Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 56
July 12, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Chapter 5ish
Chapter 5ish
Where were we? Oh, that’s right, HEADED TO DISNEY!!
Tinkerbell made her last round of tooting, and the kids gleefully opened the pile she brought them. My van was in such disarray. Too much traveling, too much hunting and pecking from me. The night's black in front of us. We're following Grandma
and Grandpa.
Finally, Disney property, Disney signs, Disney foliage, Disney smells.
We pull into our parking lot at POP. Our home for the length of our stay. We grab bags and head towards to hotel room. It's so late at night, 11:30 pm or worse. The kids were shuffling. We were shuffling. The grandparents are perky.
We stop for a minute to stare at the seen in front of us. Glittering, Huge bowling pins reflecting off the man made lake. Instead of garish and tacky, like any everyday item made that big should be, it makes us sigh with contentment.
Here.
We are here.
You can’t do this twice. It happens once a visit. You arrive. You're the lucky souls walking into the resort. Clutching the folder, sorting through maps to find your room. For the rest of your time in Disney, your feet will do this walk without having to ask your head for directions. You won’t have to count buildings or guess which is faster, the stairs or the elevator.
Breathe it in.
The Disney air is so much sweeter. It's full of promise.
We find our room, just one away from Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma signs up to monitor the shower for the kids.
Grandpa, Mr. A, and I go get more bags like the men we are. The room is sooooo far away from the parking. Our bags have somehow reproduced in the van. Little lizards scatter out of our way.
Finally, we are in the room. We say goodnight to the grandparents. Grandma has the kids tucked into the bed.
I face my husband. Between us there are 4,836 bags. I won’t sleep until each one is unpacked and sorted. I must know where everything is. There must be order.
At 1:30 am the room is ready for me to go to bed. Mr. A’s pupils are shaped like two hidden Mickeys. He turns his brain off like a robot and joins the kids in dreamland.
I'm is keyed up. My eyes blink around the dark room trying to grind my thoughts to a halt. It's heading towards 2:00am.
The only early plan we have for the whole trip is tomorrow. Because of the cast black out we must use hard tickets my parents get from Disney as a gift once a year to get into the Magic Kingdom. The rest of the parks we can be let in on their “Main Gate pass."
We have 8:30am reservations at Crystal Palace. What was I thinking? Tomorrow's also the only Magic Kingdom Extra Magic Hours. So we want to stay until they kick us out.
The kids are going to be dog tired from the big party, all the traveling.
As I lay here at 2:00am knowing I have to get up at 7:00am, I'm regretting the super early morning. But Mr. A would love to take pictures of an almost empty Main Street. I'd love a family picture on an almost empty Main Street.
Any picture we've taken in the past, in front of the castle, always has had an angry, photo-bomber who is a sweaty fourth dayer (guest who has comandoed Disney for four days) glaring at our photopass photographer and standing near enough to us that when showing the picture to friends, they say, “Who’s that, your sister?”
Dang, that was a long sentence.
So, I'm hoping for Dream picture. No tourists, no fourth dayer faux sister
2:15 am Close eyes!!! Close!! For all that is good and Holy quit being awake!! I need to be on my game. Disney.
2:30am Damn it.
I start thinking. Always a bad move.
Remembering. Mr. A and I pull up to a local Chick-fil-a, kids waiting for lunch in the back of the van.
Now, Mr. A was batting a hundred because even though he used the high pitched squeal he saves for ordering from Drive through speakers, the chick on the other end of the speaker forgot to address him as “Ma'am."
Which happens.
A lot.
To him.
And it makes me laugh.
Now, she didn’t call him “sir” either, but I keep the observation to myself.
We pull up. Respectable. Reasonable.
She looks him dead in the eye and says in a really loud voice:
“WE ARE JUST WAITING ON YOUR NUGGETS, SIR”
Now that comment is just too much.
Come on.
So many jokes I want to crack.
Loud, inappropriate jokes.
Mr. A won’t look at me. He knows what I'm brewing. I start nose laughing.
He's still avoiding me. I'm surprised at his self control. Because he probably already knows what jokes I'm telling.
In my head.
And they're good ones.
This past Father’s day, I let GC pick out Mr. A’s father day gift all by herself. She found a T-Shirt with a squirrel on it. She insisted on it. I did try to steer her in other directions. His face was precious when he opened it.
So my only comment, after we were clear of the hard working chicken girl, was. Well, your nuggets are big.
2:45 am Still. Looking. Around.
Recently. A bra of mine. A Favorite actually, has started creaking. Like the door into a really haunted house. It's so awkward, in a group of grown ups, to creak. Loudly. Every time the twins move, the door creaks. It puzzles people. Need to fix that bra. Or throw it out.
2:55am I call down to the front desk and request a mallet to the head to put my ridiculous head to sleep. Goofy shows up with a smile.
7:00am the alarm on Mr. A’s cell phone rings.
Blast out of bed. Dress the groggy kids. Pack the Bagalini. Antibacterial, check. Band aids, check.
GC gets her hair brushed out very carefully. I pack her brush and her entire Cinderella dress in an extra bag (with a jewel encrusted Mickey head).
Did I forget to mention? At the last minute, before we left, I made a Bibbity Bobbity Boutique appointment for my little girl! And they had room in the castle. I was so excited. She was mildly impressed and willing to go along with it. I read a few (actually a lot) of bad reviews.
Can you imagine? What grinch gives the Cinderella experience in the Castle at the Magic Kingdom a bad review? Pish Posh. Party poopers. This is going to be great. What a great moment for my girl. First Main Street empty, Crystal Palace and my friend Pooh, then moving onto the Transformation for my little princess. So lucky to get it early in the morning so it can last all day.
The Anastasias mobilize. We are ready. Point my nose towards my castle. I'm on my way home Mickey.
Up next: Mrs. A gets angry. In Disney. Oh My.
Where were we? Oh, that’s right, HEADED TO DISNEY!!
Tinkerbell made her last round of tooting, and the kids gleefully opened the pile she brought them. My van was in such disarray. Too much traveling, too much hunting and pecking from me. The night's black in front of us. We're following Grandma
and Grandpa. Finally, Disney property, Disney signs, Disney foliage, Disney smells.
We pull into our parking lot at POP. Our home for the length of our stay. We grab bags and head towards to hotel room. It's so late at night, 11:30 pm or worse. The kids were shuffling. We were shuffling. The grandparents are perky.
We stop for a minute to stare at the seen in front of us. Glittering, Huge bowling pins reflecting off the man made lake. Instead of garish and tacky, like any everyday item made that big should be, it makes us sigh with contentment.
Here.
We are here.
You can’t do this twice. It happens once a visit. You arrive. You're the lucky souls walking into the resort. Clutching the folder, sorting through maps to find your room. For the rest of your time in Disney, your feet will do this walk without having to ask your head for directions. You won’t have to count buildings or guess which is faster, the stairs or the elevator.
Breathe it in.
The Disney air is so much sweeter. It's full of promise.
We find our room, just one away from Grandma
and Grandpa. Grandma signs up to monitor the shower for the kids.Grandpa, Mr. A, and I go get more bags like the men we are. The room is sooooo far away from the parking. Our bags have somehow reproduced in the van. Little lizards scatter out of our way.
Finally, we are in the room. We say goodnight to the grandparents. Grandma
has the kids tucked into the bed. I face my husband. Between us there are 4,836 bags. I won’t sleep until each one is unpacked and sorted. I must know where everything is. There must be order.
At 1:30 am the room is ready for me to go to bed. Mr. A’s pupils are shaped like two hidden Mickeys. He turns his brain off like a robot and joins the kids in dreamland.
I'm is keyed up. My eyes blink around the dark room trying to grind my thoughts to a halt. It's heading towards 2:00am.
The only early plan we have for the whole trip is tomorrow. Because of the cast black out we must use hard tickets my parents get from Disney as a gift once a year to get into the Magic Kingdom. The rest of the parks we can be let in on their “Main Gate pass."
We have 8:30am reservations at Crystal Palace. What was I thinking? Tomorrow's also the only Magic Kingdom Extra Magic Hours. So we want to stay until they kick us out.
The kids are going to be dog tired from the big party, all the traveling.
As I lay here at 2:00am knowing I have to get up at 7:00am, I'm regretting the super early morning. But Mr. A would love to take pictures of an almost empty Main Street. I'd love a family picture on an almost empty Main Street.
Any picture we've taken in the past, in front of the castle, always has had an angry, photo-bomber who is a sweaty fourth dayer (guest who has comandoed Disney for four days) glaring at our photopass photographer and standing near enough to us that when showing the picture to friends, they say, “Who’s that, your sister?”
Dang, that was a long sentence.
So, I'm hoping for Dream picture. No tourists, no fourth dayer faux sister
2:15 am Close eyes!!! Close!! For all that is good and Holy quit being awake!! I need to be on my game. Disney.
2:30am Damn it.
I start thinking. Always a bad move.
Remembering. Mr. A and I pull up to a local Chick-fil-a, kids waiting for lunch in the back of the van.
Now, Mr. A was batting a hundred because even though he used the high pitched squeal he saves for ordering from Drive through speakers, the chick on the other end of the speaker forgot to address him as “Ma'am."
Which happens.
A lot.
To him.
And it makes me laugh.
Now, she didn’t call him “sir” either, but I keep the observation to myself.
We pull up. Respectable. Reasonable.
She looks him dead in the eye and says in a really loud voice:
“WE ARE JUST WAITING ON YOUR NUGGETS, SIR”
Now that comment is just too much.
Come on.
So many jokes I want to crack.
Loud, inappropriate jokes.
Mr. A won’t look at me. He knows what I'm brewing. I start nose laughing.
He's still avoiding me. I'm surprised at his self control. Because he probably already knows what jokes I'm telling.
In my head.
And they're good ones.
This past Father’s day, I let GC pick out Mr. A’s father day gift all by herself. She found a T-Shirt with a squirrel on it. She insisted on it. I did try to steer her in other directions. His face was precious when he opened it.
So my only comment, after we were clear of the hard working chicken girl, was. Well, your nuggets are big.
2:45 am Still. Looking. Around.
Recently. A bra of mine. A Favorite actually, has started creaking. Like the door into a really haunted house. It's so awkward, in a group of grown ups, to creak. Loudly. Every time the twins move, the door creaks. It puzzles people. Need to fix that bra. Or throw it out.
2:55am I call down to the front desk and request a mallet to the head to put my ridiculous head to sleep. Goofy shows up with a smile.
7:00am the alarm on Mr. A’s cell phone rings.
Blast out of bed. Dress the groggy kids. Pack the Bagalini. Antibacterial, check. Band aids, check.
GC gets her hair brushed out very carefully. I pack her brush and her entire Cinderella dress in an extra bag (with a jewel encrusted Mickey head).
Did I forget to mention? At the last minute, before we left, I made a Bibbity Bobbity Boutique appointment for my little girl! And they had room in the castle. I was so excited. She was mildly impressed and willing to go along with it. I read a few (actually a lot) of bad reviews.
Can you imagine? What grinch gives the Cinderella experience in the Castle at the Magic Kingdom a bad review? Pish Posh. Party poopers. This is going to be great. What a great moment for my girl. First Main Street empty, Crystal Palace and my friend Pooh, then moving onto the Transformation for my little princess. So lucky to get it early in the morning so it can last all day.
The Anastasias mobilize. We are ready. Point my nose towards my castle. I'm on my way home Mickey.
Up next: Mrs. A gets angry. In Disney. Oh My.
July 8, 2012
Wickedly Delicious Book Blog: Review: Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia
Wickedly Delicious Book Blog: Review: Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia: Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia Purchase Links: Amazon Barnes & Noble Goodreads Blurb: He counts her smiles every day and...
July 5, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge chapter 4
After finishing up our drive, I look at my hair. I'd spent much time curling it with hot rollers. By the time I'd arrived, it was flat. Not just flat, but greasy looking. The hair products that usually help me keep my curls bouncing around all day, were rendered useless by our friend Walking Florida sun. I pull the kids out of the car, each look adorable in their shirts. We keep running into various relatives. My Aunt screams and hugs me forever, scoops up the kids. GC lets my aunt carry her. Finally making it into the house, I search for my grandfather. The kids run to him and climb in his lap. His laughter fills the room. We all hug. 
My grandfather. It's so funny to me that the rest of the world doesn’t know who he is. He is such a rock star. He was 6’5” in a time when that made him very unusual. His personality is the only thing bigger than him. I've always been crazy about him. But now, as a grown up, I realized what a riot he is. I'm actually going to share my birthday present to him with you because, that describes him well.
I could not figure out what to get him. My friend suggested coming up with "things I love about Poppy” and writing them down.
I loved the idea but was running out of time. I suck at scrap booking, writing on paper seemed…rushed. Mr. A came to my rescue whipping together a power point. I picked my favorite things about him and than described the lesson each thing taught me. Mr. A put the power point on a DVD and than we showed it to my Poppy on his big screen TV.
Life’s Lessons
The lasting impressions I have from Poppy.
John Fiscus Allouiscious (Insert his real last name here)
The Lesson: Remember, never take yourself too seriously
He’s always dressed to the nines in white suites and tuxedos
The Lesson: Dress to Impress
Being the captain of his own boat
The Lesson: Find a great hobby
Working for the telephone company
The Lesson: Work Hard…Then have a good retirement
He always seems to know what is happening before you tell him.
The Lesson: Listen to your instincts and trust them…You’re probably right
Blowing the custom built “CHARGE” horn on his car when he came to our house.
The Lesson: Let them know the party is here once you have arrived!!
He always cherishes his cars and takes good care of them.
The Lesson: We spend a lot of time in our cars, love your vehicles they are fun!
Poppy says…”If you’re not bored your punched”
I don’t really know what this means so I guess the lesson is… don’t be afraid to say something even if it only makes sense to you.
Poppy says… “It was raining like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock"
The Lesson: Don’t stand next to a cow that’s had too much to drink!
Poppy says…
“If your not havin’ a good time it’s your own goddamn fault”
The lesson: Never forget you're in charge of your own destiny.
He served as a sergeant in the Army.
The Lesson: Respect your country and those who fight for her.
Remembering his wonderful brother Tommy who died in WW2
The Lesson: Never forget those who made such a selfless sacrifice to ensure our freedom.
His sweet friendship with (Mr. A’s grandparents)
The Lesson: You can make dear friends at any age.
He goes on cruises and makes friends with all of the passengers and crew.
The Lesson: Vacations don’t happen every day, take the time to enjoy them!
He always takes pictures of the waiters and workers at the places he visits.
The Lesson: Don’t forget all of the people that take care of you. All jobs are important.
Everyone calls him “Big John.”
The Lesson: Make everything about yourself an asset.
He has to have a comfortable bed.
The Lesson: Sleeping well is important.
He drives too fast.
The Lesson: Take some risks, life’s no fun without them.
Dancing with him at the World Trade Center
I knew that was the dance of a lifetime and I hold it in my heart as one of my most favorite moments.
The parades at every visit. Music full blast, flag at the front, all of us marching, “ATTENTION, FORWARD MARCH”
The Lesson: Make things special for kids, they love a parade.
Always giving a firm handshake with a good greeting.
The Lesson: Don’t give a floppy fish handshake, even if you are a girl.
Marrying is wife, Barbara at 75.
The Lesson: Cherish true love, and recognize when an angel is standing right in front of you.
Raising three, beautiful, intelligent daughters all on his own.
The Lesson: No matter what cards life hands you, take care of the kids, do your best.
He always toasts “Who’s better than us?”
The lesson: Always have an answer ready for this one… but also know, no one is better than us!!
Poppy always makes everyone feel smarter and prettier than they think they are.
The Lesson: You are who you are, might as well like it!!
Turn up the Bose Radio.
The Lesson: The music sounds better when it’s loud.
Moving on after a hurricane took his house apart.
The Lesson: Unimaginable things happen in life, you have to keep going.
He sings out loud in the morning.
The Lesson: Set a great mood for every day.
Listening to the great grandchildren yodel and talk about cars.
The Lesson: Listen when the kids are talking, it makes wonderful memories for you and them.
He always makes everyone in the room laugh (even the shy people)
The Lesson : Don’t leave anyone out.
He always smells good.
The Lesson: Smell Good! Those around you will appreciate it
The Greatest Lesson….Make a huge impression on your granddaughter, so that when she thinks of you she smiles
I'm so proud to be your granddaughter. I love you very much.
This gift was lots of fun, and we all laughed. Before we watched this, my cousin and Aunt had put a blockbuster slide show of amazing vintage pictures of my grandpa set to his favorite songs. One of the best things about my grandfather is he's still with us, sharp as a tack. He was so present for all the fun and touching moments.
After chit-chatting and snacking we all jumped into our vehicles for some subterfuge. We told Poppy we going out for dinner. His wife drove him to their clubhouse. We all stood up with his friends and family. Just about everyone he loved was there. About 70 people he had no idea he was going to see.
His wife pulls open the door… “Surprise!!!!”
I really thought he knew what we had up our sleeves. But he had no idea.
So what does a 90 year old man do when you give him a large shock?
Well my favorite 90 year old zooms in on his scooter one hand held high and does doughnuts like a Nascar racer
Then Poppy grabbed my Aunt and said, “Where’s a microphone?!”
The next thing we know Poppy is giving an impromptu speech. I wish I could remember it word for word, but I can’t. I do remember him cursing a bit, and saying “I am going to kiss every woman here on the mouth." It was awesome.
What a guy. You couldn’t tell from his voice that his eyes were glistening with tears while he spoke.
The decorations were perfect! Red, White and Blue for the most patriotic man I know. There was a board set up with some of my Grandfather’s favorite sayings.
We had a singer/d.j. who did a fabulous job with the music. The food was so tasty. What a crowd. This was the best group of people for a party. They had a big screen and replayed the slideshow and the power point. BC had delivered a beautiful speech about how Great Poppy was his hero for fighting in WWII and gives him the courage to tell better jokes.
GCdecided she wanted to sing to Poppy as a present. I really expected the nerves to kick in when she saw the large crowd, stage and microphone. She got lifted onto the stage and started to sing her favorite Hannah Montana song a cappella, but she faltered after a few words and grew quiet. An awkward silence filled the room.
I thought, Should I grab her quick, so she doesn’t get embarrassed
Then I heard my grandfathers’ voice booming across the large expanse of the room
“I'm coming sweetheart, Hold on!!”
He zoomed the scooter super fast to the foot of the stage. I watched through blurry, teary eyes as she took a deep breath, locked eyes with Poppy and started singing in a clear, beautiful voice. He knew just what she needed.
I loved that moment.
And then there was the parade! We all stripped the centerpieces of their flags, grabbed balloons, the DJ cranked the parade march. The parade line was so long the front touched the back.
The crowd went wild for “We are family”
and “Old Tomb Rock and Roll”
Poppy scootered out to the dance floor. He whirled around and danced with all the ladies.
But, as is known to happen with septuagenarians, one of the ladies got rowdy. She had to top the rest of the woman by simulating a lap dance. Which became a scooter Dance. After someone helped her get her leg over the scooter.
No wonder why they say retirement parks are no place for children!
My grandfather’s wife rushed to the scooter and said in a loud voice to her husband, “John, now you owe her 20 bucks.”
Then we had the mandatory kick line. During New York, New York all the ladies do a pathetic kick line. I was proud to lead my daughter out with me, joining my mother. Three generations of woman with no rhythm, trying not to fall over, while pulling a hamstring.
And all too soon it was over. We were hugging all these fabulous people again and again. The memories were made. My grandfather celebrated. It's so very hard to say goodbye to him. What a guy. What a rock star.
We shuffled our tired kids into the van. Next stop. Disney World. And this time kids, we are staying!!!!!!!
My grandfather. It's so funny to me that the rest of the world doesn’t know who he is. He is such a rock star. He was 6’5” in a time when that made him very unusual. His personality is the only thing bigger than him. I've always been crazy about him. But now, as a grown up, I realized what a riot he is. I'm actually going to share my birthday present to him with you because, that describes him well.
I could not figure out what to get him. My friend suggested coming up with "things I love about Poppy” and writing them down.
I loved the idea but was running out of time. I suck at scrap booking, writing on paper seemed…rushed. Mr. A came to my rescue whipping together a power point. I picked my favorite things about him and than described the lesson each thing taught me. Mr. A put the power point on a DVD and than we showed it to my Poppy on his big screen TV.
Life’s Lessons
The lasting impressions I have from Poppy.
John Fiscus Allouiscious (Insert his real last name here)
The Lesson: Remember, never take yourself too seriously
He’s always dressed to the nines in white suites and tuxedos
The Lesson: Dress to Impress
Being the captain of his own boat
The Lesson: Find a great hobby
Working for the telephone company
The Lesson: Work Hard…Then have a good retirement
He always seems to know what is happening before you tell him.
The Lesson: Listen to your instincts and trust them…You’re probably right
Blowing the custom built “CHARGE” horn on his car when he came to our house.
The Lesson: Let them know the party is here once you have arrived!!
He always cherishes his cars and takes good care of them.
The Lesson: We spend a lot of time in our cars, love your vehicles they are fun!
Poppy says…”If you’re not bored your punched”
I don’t really know what this means so I guess the lesson is… don’t be afraid to say something even if it only makes sense to you.
Poppy says… “It was raining like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock"
The Lesson: Don’t stand next to a cow that’s had too much to drink!
Poppy says…
“If your not havin’ a good time it’s your own goddamn fault”
The lesson: Never forget you're in charge of your own destiny.
He served as a sergeant in the Army.
The Lesson: Respect your country and those who fight for her.
Remembering his wonderful brother Tommy who died in WW2
The Lesson: Never forget those who made such a selfless sacrifice to ensure our freedom.
His sweet friendship with (Mr. A’s grandparents)
The Lesson: You can make dear friends at any age.
He goes on cruises and makes friends with all of the passengers and crew.
The Lesson: Vacations don’t happen every day, take the time to enjoy them!
He always takes pictures of the waiters and workers at the places he visits.
The Lesson: Don’t forget all of the people that take care of you. All jobs are important.
Everyone calls him “Big John.”
The Lesson: Make everything about yourself an asset.
He has to have a comfortable bed.
The Lesson: Sleeping well is important.
He drives too fast.
The Lesson: Take some risks, life’s no fun without them.
Dancing with him at the World Trade Center
I knew that was the dance of a lifetime and I hold it in my heart as one of my most favorite moments.
The parades at every visit. Music full blast, flag at the front, all of us marching, “ATTENTION, FORWARD MARCH”
The Lesson: Make things special for kids, they love a parade.
Always giving a firm handshake with a good greeting.
The Lesson: Don’t give a floppy fish handshake, even if you are a girl.
Marrying is wife, Barbara at 75.
The Lesson: Cherish true love, and recognize when an angel is standing right in front of you.
Raising three, beautiful, intelligent daughters all on his own.
The Lesson: No matter what cards life hands you, take care of the kids, do your best.
He always toasts “Who’s better than us?”
The lesson: Always have an answer ready for this one… but also know, no one is better than us!!
Poppy always makes everyone feel smarter and prettier than they think they are.
The Lesson: You are who you are, might as well like it!!
Turn up the Bose Radio.
The Lesson: The music sounds better when it’s loud.
Moving on after a hurricane took his house apart.
The Lesson: Unimaginable things happen in life, you have to keep going.
He sings out loud in the morning.
The Lesson: Set a great mood for every day.
Listening to the great grandchildren yodel and talk about cars.
The Lesson: Listen when the kids are talking, it makes wonderful memories for you and them.
He always makes everyone in the room laugh (even the shy people)
The Lesson : Don’t leave anyone out.
He always smells good.
The Lesson: Smell Good! Those around you will appreciate it
The Greatest Lesson….Make a huge impression on your granddaughter, so that when she thinks of you she smiles
I'm so proud to be your granddaughter. I love you very much.
This gift was lots of fun, and we all laughed. Before we watched this, my cousin and Aunt had put a blockbuster slide show of amazing vintage pictures of my grandpa set to his favorite songs. One of the best things about my grandfather is he's still with us, sharp as a tack. He was so present for all the fun and touching moments.
After chit-chatting and snacking we all jumped into our vehicles for some subterfuge. We told Poppy we going out for dinner. His wife drove him to their clubhouse. We all stood up with his friends and family. Just about everyone he loved was there. About 70 people he had no idea he was going to see.
His wife pulls open the door… “Surprise!!!!”
I really thought he knew what we had up our sleeves. But he had no idea.
So what does a 90 year old man do when you give him a large shock?
Well my favorite 90 year old zooms in on his scooter one hand held high and does doughnuts like a Nascar racer
Then Poppy grabbed my Aunt and said, “Where’s a microphone?!”
The next thing we know Poppy is giving an impromptu speech. I wish I could remember it word for word, but I can’t. I do remember him cursing a bit, and saying “I am going to kiss every woman here on the mouth." It was awesome.
What a guy. You couldn’t tell from his voice that his eyes were glistening with tears while he spoke.
The decorations were perfect! Red, White and Blue for the most patriotic man I know. There was a board set up with some of my Grandfather’s favorite sayings.
We had a singer/d.j. who did a fabulous job with the music. The food was so tasty. What a crowd. This was the best group of people for a party. They had a big screen and replayed the slideshow and the power point. BC had delivered a beautiful speech about how Great Poppy was his hero for fighting in WWII and gives him the courage to tell better jokes.
GCdecided she wanted to sing to Poppy as a present. I really expected the nerves to kick in when she saw the large crowd, stage and microphone. She got lifted onto the stage and started to sing her favorite Hannah Montana song a cappella, but she faltered after a few words and grew quiet. An awkward silence filled the room.
I thought, Should I grab her quick, so she doesn’t get embarrassed
Then I heard my grandfathers’ voice booming across the large expanse of the room
“I'm coming sweetheart, Hold on!!”
He zoomed the scooter
super fast to the foot of the stage. I watched through blurry, teary eyes as she took a deep breath, locked eyes with Poppy and started singing in a clear, beautiful voice. He knew just what she needed.I loved that moment.
And then there was the parade! We all stripped the centerpieces of their flags, grabbed balloons, the DJ cranked the parade march. The parade line was so long the front touched the back.
The crowd went wild for “We are family”
and “Old Tomb Rock and Roll” Poppy scootered
out to the dance floor. He whirled around and danced with all the ladies. But, as is known to happen with septuagenarians, one of the ladies got rowdy. She had to top the rest of the woman by simulating a lap dance. Which became a scooter Dance. After someone helped her get her leg over the scooter.
No wonder why they say retirement parks are no place for children!
My grandfather’s wife rushed to the scooter and said in a loud voice to her husband, “John, now you owe her 20 bucks.”
Then we had the mandatory kick line. During New York, New York all the ladies do a pathetic kick line. I was proud to lead my daughter out with me, joining my mother
. Three generations of woman with no rhythm, trying not to fall over, while pulling a hamstring. And all too soon it was over. We were hugging all these fabulous people again and again. The memories were made. My grandfather celebrated. It's so very hard to say goodbye to him. What a guy. What a rock star.
We shuffled our tired kids into the van. Next stop. Disney World. And this time kids, we are staying!!!!!!!
Cocked and Loaded July Blog Hop!!
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Hey Guys!
Welcome to the July Hop! Poughkeepsie included in the following giveaway! Plus, fill out the rafflecopter below for a chance to win eCopies of Poughkeepsie and Crushed Seraphim.
Hosted by: Queentutt's Word of Escapism & Close Encounters of the Night Kind
Here's the information:
Hello Everyone! Are you are ready to celebrate Independence? Well Ronda and I (Nikki) are celebrating big along with our wonderful Co-sponsors. Yes we are Cocked & Loaded with some amazingly great books, Shootin Stars with the Authors & Bloggers, and Blasting a Giveaway with TWO (2) KINDLE FIRES loaded with the Co-Sponored Author's book (s).
Cool Right! Not only that, at each stop on the hop you have more chances to win more great prizes. So join in and lets have some fun!
I'd like to take the time and give a Special Thanks to our Fore Fathers and our Military Troops for fighting to keep our Liberties & Freedoms.Blogger Sponsors:Rage, Sex, & Teddy BearsReading Between the WinesFictional CandySam, E, and R's Awesomness(list is under construction)Author Sponsors:Natasha BlackthorneKeta Diablo
Bonnie Elliot
Regan BlackVictoria Vane
Stephen Prosapio
Nandi Berry
BK Walker
Here's the Rafflecopter for my giveaway! Make sure to follow the link to Queentutt's World of Escapism and Close Encounters with the Night Kind to sign up for the Kindles!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
<a href="http://rafl.es/enable-js"&am... need javascript enabled to see this giveaway</a>.
Hey Guys!
Welcome to the July Hop! Poughkeepsie included in the following giveaway! Plus, fill out the rafflecopter below for a chance to win eCopies of Poughkeepsie and Crushed Seraphim.
Hosted by: Queentutt's Word of Escapism & Close Encounters of the Night Kind
Here's the information:
Hello Everyone! Are you are ready to celebrate Independence? Well Ronda and I (Nikki) are celebrating big along with our wonderful Co-sponsors. Yes we are Cocked & Loaded with some amazingly great books, Shootin Stars with the Authors & Bloggers, and Blasting a Giveaway with TWO (2) KINDLE FIRES loaded with the Co-Sponored Author's book (s).
Cool Right! Not only that, at each stop on the hop you have more chances to win more great prizes. So join in and lets have some fun!
I'd like to take the time and give a Special Thanks to our Fore Fathers and our Military Troops for fighting to keep our Liberties & Freedoms.Blogger Sponsors:Rage, Sex, & Teddy BearsReading Between the WinesFictional CandySam, E, and R's Awesomness(list is under construction)Author Sponsors:Natasha BlackthorneKeta Diablo
Bonnie Elliot
Regan BlackVictoria Vane
Stephen Prosapio
Nandi Berry
BK Walker
Here's the Rafflecopter for my giveaway! Make sure to follow the link to Queentutt's World of Escapism and Close Encounters with the Night Kind to sign up for the Kindles!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
<a href="http://rafl.es/enable-js"&am... need javascript enabled to see this giveaway</a>.
July 1, 2012
http://www.theromancereviews.com/even... participati...
http://www.theromancereviews.com/event.php
I'm participating in this, but you need to go check it out, all you have to do is find the answers to the author's questions on a website and you could win! Look for me on the 21st!
June 28, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Ch. 6
Chapter solid 6
Ahhh. The last crispy ends of real summer. It’s like chewing the fried batter off the non-edible parts of the chicken breast. Yummy. But it won’t last forever.
I want to keep my kids from school. I never want to send them back. When they leave for the day it feels like my heart's draining like a bathtub. Nothing but ominous curly hairs left over.
The fall can pound salt, as far as I'm concerned. I've bought, no joke 47 boxes of 22 cent crayons at Wal-mart. I can’t stop myself from buying the crayons.
A few days before we left for Disney I was folding clothes,
watching the E! channel. There was a newsbreak, regarding Angelina Jolie and her babies.
“We're interrupting your programming to give you an update from Angelina’s Doctor in France LIVE!”
The Doctor begins speaking to the reporters in French. The E! channel had obviously not counted on this stumbling block. They continued to broadcast the Doctor without a translator. I couldn’t believe it!
After all this time.
Finally.
In High School I decided to take French as a second language. I thought it sounded so chic. Turns out I have problems. With the French. Actually, I can not understand any accented speech whatsoever. If your everyday talking is more spicy than say, Mr. Rogers, my brain puts you on mute. I just watch your lips move.
I can’t remember names and suck at memorizing. So this all made French hard for me. I took three years of Regents level French. The only word I knew cold going into the oral final exam was “coqueluche." I thought it was hysterical that our screamingly old text books still had “whooping cough” listed as a vocab word. I was pretty sure that the malady of whooping cough had been vaccinated out of existence in 1913. So I would use it on my friends suffering through French class as a joke.
Really it was my only French joke. Well that and “tamponeux.”
Which I can’t remember what that word translates to, but it was an obvious joke.
Anyway, back to my oral exam. The French teacher pulled me into the hallway. I was so scared. Gosh I was horrible at this subject. She knew me well enough to speak her part of the conversation in the slowest, non accented French she could.
Teacher ~“Vous êtes dans le bureau du médecin, expliquer ce qui vous dérange?"
"You are in a Doctor's office, explain what is bothering you?"
(I could not believe my luck!)
Me~ "Eh bien, mon mal de gorge."
"Well, my throat hurts"
Teacher ~ "Que pensez-vous est faux?"
"What do you think is wrong?"
Me ~ "Je pense avoir la coqueluche!"
"I think I have whooping cough!"
I wound up getting an A on that oral exam and passed my Final because of it. The last day all the French I was hanging onto dropped out of my head like a hot potato. I was done. All done.
I started college and decided to change to a different school after two years. As I was arranging my new schedule all my credits transferred like a dream. Except I was missing one small credit. I needed a second language. And because I had a regents diploma I would be required to take the moderate level French. Even though I had my Mr. Rogers problem and only passed by the skin of my whooping cough flavored teeth. And moderate French is two semesters. Of course.
So I plunged into the French world. I hired a tutor. I studied all the time. After two semesters I squeaked out with a B. I was proud. Please hold your applause.
(BTW I graduated with a degree in Political science, determined to be a lawyer, until I found out that they scoop your soul out and replace it with an overactive bowel.)
So I had kids. Never touching my French with a stick. Letting it rot.
But Angelina Joile and the E! channel had given me my moment to shine.
I listened intently. I was able to piece together this information
“The mother and babies are good. The babies are eating the cheese. We are trying to stop the babies from eating the cheese.”
Well, that can’t be right. So that’s that. I don’t even remember where I was going with this story. I should have saved it and busted out this freaky little mess in the world showcase part of the trip report.
Where was I in the story? Was this the Potty chapter? No, not yet!
We were dressed and ready. To go to the Magic Kingdom. We trudge over to the van. We almost always drive to the parks. Today we pile in and drive to Ticket and Transportation. We got to park in Minnie, we were so close. Until you realize that walking from Minnie takes longer than grabbing the tram. And of course, the kids’ favorite ride in Disney is the tram.
We make the time honored choice. Ferry or Monorail? What a wonderful decision to have to make.
Usually, we're ferry fans for the first ride. But, surprisingly, the kids picked the monorail. I think they felt cheated by Minnie Mouse holding the tram hostage.
We settle into our Monorail car. Mr. A snaps away with his camera.
The kids score window seats. And we're off. To my castle.
After getting through security and heading in the early breakfast line, we were there on Main Street. We're rushing now because our ADR’s are for 8:30am and it was 8:25. No time to get the dream picture taken (Should have risked it!)
So instead of the photopass guy taking our picture. We took his.
Not nearly as satisfying.
We get seated almost immediately at Crystal Palace. We can see some of our friends, Pooh, Eyeore, but they're just past our table. The waitress tells us to take our time getting our food, they won’t be back for a while.
Grandpa regales us with tales of being a character greeter.
Grandpa~ “When I used to bring Piglet here to the Crystal Palace, I used to say ‘Come on Piglet, they're running out of bacon’, boy how he would shake.”
Grandpa’s got a sick sense of humor.
We all got up to get some food. From our super fantastic DEEP. I could not wait to set BC loose on a buffet. The child, when home never stops eating. He's mostly a meatatarian. We've to cook him his very own steak at home when we make it for dinner. His favorite snack is deli sliced turkey.
He loads up his plate. I load up a plate. I felt a little guilty. There was such a long line at the buffet. The food I wanted was vacant. Should I wait in line for the food that was available? Mr. A had bumped to the front, got what he needed and moved on.
I had my inner dilemma and then grabbed what I needed. Get back to the table. GC wants something else, go back up with her. Should I line jump again? She wants none of the first grouping of food. I jump again. The angst. Oh well.
Get back to the table. BC is sitting all slumped over pouting at his plate. Who is this child? He has bacon? Why is he not eating?
GC is not eating either. All the adults suck down the tasty offerings. The restaurant is very pretty on the inside and our server was full of Disney happiness. She kept coming back to ask the kids how they were doing.
First up for the kids was the parade. How adorable! I was happy BC was willing to march with GC.
Next up Pooh came to the table. GC runs to him and gives him a sweet hug. BC goes in for a hug as well. He's getting bigger, I wasn’t sure if he would go for the characters anymore. I should have known better. He's so easy going and always up for fun.
Tigger bounced over. I just love that striped guy.
Piglet waddled over. Grandpa decided to torment his favorite pig.
After snapping a picture, Grandpa said “Wait, I need to take that one again Piglet, you blinked”
Piglet stood for the second picture. Grandpa is part evil.
Last, was mopey Eyeore. We snuggled him up and wished him good luck with his gloomy day.
And our first DEEP was over. The kids touched very little food.
“Probably too early for them,” all the adults murmured to each other.
Our BBB appointment is for 10:25am, so we head in that direction. We stumble upon the Dream Show in front of the castle. And this is the first time it happened to me.
I was quite shocked. While watching the show, I looked around me. There was Grandpa, free of cancer, hand on PS’s head. Grandma, finally content, she can hug her grandchildren (when she can physically touch them, she can actually breathe, if they are far away, she's just faking it).
Mr. A, so very happy, in his favorite place in the world. The kids, looking at the stage, enchanted by this show. That’s Disney, you can just happen upon dancing animals, princesses and fireworks. So much better than shopping in Wal-Mart for my Crisco.
And yet despite the careful choreographing of making all my dreams come true, I realize Disney is not about what I am seeing. It is about who I am with.
The time to see the faces your heart holds dear for long periods of time. No pesky daily grind to take you away. No chores clouding the sweet voices describing something, anything to you with dancing eyes. You can hear them. Your eyes never leave your son's face while they tell a story. You can wrap your arms around your daughter and feel her sharp intake of breath when she sees Mickey and Minnie dancing for her.
I also realize that this year has been trying for the As. We have faced some things we never thought we would. And we made it out the other side.
So every time the word “Dreams” is sung by our favorite characters. I bust a tear. The whole freaking show is about Dreams. Mickey's blinking, talking and saying “Dreams."
More crying. And not that perfect, attractive tear sliding down one cheek like some women (and Ronald McDonald) can pull off.
And I am going to cry a snorf horfaling, chin dimpling, snot leaking, blubberfeast. In broad daylight. My sunglasses are large.
So I try to contain the cry.
To just my eyes.
I try looking everywhere else but the stage.
No luck. I think the script for that show goes something like this:
Mickey~ “Believe in your Dreams”
Minnie~ “Dreams do come true if you Dream really hard!”
Donald~ “I'm Dreaming my ass off, about Dreaming in my Dreams!”
Damn it.
BC says ~ “Mom are you choking on a little bit of left over Piglet?”
I hear~ “Mom are you Dream choking on a little Dream of left over Dream?”
The chin dimpling has crossed over to full lip pout involvement.
The word Dream is attached to my tear duct.
Finally, Goofy blows himself up dreaming or something like that and I pull myself together.
I grab my dear family. Dreams do come true. We are here. Together. And I am loving it. We head over to where we think BBB is. On our way we found the Fairy godmother.
This Fairy godmother was really bossy and not that friendly. She brushed me off when I mentioned that GC was about to be turned into Cinderella. Which surprised me.
And I should have learned me a lesson about the mojo change in the atmosphere. But I'm hard-headed and stubborn. I don’t pay attention to fates and signs. I play it my way.
Up next: Mrs. A brings a little bit of The Bronx to BBB.
Ahhh. The last crispy ends of real summer. It’s like chewing the fried batter off the non-edible parts of the chicken breast. Yummy. But it won’t last forever.
I want to keep my kids from school. I never want to send them back. When they leave for the day it feels like my heart's draining like a bathtub. Nothing but ominous curly hairs left over.
The fall can pound salt, as far as I'm concerned. I've bought, no joke 47 boxes of 22 cent crayons at Wal-mart. I can’t stop myself from buying the crayons.
A few days before we left for Disney I was folding clothes,
watching the E! channel. There was a newsbreak, regarding Angelina Jolie and her babies. “We're interrupting your programming to give you an update from Angelina’s Doctor in France LIVE!”
The Doctor begins speaking to the reporters in French. The E! channel had obviously not counted on this stumbling block. They continued to broadcast the Doctor without a translator. I couldn’t believe it!
After all this time.
Finally.
In High School I decided to take French as a second language. I thought it sounded so chic. Turns out I have problems. With the French. Actually, I can not understand any accented speech whatsoever. If your everyday talking is more spicy than say, Mr. Rogers, my brain puts you on mute. I just watch your lips move.
I can’t remember names and suck at memorizing. So this all made French hard for me. I took three years of Regents level French. The only word I knew cold going into the oral final exam was “coqueluche." I thought it was hysterical that our screamingly old text books still had “whooping cough” listed as a vocab word. I was pretty sure that the malady of whooping cough had been vaccinated out of existence in 1913. So I would use it on my friends suffering through French class as a joke.
Really it was my only French joke. Well that and “tamponeux.”
Which I can’t remember what that word translates to, but it was an obvious joke.
Anyway, back to my oral exam. The French teacher pulled me into the hallway. I was so scared. Gosh I was horrible at this subject. She knew me well enough to speak her part of the conversation in the slowest, non accented French she could.
Teacher ~“Vous êtes dans le bureau du médecin, expliquer ce qui vous dérange?"
"You are in a Doctor's office, explain what is bothering you?"
(I could not believe my luck!)
Me~ "Eh bien, mon mal de gorge."
"Well, my throat hurts"
Teacher ~ "Que pensez-vous est faux?"
"What do you think is wrong?"
Me ~ "Je pense avoir la coqueluche!"
"I think I have whooping cough!"
I wound up getting an A on that oral exam and passed my Final because of it. The last day all the French I was hanging onto dropped out of my head like a hot potato. I was done. All done.
I started college and decided to change to a different school after two years. As I was arranging my new schedule all my credits transferred like a dream. Except I was missing one small credit. I needed a second language. And because I had a regents diploma I would be required to take the moderate level French. Even though I had my Mr. Rogers problem and only passed by the skin of my whooping cough flavored teeth. And moderate French is two semesters. Of course.
So I plunged into the French world. I hired a tutor. I studied all the time. After two semesters I squeaked out with a B. I was proud. Please hold your applause.
(BTW I graduated with a degree in Political science, determined to be a lawyer, until I found out that they scoop your soul out and replace it with an overactive bowel.)
So I had kids. Never touching my French with a stick. Letting it rot.
But Angelina Joile and the E! channel had given me my moment to shine.
I listened intently. I was able to piece together this information
“The mother and babies are good. The babies are eating the cheese. We are trying to stop the babies from eating the cheese.”
Well, that can’t be right. So that’s that. I don’t even remember where I was going with this story. I should have saved it and busted out this freaky little mess in the world showcase part of the trip report.
Where was I in the story? Was this the Potty chapter? No, not yet!
We were dressed and ready. To go to the Magic Kingdom. We trudge over to the van. We almost always drive to the parks. Today we pile in and drive to Ticket and Transportation. We got to park in Minnie, we were so close. Until you realize that walking from Minnie takes longer than grabbing the tram. And of course, the kids’ favorite ride in Disney is the tram.
We make the time honored choice. Ferry or Monorail? What a wonderful decision to have to make.
Usually, we're ferry fans for the first ride. But, surprisingly, the kids picked the monorail. I think they felt cheated by Minnie Mouse holding the tram hostage.
We settle into our Monorail car. Mr. A snaps away with his camera.
The kids score window seats. And we're off. To my castle.
After getting through security and heading in the early breakfast line, we were there on Main Street. We're rushing now because our ADR’s are for 8:30am and it was 8:25. No time to get the dream picture taken (Should have risked it!)
So instead of the photopass guy taking our picture. We took his.
Not nearly as satisfying.
We get seated almost immediately at Crystal Palace. We can see some of our friends, Pooh, Eyeore, but they're just past our table. The waitress tells us to take our time getting our food, they won’t be back for a while.
Grandpa regales us with tales of being a character greeter.
Grandpa~ “When I used to bring Piglet here to the Crystal Palace, I used to say ‘Come on Piglet, they're running out of bacon’, boy how he would shake.”
Grandpa’s got a sick sense of humor.
We all got up to get some food. From our super fantastic DEEP. I could not wait to set BC loose on a buffet. The child, when home never stops eating. He's mostly a meatatarian. We've to cook him his very own steak at home when we make it for dinner. His favorite snack is deli sliced turkey.
He loads up his plate. I load up a plate. I felt a little guilty. There was such a long line at the buffet. The food I wanted was vacant. Should I wait in line for the food that was available? Mr. A had bumped to the front, got what he needed and moved on.
I had my inner dilemma and then grabbed what I needed. Get back to the table. GC wants something else, go back up with her. Should I line jump again? She wants none of the first grouping of food. I jump again. The angst. Oh well.
Get back to the table. BC is sitting all slumped over pouting at his plate. Who is this child? He has bacon? Why is he not eating?
GC is not eating either. All the adults suck down the tasty offerings. The restaurant is very pretty on the inside and our server was full of Disney happiness. She kept coming back to ask the kids how they were doing.
First up for the kids was the parade. How adorable! I was happy BC was willing to march with GC.
Next up Pooh came to the table. GC runs to him and gives him a sweet hug. BC goes in for a hug as well. He's getting bigger, I wasn’t sure if he would go for the characters anymore. I should have known better. He's so easy going and always up for fun.
Tigger bounced over. I just love that striped guy.
Piglet waddled over. Grandpa decided to torment his favorite pig.
After snapping a picture, Grandpa said “Wait, I need to take that one again Piglet, you blinked”
Piglet stood for the second picture. Grandpa is part evil.
Last, was mopey Eyeore. We snuggled him up and wished him good luck with his gloomy day.
And our first DEEP was over. The kids touched very little food.
“Probably too early for them,” all the adults murmured to each other.
Our BBB appointment is for 10:25am, so we head in that direction. We stumble upon the Dream Show in front of the castle. And this is the first time it happened to me.
I was quite shocked. While watching the show, I looked around me. There was Grandpa, free of cancer, hand on PS’s head. Grandma
, finally content, she can hug her grandchildren (when she can physically touch them, she can actually breathe, if they are far away, she's just faking it). Mr. A, so very happy, in his favorite place in the world. The kids, looking at the stage, enchanted by this show. That’s Disney, you can just happen upon dancing animals, princesses and fireworks. So much better than shopping in Wal-Mart for my Crisco.
And yet despite the careful choreographing of making all my dreams come true, I realize Disney is not about what I am seeing. It is about who I am with.
The time to see the faces your heart holds dear for long periods of time. No pesky daily grind to take you away. No chores clouding the sweet voices describing something, anything to you with dancing eyes. You can hear them. Your eyes never leave your son's face while they tell a story. You can wrap your arms around your daughter and feel her sharp intake of breath when she sees Mickey and Minnie dancing for her.
I also realize that this year has been trying for the As. We have faced some things we never thought we would. And we made it out the other side.
So every time the word “Dreams” is sung by our favorite characters. I bust a tear. The whole freaking show is about Dreams. Mickey's blinking, talking and saying “Dreams."
More crying. And not that perfect, attractive tear sliding down one cheek like some women (and Ronald McDonald) can pull off.
And I am going to cry a snorf horfaling, chin dimpling, snot leaking, blubberfeast. In broad daylight. My sunglasses are large.
So I try to contain the cry.
To just my eyes.
I try looking everywhere else but the stage.
No luck. I think the script for that show goes something like this:
Mickey~ “Believe in your Dreams”
Minnie~ “Dreams do come true if you Dream really hard!”
Donald~ “I'm Dreaming my ass off, about Dreaming in my Dreams!”
Damn it.
BC says ~ “Mom are you choking on a little bit of left over Piglet?”
I hear~ “Mom are you Dream choking on a little Dream of left over Dream?”
The chin dimpling has crossed over to full lip pout involvement.
The word Dream is attached to my tear duct.
Finally, Goofy blows himself up dreaming or something like that and I pull myself together.
I grab my dear family. Dreams do come true. We are here. Together. And I am loving it. We head over to where we think BBB is. On our way we found the Fairy godmother.
This Fairy godmother was really bossy and not that friendly. She brushed me off when I mentioned that GC was about to be turned into Cinderella. Which surprised me.
And I should have learned me a lesson about the mojo change in the atmosphere. But I'm hard-headed and stubborn. I don’t pay attention to fates and signs. I play it my way.
Up next: Mrs. A brings a little bit of The Bronx to BBB.
Sweet Mother of Fudge Ch. 3
Ahhh summer. Isn’t it fantastic? The kids are home making a constant cacophony of childhood noises. Here we have long nights filled with firefly catching and frog trapping. We invested in a larger pool. I think it was $250 dollars. Which means we have paid about .50 cents an hour for the pleasure of having it.
The kids have dragged their Dad out for the games of “Dr. Tentacle arms” (we have paddles with suction cups on them left over from some game I bought at Wal-mart, Mr. A tries to suction the paddles on the kids' Beach Ball of Power
while they pummel him and push him under water, the game is loosely based on Disney’s Phineas and Ferb. There's the “Big Whirlpool” (which is easy to figure out) “Giant Storm” (huge waves) “Volleyball” (we play volleyball).
Gosh we are weird. Typing up our weirdness like a term paper really sheds some light on our bizarreness.
Back to pontificating about summer, summer here in the middle of the country is much different than our beloved Florida.
When you leave in your van, the sun is hot and way high in the sky, like it is supposed to be. When you get out of the van in Florida, the sun actually walks on the ground next to you, like a person.
The sun wears pants and a hat and throws his flaming arm around you. Instead of just hot, the Florida sky shoots fireballs, which explode all around you. When indulging in summer in normal parts of the country, your body becomes 3-D , every spider vain or stray hair visible. You must slather on the sunless tanner to make everything on your body palatable.
But our friend, Florida Walking Sun, makes your body 4-D. It burns through your sunless tanner, leaving you a shimmering ghost of body mistakes. In the Florida sun people can see your veins and what you had for lunch. And what you think you might have for dinner.
Where am I going with this? Well, as usual, I am going to talk about my body hair.
In normal world there is always time to take care of business. Keep things to a respectable level.
But in Florida we're always in a rush. Showering all the members of the family, getting them dressed, sun blocked, right shoes, towels if we are going in the pool, ear plugs for our infection prone son, favorite floaties. All this takes time. And wasting Florida time is inexcusable. There's only one place I can cut down on time. My own personal maintenance must suffer. Bye sunless tanner, Bye carefully applied Bare Minerals.
Let the Body Hair Triage begin.
Now, as in any triage, there are various priorities. I will outline the procedure below:
Each of the three main body hair areas receive a “toe tag” to establish who needs action first. The tags are colored (in my head)
* Minor priority #3 the area feels rough
* Delayed priority #2 the area would have looked great in the sixties
* Immediate priority #3 People will mistake this area for a spider and start slapping it with magazines.
* Black tag (no number) all numbers are present, only go swimming at night, alone.
In a Florida shower, I must use all my sharp focus and body hair horror knowledge. Reaction must be quick, efficient and fearless. In the end, only #3 is attended to. And the black tag? Well, it just isn’t safe to swim alone, so I can't let it get that bad.
I'm sorry I had to share that. Another thing I'm finding lately is that all my personal hygiene products must be labeled “Clinical Strength” or “Prescription style” to work effectively. But that's neither here nor there.
We spent our time at my parents. The kids got spoiled. I repacked all of our bags.
Next up: Grandpa’s Surprise 90th Birthday party.
This party is also functioning as a family reunion. One of my aunts had never met GC and BC was 6 months old when she met him. I was excited to show off my beautiful, well mannered kids. They are for sure the nicest thing that ever got removed from my body.
This meant getting up early, getting dressed to the nines, and driving three hours to his house. We'd be going right past Disney to get there. Mr. A and my Dad came up with a great idea. We would drive into Disney, go through the check in process, and then head to Poppy’s house. We all thought this was a time saver and very smart. When checking in using the cast discounts, it can sometimes take longer than usual and we'd not be back to POP until late that evening. This way, when we arrived we could march right in. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.
Anybody else see something wrong with this plan?
That’s right, we are planning on taking the kids to Disney, through all the signs, the heart pounding excitement, marching into their favorite place to sleep ever, which is the gateway to the World. And then we're leaving.
We are peeking at Disney. And than running. To go to a birthday party in a retirement park.
Now in our defense, Mr. A and I were only thinking about ourselves.
This quick stop was sharpening our Disney pencil of excitement. It was the cherry on top of the Disney flavored ice cream Sunday.
Grandma and Grandpa often stay in POP when they're contracting in Orlando, so it's very normal for them to do this.
But the kids, well, turns out, when you take them to Disney World, they want to actually go in.
BC took the news very well, being that he is a 65 year old man in a 9 year old body, he agreed with the logic.
GC, my little tinkleberry, was not seeing the logic of anything but the Hippy Dippy pool. And maybe an airbrush tattoo. Trying to explain things amongst giant yo-yos and bowling pins essentially puts a mommy voice on mute. How can I blame her? Sandwich Disney dangling in front of her with many hours in the van, top with a sprinkling of lack of sleep and I'm looking at a very persnickety six year old.
It's 10am and our day has not even started. Poppy’s party is an elaborate ruse that will take many hours. First we're arriving for our visit at 12:30 which he's expecting. Trickling in at that time as a pre-surprise “surprise” are his three daughters and their families, and his wife’s family. Just a smorgasbord of unexpected people. Then at 4:30pm, we head up to the clubhouse where a party of about 70 of his closest and oldest friends would be treated to dinner, music and fun.
I was doing the Math on that while looking at GC. How much can I expect from her? She's a real trooper, but the lack of sleep is scaring me. She cries as we get in the van to head for the party. We've a few hours left to travel. I'm hoping she will nap in the car.
By the way, in the little room for kids in POP by check in they had the Disney Channel playing on the TV. I really missed the old time cartoons. I guess I want to flush the real world down the toilet at Disney. I don’t want to see anything I normally see at home. Except my family. Well the body hair could go down the pooper. That would be better for everyone.
Up Next! Let’s surprise a 90 year old man!!!!
The kids have dragged their Dad out for the games of “Dr. Tentacle arms” (we have paddles with suction cups on them left over from some game I bought at Wal-mart, Mr. A tries to suction the paddles on the kids' Beach Ball of Power
while they pummel him and push him under water, the game is loosely based on Disney’s Phineas and Ferb. There's the “Big Whirlpool” (which is easy to figure out) “Giant Storm” (huge waves) “Volleyball” (we play volleyball). Gosh we are weird. Typing up our weirdness like a term paper really sheds some light on our bizarreness.
Back to pontificating about summer, summer here in the middle of the country is much different than our beloved Florida.
When you leave in your van, the sun is hot and way high in the sky, like it is supposed to be. When you get out of the van in Florida, the sun actually walks on the ground next to you, like a person.
The sun wears pants and a hat and throws his flaming arm around you. Instead of just hot, the Florida sky shoots fireballs, which explode all around you. When indulging in summer in normal parts of the country, your body becomes 3-D , every spider vain or stray hair visible. You must slather on the sunless tanner to make everything on your body palatable.But our friend, Florida Walking Sun
, makes your body 4-D. It burns through your sunless tanner, leaving you a shimmering ghost of body mistakes. In the Florida sun people can see your veins and what you had for lunch. And what you think you might have for dinner.Where am I going with this? Well, as usual, I am going to talk about my body hair.
In normal world there is always time to take care of business. Keep things to a respectable level.
But in Florida we're always in a rush. Showering all the members of the family, getting them dressed, sun blocked, right shoes, towels if we are going in the pool, ear plugs for our infection prone son, favorite floaties. All this takes time. And wasting Florida time is inexcusable. There's only one place I can cut down on time. My own personal maintenance must suffer. Bye sunless tanner, Bye carefully applied Bare Minerals.
Let the Body Hair Triage begin.
Now, as in any triage, there are various priorities. I will outline the procedure below:
Each of the three main body hair areas receive a “toe tag” to establish who needs action first. The tags are colored (in my head)
* Minor priority #3 the area feels rough
* Delayed priority #2 the area would have looked great in the sixties
* Immediate priority #3 People will mistake this area for a spider and start slapping it with magazines.
* Black tag (no number) all numbers are present, only go swimming at night, alone.
In a Florida shower, I must use all my sharp focus and body hair horror knowledge. Reaction must be quick, efficient and fearless. In the end, only #3 is attended to. And the black tag? Well, it just isn’t safe to swim alone, so I can't let it get that bad.
I'm sorry I had to share that. Another thing I'm finding lately is that all my personal hygiene products must be labeled “Clinical Strength” or “Prescription style” to work effectively.
But that's neither here nor there.We spent our time at my parents. The kids got spoiled. I repacked all of our bags.
Next up: Grandpa’s Surprise 90th Birthday party.
This party is also functioning as a family reunion. One of my aunts had never met GC and BC was 6 months old when she met him. I was excited to show off my beautiful, well mannered kids. They are for sure the nicest thing that ever got removed from my body.
This meant getting up early, getting dressed to the nines, and driving three hours to his house. We'd be going right past Disney to get there. Mr. A and my Dad came up with a great idea. We would drive into Disney, go through the check in process, and then head to Poppy’s house. We all thought this was a time saver and very smart. When checking in using the cast discounts, it can sometimes take longer than usual and we'd not be back to POP until late that evening. This way, when we arrived we could march right in. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.
Anybody else see something wrong with this plan?
That’s right, we are planning on taking the kids to Disney, through all the signs, the heart pounding excitement, marching into their favorite place to sleep ever, which is the gateway to the World. And then we're leaving.
We are peeking at Disney. And than running. To go to a birthday party in a retirement park.
Now in our defense, Mr. A and I were only thinking about ourselves.
This quick stop was sharpening our Disney pencil of excitement. It was the cherry on top of the Disney flavored ice cream Sunday.
Grandma
and Grandpa often stay in POP when they're contracting in Orlando, so it's very normal for them to do this.But the kids, well, turns out, when you take them to Disney World, they want to actually go in.
BC took the news very well, being that he is a 65 year old man in a 9 year old body, he agreed with the logic.
GC, my little tinkleberry, was not seeing the logic of anything but the Hippy Dippy pool. And maybe an airbrush tattoo. Trying to explain things amongst giant yo-yos and bowling pins essentially puts a mommy voice on mute. How can I blame her? Sandwich Disney dangling in front of her with many hours in the van, top with a sprinkling of lack of sleep and I'm looking at a very persnickety six year old.
It's 10am and our day has not even started. Poppy’s party is an elaborate ruse that will take many hours. First we're arriving for our visit at 12:30 which he's expecting. Trickling in at that time as a pre-surprise “surprise” are his three daughters and their families, and his wife’s family. Just a smorgasbord of unexpected people. Then at 4:30pm, we head up to the clubhouse where a party of about 70 of his closest and oldest friends would be treated to dinner, music and fun.
I was doing the Math on that while looking at GC. How much can I expect from her? She's a real trooper, but the lack of sleep is scaring me. She cries as we get in the van to head for the party. We've a few hours left to travel. I'm hoping she will nap in the car.
By the way, in the little room for kids in POP by check in they had the Disney Channel playing on the TV. I really missed the old time cartoons. I guess I want to flush the real world down the toilet at Disney. I don’t want to see anything I normally see at home. Except my family. Well the body hair could go down the pooper. That would be better for everyone.
Up Next! Let’s surprise a 90 year old man!!!!
June 21, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Chapter 2
****Flashback***
Just before we left for Disney I took the kids to a special program at the local Library. It was something about big and small critters. The programs have a decent reputation and considering how much GC loves animals, I thought it would be a good break before the long car ride. I was picturing live animals brought in for the kids to admire and maybe even touch.
I had to pre-register months in advance. Expectations were high. I met up with a friend and her two boys there. We settled into our seats. Our kids got great ones, right up front. I looked at my friend with eyebrows raised. In the front of the room there were no happy cages, no safari dressed bubbly animal wrangler. There was a woman who was blasted out of 1972 and plopped in front of a number of taxidermy-ed animals. Really old dead animals.
Oh no! Will GC have nightmares? Will she figure out that they're dead? Front row seats mind you. We had two little foxes, faces arranged in snarls, baring teeth. A large bird, talons exposed, A black bear, ferocious glare in place. And the saddest piece of all, a momma raccoon with her small dead baby raccoon in her mouth. Holy Guacamole, who thought this was great show for kids! The refugee from 1972 began her presentation in the most monotone, boring tone of voice she could fester up. I think listening to an insurance salesman discuss the virtues of loose-leaf paper would pack more of a punch. The kids ranged in ages from 2 to about 12. They were like angels listening as 1972 picked up one dead animal after another pointing to various dead parts and moving them slowly in a macabre horror show. She got to the raccoon family. She holds them up. All of the mothers in the audience look horrified. 1972 points out that these dead animals are so old, the mama raccoon’s “fingers” have worn off to nubs. Why did I let my kids sit through this? Well, the reward was getting to “pet” the animals.
1972 pulls my son out of his chair. He always gets picked for stuff, but usually it’s good stuff. She hands him the two stiff, dead foxes. He dutifully stuffs one under each arm and holds them at the right height for the other kids to “pet” them. GC gets on line and waits for her turn. Her reward. All of us mothers stand around waiting for our kids to do the exact opposite of what we would tell them in the wild.
“Don’t touch the dead animal!!” is echoing through all our heads. I guess you can put anything in a library, label it a kids show and we will all put up with it. I'm thinking of all the road kill I'll try and prevent the kids from seeing in our hours on the road. But I brought them out special for this nightmare.
I look at my friend and say, “I really hope the kids won’t be too disappointed when we get to Disney and the characters move around. Dead animals are so electrifying.”
We get in the van. I turn to look at their confused faces. BC sums it up with a: “Well mom, that was weird”
Sorry Kids. Oops. Let’s rub some Disney on that weirdness until it goes away.
We have one last home dinner before we leave. I sit us down at the dining room table for a little reminder course in table manners. We're indulging in our first Disney Dining Plan experience this trip. Cast members and their families get a deal and we love deals. We made our ADR’s after careful deliberation of menus, reviews, etc.
We came up with Crystal Palace Breakfast, Boma, Chef Mickey Breakfast, O’Hana, and Hoop dee Doo Review for our table services. Mr. A examined our list and came to the realization that we had unknowingly enrolled in the Disney Extreme Eating Plan. Every table service was All-you-care-to-Eat. Now, as far as we know, we're the first members of the DEEP. So here's a few tips for anyone else that has the gall (and the gallbladder) to enroll in this plan. First things first, you have to build up your endurance to get more than your money’s worth out of each meal.
Stretching your stomach to competitive eating strength is recommended. Begin shopping at a store like Sam’s or B.J.’s and buy your entrée’s and sides in bulk. Instead of dividing them up into more sensible portions, COOK IT ALL. And have at it. Eat. Learn to burp to make more room. Serve Tums in little finger bowls.
Back to our tutorial. Besides competitive eating, we like our family members to be polite at the table. There is only one sure fire way to remind the kids of the manners we like to see.
Show them what not to do. Mrs. A cracked her knuckles and her neck, poured a tall soda and served chili dogs.
After much inappropriate and then, corrected appropriate, expelling of digestive noises, including, but not limited to the sentence: “Kids, if you have to fart, try not to squeeze the cheeks, because that turns them into screamers!” Mr. A noted that he felt like he had just had dinner with pirates. The kids asked to be excused from the table (good kids!). We were ready to take on eating in the World.
******
Now the Anastasias were driving to Disney, straight through, cheating stops at McDonald’s when alas, eventually, after we learned that Georgia and South Carolina need Adult supercenters and their girls are TOPLESS! TOPLESS! TOPLESS!, we hit the first smattering of Palm Trees, then the Welcome to Florida sign.
We traditionally stop, drink orange juice take pictures, and move on. It feels wonderful there. Your whole trip is in front of you. Tinkerbell has been farting her pants off the entire ride, bestowing presents on my beautiful kids. I call my Dad for refresher directions to their retirement park. Really it’s like a town. This place is the Disney World of retirement parks. There are five pools, beautiful amenities, Mr. A and I want to retire in that very place when the time comes..
Me ~ “Hi, Dad.”
Dad ~ "I'll call back in a minute I am about to get a needle” Click.
Huh.
I have a great imagination. I'm coming up with nada. What the heck are they doing?
“When you wish upon a star” my phone sings to me. I know my father's getting Minnie Mouse answering on his end.
Me ~ ”Dad?”
Dad ~ (slurring) ~”I’m in the dentist getting a tooth pulled, the dentist is here.”
Dad slurs through the directions. And like a trooper hangs up to get a tooth ripped out. Last time I spoke to my parents, they were shopping in Wal-Mart. That’s quite a jump from buying yoo-hoo to the dentist chair.
We still have three to four hours of driving, so we pile in. Mr. A and I worry about Dad. I once had a tooth removed by a horrible dentist and wound up with dry socket and no way to get a pain reliever. I'm determined that Dad will not have to go through that.
A little about my Dad. I have known him my whole life. He's actually an invincible superhero. Tall, great looking, ridiculously strong with an impeccable sense of right and wrong. He's a superb driver, funny, and smart. When all the other Dads would sit on the beach at the lake, my Dad would be in the water throwing me and my sister high in the air, however many times we asked him, over and over again. My friends would line up behind me and he would throw them too. Our own personal water park.
None of the other Dads got off their lounge chairs. Now, as a grown lady, I realized how tired he must have been, working all week with overtime thrown in. It would have been so nice to lay on the beach for a little while.
He built me a tire swing, and treehouse and a dollhouse. He didn’t complain when he took me on Big Thunder Railroad for the first time and I peed on us both. What a great Dad. I have such high expectations for Mr. A. I am proud to say he has never let me down once. He's a kid throwing rock star too.
Right after Christmas my invincible Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He beat it. Get your PSA levels checked gentlemen, and ladies make sure your man gets his levels checked. It is a simple blood test and it can save lives. Easily run at an annual exam. Get a healthy baseline so you always know what your levels should be.
We were supposed to get a visit from my parents in April, but the cancer treatment needed to happen. We'd not seen them since Christmas and it was now July. I wanted to see my Dad. I know the cancer is gone, and I was happy, but I wanted to see him with my own eyes. And my mother. 38 years of marriage. My parents are inseparable, miserable without one another. What was it like to go through this worry with your two daughters so far away?
And they miss the kids. We get closer.
And finally, we pull into the driveway and flood out of the van, Hugs and kisses and holding hands. And breathe. There's Dad, looking great, saying he is no pain from his tooth removal. And Mom, happy, crying scooping the kids up.
We are here. We made it. Florida is so far away and I feel like we leave part of our hearts there every time we head back home. The vacation has started. Fill up the drinks with light up ice cubes, and make the music loud. We have arrived.
Just before we left for Disney I took the kids to a special program at the local Library. It was something about big and small critters. The programs have a decent reputation and considering how much GC loves animals, I thought it would be a good break before the long car ride. I was picturing live animals brought in for the kids to admire and maybe even touch.
I had to pre-register months in advance. Expectations were high. I met up with a friend and her two boys there. We settled into our seats. Our kids got great ones, right up front. I looked at my friend with eyebrows raised. In the front of the room there were no happy cages, no safari dressed bubbly animal wrangler. There was a woman who was blasted out of 1972 and plopped in front of a number of taxidermy-ed animals. Really old dead animals. Oh no! Will GC have nightmares? Will she figure out that they're dead? Front row seats mind you. We had two little foxes, faces arranged in snarls, baring teeth. A large bird, talons exposed, A black bear, ferocious glare in place. And the saddest piece of all, a momma raccoon with her small dead baby raccoon in her mouth. Holy Guacamole, who thought this was great show for kids! The refugee from 1972 began her presentation in the most monotone, boring tone of voice she could fester up. I think listening to an insurance salesman discuss the virtues of loose-leaf paper would pack more of a punch. The kids ranged in ages from 2 to about 12. They were like angels listening as 1972 picked up one dead animal after another pointing to various dead parts and moving them slowly in a macabre horror show. She got to the raccoon family. She holds them up. All of the mothers in the audience look horrified. 1972 points out that these dead animals are so old, the mama raccoon’s “fingers” have worn off to nubs. Why did I let my kids sit through this? Well, the reward was getting to “pet” the animals.
1972 pulls my son out of his chair. He always gets picked for stuff, but usually it’s good stuff. She hands him the two stiff, dead foxes. He dutifully stuffs one under each arm and holds them at the right height for the other kids to “pet” them. GC gets on line and waits for her turn. Her reward. All of us mothers stand around waiting for our kids to do the exact opposite of what we would tell them in the wild.
“Don’t touch the dead animal!!” is echoing through all our heads. I guess you can put anything in a library, label it a kids show and we will all put up with it. I'm thinking of all the road kill I'll try and prevent the kids from seeing in our hours on the road. But I brought them out special for this nightmare.
I look at my friend and say, “I really hope the kids won’t be too disappointed when we get to Disney and the characters move around. Dead animals are so electrifying.”
We get in the van. I turn to look at their confused faces. BC sums it up with a: “Well mom, that was weird”
Sorry Kids. Oops. Let’s rub some Disney on that weirdness until it goes away.
We have one last home dinner before we leave. I sit us down at the dining room table for a little reminder course in table manners. We're indulging in our first Disney Dining Plan experience this trip. Cast members and their families get a deal and we love deals. We made our ADR’s after careful deliberation of menus, reviews, etc.
We came up with Crystal Palace Breakfast, Boma, Chef Mickey Breakfast, O’Hana, and Hoop dee Doo Review for our table services. Mr. A examined our list and came to the realization that we had unknowingly enrolled in the Disney Extreme Eating Plan. Every table service was All-you-care-to-Eat. Now, as far as we know, we're the first members of the DEEP. So here's a few tips for anyone else that has the gall (and the gallbladder) to enroll in this plan. First things first, you have to build up your endurance to get more than your money’s worth out of each meal.
Stretching your stomach to competitive eating strength is recommended. Begin shopping at a store like Sam’s or B.J.’s and buy your entrée’s and sides in bulk. Instead of dividing them up into more sensible portions, COOK IT ALL. And have at it. Eat. Learn to burp to make more room. Serve Tums in little finger bowls.
Back to our tutorial. Besides competitive eating, we like our family members to be polite at the table. There is only one sure fire way to remind the kids of the manners we like to see.
Show them what not to do. Mrs. A cracked her knuckles and her neck, poured a tall soda and served chili dogs.
After much inappropriate and then, corrected appropriate, expelling of digestive noises, including, but not limited to the sentence: “Kids, if you have to fart, try not to squeeze the cheeks, because that turns them into screamers!” Mr. A noted that he felt like he had just had dinner with pirates. The kids asked to be excused from the table (good kids!). We were ready to take on eating in the World.
******
Now the Anastasias were driving to Disney, straight through, cheating stops at McDonald’s when alas, eventually, after we learned that Georgia and South Carolina need Adult supercenters and their girls are TOPLESS! TOPLESS! TOPLESS!, we hit the first smattering of Palm Trees, then the Welcome to Florida sign.
We traditionally stop, drink orange juice take pictures, and move on. It feels wonderful there. Your whole trip is in front of you. Tinkerbell has been farting her pants off the entire ride, bestowing presents on my beautiful kids. I call my Dad for refresher directions to their retirement park. Really it’s like a town. This place is the Disney World of retirement parks. There are five pools, beautiful amenities, Mr. A and I want to retire in that very place when the time comes..
Me ~ “Hi, Dad.”
Dad ~ "I'll call back in a minute I am about to get a needle” Click.
Huh.
I have a great imagination. I'm coming up with nada. What the heck are they doing?
“When you wish upon a star” my phone sings to me. I know my father's getting Minnie Mouse answering on his end.
Me ~ ”Dad?”
Dad ~ (slurring) ~”I’m in the dentist getting a tooth pulled, the dentist is here.”
Dad slurs through the directions. And like a trooper hangs up to get a tooth ripped out. Last time I spoke to my parents, they were shopping in Wal-Mart. That’s quite a jump from buying yoo-hoo to the dentist chair.
We still have three to four hours of driving, so we pile in. Mr. A and I worry about Dad. I once had a tooth removed by a horrible dentist and wound up with dry socket and no way to get a pain reliever. I'm determined that Dad will not have to go through that.
A little about my Dad. I have known him my whole life. He's actually an invincible superhero. Tall, great looking, ridiculously strong with an impeccable sense of right and wrong. He's a superb driver, funny, and smart. When all the other Dads would sit on the beach at the lake, my Dad would be in the water throwing me and my sister high in the air, however many times we asked him, over and over again. My friends would line up behind me and he would throw them too. Our own personal water park.
None of the other Dads got off their lounge chairs. Now, as a grown lady, I realized how tired he must have been, working all week with overtime thrown in. It would have been so nice to lay on the beach for a little while.
He built me a tire swing, and treehouse and a dollhouse. He didn’t complain when he took me on Big Thunder Railroad for the first time and I peed on us both. What a great Dad. I have such high expectations for Mr. A. I am proud to say he has never let me down once. He's a kid throwing rock star too.
Right after Christmas my invincible Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He beat it. Get your PSA levels checked gentlemen, and ladies make sure your man gets his levels checked. It is a simple blood test and it can save lives. Easily run at an annual exam. Get a healthy baseline so you always know what your levels should be.
We were supposed to get a visit from my parents in April, but the cancer treatment needed to happen. We'd not seen them since Christmas and it was now July. I wanted to see my Dad. I know the cancer is gone, and I was happy, but I wanted to see him with my own eyes. And my mother. 38 years of marriage. My parents are inseparable, miserable without one another. What was it like to go through this worry with your two daughters so far away?
And they miss the kids. We get closer.
And finally, we pull into the driveway and flood out of the van, Hugs and kisses and holding hands. And breathe. There's Dad, looking great, saying he is no pain from his tooth removal. And Mom, happy, crying scooping the kids up.
We are here. We made it. Florida is so far away and I feel like we leave part of our hearts there every time we head back home. The vacation has started. Fill up the drinks with light up ice cubes, and make the music loud. We have arrived.
June 19, 2012
Today is International Short Story Day! Thanks...
Today is International Short Story Day!
Thanks to Carol Oates for the Button
I love short stories. I actually have two contest winners for you to enjoy free today and and longer free eBook as well.
Download NC-17 here FREE! (Just One Bite Finalist)
Download Shackled Free Here!
And last and maybe least is my humor piece that won third place in a 24 hour Publisher's Weekly contest titled:
HOOKER IN A CASKET
I can't believe that the judges put up with my armpit hair laden story. They are a brave bunch. Please follow the linky below to my other Omnific sisters. They will treat you to free stories as well. Happy Short Story day!
Thanks to Carol Oates for the ButtonI love short stories. I actually have two contest winners for you to enjoy free today and and longer free eBook as well.
Download NC-17 here FREE! (Just One Bite Finalist)
Download Shackled Free Here!
And last and maybe least is my humor piece that won third place in a 24 hour Publisher's Weekly contest titled:
HOOKER IN A CASKET
I can't believe that the judges put up with my armpit hair laden story. They are a brave bunch. Please follow the linky below to my other Omnific sisters. They will treat you to free stories as well. Happy Short Story day!
June 18, 2012
Screw the Thick Skinned Nonsense.
You know, since writing has become a thing I do I often hear/read/ happen upon the phrased "thick-skinned" when referring to authors.
There are many pep talks about bucking up, strapping in and bearing down. It's almost like writing is akin to taking a dump on the space station.
[image error]
And I get it. Obviously, I'm not the brightest bulb in the crayon box but I realize other authors are preparing the new ones. You will sit and create a life that lives between pages. Each sentence is carefully groomed and polished. The paragraphs wear their best coats and crisp, new shoes as you step back and lovingly send it into the street.
You're maybe picturing a street lined with apple trees and sweet mailboxes and the occasional squirrel scampering around. And honestly the street is a fourteen lane highway bordered by hookers and an angry mob with sticks and flaming bags of poo. Your sweet little precious story is going to be trampled, kicked in the nuts, given long, hard, wet noogies.
And as an author you are supposed to stand there, clasp your hands and hold a smile on your face. Nod understandingly when your story limps back holding its privates, snot running down its face crying.
Butt I say this: Don't get a thick fucking skin. Don't. I mean, for serious, don't fall down screaming like an asshole, but you can let the negatives wound you. If you're writing from the correct place in your body, you most likely have access to your emotions. If you have a story that means anything to you, your soul is like a giant fish tank at Petco. (You know, the feeder fish :( )
And you skim what you need off the top. While you're not writing, your soul is laying there open like the fish tank. You're going to feel shit, absorb stuff, get sneezed in. So if someone gives your story a wedgie, you're going to commiserate with it and that's okay.
No really, let it burn for a few minutes. You earned it. With that job comes an equally important one. When something good happens, you have to fold that into you as well. The positive energy is three times as important as the negative, even if at times it's just you patting your own damn self on the back.
Have skin that needs a lot of hypoallergenic product and sun block. Be likely to develop skin tags from chaffing. Because whether someone pokes your book with a needle or tickles it with a feather, if you're not feeling it, then you might be doing something wrong.
Word.
There are many pep talks about bucking up, strapping in and bearing down. It's almost like writing is akin to taking a dump on the space station.
[image error]
And I get it. Obviously, I'm not the brightest bulb in the crayon box but I realize other authors are preparing the new ones. You will sit and create a life that lives between pages. Each sentence is carefully groomed and polished. The paragraphs wear their best coats and crisp, new shoes as you step back and lovingly send it into the street.
You're maybe picturing a street lined with apple trees and sweet mailboxes and the occasional squirrel scampering around. And honestly the street is a fourteen lane highway bordered by hookers and an angry mob with sticks and flaming bags of poo. Your sweet little precious story is going to be trampled, kicked in the nuts, given long, hard, wet noogies.
And as an author you are supposed to stand there, clasp your hands and hold a smile on your face. Nod understandingly when your story limps back holding its privates, snot running down its face crying.
Butt I say this: Don't get a thick fucking skin. Don't. I mean, for serious, don't fall down screaming like an asshole, but you can let the negatives wound you. If you're writing from the correct place in your body, you most likely have access to your emotions. If you have a story that means anything to you, your soul is like a giant fish tank at Petco. (You know, the feeder fish :( )
And you skim what you need off the top. While you're not writing, your soul is laying there open like the fish tank. You're going to feel shit, absorb stuff, get sneezed in. So if someone gives your story a wedgie, you're going to commiserate with it and that's okay.
No really, let it burn for a few minutes. You earned it. With that job comes an equally important one. When something good happens, you have to fold that into you as well. The positive energy is three times as important as the negative, even if at times it's just you patting your own damn self on the back.
Have skin that needs a lot of hypoallergenic product and sun block. Be likely to develop skin tags from chaffing. Because whether someone pokes your book with a needle or tickles it with a feather, if you're not feeling it, then you might be doing something wrong.
Word.
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