburger Helper for dinner again. Oh. Yum.

I fixed the drum on my dryer (finally) and got it all put back together again. I’d love to say that I jumped up and down for joy, but I didn’t. As soon as I plugged it in and tried to use it, the damn thing over-heated within 30 seconds.

…No, I didn’t put it back together wrong. Thanks for the vote of confidence. As a matter of fact, it needs a new thermostat.

Why do I feel like Eeyore right now?

My favorite GM on RPoL has been super busy lately, too busy to post. I miss her much.

If that sounded Greek to you, just replace the last sentence with a resounding, Bah–Humbuggers. It all works out the same in the end…

How’s your week coming along?

---

*I don’t really have a psychiatrist. I just play one in my head.
**Quaaludes: That’s ‘downers’ for the drug reference challenged. Not that I know anything personally about that. I got my information from Jeff Spicoli.

“People on ludes should not drive.”
–Jeff Spicoli

Apparently, neither should snails.

Whatever that means.