Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Scariest Story - flashbacks of my own and review of latest Hyperbole and a Half post

Yay! Allie is finally back with a superb story of childhood nightmares. We've all been there,  frightened little kids ourselves, staring in horror at the closet door, barely holding back unknown beasts. Or leaping into our beds like Olympic athletes, so the something doesn't grab our legs and drag us under, never to be seen again. As parents, if you are one, we can recall our own little darlings as they came calling in the night for a dose of parental comfort when these tricks inevitably failed. Or maybe they just liked our mattress better and it was all a devious scam. 

I'm having flashbacks of my daughter L, when she was little, freaking out regularly with vivid nightmares. Not in the tiny CinyLouWho sweet voiced "mommy? I had a bad dream..." kind. I am talking the sleepwalking, bloodcurdling screaming "Maaomaom!!- auouehwuu-  PURPLE DINOSAURS!!- oiuoha -RUN!!-Daaad! - kjdhgdkx - mmm cupcakes? -kdjauyeo- HELP CHUCK E CHEESE!!"  mumbo-jumbo speaking night terror kind, something from a zombie movie, only from the mouth of an adorable blue eyed redheaded five year old girl. 

I swear, these were the days before the Hostel and Saw III movies she watches now. We viewed nothing more violent then Barney back then. (I was the only one with violent thoughts against that purple dinosaur and I kept them to myself at the time.) After snapping her out of it, and then giving in to her pleas, the blanket hogging began, as did a long night of kicking me in the kidneys. Our bed could have been 17 feet wide. Like a heat seeking missile, or a the pets from The Incredible Journey, she would find me. Finally, we too, had to resort to tough love because nothing worked.  Not even Chuck E Cheese himself could work his magic in the form of bribery. Good ol' fashioned discomfort did though. When banished to the floor night after night, she finally gave it up and returned to her own bed, and outgrew those terrors. (I think it was middle school sometime - my theory is she started texting friends in the night... "OMG. Wake up! I just had a bad dream...")

just kidding, L... love you. But you still talk a mean streak in your sleep though ;)

Enough of MY kid already! Back to Hyperbole and a Half: The Scariest Story Ever: 

scene from the blog Allie vs the closet... muahhhhaahaha 

In Hyperbole and a Half's blog, it's all funny, but it's hard to say which part I liked the best as far as the drawings go. I'm torn between the "strainer on the head", because, well, who hasn't done that?! Or could it be the the "it's intoxicating" bed scene, because I've lived that as stated above. Dad in the boxers is a close third, although he kind of scares me, actually. Jesus in boxers. Need I say more? I might have a nightmare of my own. He's rarely seen in the blogs. Now I know why. I'm not showing more of the pix here, I don't want to spoil the fun for anyone... so stop begging! 

So, fans of the blog, you've been waiting a long time, so wait no more!  Newbies, check it out and the rest! Warning. Pee first. Always pee first. Because you will laugh-
creature inspired by bad spelling. from hyperbole and a half 

click, view, laugh :)  The Scariest Story  

Monday, February 21, 2011

Interview with a Blog Mocker.

Blog Mocker finds out what makes a crazy blogger tick and what it takes to to get not so rich and not so famous...
Blog Mocker: So, tell me, do you really think the world needs another blogger, seriously?
Painterchic: Actually, no. But the other bloggers got tired of me commenting on theirs relentlessly. I feared I would be blocked, so I started my own.

Blogmocker: Do you ever think your blog will make you rich and famous?
Painterchic: Yes. Absolutely. My plans to continue writing insignificant verbage with two followers and 11 views and no advertising will surely bring me fame and fortune in no time. I believe that. In the meantime, I am staring at the unfinished novel and partially illustrated children's books and other unsubmitted works in nonprogress.  The unpurchased lottery tickets might pan out. Then there's that guy who called about the money in Nigeria... might work something out with him soon. Next week I'm going to be a glassblower because I got a Groupon. I always wanted to do that when I grow up. Just ask my moum.

Blog Mocker: Do you really think anyone reads this mindless drivel you write?
Painterchic: No. Somedays I hope they do, but most days I'm glad they don't. Depends on my mood and what I wrote. Sometimes I wish I had a comment, even if it's YOU STINK! Once, I had 2 readers from Russia. But that's because I think they were looking for porn and that creepy looking lady with the bad makeup picture came up on a search engine. It's the only explanation that let's me sleep at night anyway...

Blog Mocker: How many followers do you have?
Painterchic: I have 2. That I know of. They are my friends. Even though I've never met them in real life. But they still count! My own family does not read it. Although they know it exists. I think they are afraid I write about them.

Blog Mocker: Why do you put pictures in your blog? Are you copying other blogs?
Painterchic: NO! I did it first! Well before I discovered my love of the hyberbole blog anyway. I would do more if I had the time. It's fun. I've been drawing goofy pictures since they locked me in a hospital room at the age of 12. Ask my mom. She will verify that as will my friends. It's another way to express myself. And I love taking photos. Besides, if the writing sucks, it helps make it a less painful experience for the reader.  Here, smile. I'll put us in...

Blogmocker: Why don't you use real swear words in your blogs?
Painterchic: Because I have a trash potty mouth in real life that I am unable to control despite my best efforts and some darn good medication. Internet words lives forever. So someday when I've morphed into a sweet old tea sippin' knitting grandma my words won't come back to haunt me, dammit.

Blogmocker: Does it annoy you when people refer to your blog like this: "oh, your "bloooog" with an almost imperceptible eye roll?
Painterchic: No. I expect that. It's a self indulgent pastime for me at this point. Until I am promoting my best selling novel. Then I fully intend to become a pompous ass about my BLOG. But in the meantime... let's just say it's my quiet little nerdy hobby like Pokemon card collecting or Civil war re-enactment. I mostly keep it to myself. (Wait! I don't actually DO either of those hobbies. They were just examples!)
Blogmocker: ahem. coughs politely. sure. if you say so... (smirks.)

Blog Mocker: Why do you write this stuff. Honestly, it's about nothing. No politics, no topic, no theme. You aren't promoting a business, or changing the world. So, why do you bother?
Painterchic:  I can say "Sorry, we're having Lean Cuisine for dinner because I was working on my blog."  "Umm the house is a mess because I was learning HTML code for my header." So, nothing wrong with using my brain, right? Actually, the truth is I like writing and the blog keeps my mind busy when my body conks out on me., which is often.  Also, it keeps me from having to face my half written novel. Both which scare the living crap out of me.

Blogmocker: What is your favorite blog?
Painterchic: I have two. because she is hilarious. I relate to the stories on a personal level which make them even funnier and her artwork is simple yet expressive. Pure genius. I have my kids addicted. I am not sure if this is good or not. They call me moum and stare at me with cartoon faces now. I'm starting to worry, yet in an odd way I am kind of proud. I'm weird that way.
The other, She can take a photo that tells a story. Watch out for Candice. She's going to go places. I just know it. And it's not just because she is my cousin. She's really good. Look at the dogs. They are thinking about something, in those secret canine brains. And she makes winter beautiful. Coming from me, HATER of all things COLD, that says ALOT. (i spelled that wrong on purpose, haha) <----- hyperboleaddicition setting in now badly

Blogmocker: Thank you for taking time out of your not so busy day to agree to this interview. By the way, I really like your pajamas and the cookies for breakfast even though it's the afternoon. Maybe there is something to this blogger  gig thing after all.
Painterchic: Sure is. Thanks.
Dude... check out this video on youtube... midgets racing a camel....

Friday, February 18, 2011

Drivers Beware: Minivan Mamas and Stoplight Makeover Women are out there...

We all know that it is dangerous out there on the roads these days, and that you need to drive defensively. It's you against them. You may think it's the drunk driver or the texting teenager you should watch out for, or the traveling salesman talking on the phone and typing directions into the GPS. Or worse, the dreaded 3 foot tall grandma sitting on a phone book peeking over the steering wheel of her 1978 Caddy driving 45 mph on the Interstate with her signal flashing looking for the exit to the bingo hall. But no... it gets worse. 

Even more dangerous than these species is the Minivan Mama, hurling snacks and sippy cups over her head into car seats with deadly accuracy while being a contortionist worthy of Cirque du Soleil, all in the name of peace and quiet and her quest for sanity. Whatever object is needed - the pacifier, the remote, the nintendo, the blankie, you name it, this supermom will do whatever it takes and still keep driving. So, if you see a minivan, get the hell out of the way, do it and fast. Your life may depend upon it.

But, even more dangerous than Minivan Mama is Stoplight Makeover Woman. Yes, it's the woman on the go. Too late to finish her grooming routine at home because she had to update her Facebook status and take care of Farmville, she either uses the sun roof, window or heater to dry her hair, tipping and fluffing it along the roads, disregarding pedestrians and oncoming traffic. Eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, are all applied using the rearview mirror at each stop light or during slow traffic. If the car in front of you does not go when the light changes, chances are it's a stoplight makeover in progress. If the car behind you suddenly slams into you during bumper to bumper morning traffic, and the woman resembles a circus clown or a drag queen, chances are, it was a stoplight makeover once again.

 These Cosmetic Car Queens don't always get to finish what they started unfortunately, especially if the trip is a short one. Lights turn green too soon. Speed bumps are an menace to them, to say the least. They drive off the road as they apply the second coat of mascara and hit parked cars, double wides, fire hydrants, or goats. They get arrested. Anything is possible. You will recognize them easily in Walmart after they make bail. 
"But wait! I'm not finished yet!!" 

So, drive safe out there.  Mascara and the Wiggles can be very dangerous indeed. 

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Hackley goes to Target

My last trip to the pharmacy almost required anger management classes. I think I was too sick to blog at the time. Or too drugged to spell. Or both. Anyway, better late than never. The following story is based on a true incident. The names have been changed to protect to the innocent or not so innocent. Except Trixie. I'm sure that's her real name...and don't buyTwinkies, for so many reasons.

Once upon a time there was a very sick girl we shall call Hackley. After endless days sick in bed (25 but who's counting) and relentless coughing, her friends and family finally made her go to the doctor, who then sent her to the pharmacy in the big store with the big red circles, who, as we all know, holds the magic cure and anything else you need to buy while you wait for it!  Hackley dragged herself wearily into the department store, not bothering even to get a cart, so you know it was serious. Sliding over the crumpled wad of multiple prescriptions, she grunted at the perky unfamiliar pharmacy receptionist,  croaked "I'll wait" and headed for the bench.

Hackley was a little concerned because she didn't recognize this new girl. The others knew her name, she was like Norm at Cheers and she oddly liked it, the way they started gathering her packages of goodies immediately upon her arrival. She knew they probably had a secret profiling game they played during slow days. It kind of worried Hackley some days, the combinations of things you could put together based on prescription ailments looked up on the internet. Were you a psychopathic insomniac  with an STD or a narcoleptic epileptic migraine sufferer with hormonal issues and gout? What fun that game could be with patients, she only imagined, but today, she did not care. She just wanted to go home, to her bed and back under her duvet, her happy place. Miss Perky asked for her cell phone number "Just in case there is a problem" she said, grinning. Rule #1. Don't grin when anticipating problems. Rule#2. Hurry the hell up.

Hackley muttered the phone numbers and went back to the hard metal bench. The kind that looks like a giant red metal waffle. There is no comfort to be found on these benches. Their sole purpose is to make you get up and shop, not wait for your medicine. But even Hackley, professional shopper, could not do this today. She sat, and schlumped, and slid lower and lower on the bench, gloves on hands, face wrapped in a scarf, looking somewhere between a terrorist and a bag lady and tried to take a nap. Naturally everyone Hackley knew came into Target that day to get out of the house after the snow storm and made a point of mentioning how awful Hackley looked, how awful Hackley sounded, as if Hackley was completely unaware of this fact. Customers who did not know Hackley quickly turned their carts around or grabbed their children and left, either at the sight or the sound of her, or both.

 Hackley was a little annoyed, because at least she TRIED to contain her germs. Not like the lady in the ill fitting 80's green track suit on aisle 4 she saw cough on the Twinkies and then put them back on the shelf. That woman not only looked like a Gumby, she was a walking petri dish! It was that Tracksuit Trixie who deserved their scorn, not Hackley. She sighed.. and tried to pass the time, thinking at least Howie Mandel would appreciate her efforts.

 Hackley looked at the clock, and winced as she peeled her self from the bench to inform the pharmacy of her presence -  just in case they forgot about her. Not that they would admit it of course, but it could happen, just as surely as it is possible to ignore the sounds of barking sea lions 2 feet away. The stink eye she received from the real pharmasist ensured her that her reminder was not appreciated. She sulked back to the bench to play more Angry Birds and wait the full forty minutes. The promised inhaler awaited, the Holy Grail of Oxygen and dammit, Hacklely would not go home without it. Or so she thought....
Finally she heard Mis Perky's voice. Like an angel...

"Ummm... Mrs. Spackley? Hockely? Hackely?"

"aaahhhhhhhhhhh....Yyhhhyess?" (extra drama for effect and making her wait extra long AND getting her name wrong)

"Well alrighty! Here are your prescriptions. The inhaler won't be in until tomorrow afternoon and the other one blah blah blah..." Perkys mouth kept talking but her words faded into a buzz as the anger rose in Hackley's ears.
All she could hear was the words "won't"  "tomorrow" being used together in the same sentence. She was tired, she was sick, her ass looked like an Eggo waffle and now she had waited for nothing.
She started to lean over the counter and get really close to Perky. Hackley took off her gloves. She unwrapped her scarf, very slowly. Perky stopped smiling a little. She took a step back as Hackley entered her personal bubble.
"WHY did you take my CELL #  but not CALL and then make me wait 40 minutes on the bench if it's not in until TOMORROW?"
Hackley picked up the little electronic pen on the cord to sign and coughed on it. She pointed it at Miss Perky. "Don't you think my TIME is important?!?? Don't you think OXYGEN is important!?!" Miss Perky looked very gratefully at the little black cord holding the pen onto the base knowing only this little string of plastic might save her from the pen become a projectile object aimed for her eyes. She took another step back.

Hackely wiped off the pen and looked up at Miss Perky's now unsmiling face.
"Wwwwoould you like to sppppeak with the ppppharmacist?" she asked, no longer perky.
"No, thank you."
Hackley put on her gloves, wrapped up her face with her scarf, grabbed her bag of goodies and took her  sick and waffled butted self home to bed. She was too tired to beat, maim or even yell at Perky or anyone else that day.
Miss Perky was never seen at the pharmacy again and Hackely never sat on the bench again.

(Ok I really didn't cough on Perky or the pen or threaten her with it, but I thought about it, I admit. The rest, it's true. I have witnesses. You know who you are :)

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Doggone crazy

If you have a dog who eats things it should not then this is something to make you laugh or just roll your eyes and say "eeeewwwh gross" Or maybe save you lots of money at the vet someday perhaps, who knows? After the last two posts of doom and gloom I feel like I should lighten up a bit and a glimpse of a Louie moment usually does the trick.
My snaggle toothed dog has been labeled and "Eater" by the vet's office. Yes, they actually have an official list for this they keep for these misbehaving snackers of foreign objects. Meaning if he gets brought in for stomach issues he is know as "one of those" who could have ingested anything from rocks to basketballs. (yes, he once ate a basketball)
This weeks treat of the week was the head off his beloved red squeaky bear. Why, I don't know. He loved that little guy. Now headless and resting peacefully in the trash can much to Louie's dismay, the remains are in the nether regions we shall not name. Hard plastic is not good upon exit as you can imagine and sitting is not Louie's favorite position when this happens. The first thing vets like to do is xray of course, and then say we must cut! You must PAY! But who wants to do that to their dog?!? But there are other options. Like cat lax, meant for hair balls, which works pretty well actually. OR....

A nice peanut butter and vaseline sandwich. Yes, you read that right. Let it slide. Be sure not to mix it up with the kids PJ & J while making lunches. They surely won't appreciate the error. This is a trick we learned for the old vet and his predecessor and fellow trash pickin' bone and rock eater Barley.  Louie gets down right excited to see the peanut butter jar and vaseline come out now. I think he is catching on and eating crap just to get these sandwhiches, I swear, the rotten little mongrel. He's no fool. But hey, I'm not the one sorting through dog doodoo with rubber gloves at the vet office while still paying off student loans, haha.
So, if it takes a little sandwich and some time for things to 'work out' then let it be. Maybe someday he will learn. Or not. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but maybe you can make him a new sandwich.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

black cloud

It seems like the proverbial black cloud has settled over the world or at least the parts of it that have come to my attention lately. Whether it's on a global, local or personal scale, chaos and tragedy rule. Egyptians hurl sharp and dangerous objects at each other in the name of peace, while a little girl in Charlotte begs for a marrow donor and a plane to save her life. A perfectly nice family in my small community is obliterated by the father as he shoots his teenage daughter, his wife and then himself for no apparent reason. The very next day we catch our breath from this horror and then honor the memory of two amazing teenagers lost in a tragic car accident two years ago. The children in our town are reeling in tragedy once again. These are just OUR hurts. They are everywhere, this I know. Somewhere, everyday, someone's heart is breaking with loss and suffering and no explanation or words can fix it either. Life happens. You can't undo it, you can't fix it no matter how badly you wish you could. You can just be there for people the best you can. Can anyone explain it? How do you make peace with this? Is it winter? Maybe when spring comes it will be better. Looking out the window the sun is shining but it's a trick. It's cold and the trees look sharp and edgy. Winter bones. Snap. Snap. We need spring. Softness. Rebirth. Warmth. Forgiveness. Healing. Growing. Something. How much can we take, really...

But we will take it and be the strong ones. Let the trees do the snapping. Not us. Live life five minutes at time and see where it takes us. It's going to get better. I believe that.

And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.

After the Storm- Mumford & Sons
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