Tuesday, September 6, 2011


Things I Remember:
My first memory was my father teaching me to tie my shoes at three years old.  I remember after successfully tying my shoe I ran into the house to show my mother what I had accomplished. 
At age four I remember there was a poster of Queensryche on my paneled, bedroom wall and I refused to change my clothes in my room because I felt like they were watching me. 
I remember hearing the Barberton Speedway loudly at night. 
I recall one time I was playing outside our trailer near a swing set that my dad was building but never finished.  Over at the next house there were two huge, black dogs that appeared to be the size of horses that were digging through the neighbor’s trash.  I was petrified with fear and quickly ran to my trailer before they could see or chase me.
One day, a tire plant that was not a mile from our trailer park was consumed with fire.  I didn’t know what was going on until I left my friend’s house and walked down the street to mine.  The smoke filled my nostrils and I looked up to see where the smell was originating.  The sky was black and was raining little black ashes all over me and the ground.  Upon noticing this I looked at the bottom of my bare feet and they were completely black.  I raced home to my mom, afraid of what was happening outside that I didn’t understand.  
I don’t remember stealing a gummy worm from the store.  I remember standing outside the car while Mom went inside and my dad yelled at me and explained why stealing was wrong.  He took the gummy worm and threw it into the street.  I can vividly remember seeing the brightly-colored gummy worm covered in cinders.
A few times my dad and I took a kite to fly out behind the trailer park where there was an open lot.  I remember the wind, the cold and seeing the red, yellow, black and orange kite hovering in the blue sky. 
Back then I had to ask my parents for the rare privilege to drink a Coke.  That didn’t stop me from sneaking drinks of theirs when they weren’t looking.  On this particularly memorable time, Dad had used his near-empty Coke can for an ashtray.  It was one of the most disgusting things I have ever tasted. 
I enjoyed the company of our elderly neighbors so one Saturday morning I left the house to go over to their trailer and see them.  My parents were still asleep and had no idea where I had gone.  That was the day I learned not to go anywhere without telling my parents.  
I remember my parents taking me down the street to Dairy Queen where I would always get a chocolate M&M blizzard. 

Thursday, September 1, 2011

What Love Means

What Love Means
At the age of five I learned what love meant.  Love meant that Mommy wanted to be with someone else besides me.  At the age of eight I saw what love meant.  Love meant that Daddy loved his alcohol.  At the age of seventeen I felt what love meant.  Love meant that instead of being at home, I was in the back of his car.  At the age of twenty-six I knew what love meant.  Love meant that I had love myself enough to do anything to get away from my husband.  
For once in my life my head was clear and I knew what had to be done.  It was a difficult plan because I had never even thought about killing someone or had any idea how to do it.  I mean, I have watched TV and cop shows and whatever so I kind of knew how not to leave clues.  Don’t do crazy internet searches, pay with cash, and don’t leave your hardware store receipts around.  Making it look like an accident would be the difficult part.  
I sat down at the kitchen table and took my fork with shaking hands as I plunged the utensil into my steaming macaroni.  He sat on the couch, hand down his pants as if he thought his junk was going to walk away and he had to anchor it down.  He was a damn slob and the mere reminder of his presence; the smell of his sweat on his dirty laundry, the shavings left in the sink in the morning, the coffee cup left on the counter after he left was enough to make my insides squirm with disgust and hatred.  
“Dan, dinner’s getting cold,” I called from the table reluctantly.  I would rather be anywhere else in the world than sitting besides him at the dinner table.  He grabbed his beer can off the arm of the sofa and burped his way over to the table, grabbed the bowl and retreated to the couch.  I let out a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch.  Dodged a bullet.   I stared at him as he took bite after bite, the noise of his chewing affected me and made me want to get sick.  If only I had spiked his macaroni with arsenic in a matter of hours he’d be writhing in agony, inches from a painful death.  But, arsenic could be traced and I was looking for something more along the lines of an accident.  That specific accident I hadn’t yet figured out but hopefully my brain would come up with an idea soon before he decided it was time for my face to meet the back of his hand again.   

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Kitty Alarm Clock

Kitty Alarm Clock

The sun that creeps in silently
Onto my sleeping eyes
Is not my only indication
That it is time to rise
With quiet mews and sandpaper licks
Ian the cat tells me to wake
He jumps on my back and paws at me 
Persistent despite my shakes
His whiskers tickle my face
Under covers I attempt to hide
Only when I stand awake
Will my alarm clock be satisfied 

Just a goofy little poem about what I experience.  Every. Single. Morning. 

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Back to the regularly scheduled blog...

So since last Thursday I've been busy preparing for Hurricane Irene and haven't been able to post or write anymore.  I'll be back to posting tomorrow when my life gets back to its regular schedule. 

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Dragon in Captivity

And you thought dragons didn’t exist!” the San Diego Zookeeper exclaimed loudly into her headset microphone.  “You are among the first visitors in the world to see this new and exciting creature!  An animal only believed to be alive in myth and so dangerous it has to be properly subdued in order to keep its aggression in check!”
“Yeah, this seems kinda dangerous, Mom,” Ginny whispered as crossed her arms.  “Something about a fire-breathing, aggressive reptile doesn’t seem too family-friendly.” 
“Oh Ginny, hush!” her Mom shushed her as she glanced over at her husband who was bouncing Ginny’s younger sister on his shoulders.  “Isn’t this fun, sweetie?!” 
“Dragon!” the little girl squealed with excitement as she clutched a stuffed dragon from the zoo gift shop.  
Ginny rolled her eyes at her mother’s lack of attention and turned her focus to the large purple curtain that was obscuring the dragon from view.
“This nearly two-ton reptile was discovered in the Himalayan mountains and is believed to have a life-span of over two hundred years.  With a fire-breathing capability of temperatures near 2,000 degrees, introducing...” the zookeeper paused for great effect while the curtains began to part. Ginny leaned forward with the crowd in attempt to get a better glimpse. 
“Krypton!” she yelled as the curtains parted to reveal the mysterious dragon.  The crowd was quiet as everyone surveyed the creature that they’d only seen in illustrations or computer-generated movies.  
The dragon’s scaly skin changed color as it moved and smoke rings rose from his nose to the sky of the open-air cage.  
“Krypton has been discovered to have chameleon-like properties and can change the color of his skin.  Impressively, he also has a wing-span of nearly 50 feet.”  Krypton paced his cage and his piercing yellow eyes stared into the crowd.
“Mom, I don’t like this.  He’s freaking me out,” Ginny tugged at her mother’s sleeve.  After a full minute of deathly quiet, the crowd irrupted into cheers and applause.  The Zookeeper beamed and rattled off a few more facts but Ginny wasn’t listening.  Her eyes were glued to Krypton’s yellow and fierce eyes that pointedly gazed at the audience.  
The noise from the crowd began to agitate the beast as he moved roughly against his shackled ankles.  Krypton let out a huge roar that stunned the audience and they stepped back from the cage quickly.  
“There’s nothing to fear, he’s been given harmless drugs to subdue him and because of those drugs he’s unable to breathe fire,” the Zookeeper attempted to keep the peace.  Krypton roared once more and blew fire at the Zookeeper.  
She quickly was enveloped in flames as the hundreds of people began to scatter like cockroaches.  Ginny was frozen in horror as she watched the Zookeeper flail, scream and writhe in agony.  Her attention was called to the dragon who was now flapping his wings wildly and trying to break free of his confines.  One of his shackles broke loose as the other zoo workers were kept busy trying to put out the fire on the burned woman.  
“He’s getting loose! RUN!” someone yelled and the crowd pushed Ginny into the ground.  As much as she tried to get up she kept being shoved back to the pavement by frantic feet scurrying away from the cage.  Her body ached after being hit numerous times and she screamed for her family.  When she was finally able to get to her feet she saw the dragon had managed to break his other shackle and took flight into the sky and quickly vanished.  
“Ginny!” her mother grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the cage as if the threat was still eminent.
“I told you it was dangerous, Mom!” Ginny cried.

Monday, August 22, 2011

My Goofy Ode to PT

I guess it’s just human nature to personify things.  You could personify your pet, your computer, parts of your body or your toys.  It’s like that teddy bear that stares at you pleadingly with its sad, beady eyes as you downgrade it from its prominent place on your bed to the closet where all your clothes going to Goodwill has piled up.  Some even personify their car, name it and refer to it as ‘him’ or ‘her.’ 
It’s just a car.  
Today, my husband and I bought our first car together.  We traded in my PT Cruiser in favor of a newer model Jeep, and while I’m ecstatic with the new car... PT was a faithful friend. 
Cars symbolize more than just transportation but the easiest method of human freedom.  PT offered me that freedom like I’d never experienced.  Because she was brand new and full of life (unlike my previous car), we could travel anywhere and I knew that we’d be fine.  When I stepped into that new car, put my seatbelt on and felt my heart pound and palms sweat with the stress of driving a new, fragile vehicle off the lot, I knew I was in love. 
Perhaps it’s my own version of personification but PT and I have been through a lot together.  
I worked and paid my car payments on time diligently.  Despite still living at home with my parents, paying my car payment gave me a sense of adulthood and responsibility that was lacking.  Paying for PT had the added bonus of helping me to establish credit (which has come in quite handy ever since). 
The first trip I took in PT was a five hour trip to Tombstone with my brother and my husband (then boyfriend).  My brother is really interested in history and fascinated by Tombstone so I decided that ten hours of driving there and back in one day was totally doable in PT.  She made the trip there and back beautifully without a single hiccup (though, the same can’t be said for me who did a significant amount of driving in one day!). 
Following the maiden voyage to Tombstone there were trips to San Diego, Phoenix and everywhere in-between.  Throughout the early years of my adulthood, PT was there taking me where I needed to go and getting me there safely (well, I think I have a hand in some of that... I [was] the driver).  
I cried into her steering wheel when I learned my boyfriend had a week warning before he was headed to Navy boot camp.  
I stuffed PT’s cargo area with decorations for my wedding.  PT drove us home after the wedding was over and the last of the decorations were collected.  
We filled the PT to the brim with all of our belongings after the wedding weekend was over for the drive to our new and foreign home 2,500 miles away. 
The road trip from Yuma, Arizona to Virginia Beach, Virginia was a bittersweet event in my life.  On the one hand, it was a great and exciting adventure.  On the other hand the day we left was one of the saddest days of my life.  Leaving my friends and family in tears was a difficult way to start our journey.  But, we had each other and PT to take us there.  
We got to see the country from the other side of her windows.
And when we finally got to Virginia Beach and settled in a place full of strangers, she felt like my last connection to home, her beautiful Arizona license plate stuck out in a world full of dull, white, boring Virginia ones. 
But now, my only souvenir of PT is my dusty license plate.  And while I may have reluctantly teared up as I watched her drive away for the last time, it was only a car and perhaps I’m just attached to the memories I made while owning her rather than the vehicle itself.  
I tried to finish this yesterday for the official ‘day five’ but yesterday was a busy day.  I’ll try and post ‘day six’ today if I get the time.  If not... I guess I just skipped a day. 

Saturday, August 20, 2011

The Broken New Year's Resolution

The morning sunlight streaming in through the open window wasn’t what woke Tim out of a dead sleep, it was the sound of someone beating on his door that seemed as loud as if they were beating on his ear drums.  
“TIM!” a woman screeched as she proceeded to pound on his front door.  He recognized the voice and was eager to answer until he stood up and saw the body lying on the floor next to him.  With the strength of a tsunami, the previous night’s events washed over his consciousness.  
The club, his ex-girlfriend being fondled by the now-dead man, the fight.
“Open the fucking door!” Tim could tell that Sarah’s voice was getting hoarse from screaming.
“Just a sec!” Tim snapped out of his reverie and his stomach clenched in panic.  He couldn’t let her in with her boyfriend’s body lying face-down in a pool of his own blood and he didn’t have time to clean it up.  He tossed a throw blanket onto the body and ripped the couch cushions off to surround the corpse.  Stepping back to survey his attempt to cover his tracks, he decided that there was no way she could come in. 
Tim smoothed his crazed hair and straightened his gray t-shirt as he checked himself out in the mirror.  I think I can pass for someone who didn’t kill her new boyfriend.
“Sarah, how are you?” he opened the door just enough to fit his body into the doorframe. 
“Don’t fucking ‘how are you’ to me!  You acted like a complete asshole last night and you need to stay the hell away from me,” she cried as she shoved him in the chest full-force.  “I don’t appreciate you punching Chris in the face, we’re over!” 
Sarah’s face was flushed with anger, her violet hair whipped in the wind as if her emotions had suddenly controlled the elements.  She looked like she wanted to claw his eyes out and it was one of the things he loved about her.  Seeing her this furious made him want to grab her around her waist and kiss her right there. 
A combat boot to the groin made him forget any romantic thoughts he had as he doubled over in agony.  
“If you come near me, I’m going to kick you in the nuts again and slap you with a restraining order,” her eyes met his and from the intensity of her gaze, he felt as if he would erupt into flames.  Without wasting another moment Sarah hopped off the porch and her car tore out of the driveway.  As much pain as he was now in, he couldn’t help but miss her as soon as she was gone.  His first love; the woman he had killed for.  
Tim picked himself and his dignity off of the front step and closed his door behind him.  He looked at the lump on the living room floor and sighed.  Only two weeks in to the New Year had passed and Tim had already broken his first resolution: Don’t kill anyone.