Monday, July 25, 2011

Oh, Yeah, Conspiracy

I have it all figured out.  Well . . . almost. Pieces are missing and I vow to put them together.  But I believe the givernment is preparing for Alien arrival. Now, this isn't just some eccentric writer talking, okay, maybe it is, But . . .
Let’s start from the beginning. I live about a mile and a half from a huge farm. When I go to the casino, I take the back roads through the farm, cuts my time. Well, several months ago, Chris and I were coming back from the casino when we spotted the oddest object i the sky. Lights that hovered and zoomed in before shooting away.
Like any concerned earthling, I contacted a UFO sighting place and filled out an email report.
Move ahead three weeks. I’m got phone calls and emails from several different organizations, including the famous SETI. All wanting a report of my sighting. Whoa, cool, they had to have tracked something in the sky. After all I was pretty diligent in my report, gave exact time, Longitude and latitude.
A month or so later, a huge convoy of oversized tractor trailer carriers, twenty of them move up the road by my house toward the farm. Rumors had it the farm sold land to Target. Some sort of construction was underway.
Huge walls were immediately erected to hide what they were building, thirty foot high walls on about one square mile. Gees, sound like New Jerusalem. Anyhow, a fence with ‘Warning’ went up, ‘No trespassing, Government Property, etc . . . The local authorities said it was a gas company looking for natural gas.
Yeah, well, if that’s the case, why then has the gas company erected four NEW two hundred foot tall towers with satellite dishes on top in the last 2 months. All of which located on a high hill. (See map marked)
And yes, you guessed it. The construction site, the towers, all located by . . . the NIKE Missile site.
Saturday night I was coming home at four in the morning and the whole sky above the NIKE site was lit up. I saw this from a distance and went to check it out , but a SUV blocked the dirt road. Blocked the road at four in the morning.
Sunday, one day later, I was coming over the hill through the large farm and had to stop because not one, but EIGHT black SUVs emerged onto the road from a side dirt road cutting me off (That leads to one of the towers), I had to wait until all eight of them got on the road. All of them had government plates. And, yes, I followed.
They went a quarter mile, turned and went . . . to the construction site.
Something is going on. I think it’s Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind and that they are trying to build a reception center. An Ellis Island, if you will for ETs. Who knows. I’m probably just insane.  More than likely I am. I plan on investigating further, getting pictures and videos. Could it be a new AREA 51 is being built?
Just had to share. My sons think I’m nuts. My daughter Ali thinks I’m going to be snatched up by one of those black SUVs. My friend Trevor, thinks I’ll be arrested.
Who knows. But more pictures and videos to come. Here's my map.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Caught in the Act

Nothing spells believable and guilty than a snap of a phone picture. For anyone who thinks that sweet little girl doesn’t have an issue, take a look at the picture
On a recent trip to Starbucks, Violet did her own shopping. She’s never really tried to take anything at Starbucks. Almost as if she subconsciously knows it is her mom’s work place. But yesterday, I guess she felt feisty, thirsty and hungry.
Innocently she wandered around as I kept a peering eye on her. Waving to people, not going too far. Then she was playing with the fruit drinks and snacks. I looked over and saw the little Klepto in action. I had to take a picture. As if no one would notice that huge fruit juice sticking out of her dress. And check out her little left hand. Look how sly she was.  Trying to inconspicuously slip that fruit snack into her purse.
I corrected her and told her, “We don’t take these, you have to put these back.”
 And just as I said that, a woman came over and said, “I hate to say anything, but she took my Tic Tacs.”
Now I found that hard to believe, seeing that Violet was in my sight the whole time. “Are you sure?” I asked. “They aren’t sticking out of her dress.”
“Positive,” the woman said. “They were on the table. She grabbed them. I wasn’t going to say anything . . .”
I turned to Violet. Then, as if she knew she was busted, she clutched her little purse tight to her body, swinging it from our reach. If it wasn’t her protective stance over the purse that gave it away, it was the distinctive ‘rattle’ of the little mints. A ha! She had them.
I reached for the purse, and she let out this ungodly scream. I have attached a video of such a scream so you can get the whole picture.
video
A tug of war began between me and Violet over the purse. “Give . . . Great One . . . the … purse . . .”
Finally victory ensued. I got the purse and retrieved the tic tacs with a ‘yes!’  I turned to the woman. “Here you go. Sorry.” And I handed her the mints.
When I did, another loud, long scream from Violet brought silence in the coffee shop and suddenly everyone in Starbucks looked at this woman. She of course, had this horrid look of offense. Her jaw dropped with a slant to the right, her mouth agape and slightly crooked, head cocked back and eyes wide. Surely she peered upon my granddaughter as if she were some sort of spawn, as if thinking, “What the hell is this little girl?’
She held that expression only for a moment until she realized all eyes were upon her, and quickly, you guessed it, she gave Violet back the tic tacs.
Violet switched demeanor like Sybil, put the tic tacs in her purse and went back to being the happy shoplifter.
Man, I’m gonna miss her when she goes on vacation next week with her mom.

Monday, July 18, 2011

What's in a Dream?

Look at that face. Seriously, just look at it. Does she or does she not look like she should be an ad for poor starving children. Man, is that innocent face deceiving.
As a writer I have always become engrossed in my work. I cast my characters to make them real. I pick out songs, lately I have been watching the trailer to DAMAGES. Not that it has anything to do with what I am currently writing.
I honestly feel the more engrossed I am, the better I write. After all, if I believe the story is real, then my readers will too. With it though are drawbacks.
I am currently writing, After the Rapture. The title tells you a good bit about what its’ about.
Anyhow, I felt something missing from the book so I went back, scraped it and started again last week. It’s writing itself now. I have thrown myself into the story so much it is now scaring me.
Not unusual, when I wrote DUST, I swore the bombs were going to drop. I was sick everyday that I wrote the Flu. Now, I keep checking the babies to make sure they don’t disappear.
During my nap I had a vivid nightmare. It would have scared the hell out of me had it not ended the way it did.
I dreamt that this angel came to me and said that the rapture was coming. I didn’t believe her until (And this is the dream) I came home from DJing and the babies were gone. Baby Frank and Violet had vanished. I was freaking out in the dream, crying. Scared. I screamed for the angel, and told her I wanted the babies back. She said it couldn’t happen, it was the rapture, God’s rule. I didn’t care. I’d battle heaven and hell for my babies.
Next thing I know there’s three angels. I’m thinking in this dream they must have been scared of me. They told me it was God’s will. Stop causing a fuss.  Then one angel comes forward and says, “God has taken all the children from the earth. But . . .” Then she hands me Violet. “You can have this one back, because we just can’t handle her anymore.”
I woke up. Huh? Hmm. I wonder what my subconscious is saying to me about my granddaughter through that dream.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Naked Truth . . . Not Al Gore

I had no intention of blogging tonight, but this was just too good that I had no choice. I was sitting in my writing room, doing what all good eccentric writers do at two in the morning . . . writing, when I decided to take an inspiration break.  I figured I’d watch the trailer for DAMAGES about a dozen times, something about that song mixed with John Goodman slugging that guy, just pulls the creative juices from me. So, I shut off my light for the full HD effect, when I turned to the window.
What do I see? A naked male figure walking aimlessly around the next yard. First thing that goes through my mind, “Shit. A Zombie” because you know damn well, there’s always a naked zombie running around any zombie movie. I start pacing, my heart racing, I pick up the phone to call 911.  Just as I start to dial, I realize, ‘wait, that’s Ben, my hot next door neighbor. Whoa.’ Alright, now is Ben a zombie? No, he just scratched his head. Zombies don’t scratch their heads, just like they don’t open doors.
Why is Ben running around naked? So, I do what any good neighbor should do. I pretended I need something from my car. Yeah, I know it’s two in the morning. If he’s in his yard naked, what the hell does he care what I’m getting from my car.
I grabbed my air pistol, just in case and headed on out. Nonchalantly I waved. “Oh, hey, Ben. Nice night, huh?”
“yeah. Cooling down,” He replied.
“Ok.” I stopped. “Why are you naked? Is it some weird moon ritual?”
He laughed and shook his head. Then it must have dawned on him he was standing there in all his nude glory, he quickly grabbed the Little Tykes baseball bat and covered himself.  He told me he was locked out.
“Do you need my phone?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t help. She won’t let me back in.”
Ah, the girlfriend locked him out  “How about some clothes?” I asked.
“That would be nice. Thanks.”
Ben’s not a big guy . . . wait, let me rephrase that. Ben’s not a tall guy, but still unfortunately for Ben, this is a household of women and children. I did find something for him and a sleeping bag.
He’s still out there as I pen this, but I am sure he’s a lot more comfortable in those too-small purple sweatpants and tight gray tank top under that CARS sleeping bag, than he was naked.
The view for me, however, is not quite as fun.
Back to writing.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Flipping lids and Impulse Shopping

When your children are young, you are very cautious – especially with the first born – to do things correctly. You buy the right books, movies, pick the right television programs. You teach them right from wrong and do your best to make them as good as they can be. After all, you are raising them to be respectable adults. As a grandmother … the pressure is off. At least for me, it is. I teach my grandchildren every day. Not that I teach them incorrectly, I just teach them different things.
One thing that I do that makes all kids freak is flipping my eyelids. They scream, go running, I laugh.  I didn’t show my own children for fear they would be scarred, but the grandkids are another ballgame.
Baby Frank was none too impressed with the flipping of the eyelids. Then again, this is the kid who carries around the killer baby puppet. Now, Violet . . . ha! Payback time for the bites. Thinking I’d torture her, I flipped the lids. She looked and shrieked in delight. She liked it? Huh? So, taking it one step further I was going to pretend, pretend mind you, that I was gonna flip hers.
“Let Great One do to you, baby,” I said and she leaned forward knowing exactly what I was going to do. I reached out. Being that her lashes are super long, I grabbed hold and pulled out her eye lid. I pretended to flip her eyelid and as I moved back to say, “Look how pretty’,  I noticed. It was flipped.
“Oh my God,” I said, “Let Great One do the other.” She let me.
I laughed. She laughed. Ali came in and SCREAMED! “What did you do to my child!” Well at that point, Violet screamed and took off running. It was like the scene from ET, arms flailing in the air, long continuous screams all while her eyelids . . . remained flipped.
Eventually they dropped on their own. I wonder what the world record is for leaving your eyelids flipped. Bet Violet is in the running.
On a different note, I think I may have to stop taking my grandchildren to the store. Baby Frank was restless so I took him grocery shopping. He was really good in the store, we get to the check out and then he starts. His patience had worn out. OK. No biggie. Hurriedly and focused I load the stuff from the cart on the belt. Fast and furiously, unloading and watching him.
“143.88,” the checker said.
Huh? That much? I keep a loose track as I go, I’m usually off, but not that much. I had estimated around 100. “Did the roast ring up buy one get one, that’s awfully high.”
She checked. “Yes it did.
Shrugging and figuring I lost count, I paid.  When I got home, Noah graciously offered to put away the stuff. But said, “Mom, are you planning on some weird apocalypse event?”
Not knowing what he was talking about, I turned and looked. Here I had inadvertently purchased 13 packs of batteries, 10 packs of gum, 5 one ounce energy shots,  and a jumbo pack of Reese’s cups.
I guess Baby Frank defined impulse shopping. He must have been loading the belt as fast as I was. At least, unlike Violet he was making sure I paid for the items he wanted.
I went back with the items and they gladly refunded me 51.77.
I did however keep the candy.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Criminal in the Making

I firmly believe that somehow God thought my life wasn’t quite interesting enough. Or maybe He thought I needed better blog material. Who knows.  I do know that I have never been in trouble with the law. Ever. Now, the second time this week, I was questioned about something. Both times I was with Violet.
Granted the missile thing, that was probably me, but today, it was all her.
Never do I put Violet in a cart when I take her to Rite Aid. Aside that she hates them, she is just so damn cute, tiny as she is, walking around holding my hand.
We got our few items, paid and left the store. My car was parked close, so I let her be a big girl and walk. Ten feet from the door, I hear. “Ma’am, stop. Stop.”
Before I could react, he yelled again, “I have a bad foot. Don’t make me run.”
Realizing he was talking to us, I turn and the manager catches us. He’s out of breath from the ten foot jaunt. Really. Ok, he was older. Maybe late sixties.
“Nice. Very nice. I believe you took something that you didn’t pay for.”
How dare he accuse me of shoplifting. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll show you a receipt for all items.”
“Nothing that’s in that bag. That.” He nodded at Violet.
“She’s mine. I didn’t steal her,” I chuckled. Granted I may be too old for giving birth, but still. Then in that instant I started freaking out. What if they thought I kidnapped her.
“No. Not the child. That!”
I looked down, there sticking out of her blue and red sundress, right near her bosom was a tube of lipstick. I couldn’t help it, I laughed.  “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I had no idea she took that.” I lifted Violet into my arms, reached for her shirt and she screamed. I mean, loud, shrill, one shriek, she clasped her hands over that tube. I winced.
Having solid knowledge of what the little beast was capable of when you took something from her, and armed with that knowledge, I simply said to the manager. “Maybe she’ll let you take it. I promise you I didn’t know.”
He did that ‘hmm’, look to me and said. “Fine. But I’ll be watching. You’re in here all the time.”
Violet batted those super long eyelashes at him, then she shifted her watering eyes to me as if to say, “Great One do something. All I want to do is look like Angelina Jolie.”
Then he reached. Just as his fingers touched upon the L’Oreal Lip Volumizer, with a quick growl and snap, Vicious Violet sprung into action and locked a death grip bite on this poor guy’s knuckles.
He screamed louder than her and tried to pull his finger, but Violet held on. I started moving her from him, but she wouldn’t let go.”
“Let go of the lipstick,” I told him. “Just let go!”
He did and Violet released. He retracted his hand with a look of offense. “I think she drew blood.”
“Probably.” I said. But she didn't. I didn't see any.
Then he said, “Ok fine. She took it,  not you.” And walked away. He just walked away. Well, I couldn’t let her get away with shoplifting so I went back into the store and purchased the lipstick. It was awkward but I managed to lean her close enough to the scanner to scan that lipstick. All right, so $8.99 later, I’m an enabler. At least the shade isn’t bad.
I do, however, wonder if that manager is now walking around singing Justin Bieber.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Under the Missile Toe

Those who know me know I am an apocalypse nutcase, a nuclear weapon obsessed writer, so imagine my surprise and yeah, delight, when I was told there is an old NIKE missile silo somewhere near where I live.
No way. If you don’t know, NIKE missile sites were placed all around the country and were a line of defense in a nuclear attack. So I researched. Sure enough, I located information on it, then took the coordinates and found it via Google satellite.
Holy shit, it’s 2 miles from my home. Not only is it there, but semi-operational. The only downfall is the warhead is a NIKE Ajax (Conventional warhead). So, after I dropped Baby Frank off with his mom, I decided to take a ride.
“Great One is taking you on a field trip,” I told Violet with excitement, and she in turn shrieked with delight.
In case I was doing anything illegal, I had my story all concocted and ready should the police show up. I made the turn up the winding dirt road that went for about a mile. I explained to Violet how this particular site was constructed in 1956. At the top of the hill we passed by an old fence, the ‘Government Property’ sign dangling and worn.
My heart fluttered with visions of finding remnants of the radar system, and taking a picture of my granddaughter in her sundress. Grass high around her, Violet looking pathetic and vagrant, dilapidated radar in the back, make that photo back and white and you got a book cover!
At the top of the hill there were buildings. Not one looked used, but they didn’t look worn. It was there I noticed the top of the hill overlooked a crest. After parking the car, I grabbed Violet and walked closer.
Whoa. There it was, down below. It looked like an old launch pad with a rundown building next to it. Across the hill . . . the radar. It was covered with weeds and grass, rusted. What a vision.
“Oh, Violet! Pay dirt!” Although it would be a slight trek, it would be worth it, heck, I wouldn't even have to get too close. I could get my shot. So I turned and headed back toward the car for my camera.
It was as we approached the car . . . ‘whoop-whoop!’
Shit. A single police car pulled up. OK, no, I had this. I did. I was standing there holding a baby, obviously I was harmless.
“You need some help? You lost?” The cop asked. “I watched you turn up here.”
At that instant, every reason, every excuse, left me. “Um . . .” Then I got it. “Isn’t there a farmer’s market around here? I saw the tomatoes sign with the arrow. I thought it pointed up here.”
“Yeah, that sign is deceiving, it’s the other road,” he told me.
I thanked him, he complimented the baby, then he stood there, waiting and watching for me to get in the car. As if he knew I had ulterior motives other than tomatoes. I drove off and of course he followed, and because he followed, I had to stop at the tomato stand. Now I’m stuck with tomatoes I don’t want.
Oh, well, I’ll try again on a Sunday.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Ok, so this one may offend some . . . what the heck.

I saw Jesus again at Starbucks today. Not the first time I saw him there. Vicious Baby Violet first spotted  him a couple weeks ago. I was holding her, Baby Frank was rearranging the merchandise again, and He walked in.
Brightly, Violet pointed and said, “Jesus!” I looked; sure enough this guy is very visually Christ-like. He really didn’t look at Violet, instead he ordered a tea, crouched down to Baby Frank and had this conversation with him. Only thing is, Baby Frank doesn’t talk . . . at all. Yet, he rattled to Jesus, then Baby Frank nodded as he was being told things. I’m sure he was given some sort of great secret.
I told Ali, who works at Starbucks. She said, “Mom, that isn’t Jesus. He’s been here before.”
“Lucky you. So if it isn’t Jesus, what’s his name?”
“I don’t know. But it isn’t Jesus.”
“If you don’t know his name, how do you know his name isn’t Jesus.”
She huffed, yes, huffed at me.  I suppose her reaction to not having a good answer. Then I saw him again today. He was sitting outside with some woman. This woman was all made up to an overboard extent. Bright red lipstick, hair puffy, tight clothing that barely covered her.
“Oh, look Ali, Jesus is here again,” I told her when I spotted him walking toward Starbucks. “And there’s no refuting it now. That’s him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s with Mary Magdalene.”
“Mom. Stop.  It’s not Jesus.”
Then I really questioned. How was she certain? I mean, he had that conversation with a child that didn’t speak. He said ‘Hi Jackie’ as we walked by him. I was never introduced.  Her answer was simply, ‘Jesus wouldn’t be at Starbucks.”
Why not? Seriously and I don’t write this to blaspheme or in any disrespect, but why not? Why wouldn’t Jesus pop down and visit?  The reality is, it’s easier for people to believe that evil is amongst us, that we associate with ‘bad’, but say you met Jesus and they label you.  I don’t get why it’s so hard to believe that in 2000 years He hasn’t stopped by here and there.  I believe He does, has and will, even if it is Starbucks.
Ok, off to Summer Camp within the confines of my office . . . I’ll explain that one   later.