Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 68

42 Days!

What? It's getting so close!

 I'm compiling a Soundtrack for you and I'm putting it on three (!) spots on the internet so you can find it on your favorite site.
Here's Playlist.com:

[image error]


Here's mixpod:


[image error]
Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Here's Youtube:



I hope you enjoy the songs! Also, be aware that some have curses in them.

I've been waiting

I've been waiting years for this. Years. It actually makes me tear up thinking about the evening Poughkeepsie goes on sale. It's not about the sale of it. It's about seeing my name attached to the story. It's about getting it back to the readers that gave me the gift of writing. Poughkeepsie was wings I didn't know I needed. This release of the crazy in my head? It makes me tremendously grateful.


Don't get me wrong, I love Crushed Seraphim and the sequel I'm working on. But Poughkeepsie was my first full length story and it just makes me so freaking happy to think of it with pages and a cover.


Below is the Invitation I made for you, the reader:




<3 Debra

Poughkeepsie Soundtrack

Chapters 1-9

Please vote!

Hi guys!

Can you check out my short story NC-17? It is a finalist in the One Bite contest! Thanks a lot!

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/conte...

The Aftermath

The Aftermath
It's been almost exactly two weeks since Hurricane Irene decided to flush her giant, powerful toilet bowl above my part of the world. It's been an interesting ride since then.
We were able to score a hotel room that first afternoon after spending the night at our neighbors' house. It accepted dogs and were willing to take all three of my pups even thought their pet policy clearly said one dog. Being given shelter during and after the storm would be the beginning of a trend of kindness headed for my family.
We are still in that same hotel, though I was able to finagle a room with a little sitting area. Our insurance adjuster did finally make it to our state and he is understandably swamped with claims. I've found out since the storm 60 homes in the area were declared uninhabitable, mine included. The adjuster was confident he would be able to handle our claim in a few hours. He was sobered by the wreckage and quickly amended his prediction, saying that the claim was much more complicated than he first thought.
Being inside the house on after the tree was removed and declared safe for my husband and I to walk through (carefully) was amazing. The clean up crew had torn down the ceilings, drywall and exposed the innards of my house. Turns out it was not the brick that saved the roof from collapsing in on us, but a very nice roof. Who knew? I guess I heard the three little pigs story too many times as a kid.
It was tremendous, seeing the damage that huge tree caused. The holes punched through the roof opened up the rooms below to the rain. Water's a bitch, which unfortunately too many of my friends know about right now with the flooding.
It's a depressing sort of sight, this house that you clean and spruce and decorate for the holidays just smashed and waterlogged. I had sympathy for the things that had been in our household for so long. Which probably doesn't make sense. I had two huge wicker baskets full of nonsense, but in that nonsense were pictures drawn for me by my kids when their hands were so much smaller. Again, it doesn't matter. It's just things, but seeing those things disintegrate, it's just a different loss. Not one you cry over. Maybe a passing of an era, but all at once.
Our fat, fuzzy, friendly cat had spent the time since the storm at the angel neighbor's. Blackberry is the best cat that thinks he's a dog ever. We are all ridiculously attached to him, singing songs when we see him, etc. But really he was my girl's gift. When he was a feral-style kitten wandering from where my evil, other neighbors had been irresponsibly breeding cats, he hopped up on our window and meowed until we let him in.
Eventually, after a vet and neuter, he became our indoor cat. Fast forward to two years later where Blackberry was relaxing next door while we were at the hotel. In a mix up with friends, someone accidently let the cat outside. When we stopped by to try and salvage our paperwork, our neighbor dropped by to give us the bad news that the cat had been missing for about 10 hours.
We were doing great. The kids were embracing the change and the loss of the house like champs. But that news? It took the wind right out of our sails. I felt the crack of not being able to fix it.
The kids' eyes filled up, but then they were helping us canvas the neighborhood and rattle bowls filled with food. Girlchild would stumble a bit and lose herself in worry and then rally, shaking herself to keep walking and calling his name. We live by such a busy 6 lane road, it's a few blocks away, but a lost cat could easily wind up facing the speeding cars.
After hours, we had to leave. We couldn't even properly look for our cat, get signs up and such. So much had changed, the thought of not having his familiar face was just overwhelming. Our mantra has been, "We're all safe, even the animals." But now we had to add the worry and concern over the fuzzy guy.
After making calls to vets and leaving messages with Animal Control and the local shelter, I began trying to get pictures on my phone to someone to make signs. The husband decided to go back to the house to get the cat's records so we could find out if the microchip we have in him had GPS (it doesn't, that costs so much more) I called my mom in the husband's absence, as I tend to do when I feel hopeless. I call my mom and dad like a kid. I can't blame myself, they are really upbeat and have good ideas. They offered only comfort.
The husband beeped through on my cell, I was breathless as I clicked over. He would only call me for one reason.
"I got him! Blackberry is safe in the van."
Those words were so very important at that moment in time. The kids jumped for joy and I felt my legs give with the relief. I didn't realize how shallow my breathing had been until I inhaled. The husband was putting food out all over the property and found a can of tuna in the slopped out mess of the pantry. My fat cat loves his wet noms, so when he heard the can opener, he came crawling out from the rubble of the house.
So that's the drama. Now we are back in the swing of life, because it does go on. I make lunches on the TV cabinet and "cut" the peanut butter sandwiches by ripping them in half. We are waiting on an apartment, soon we should be able to move in. There will be a kitchen! With a sink! And a big fridge! The bad news is that it is on the third floor (boo, my old blind dog will not be pleased) and it has white carpet and white walls. 3 dogs, 2 kids and a cat and white? It's going to be interesting. But it's a home. The thing, besides the cat, that has really just slayed me has been the absolute wave of kindness coming from friends. 
It is totally overwhelming. Gift certificates have been pressed into our hands. Anonymous cash stuffed in the mail box at work. My publisher, Omnific sent hundreds of dollars as soon as the power was up that bought my kids fruits, vegetables and some pajamas and paid for nights in the hotel that was our only shelter.
I was only ready for a regular week before the tree dropped. Forced displacement is so damn expensive.
People are so selflessly kind. So giving. My sweet friend, shalu, set up a chipin site for my family and ran an auction on Ravelry. As of right now there is over $5,000 in that account. I don't feel worthy of it. Not one dime. But my kids? They are. Making things better for them? How can I possibly say thank you enough. Because of this support their experience has been as close to pleasant as possible. This tree falling won't be more than a blip on their radar when they look back. I made sure that they saw how many prayers, support and money came their way. Because that is what I want them to take with them from this situation.
We have a $2000 deductible and living in the apartment required a commute in the morning that we were not prepared for, so it also bought a nice running truck. (It's not too pretty, but God it offers such a lovely soluton. Plus, hubby is head over heels in love with it.) Those two expenses I had no idea how I was going to handle. Thanks to the fandom, both have been paid in full.
I wrote this in two parts, by the way. I'm now in the apartment and it is lovely. The insurance has been very nice and fairly prompt, so that's good. I've heard nightmare stories.
The update from here is this: We are safe, happy and loved. I am driven to distraction trying to think of ways to repay the kindness. I'm sure I could never do enough. Just thank you all so very much. I will pass it forward every chance I get. 
 P.S. The above picture is what my daughter drew on the walls of my destroyed home with a Sharpie marker. I hope it helped her to get it out of her system. We also drew hearts and "Thank you" all over. Sort of a love note to the house that had the courage to hold up that damn tree and keep us all safe. 

The night was dark and stormy. No, it really freaking wa...

The night was dark and stormy. No, it really freaking was.
We'd waited all day for the category 1 storm to arrive. I'd spent the last 24 hours amassing all the things that might make our stay inside easier. I'd gone over the lists online and looked at the weather.com feed for ideas. I perused the evacuation lists and thought about where in my house those things might be. We didn't have a portable radio, and that bothered me. But my biggest concern was the length of time after the storm we'd be without power. I'd filled everything in my recycling bin with water, and I was proud to have stuck some soda bottles in the freezer. I'd even found bread—at the dollar store, of all places.
My husband and I watched Date Night as the wind picked up. The kids watched recorded Disney Channel shows, all of us trying to enjoy the fact that the power was lasting longer than expected. Finally the lights went out, and we all got together in the living room. My husband began lighting candles, and I pulled the last of the huge load of laundry I had drying. I was folding it in my bedroom when I heard a big thump and the ground shook.
We peeked out the front window to see that a huge tree had fallen on the lawn, landing inches from our front door. I called my mom while I herded the kids to the hallway. I marveled at the fact that it had been a silent destruction. There had been no telltale cracks to warn us that the tree was about to fall.
No time to hustle out of the way, so the husband and I tried to decide where the kids would sleep. I wasn't comfortable with them sleeping by a window, so we decided on a twin mattress in the hallway. 
Just a quick explanation about my house: it's a small brick rambler on a sweet cul-de-sac. Every room has windows, so the hallway is the only window-free space. We have many large trees, but the largest is what we called the family tree. We name everything in my world, just to make the kids laugh or love things. Like stuffed animals. So the huge oak that umbrella-ed the house got the same treatment. The family tree got plenty of love, as far as a tree goes.
I stood the kids just inside my son's doorway and told them to sit for a minute while I folded by the light of a flashlight. It was going to be a long night. Now I could hear branches cracking outside like King Kong was swinging from tree to tree. I looked out and spied my neighbor in the road, checking on our tree, making sure we were okay. I waved and she ran back inside. My husband and I were so touched that she checked on us.
Soon after that, it happened. Again we had no way to know it was coming when the family tree landed on the roof. No cracking. Nothing. Just an instantaneous thundering and the amazing crunch and whoosh of thousands of leaves. My husband rushed to the kids, screaming at them to stand up as he gathered them in his arms.
The house groaned. My daughter sobbed, and my son paled.
"It hit. Oh my God, it hit."
I swallowed because my unflappable guy sounded scared. I left the kids in the hallway to take a peek. The family tree's root ball eclipsed my bay window. I tracked it with my eyes over the ceiling and followed it to the porch. My kitchen's new view was the top of the massive tree.


My husband hustled the kids to the front door where my neighbors were peering through a pile of trees to wave us an invitation to their house. I knew I had to pack quickly while my husband got the kids to safety.
"Shoes! You need shoes!" My son slipped on two left sneakers. My husband threw our daughter over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and they threaded their way out the door and through the tree branches.
I gave myself just minutes to grab what I could from the house. I knew how big that oak was, and I fully expected the house to buckle.
Think, think—what do you need? The lists I'd read earlier flashed in my head. Underwear, medicines, important papers, cell phone. I ran to the bedroom and looked at the piles I'd been folding. It would all come. My husband busted back in the front door.

"Deb?" He sounded panicked. "Grab garbage bags."
My suitcases were in the shed—no way to get to them—so we opened bags, and I began filling. I tried to concentrate. Maybe five days of clothes? I kept losing count. My brain filled with the static of fear. My husband just stood there with a bag. I forced myself to think. Lord help me—I need my bra! 
"Go get meds and underwear for the kids," I told him. 
I pretended to pack for a vacation, itemizing what I'd usually bring. Kids had clothes—all that was on my bed went in.
He was back. "Grab the bills bag," I instructed. He was doing great at listening and following through.
I knew next door my girl was panicked, crying for sure. My son would comfort her. But he was so pale when I saw him last…
Think.
I ran to the bathroom: toiletries. Back to the bedroom: pillows, blankets. I found a bra and thanked God as I slipped it on.
"Deb, stop," he said. "We have to get out."
Think. "Get the kids favorite toys," I said.
The house groaned as the winds went crazy. Pounding rain. Dogs barking.
Think. Purse, cell phone.
I looked around. That was it. I'd already pressed my luck. I dragged the garbage bags to the front door because we couldn't get out the back. My husband and I looked at the dogs. They would need another trip. I stuffed his huge shoes on my feet, and we took off. Getting out the door required weaving through the branches of the first tree and ducking under the root ball of the family tree. I slipped in the mud as I maneuvered around the crater that used to hold the large oak.
Getting three dogs and the cat out would be nuts. The rain instantly drenched me. I didn't look back as we ran the bags next door. It was about 3/4ths of a soccer field away.
I was greeted by hands with towels and water bottles. I shook my head. We had to get the animals. Before we left I said, jokingly, "My parents get the kids."
As we ran back over I understood my husband's panic. We could barely make out the small hole in all the branches that led to the door, and the oak was really pressing hard on the roof.


Juggling our flashlights, we made our way back in. He leashed the animals while I hunted for the cat, finally finding him under my bed.
I had nothing to put him in, and he was already clawing to get away. Out in the rain he would get away from me for sure. I met my husband's eyes, and we were both at a loss as to how to get out and do the brief mountain climbing required. The cocker spaniel pulls with all of her 48 pounds, the blind dog would be more than disoriented, and the poodle was very small. The retractable leashes are even harder to hold.
I stuffed the cat into my lidded ottoman. Soon after I did it I realized it would be impossible to carry across the mud. The cat popped out and took off running. My husband insisted on taking all three dogs.
"We have to get out."
"You go. I have to grab the cat."
"I'm not leaving you here."
"Go. I'll be right behind you."
Were we really saying this? This wasn't a movie. He took off out the door as I searched for the cat.
I checked the dining room, which was now basically a sling for the tree. I couldn't help myself and swung the light around to see the damage. The ceiling was buckled and pouring water. No cat.
I hustled back to the living room, trying to come up with something to stash him in and coming up blank. The ceiling above the load-bearing wall cracked like an egg shell. The roof protested. I heard one of the dogs yelp in pain from outside.
Think. A backpack!
I ran to the front door, grabbed my son's new backpack, and went back to looking for the cat. I tried calling him, but my harsh voice scared me too. I got low in my room and saw fur in the flashlight's beam. I'm sure it will be a few years before the cat forgives me for the way I got him into that bag and fastened it shut. It's a messenger bag, so his head peeked out. I squeezed him tight.
At the door the poodle looked back at me from the other side. He was the reason for the yelp and must have slipped his leash in the dash. I squeezed the cat harder and locked the door. I ducked, threaded, and slipped while calling the poodle. He followed me but then fell into the crater the tree had created. I watched as he panicked.
I had no idea how deep the hole was. He floundered while I called him. My head raced because if I eased my grip on my cat, he would take off into the night. At least I knew the dog would follow me. I called him again in a sweet voice, as if we weren't standing outside in a hurricane. The trees bent and limbs fell all around us.
"Here, Spikey. Come here, boy!"
He swam out of the hole and followed. I ran to the neighbors' and passed someone my angry cat before I turned back outside.
My poodle went back to our house, too afraid to follow. We then played the stupidest and most dangerous game of hide and go seek. I cursed him in my head and smiled like we were totally so happy to see each other out there on the road.
I tried getting low and he inched away. I knew if I chased he would run back to the door. I was really not looking forward to standing under the root ball again. It had been kind enough to not hammer me into a pancake so far, and I didn't want to test my luck again.
I finally scooped up the poodle in the driveway and felt him go boneless with relief. That made one of us.
I eyed the trees. They were all acting like wet spaghetti. And the wind wouldn't choose a direction. The gusts picked up. I watched the trees as I sprinted back. The door flung open and there were my neighbors with towels. Someone whisked the dog away. Someone in the room said, "Good job, Momma!"
My daughter came up from the basement to hug me, followed by my son. I hugged them back, but it took me a while to catch my breath, then some more time to slow my heart. I saw my husband, and then there was relief. All the faces are safe.
My neighbors are sweet and understanding. They already had a full house, and yet they made room for all of us and offered ice cold water bottles.
I went upstairs to change into something dry. My husband followed and we stood together and hugged.
"We just lost our house."
There were no tears, because how could there be? Safe. We were safe with our neighbors—their basement the perfect place to wait out a long storm. I sat watching my kids sleep for hours until I finally just laid between them.
I waited for the sun to come up, and when it did there was still the scary wind. When it finally died down I went outside to see. And I did.
I saw that we were lucky beyond reason. I saw that my house was still struggling under the weight of the oak. My sweet brick home was still trying to protect us, and even though we left, it did a damn good job. Yet another tree had fallen on our house, blocking the front door even more. Thank heavens it wasn't there when we were getting out.


From my brief trip inside to grab my computer and pictures of the kids, I know the house is lost. The big load-bearing wall is buckling more each hour, the brick seeming to crumble around it.
My town was just beat to hell by Irene. Our roads were blocked completely by trees, and fire and police stopped responding to calls soon after my first tree fell. Had any of my people been injured, no one would have been able to help. That's chilling—understandable, but very chilling.
I'm writing this on my phone in a cool hotel room. My dogs are here, and my cat is at the neighbors'.
The word safe floors me now. I never thought I'd stuff so many grateful blessings into one small word. Kindness has poured in from everywhere as my house has turned into a must-see destruction zone.
People have been asking me what we need, and I honestly cannot think of a single thing. I had everything that mattered when I stood soaking wet on my neighbors' doormat.
I have no idea what's next. We're meeting with the tree removal and insurance guy today, I hope. I know we cannot live in the house, so we will live somewhere.
I haven't cried, and I'm surprised to find no need for that at the moment. Grateful, lucky, stupid and loved. I'm feeling all of that this morning.


I want a Bagina

Pronounced Ba-gine-ah


This a story I am not allowed to tell, for the record.




 For the longest time girlchild and I had a nickname for the lady business. She knew the actual term for vagina, but we didn't say it often.


Tonight we were having a Goodbye to Summer Water Gun and Balloon Fight. And it was girls vs. boys. So girlchild and I fill up first and run out to hide behind the minivan (which we always choose for our hiding spot).


Each of us our juggling our guns and one very full water balloon. Girlchild finally figures out a way to hold them all while we wait.


She says, "Look mom you can balance it on the van bumper" (the balloon) 


I say "I'm okay, I just hold it all with my big giant hands"


She looks at me funny, then says, "Did you just say your big Bagina is in the way?"


To which I cracked up and said, "No! My big HANDS!"


Then we had  the battle with the boys. 


Later, when she's getting dressed she starts singing, "Bagina, Bagina."


Then she asks, "That's what's its called right?"


I say, "No it's with a 'V.'"


So she says, "Baginav?"


At this point I'm DYING.


I correct her and then I hear her new song, "Vagina, Vagina. It sounds like Virgina but it's not Virgina, It's vagina, vagina."


She stops signing long enough to peek out at me from her room, "That's actually kind of pretty. I think if I have a daughter I'm going to name her Vagina."


I just nod my head while I try not to cry laugh. I should dissuade her, I owe it to my future grand daughter, but I can't help myself. She is so damn cute.

[image error]

Magic Sneeze

This afternoon I took my kids to a pool. There were waterslides and fun things to climb on. The day was a hot day and the water had a nice chill to it. Boy child was taken with the large slides and pretty much spent his day running up the stairs and zooming down. Girlchild had a fondness for the climbing and the smaller slide. To do my best to watch them both I went in the pool and sat on an underwater bench.
I spent a good 2 ½ hours on the bench, getting visits from the kids from time to time. It was crowded so I had quite an opportunity to people watch. No distractions, no phone, just me an this large group of strangers. Even though my little nook was off to the side, it was a favorite entry point for some reason that was not apparent to me.
So I would sqinch my eyes and prepare for a splash every once in a while. Over my shoulder were two boys, getting ready to join in the fun. I say boys, but really they were teens. I would place them between 16 and 18. The blond one looked almost exactly like Ryan Gossling.
[image error]
The teen behind him was slightly taller with brown hair.
I prepared for the splash, which came. As the boys waded into the cool water I watched the young girls around the pool start to preen for the Ryan Gossling kid (who I will call Ryan for this post.)
He obviously had no trouble getting dates, if he wanted them. But he was oblivious to the girls. His attention went to the dark haired guy whom he called Bro. Bro and Ryan walked in front of me and both had sheer delight on their faces. After hearing them speak, I picked up on the fact that Bro had special needs. He was reluctant to get his hair wet but obviously excited to be swimming.
Ryan turned this first obstacle into a game, taking Bro over to a splashing water tree. Bro managed to laugh through it without getting wet. Ryan chuckled and then jumped on his brother's back, trying to dunk him. Bro just smiled. He was taller and I'm guessing he was a bit older than Ryan.
Finally Ryan said, "Hey, want to go underwater together?"
In a blink they were under. I could only see Bro, but he was smiling. They played the game of talking to each other while staying beneath the waves. When they came back up it was all systems go. Bro and Ryan went on every slide, every climbing structure together.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to capture it, the look on Ryan's face. His love for his brother brought tears to my eyes. It was so genuine. It embodied a younger brother's hero worship for his older sibling. Despite the giant gobs of girls wishing for Ryan's attention, he would mush rather be with Bro.
So in between eye sweeps for my kiddos, I watched these boys. It was a pleasure to see their obvious enjoyment in a simple day at a pool. Did you ever invent a background for a person? I could almost see a fort made out of sheets and Ryan and Bro camping out for hours as kids.
I also noticed the time when Bro slipped away to voice a concern to a lifeguard. I don't know what he was saying, but it was obviously something he was worried about. The lifeguard's face was a quick mask of dismissal and a horrible categorization. Bro was being categorized by his mannerism. I wanted to intervene. I wanted to tell her, "No, wait this guy is so important."
Bro shook his head and walked away, reuniting with Ryan a few minutes later.
I hated that away from his brother he was seemingly so less cherished.  I'm just me on a watery step, but I wish we could see each other the way a person that adores us does. Is that making sense?
Ryan's whole universe rose and set around his brother. And the feeling was obviously mutual. I know the lifeguard was way too busy keeping everyone from drowning to be a sympathetic ear. And to give her the benefit of the doubt, she may have responded the same way to everyone I just wasn't watching her.
The mother was there, of these two exceptional boys. She was quiet, smiling. Satisfaction with a job well done? Maybe. Motherhood is a wicked hard job. Done right, there is nothing more rewarding.
It was a lovely day. Of course, being in the pool leads me right back to my trip report. We were trying to decide if we should go to Downtown Disney or the Hippy Dippy pool. We decided to go to Downtown first and get hot enough to want the pool.
When we are in Disney we always drive around, I wish, wish Disney had their own Driving app GPS thing. There road signs are hilarious. They can and will send you in giant looping merges instead of crossing a simple intersection. I understand it is crowd control, but you have to master the art of the sign. To get to POP you have to follow the hints dropped by Wide World of Sports. Which isn't All Star Sports, in case you were wondering.
The hubby usually gets back into the swing of things road wise fairly quickly. But we are only here for a few days, so by the time he's got it down pat, we will be using his street smarts to leave. Either way we wind up at Downtown Disney. We, of course, turn into the wrong parking lot. In that place going into an early parking lot is like going into a totally different country. You have to recombobulate yourself and find an exit, get on the road, wait for three more lights until you are finally in the right spot.
Of course, on day one, you could throw a wheelbarrow full of jellyfish at me and I would keep smiling.
First day Disney people are bulletproof, diarrhea proof, and damn near sneeze magic.
I was all of those things. We park in a horrible spot, having to surf like sharks to find one. Then we walk the long walk to the stores. I have a weird relationship with Downtown Disney. It can be a sneak peek or a slap in the butt. When you are there before your time in the parks, it is a precursor to the wonderful. Like VIP service, you get to see the products and sights before you actually are in Mouse House.
Butt after the parks…well, we will get to that.
Right now it is happy times. It's right around lunch so we decide on the Earl of Sandwich. We have had this place before and both me and the hubby were like, "Meh."
I don't know what alternate universe menu we ordered off of, butt this place was AMAZING. I would milk a tiger right now if it would result in me having one of those Italian subs instantly.
But here's the thing. There is not enough seating for the crowds. Lord help me I'm so competitive it is ridiculous. Once my small mind realizes there is a shortage of anything my brain goes reptilian. If it's scarce I must have it. I suck.
So I hastily whisper my order to the Mr. and leave the kids with him. Because they shouldn't have to witness what Mommy becomes. My eye hood with my secondary hard, see-through eyelids. I enlarge my spine like an angry cat. I start farting like a skunk to warn others of the impending danger.
All these other wusses are burdened with food and drinks and children. Not me. I'm a lone wolf prowling for the prey.
I spot the first offering and spring. The table is a two seater. We have four behinds. This will not work but it allows me a better assessment of the tables in my vicinity. Then I gauge. Who is eating the fastest? Who has the nerve to chat after they are clearly finished ingesting their gruel?
I find two marks and my creepy eyes go from one to the other like a metronome. Finally there is movement. A gathering of bags. Other predators notice the movement, but I'm already up and in a death roll.
I put away my angry eyes, smear my spine back into my skin and halt gas dispersion. When the prey looks up I smile. "Are you done? Why thank you, yes I will take your table if you don't mind."
And then I sit. Proud. I display my feathers and pound my chest. Victorious. I haz a seat. Now it may be the first one I get, so it is fast. Butt there is a downfall. This real estate had some drawbacks. The line for the drinks is directly behind this new table. The people waiting for the beverages are perching their rumps on the chairs meant for my hubby and one of my kids like birds on a wire.
I pop off a few warning farts. No one moves. My family sees me and settles in. They don't seem to notice that their seats have unusual head cushions.  I say nothing.
Can I just tell you about this freaking sandwich? No, actually I can't. It is so amazing. The cheese, the bread, the meat. All gooooood. I highly recommend them, but stick to what they are famous for.
So we ate and we loved it.
Next up: What kind of things can we get and will someone please go up in that Hot air balloon?

Disney Trip Report Chapter 3 Big Panties

You know what's hilarious? The last three packages of underwear I have bought have been the wrong damn type.

Yes, I do buy my underwear in packages, not on velvet-covered hangers. My rump just isn't special enough for that treatment. It causes me too much trouble to get special treats. So I get Hanes and my butt better like it or else.

So why do I keep getting the wrong kind? Well because I keep shopping with my children. They distract me. Now the boy is 12 ½, and isn't thrilled to be in that section at all. Not that I can blame him.

But girlchild? She's my little comedian with a very large sense of empathy, which makes for some interesting jokes. So I drive my cart over the delicates and I just want to get panties that are normal colors and are not two sizes too small. Yes, I have done that in the recent past as well. Get the small size, realize it after I open the stupid package and squeeze the jiggler into them anyway. I walk around with my butt cheeks squeaking tighter out of spite for my own stupidity. Then I wash those suckers. And after my special treatment? They are even smaller.

But I'm stubborn and a bit cheap when it comes to undies. So I cram my business in there anyway. And then I proceed to slowly strangle my legs to death because the leg holes are like rubber bands holding the Sunday paper together. Then you squat down to get a pan out of a cabinet and the *** end of the drawers burst open. That's fun.

But this time I was trying to concentrate. I had the right size, now I had to find a cut that would be acceptable in a car accident. That's when girlchild's musings about the girls modeling the undies become voiced loudly in the Target.

"Mom, why would someone do this to these girls? They look like they really want some clothes." I try to shoosh her. I praise myself for avoiding the geometric shaped 1980 's colored ones. (Why for pete's bananas are they still making this fabric and wrapping it around our rumps? Not once has this pattern been useful under white pants nor does it make all the boys want to come to the yard for milkshakes.)

"I think this one is pregnant. Poor thing. Look mom, she's almost naked!"

Okay, okay, I grab my size and toss it in the cart filled with back to school stuff. (boo-hiss)

We finally get home and six million chores later, I'm done with my shower and ready to indulge in the first pair of undies. And yes I know you are supposed to wash them first, but I'm a wild risk taker. Plus, I already eat hot dogs. What could be worse than that?

It is sort of like a little business card from God when you crack into the package like an egg. I shake out a pale pink color. Then I shake some more.
The panties unfurl like a flag. A really big flag. Damnit.

I take another look at the girl on the cover who I tossed so quickly into the cart to preserve her dignity. She is wearing some seriously monster sized drawers.

Optimistically, I'm hoping she is on the short size. Cause let's be honest, they aren't getting a-list models for those Hanes shoots.

I stuff my big meaty sticks into the holes and ease those frickers up. By the time I have them in the correct position, the panties easily cover my belly button. Somehow, they still also hang like long Bermuda shorts.

I frown. I have bought the big panties again. Yes I've done it before and because I suck? I'll do it again.

I put my shorts on. The underwear are coming out the top. Luckily they didn't hang out the bottom too.



Anyway. Back to Disney. We're packed up and take our drive through Okkahumpa, which is just flat out a hilarious name for a rest stop.

Things started getting bigger, as they tend to do in Orlando. We start to recognize the landscape. Then we are waiting with baited breath for the purple road signs. Because Mickey is so cool he changes ROAD signs. Amazing.

Following the sign that says "Disney World" feels like pure decadence, doesn't it? Just slapping Disney on anything makes it more special, but to head your van with purpose towards that crazy sign is just fantastic.

Then we all shout at each other and start to point as the familiar shapes that start peeking over trees. We are headed to POP and I'm excited.

Finally we pull into the check-in parking. Pop did a good job of staying put until I got back. We walked into the lobby and it was packed! I think eight buses and fourteen planes had just landed. The kids, who have memories like elephants, want to head to the waiting room with the TV that they remember from when they were so much smaller. So, as the hubby finds the online check-in, we squeeze ourselves into the cushion filled space.

The people around us are not overwhelmed. They have been in Disney long enough that the magic has become commonplace. The hidden Mickey's aren't being noted anymore. But we are high on the Disney. The little touches, the hearty furniture. Soon the Mr. has the folder and we were approved for early check in.

And by early, I mean early. 10:30 am! That's like getting a whole extra day. We clamor back into the van and follow the map to our building.

We were being housed in the Rubix Cube building. The 80's had come to life all around us. When first finding our second story room, we go the long way. We only make this mistake once. We wait outside and scan the key card. The door cracks open and now we have real estate for a few days. And if that doesn't make you feel like you can fart a symphony, I'm not sure what will.

The room has been changed! The Mr. knew to expect the room renovations, but I did not. There were new bedspreads and wallpaper! In the bathroom where the décor was horrific gender-neutral old people in various screams, there was something else! I'm not even sure what it actually was but when I was up late at night pooping, I didn't feel like I had a mocking audience.

Stacey, the ever-present Disney channel talker chick, is still doing her spiel. A few things she says are new, but mostly the comforting same ol' same ol' was on the TV like we had just left a few minutes ago from our last vacation.

Finally all the bags were in and I began my ritual unpacking. There's the over the door shoe holder that I stick all of our nonsense in, the painted shirts that I hang on the hangers. All of it.

Because we are there. We decorate the window, line up the shoes and then it is time to decide how to spend our day. With no tickets for today we have two choices, pool time or Downtown Disney!

Up next…what choice do we make?

So This is the wordle of Poughkeepsie's first chapt...

 



So This is the wordle of Poughkeepsie's first chapter. So excited!





And another!

November 22, 2011 is the release date. I need to make a countdown!