Resolving

So, how about BBCA had Shawn of the Dead on tonight? How ironic is that with the apocalypse year fast approaching.

It is without a doubt, the only movie I can think of where the characters have a preexisting knowledge of what a zombie is. I really like their outlook though, disbelief and a hint of ‘maybe these zombies are different than movie ones’.

That has to be up there with my favorite zombie movies.

As a writer I find it extremely hard to write a book about zombies where no one has ever heard of a zombie, it’s just seems to surpass the level of belief for me. I don’t know.

Anyhow, so the sun is acting up. Wow, I so have to get into that for a blog. But I’ll keep this one short because I doubt many people will be reading it. Let’s just say, ‘Thank you NASA’.  And let’s hope your recent news release about the misbehaving sun helps my sales on my book TORN, which coincidentally is about the sun.

I know, I know, big shocker that I’d have a book written about another way to end the world. I am trying to think of what I haven’t done.

A meteor. But that’s kind of boring. A big rock hits the earth. Yawn. I mean, I could make it ‘after’. But still. People surviving in a post meteor world. Nah.

I’ll stay clear of meteors. It is much more fun to end the world slowly and painfully.

I’ll end this blog with my Resolutions for 2012. You can skip this part if you think it’ll bore you.

·         Try to write 2 books this year that aren’t Apocalypse books.

·         Start, write and finish 5 novels. Those of you who are writers know, starting a novel is easy. Finishing it is another story.

·         Plan, prepare and really get ready for the end of the world, even if it doesn’t come.

·         Blog at least 4 times week if not more.

·         Take a vacation to Florida to visit my friend.

·         Go on three dates in 2012. I went on 3 dates in 2011 and got them all out of the way before March so I was done and didn’t have to hear about it from anyone that I didn’t date.

·         Not to get into a serious relationship and stay single for another year. It’s been pretty cool discovering who I am without a man telling me who I should be.

·         And finally, (At least as far as I can think of) do more for others as life has been more than fair and kind to me in 2011. My gas or electric didn’t get shut off once.

Zombie Apocalypse

In preparing for the apocalypse, I really want to touch upon every scenario imaginable. You know, so you’re mentally ready as well.  So, you’ll be seeing a lot of these, ‘wow this could be how the world ends’ blogs.

To kick off the ‘Wow, this could be how the world end’ blogs, I will start with the ever popular and frequent dinner conversation topic at my house … zombies.

Walking dead, undead, zombies, whatever you prefer to call them, these pesky flesh eating monsters can be a source of the world’s end.

I myself have had three encounters with zombies. Well, ok, one was a drunk woman, the other was confirmed not to be a zombie, just some guy whose glass eye popped out, the other is still up in the air.

It was in between marriages and I was dating a guy who, well, was about 50 watts short of a 75 watt bulb. I was on my way home from DJing and on the phone with ‘Not so Bright guy’. At a red light, I saw some guy, staggering on the street. I told the not-bright, “Wow, this is scary, I think I see a zombie. This guy is just staggering.”

“It’s 3 in the morning,” NSB guy said, “Maybe he’s drunk.”

Just as I was about to say, ‘Maybe’.  BAM, this guys slams, hands first into my car window. He’s moaning something, mouth gnawing, lips bleeding. I scream bloody murder, jump a foot in the air, drop the phone and hit the gas, taking off.

Well the phone broke and was on the floor. I didn’t care. More than likely this guy was beat up, in trouble and I just abandoned him. Not on purpose, I thought he was the undead. I get home and the police are at my house. Here, the not-so-bright boyfriend, when he couldn’t get a hold of me, had called them to tell them I was attacked by a zombie on Rt 51.

Needless to say I was fine and to save myself any embarrassment, I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about. I think the not so bright former boyfriend got fined or something, for prank calling not sure.

Anyhow, my point is. Even I, Miss Apocalypse, ready for a zombie attack, was taken aback by the presence of this gnawing bloody non verbal man banging on my window. It is stupidity like that, the shock value that indeed makes us vulnerable. We get scared, we get stupid, we get bit, we turn.

With the fictional knowledge of zombies in the back of our mind, really something like a pale face, stumbling person shouldn’t scare us or make us dumb. Hence, really, they shouldn’t cause the apocalypse. But, realistically, will we immediately think ‘zombie’? Will we not try to help another in need? Me, I already proved to myself to think anyone staggering is undead and I run like hell. But I kinda think I may be the exception not the rule. Most people won’t think like that. They’ll see a bloody face and instinctively try to help, then they’ll get bit. They’ll turn, infect another good Samaritan only trying to do a good dead and before we know it, we’re over run.

So, how do we prepare and counter the attack?

That’s another blog.

Surviving the Apocalypse for ten dollars a week or less ....

In keeping with one of my new year’s resolutions, I’m going to start blogging more faithfully. Yes, I know, the new year hasn’t started yet, let’s think of this as practice. After all, this is the year of our world’s demise, right? Hence the title for the blog.

Supposedly, according to what people say the Mayans say, the world is going to end on December 21, 2012. Now considering the earth has been around for …. Let’s say a while. I firmly believe that even if some cataclysmic event should take place, there will still be survivors. There always were. Except maybe that one time where the planet rammed into us causing the creation of the moon.

Do I think the world is going to end in 2012? Um, well, not really. But, I don’t dismiss the fact that a manmade event could occur to send civilization into a frenzy. That or Yellowstone or the Siberian traps erupt.

Either way, aside from blogging about family and writing, I’ll be blogging about the apocalypse and scenarios. Also other tidbits. Included in that, once a week I will provide you with items that you need to purchase to prepare for the apocalypse.

Survival items on a budget. So, by the time December 20, 2012 rolls around, should something occur, you will be well stocked an prepared to provide for your family.

Keep in mind, I will not only be telling you your weekly survivor shopping list, I’ll be giving you things to do, search for and practice exercises.

Sound fun? I hope. Won’t it be fun watching your survival inventory grow?

And with that, here is your first task ….

The ‘pre week prepare task’

Simple. Find a spot. Whether it is your basement, a closet, a room, a storage shed, find a spot where you can store your survival items. There simple.

Clean, prep it, get ready … the journey to survival will begin on January 1^st.

I look forward to surviving with you.

Frank

Starbucks is the place for when you want to meet an icon. First Bon Jovi, then Jesus, now Frank. For those of you who don't know who Frank is, he is the hero in my sci fi series. He is what I believe to be my ultimate man.

Anyhow, Ali told me a few weeks ago she swore she saw my Frank at Starbucks, but was so stunned by the likeness she couldn't speak. I teetered on believing her. After all I wouldn't put it past her to pull some elaborate joke just to get me to sit at Starbucks waiting for him.

However, today I was standing there waiting on my drink, listening to Josh the barista boy talk about Scooby Doo when ... He walked in.

It was as if he truly stepped from the pages of my novel. Like a scene from a movie. The backdrop of daylight cast behind him causing his towering figure to be a mere silhouette. Then he emerged into focus. My twisted mind heard the music to Journey's 'Anyway you want it', because you know, Frank loves Journey. I heard the music in my mind as he did the exact same Frank-style strut of arrogance. His hair was short, almost buzzed cut and black. He had a goatee, dark eyes, the slightly crooked nose and the scar under his right eye. Ok maybe he didn't have the scar, he may have, I don't know, but let's say he did.

My eyes were transfixed. I couldn't help but stare. I inwardly gasped, “My God, it's Frank.” Then he spoke and ordered his drink. His voice was raspy and deep. Now, see that kind of threw off the fantasy. He ordered a vanilla latte. Frank wouldn't order that. He'd order a shot in the dark.

I was gonna talk to him. I had to, at least ask this man if he'd pose for a picture (I know whacked) then it hit me and the Journey song playing in my mind, screeched to grinding halt. I couldn't approach him. Me and the babies were having comfy day. There I was, hair pulled on top of my head, baggy, long pink checkered shorts and a blue tee short that said, 'Zombies Fear me'.. Ug. So hurriedly I raced to the car. Ali was with the babies. I told her to look and tell me if that was the same Frank. It was. And . . . he was parked right next to me.

“Ohmygod, he’s next to us. He’s getting in the car. He’s getting in the car. It’s Frank.”
“Quit staring!” Ali said.
“I can't stop. It's Frank. Look he's staring back.”
“Cause he's wondering why you're staring at him.”
“Maybe he thinks I'm hot . . .” Pause. “Ok, maybe not.”

Frank pulled out. I did too. Ali blasted me because she had to get out of the car and go to work. I followed his green car just round the parking. Long enough to accidentally get his license plate number. I was thinking of calling the PD and saying his car door hit mine at Starbucks. But I think I'll just not be a creeper and hope to run into him again.

Violet Versus Rhoda

Life is never dull or boring when you have interesting grandkids. Violet is precious but often times I am fearful she may turn into Rhoda Penmark. If you don’t know who Rhoda is, I made that name a link.

I love spending time with her, and well, teasing her. The new thing I do is make her think someone is messing with her. As smart as she is, she buys it every time.  Whenever she’s in my arms, I’ll reach up with the hand she can’t see, give a little tug to her ponytail, tiny flick to the back of her hair, or slight pull to her hair. She’ll immediately look behind her and whether it’s her mom or dad, I’ll say, “Oh my God, baby, what did they do to you. Great One has you. No worries.” And she hug tight to me. So great. Many of times she has refused to go to them. I am her ultimate protector.

Anyhow, the other day we were at Starbucks, I kept her in my arms because of the eye shadow disaster the day before at Rite Aid. And as I was holding her, my ring caught in her hair. I pulled it out and she spun to look behind her. Not wanting to be blamed, I did my stock, whisper in her ear, “Oh my, baby, what did that man do to you.” She gave the dirtiest look to this guy before burying her head in my shoulder blade. “Don’t worry, Great One is protecting you.”

Ok, it was funny, so I tugged her hair again. “Oh, baby, he won’t leave you alone.”

Another dirty look. Head buried. I told her, “Great One is protecting you.”

We went to get our drinks and the man was there. I didn’t realize until I got a good look at him that he was a teacher at Ali’s old high school not only that,  he talks to Ali all the time at Starbucks. He saw us, grinned widely, and with his best upbeat voice said, “Hi Violet. Aren’t you pretty today!”

Well . . . I guess she thought, 'I got this one, Great One.', because with a scream that mixed with a growl, this twenty pound baby took a leap from my grip, her tiny arms extended and mouth open wide in attack mode for this teacher. Good thing I had a firm hold, she was after him.

Poor guy shrieked and jumped back with the most horrified look on his face. I don’t blame him

I knew the reason, Violet thought he pulled her hair. So, I did the only thing I could. I clutched her, shook my head and said, “Wow, what did you do to her? She never acts like this.”

“I was just . . . just trying to say hi. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok, something about you must scare her. She’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Admittedly, I felt guilty after retrieving my drink and leaving with haste. I mean, I only heard good things about this man as a teacher. I’m just glad it wasn't Jesus at Starbuck that she attacked, now that would have been a tough one to get out of.

A Ha! No wonder I got Divorced . . . 3 Times!

One of my daily routines is to read the news. Catch up on world events. So I log onto Yahoo! My news source of choice and as I am scanning the headline, debating on whether I should read about the budget or Kat Von D’s regrettable tattoo , I see it. An article that caught my attention.

The headline read, ‘8 THINGS  NOT TO DO WHEN YOU GET MARRIED’. The sub headline stated, ‘If you want your marriage to last, avoid these things’.

Admittedly I am the queen of marriage and well, of divorce. So I stared at this headline, my mouse arrow hovering . . . after all, I was curious and scared to read these eight things. What if I committed these marriage. Nah, I thought, no way, I was wonder wife. These eight things had to be common sense and no way did I break these rules.

Click. Here we go and my thoughts as I read them.

8.  Step from your mother’s apron.

Ok, well with EXH1 and EXH2 I called my mother every day and went to her house constantly. If that didn’t count as rule breaker, with EXH3 I moved up the street. Alright, one broke, still seven more . . .

7.   Don’t tell him he is just like his father.

I certainly wouldn’t tell EXH1 he was like his dad, his dad was freaking awesome. EXH3, I didn’t know his dad, but his mom told me once he was like him. EXH2 I said he had his father’s extensive bushy eyebrows and ear hair. Does that count?

6.  Don’t stay out all night with the girls.

With EXH1 and EXH2 that wasn’t an option, the kids were young. But with EXH3, Terri and I used to hit the casino till 5 in the morning.  But that didn’t count, they meant partying.

5.  Don’t  go to bed after your spouse.

Really? Seriously? How lame is that one. BROKE. EXH1 worked nightshift. And with EXH2 and 3, I wrote all night. Next . . .

4.  Don’t Tell him his pants are unflattering.

What woman, even married forever, hasn’t broke this rule?  EXH2 when we first met loved and proudly wore his tight, corduroy, aqua blue, short-shorts. I kid you not. I made sure they mysteriously disappeared. Five years later he said, “Do you remember those shorts? Wonder what happened to them.”

3.  Don’t dress like an easy pick up.

Ha! In was the 80’s with EXH1, spandex and Pat Benatar. 90’s with EXH2 I sported the ripped jeans. With EXH3, I just got fat and wore baggy clothes. So I 66%broke that one.

2.  Don’t fight with his mother.

Again, badly broken. EXH1’s mother beat me up with a purse one day. EXH2’s mother took a double dose of valium to get through the wedding ceremony. Was kind of funny how she kept slipping down in the pew. I have a video of that, I have to find it. EXH3’s mom was the greatest. I love her. Hmm, thinking about it, maybe fighting with mom in law is the secret to a long marriage. I had combined nearly 20 years with the first two exes. The third I got along great with his mom and there are bad TV shows that lasted longer than that marriage.

And finally

1.  Don’t mess with the Hair.

Really? That’s number 1? Thinking . . . EXH1 sported a mullet which he finally parted with in 2005. EXH3 was bald. But I broke that rule with EXH2 when me and my brother decided to give him a clipper hair cut and accidently zapped a bald spot in the back of his head. He heard it. “Bzzt.” “What was that?” he asked. “Uh, um. Nothing.”  It would have been fine, he wouldn’t have known, it was the back of the head. But then when my mom saw it, she busted us. “Oh my God, what did they do to the back of your hair.”

Shit. We ended up having to shave him nearly bald to make up for it.

Man, I sucked as a wife.

I wonder how many of these J-Lo broke?

Soapbox Rant: Local Celebrities

Local celebrities. Every town has them, I think, I know Pittsburgh does. They are people who are famous in their city only and occasionally they cross borders into the next county. Other than that, no one knows them. At this point I step onto my soapbox.

Those of you who know me, know I operate on very little sleep and live off a nap during the day.  Saturday on just about two hours sleep, I lay my head down for that nap and within minutes I am blasted away by music. The fair across the street started their concert early. Not only is it a live band, it’s Bruce Springsteen music . I’m not a fan, and not only is it Springsteen music, of course, it’s being played by . . . . him.  It’s a freaking nightmare! Not only do I not get my nap, I don’t get one because of him. Local celebrity Joe Grushecky.

You may wonder, what this man ever did to me. Well … first, allow me to give credit where credit is due. He is a great musician and entertainer, his band totally rocks. And I’m sure some people will say he’s a swell guy. However . . . let me take you back. Late 90’s, Dormont Pa.

We’re at the park, the little league game, his son plays with my son. He’s there. At that point I was with my second husband, Steve, who said, “Look there’s Joe Grushecky.”

“Who?” I asked, really not knowing.

“He’s pretty big around Pittsburgh. I wanna go talk to him.”

“Steve, who cares. Drew’s getting up to bat.” But too late, Steve, excited, walked up to Joe. I watched. I heard Steve mention something about a guitar and then Joe lifted his head in an upward motion, simply stated, ‘yes’, turned and walked away. What! Oh my God, did he just snub Steve, the nicest guy in the world. When Steve returned, I asked him if he was snubbed., to which he replied yes. When I gasped my offense, Steve said, “He’s Joe Grushecky. He knows Bruce Springsteen.”

“Oh, who cares who he knows and Springsteen can suck my left toe for all I care. “ I was completely offended by the attitude. I mean we weren’t at the Grammy awards. It was a little league game for crying out loud in a small town. Where did he get off?  Still, to this day, I would love to see Joe go head to head in a guitar competition against Steve. I’m pretty confident that Steve would bury him into submission.

You know, a few years back I went to a Who’s Who in Pittsburgh Event (Joe wasn’t there.) I met Donny Iris in the food line. He didn’t snub me. Of course he spoke to me first and I thought he was a homeless person. He said, “Nice spread of food. I’m starving.”

I said, “I bet,” And watched him make a plate. Believing he was a homeless man who slipped into the event, I wrapped up cheese and meat to put in his pocket for when he got hungry later. He thanked me. I wonder if Donny Iris ever thinks back to the day when that crazy little woman stuffed his pockets with napkins packed with cheese.

My point is, Donny Iris is locally bigger than Joe, and he wasn’t a snob.

And I don’t know about other cities, but Pittsburgh talent only strives to be famous in Pittsburgh. They can’t see beyond their fence. Why? Hell, if I’m gonna be famous. I want to be famous everywhere, so famous that Max Beesely in the UK says, “Oh, I just love her.” And eventually ‘Frank’ will emerge and say, “Oh, yeah, I’m Frank, make room for husband number four.”

Oh! Wait.   So famous that Joe wouldn’t snub me and would take that head-to-head guitar challenge. Ha!

You're probably thinking, "Gees, woman, let it go, it's been years." Well, I can't. I just can't. I’m still irritated over my missed nap on Saturday and that missed nap brought it all back to the surface.

Stepping of my soapbox now.

Rise of the Planet of the ... um Apes??

I have been and always will be a massive fan of the Planet of the Apes movies. I was skeptical about the newest one, labeled a prequel, Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Then I found myself, in typical Jake fashion, watching every trailer over and over, getting more pumped with each passing day.

Doing our every Saturday girls night out, I apprehensively suggested to Terri that we go see the new movie.  I've known Terri since we were eight. I say ‘apprehensively’ because Terri likes to talk in the movies. I am guilty of that, too, my own daughters hate going to the movies with me because of that. However, I don’t shout out things. Terri, who is actually highly intelligent, tends to check a small portion of her thinking at the theater door so she can have ‘shout out’ moments. If she didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have much to pick on her about.

Memorable ones to me are when we went to see Scooby Doo and she shouted out, “Oh my Gawd! I can’t believe they brought that dog on the plane. You know he’s not going to behave.”

And more recently, during Battle LA, she shouted. “OH, sure, like we’re supposed to believe they’re in a basement in Los Angeles. There are no basements in California, it’s sand and swamp.”

“No, Ter, that’s Florida. Opposite end of the country, babe.”

When Terri suggested we pay the extra 5 bucks for VIP seating in a closed off room, I agreed. What a cool experience and perfect for people like me and Terri who talk about what’s happening. And we did. We discussed that entire movie.

Then again, when our friend Dom showed up late and started asking questions, we were both quick to tell him, “Shh! Dom. Quiet!” poor guy.

The movie moved at a great pace. The writing was tight, acting awesome, and every single time I saw a young Caesar (Main chimp) I kept thinking of my granddaughter Violet and how much he reminded me of her.  Those big sad eyes . . .  See for yourself. I know. I’m horrible.

Anyhow, midway through the movie, Terri shouted out, “Why is he calling the apes, they aren’t apes.”

I ignored it, she said it again, finally, at the end of the movie, she stood up and said, “The only problem I had with this movie is they kept calling them apes.”

“That’s because that’s what they are,” I told her.

“No,” she said. “I saw chimps, baboons, and a gorilla, I didn’t see any apes.”

I told her they’re all part of the ape family. And it would be like going to see a movie called, “Fish’ and seeing a trout, Bass and Carp and saying she didn’t see any fish. She gave me her stock, grumble ‘hmm’. But as soon as we stepped from the theater, she must have grabbed that brain portion because she got it.

Oh, yeah, the movie. Go see it. Don’t judge it on the trailer, because for the first time, the trailer doesn’t give away the story. It exceeded my expectations and it’s better than it should be. I can’t wait to see it again. Although, after Terri reads this blog, she may never go to a movie with me again. Shame, too, since I discovered the secret of movie going . . . VIP room.

Baby Frank heads to Cougar Town

I took Baby Frank to Starbucks tonight. Our usual routine. Except now, he goes nowhere without his power ranger mask. Wears it everywhere. He’s totally into the 1993 Rangers.  I say, ‘It’s Morhpin time” he whips down the mask.

Tonight while at Starbucks, I’m waiting for my drink. Usually Baby Frank will grab a newspaper, pretending he can read and go sit in the fluffy chiar.

Not tonight.

I learned my grandson loves brunettes.

A couple was waiting ahead of us. They were both in their late twenties or early thirties

The girl was dolled up in summer cutesy attire. Hair pulled back with a pink bow. No kidding, a pink bow.

 She took a seat at a table alone while waiting on her boyfriend. Baby Frank saw her. I’m sure somewhere in his toddler mind he heard some sort of music, because he stopped. Typically he does that with young girls, three or four years old. Never with older women. But this one . . . man, he whipped off the mask and walked to her. His eyes never left her, which of course, caused him to walk right into the table. He bounced back like a cat, shook it off,  climbed on the seat across from her,  gave this look as if to say, ‘So, how you doin’. Then he sighed out and stared. He was getting on his ‘Mack’ Is that what that called?

You could see it on her expression. At first she was like, “ok . . .  this is weird‘  and then she laughed because he just kept staring like a puppy dog in love.

The boyfriend returned with the drink and was a good sport. He saw him and said to Baby Frank. “Guess I snooze I lose. Man, they’re starting young. Go on dude, I’ll just, you know, sit over there.”

Baby Frank ignored him and kept on staring in awe at this girl, never saying a word. She smiled. I took a picture. Once I got my drink, he slid from the chair, gave a smile, grabbed his mask, put it back on and darted to the door.

Later on I showed it to him, he grabbed my phone and kept sighing and staring.

I think he thought she was Kimberly because she wore that pink bow. I’m sure in his mind he thought that. I mean realistically, it’s 2011 no one but Kimberly would wear a pink hair bow, unless they were under ten.

I do however think this picture deserves a caption.

Neuroticism of a Child

Violet arrived home today after a long vacation. The tiny tot had her Coppertone tan happening and the attitude just flowed moments into being in the house

I saw Jesus again at Starbucks. Was hanging out front, same clothes. Odd he wears exactly what I depicted him as wearing in my book, MY PAL CHRIST. Levi jeans and a plain white tee shirt. I mean, who wears that unless it’s 1955. Anyhow, he was with some other bearded guy. I waved. Gave an upward nod of my head and said, “I see you’re with a friend today.”

He replied, “Yes. This is my friend, Matthew.”

How odd.  I sent a text to Ali telling her about Jesus, and  instead of her disputing it, she texted back. ‘OMG, you don’t think he showed because our plane is gonna crash.” At that point I grew neurotic and raced back to Starbucks to ask, but he was gone.

Speaking of neurotic. A few months back, I had a date. Some guy I met. I don’t date often, if at all. Just gave up on that portion of my life. Anyhow, I had drink with this man, things were going well. Time passed, we said our goodbyes. He stayed, I left. As I pulled from the parking lot, three cop cars peeled in. Thinking, “Boy I just missed the problems. Good thing.” I headed home.

Here, what I didn’t know was I didn’t have a good signal on my phone. Ali, worried about me being on a date, tried to call me. When she got the voicemail after a ring or two, she did that ‘family trace’ to find my phone. When she did, the trace showed the phone was in a wooded area. Ali freaked out and called the police telling them that she thought this man had killed her mother. And told them where I was supposed to be and with a guy named Paul. While I was happily on my way home, the police stormed the bar and interrogated this guy.  They stopped when they received the call that I was fine. Suffice to say, I didn’t hear back from him.

Tonight I joined up with the guy I met that reminded me of one of my characters. Had a great time, time flew, but I didn’t hear my phone. Getting in my car to come home, I saw the text, “Your phone is by the river. You have 10 minutes to call me back or I call the police.”

Luckily, I caught it within the ten minutes. 

Perhaps it is payback time. I think I’ll take Violet out to Rite Aid tomorrow to wreak a little havoc.

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 3^rd 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Bite

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love Zombies. I look for the Zombie escape in every situation. My house has secondary zombie escape routes on every floor, food prep, and I have Smitty the pilot on call for emergency airlift.

Not that I actually think it will happen, but I’m ready. Although I still stand firm on the story that I saw a zombie in West Virginia.

Onward . . .

Like probably everyone who has watched or read a Zombie tale, I have questioned the stupidity of the victims. Wondering at times, how they let themselves get bit. How? Be fast. Be ready . . .

I thought that until yesterday. Then I realized how it happens. I found myself in a simulated zombie attack situation. Not with the undead, of course, but with something just as vicious and mean . . . my 14 month old granddaughter, Violet.

The little girl who at last weigh in, was a whopping 19 pounds, 26 inches, petite . She’s a teenage girl in a pint size body. Except for the fact that her little teeth are too big for her mouth and she has taken to gnawing on her crib to file them down. Don’t know if Teenage girls do that, they may. Her first word was ‘Bieber’ yes, of the famous Justin. She throws tantrums if you touch her Bieber stuff. She sings Baby, Baby, all the time.

Do not be fooled by how sweet and precious this little munchkin sounds and looks. I swear she could go head to head, bite to bite with any zombie.

I know. I experienced it. Baby Frank bit, but not like this.

As any person raising a toddler knows, those child proof latches for cabinets only work on adults. You have to be fast. I thought I was. Violet went under the kitchen sink and grabbed the Murphy’s Oil Soap. I scooted over, gently took her arm, and with a firm, “no’ I grabbed the soap. My bad.

With my only warning being a split second growl, yes, she growled, her little baby jaws of death clenched down on my arm, hard and ferociously. I screamed. Typically you’d expect with my scream, she’d release. No. Grabbing her hair was an option, but I didn’t. I tried to pull her from me . . . useless. With each tug and lift of my arm, she held tighter. In fact, at one point I raised my arm and teeth still clenched, her feet were kicking off the floor.. Finally, the soap dropped from my hand, and she let go. But I was faster, I snatched the soap, tossed it under the sink, shut the cabinet and bodily blocked it.

She peered to me with her hands behind her back as if to say, “What? What did I do?”

I showed her my bleeding arm. “Look, Violet. Look what you did to Great One.” (Yeah, I’m Great One not nana or grandma)

She batted those super long eyelashes, stood on tip toes, peeked at my boo-boo, almost fooling me into thinking she felt bad, and then to show me how she was a force not to mess with, she took her tiny index finger, poked hard to my wound and laughed.

I’m traumatized. Although I am not experiencing a raging virus or desire to eat flesh, I am however listening to Justin Bieber nonstop.