Somewhere In The Middle

Half of the time, I can’t remember the things I dream.  It seems like when I do remember them I’d wish I didn’t.  Yesterday was one of those days.  Maybe I watch too many horror movies or maybe I am just a disturbed person.  My dreams have been imbedded into my head.  What’s worse is they are happening in the state of sleep paralysis (half asleep/half awake) which can be outright terrifying.  

Yesterday, I was feeling exhausted around two in the afternoon.  I decided to lie down and take a nap before the kids came home from school.  I’m sure it was the snow that had crept into Oklahoma recently that made me feel so sleepy.  I curled up into the bed and nuzzled under the covers.  I dreamed I was taking a nap and woke up.  In my bedroom, there was an attic door on the ceiling that had been pulled down with the door extended.  In reality, there is only access to the attic up the stairs and it is a walk in attic.

In the dream, I was only slightly alarmed by the open attic.  I climbed out of bed and in my living room there was another attic on the ceiling with the ladder extended.  In the dining room, it was the same thing only the ladder had been broken into pieces on the floor.  The hallway closet was open.  It was the open closet that made my heart start to race.

I picked up my cellphone and dialed 911.  The operator was an idiot who I repeatedly gave my address to over and over again.  It was as if I was on a three-way call with the 911 operator and the police department.  I pleaded for them to send someone to my house and stated that someone is in here with me.

As I am pleading for them to help me, everything in my house turns on almost as if the electricity had been out.  The fans are spinning at their highest speeds.  The televisions and radios are all blaring loudly.  All of the lights came on at the same time.  At this point I look down the hallway and I noticed my son’s door begin to open and a shadow creeps out into the hallway.  I take off back towards my bedroom and into my closet where the safe room is located.  I make it into the room and slam the door behind me.  I manage to lock it as whoever it is stands on the other side trying to turn the knob.  I can see a shadow underneath the door.

Then I wake up, fully alert.  My heart is pounding in my chest.  I look at the clock and only about a half an hour has passed since I first laid in the bed.  Yeah, nap time was over.

Later that night after I sent the kids to bed, I climbed into my bed around 10:30pm.  I dreamed I woke up again and the bathroom door and closet doors were open.  Immediately, I felt startled.  I never sleep with doors open.  I heard whispering all around me and one by one I started to see these cloud-like, smoky images in front of me.  They appeared to have facial features and it looked as though they were whispering.  I tried to climb out of the bed but I was tangled in the covers.  I knew I was dreaming and was trying to get myself to wake up.  The whispers felt as if they were getting louder and louder.

I woke with a jolt and all at once there was silence.  I glanced over at the clock and thirty minutes had passed yet again.

Am I saying my house is haunted?  Not at all.  I do think something is weighing on my subconscious though.  Maybe I am being haunted by something like my own failure.  Who really knows though, right?  Maybe I just watch to many horror movies…

Somewhere Over The Rainbow, It Burns When I Pee

A few of you out there recognize true awesomeness when you see it. Then there are the rest of you that seem to have a warehouse of blog awards that you pass around like STDs at a frat party. Ironically, I was given an STD recently and, no, it did not involve cheating on my husband. And before you say, “Gee, Asha, I didn’t know you could get STDs from your vibrator,” I must warn you all. You are NOT safe. This STD was contracted through the blogosphere! Jewel over at Really?! Wait! What? and I are apparently getting a little too close and now I have a damn STD with no cure. No, it isn’t herpes or even AIDS. Jewel gave me…the Sexy & Talented Diploma.

As with all blog awards, there are rules. However, this one had an interesting meme that makes me want to infect as many of you as possible, mainly because the bulk of you have the creative brain power to rock this shit.

Rules:

1. Make up ONE totally ridiculous story about yourself that is a complete rip-off from a movie. It can be as long or short as you want; clean or crass as you want.

2. Pass it on to whomever you feel is deserving of this STD – or accept it and keep it for yourself; it’s your blog – it’s your choice.

3. If you choose to accept this STD, please link your acceptance post back to the person who gave you your STD. I was also supposed to link it to some other site but, well, you know me and rules. Check out Jewell’s acceptance speech…err, confession if you need more information. She obviously follows rules better than me.

Please turn off your cellphones.  Remove all crying children.  Be sure you have your overly priced popcorn and soda.

Now for your feature presentation:

Living in the suburbs of Oklahoma, I took many things for granted. Even though everything wasn’t always black and white, it was always a shade of gray at best. That is until that fateful day when a twister sucked me up and spit me out in a strange land of color. It’s possible I was raptured but it’s unlikely.

Seems I sat on one lady with interesting socks and killed her. The land of midgets didn’t mind. Apparently, she was a kind of a jerk anyway. They warned me of her sister who was an uber bitch. They feared she would probably try to kick my ass at some point to avenge her sister. I shrugged it off and asked the mayor what they did for fun around there and by fun I meant where could I get drunk.

After knocking back a few, this ugly chick showed up. There wasn’t beer goggles thick enough to make her look hot. She was running her mouth about…I don’t really know. I wasn’t listening. I was trying to get my hands on one of those large lollipops.

I decided the only way to get this woman to shut her yapping would be to get her a drink or two. I snagged a couple of beers and figured the two us could take a stroll down the yellow brick road and have us a nice little chitty chat.


Well, being the klutz that I am, I ended up tripping over my own two damn feet. Both beers flew out of my hand and spilled all over that lady. If I said she wasn’t happy, I’d be cheating you from the over dramatic wailing she was doing. She was hooting and hollering something fierce about how the world was so horrible and she was melting or something. She ended up a hot green gunky mess right there on the yellow brick road. Good thing those little midgets used Bounty, the quicker picker upper, because I only needed one sheet to soak that wicked bitch up.

These little guys knew how to party. Regardless of how much fun I was having, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to go home. Luckily, this fabulous little neurotic who really liked pink showed up and reminded me I had awesome shoes that could pretty much get me anywhere as long as I didn’t kick her dog with them.

I also met a stickman with an interesting vocabulary that was running for president, a night owl who gave himself nuclear headaches over his interest in scatology, and an atypical primate who owned a seedy motel.


I’m not sure which of my new friends it was but one of them (probably the primate) suggested that I just keep drinking and that would get me home. I must have passed out at some point. I woke up the next morning in a random motel room with a nuclear sized headache surrounded by naked midgets and crudely drawn campaign posters. My shoes were missing and I’m going to assume that there is a neurotic strutting her stuff fabulously in Texas somewhere. Next time, I’ll avoid taking advice from a primate.


The End

In case, you haven’t guessed it. I’m sharing my STD with these guys (and gal):
Bryan of Notes From A Night Owl, Nuclear Headache, and My Brown Log
Scott of Atypical Read and Tales From A Motel
Chanel of Fabulously Neurotic
Doug of I Like Cheese and Made Up Words
You can also find short quips of wisdom from this bunch over at Fabulous Atypical Headaches of Third Shift Cheese.

Now that they have all been infected, I have faith that this motley crew will not hold back in the entertainment department.

Also, Bryan bestowed an additional award on me…one that involves NO RULES! In a way, I’m relieved. I don’t think my brain could handle another set today.

Thanks again to Jewel for lathering me up with your blog cooties and thanks Bryan for withholding your torture this time. You guys are great!

Lastly, if you guys love me...I mean, REALLY love me you'll go vote for my banana cake.  The poll is on the left hand side of the page.

My Brain Is Slightly Undead

I’m not ashamed to admit that I have a vivid imagination. I always did and I’m sure I always will. As a child, I was the go-to person for all my friends if they wanted help bringing some outlandish make-believe game to life. Now days, rainy days are no match for my children when I’m around especially if there is a box large enough to climb inside. How I never got involved in role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons I’ll never know. Oh, wait, yes I do. It was “demonic” according to the church my mother forced me to attend with her and god forbid; I went against the grain of the other sheeple and did something creative.

Lately, I’ve been making posts here and there about the weirdness in my brain such as my invisible stalkers and my feathered spirit guide. Today, I invite you to take another trip inside my mind’s eye into what happens when someone is obsessed with zombies. Yes, zombies. When you spend many days on end reading books, watching movies (and television shows thanks to The Walking Dead series), and visiting websites about zombies, it comes as no surprise when my gray matter concocts visions about the undead.

A few nights ago I dreamed that my kids and I were in New Orleans at my husband’s grandparent’s home. As we sat hanging out in the living room, the grandparents came out of their bedroom. Even in the dream itself, I was caught off guard by seeing Maw-Maw. My subconscious mind had registered that she was dead. In reality, she has been since April of 2010. What made this odd (even for a dream) is she looked vibrant and youthful like I had seen her in photographs from the 70s and early 80s. The kids, of course, ran to give her a hug. They were excited to see her and probably couldn’t wait for the spoiling to begin all over again. I don’t blame them.

On the other hand even my dream-self had to know how she happened to be there. I asked what the hell was going on. She sort of looked at me like she was surprised I wasn’t already aware. Then she proceeded to tell me that a few days ago Paw-Paw picked her up from the cemetery and began feeding her. Paw-Paw stepped forward. He looked worn and tired. Then, he showed me his arm.

Most of his forearm was a grayish color, giving him a Gollum-esque flesh tone. To keep her alive, he had been allowing her to feed off of him. The feedings were not a form of vampirism as she didn’t puncture his skin to drain his blood. In a sense she was a type of zombie but instead of ingesting the flesh, she was absorbing his life force or aura. In the dream, this was accepted as a form of science, mad science, but science nonetheless.

Upon waking from this mental vision, I believe somehow Keanu Reeves possessed me for second or two because all I could do was sound a drawn out “Whoaaaaaaaa.” Then I questioned if I took the red pill or the blue pill before bed. I’m going to guess it was the blue one.

These Are The People In My Neighborhood

These are the people in my neighborhood. These are the people that I meet when I’m walking down the street…they’re people that I meet each day!  Lucky me!

Ever since we left Texas my husband and I swore that we would avoid our neighbors other then the typical wave and head nod from time to time. Trust me things are simpler that way. We both recognize that I possess some sort of CRAZY magnet where every loony within a 10 to 20 mile radius gravitates towards me only to spew their psycho drama into my lap. I'm serious!  They follow me like a horde of zombies.  Our roomy, Buddy, does not quite understand the detrimental ramifications that a mere short conversation can have on ones future.

A good place to start would probably be the beginning, right?

When we moved to Oklahoma back in March, my next door neighbor introduced herself to me. For the sake of anonymity, we will call this neighbor “Holly”. Holly told me that she had a few dogs and a few roommates. It wasn’t hard to tell that many adults lived in the house. It always seemed like a used car lot out there.

The longer we lived in our house, the more other neighbors around us would slowly divulge bits and pieces of information to us about our immediate neighbors. We were told that Holly at one time lived in the house with her husband and two children. After the divorce, the husband moved back to where ever it is he was from and the children went with him. Now I know it isn’t unheard of but it is always unusual to me when a father gets full custody of the children. Most judges, unless there is a specific reason, usually award custody to the mother. I don’t believe it to be necessarily fair. I’m just stating my take on things.

Months pass. My husband and I would discuss the comings and goings that took place from the home. One time in particular, a lady pulled up and went inside. I heard a little voice say, “Hi.” When I glanced over to the direction of the greeting, I saw a little girl no older than four in the front passenger seat with the window rolled down just steady waving to me. A few minutes later, mom came back out, hopped in the car and drove off. This seemed to be a common occurrence over there. Seemed like a “drive-thru” to me.

Within the past few weeks, I noticed that I hadn’t heard the dogs in awhile and then it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone around the house either. One night while Buddy and I were having a cigarette in the backyard we heard people talking on the other side of the fence. Buddy, being the sort of friendly goob that he is, went to the fence `a la Wilson from the show Home Improvement and struck up a conversation with a fellow we will call “Chance”. Apparently, Chance is the maintenance man for the house. He told Buddy that Holly and friends basically just packed up their shit and left. They seriously must have done it in the middle of the night. It’s not like I ever saw a moving van.

After Wilson, err-- I mean Buddy, ended his fence chat we go back inside and he proceeds to tell me about Chance’s rotting teeth which only added to my suspicion of the house next door being a sort of drug haven.

A few days later, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! There’s a man at the door thrusting a badge in my face asking questions about some guy named “Holt” that apparently lived next door. I had never met this Holt person and I wasn’t about to offer up my speculation to a special agent for the simple fact that it was just that…ONLY speculation. That evening I told Buddy about my visitor and he jumped on the first chance he got to have another fence convo with Mr. Rotten Teeth.

Another few days later and I saw a moving van in front of the house with new faces and Chance. Once again, Buddy chitty-chatted with the new neighbors, a man named “Ray” and a woman named “Tina”. Later he reveals to me that they too have a serious tooth decay problem.

Today I met Tina for myself and a friend of hers. I must say the tooth issue both ladies seemed to suffer from was entirely noticeable from a distance. It’s both sad and horrible all at the same time. It was very distracting in that it’s hard not to take glances at thier rotting teeth as they speak.

Who the hell would want to put this shit in their bodies?!?!

Honestly, after first meeting Chance I wanted to believe maybe he just had dental issues but what is the likeliness of that many people at the same residence needing to see a dentist that bad?? I understand that other issues cause tooth decay but I cannot shake the thought of meth and/or crack users from my mind or the fact that I believe they are residing next to me. It scares me to think that all the coming and going could be the result of drug deals and what’s worse is the fear that if they are “cooking” next door it makes things even worse and extremely dangerous and deadly.



Worse still is the new family has a little girl. She must be about three and is just as cute as cute can be. I feel sad and afraid for her.

I have a bad, bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Just ask my husband. I really want to give these people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe…just maybe, they are recovering junkies and/or just bad dental hygiene habits. I hope so. I really do but trust me I will not be going out of my way to befriend them so that I can find out. Believe that!  

 

Sexual Healing

Mark my words! Super Deuce is going to be the death of me.


Today shortly after my children came home from school, my doorbell rang. The teenager from across the street was at my doorstep looking a bit frazzled. She said, “Is your dog okay?”

This confused me because I had no idea why he wouldn’t be. “I’m pretty sure. Why?”

“Your dog got out and attacked my dog.”

My heart sank.

She has a little yippee dog and, as you see, I have a 65 lb. sumo beast. I really thought she was going to tell me that he mauled her dog. Without hesitation I told her if she ends up taking Fuzzball (or whatever the dog’s name is) to the vet, I would take care of it.

After she left I thought it would be a good idea to bring the rabies certificate over so that the family would know that my dog wasn’t harboring cooties. This time I spoke to the girl and the grandmother. The grandmother said they checked the dog pretty thoroughly and didn’t find any cuts or anything and they said she wasn’t limping or acting like she was in any pain.

After talking to her I found out, her dog was a female. The girl said Deuce chased the dog down the street and pinned it down. Knowing this, I thought it was outrageous that her dog was even still alive. She said she yelled at him to go home and he did. She said he just trotted right back into the garage.

Then it dawned on me that the reason her dog did not become a Scooby snack was because my Deuce is a lover not a fighter. He was looking to score some poochie tail. His internal soundtrack was probably blaring Marvin Gay’s “Let’s Get It On” as he chased the bitch down the street. Deuce needs a prostitute quick!

Later, I discussed the importance of closing the garage door once again with my kids. My son said he pressed the button to shut the garage and my daughter backed up his story. They NEVER agree which made me think maybe, just maybe, he did actually think he closed the garage door. Maybe it started to shut and the dumb ass dog jetted out and was picked up by the sensors which would have made the door open back up. The world will never know. I’m just glad no one (animal or human) was hurt.

The dog is going to make me crazy! In the words of Annie (Annie, 1982), “Dumb dog, dumber than they come, dog. You’re the most presuming dog that a human could know.”



P.S. Just for shits and giggles…

I just told my son to go take a bath and my daughter informed him that he smelled like butt with a splash of whip cream. LMAO! WTF!

Friendships Wanted, Not Needed

Six months I've been here and I'm convinced no matter where you move people are either crazy or boring or both.  Making friends has never come easy to me...maybe I'm a snob.  If I think someone is a bore and/or a lunatic, I will go out of my way to keep my distance.  For some reason though, these people are drawn to me like bums to bus terminals.
It doesn't matter where I am, the check out line at the grocery store, the gas pump, or an airport bathroom, these individuals will talk to me and divulge the craziest things to me.  At first, this entertained me.  I felt complimented in a sense that I must put these people at ease in a way that they feel comfortable telling me about their issues.
Let me interject here.  When I say "crazy", I do not mean someone diagnosed with mental disorders.  At least when these people do something out of the ordinary, you can empathize.  No, I'm talking about these folks that seem to eat, sleep, and breathe drama.  I'm referring to those people that seem to go out of their way to invent problems just so they have something to entertain themselves.  To these people I say, find another hobby!!
Anyway...
For a long time (probably the first twenty or so years of my life), I didn't have any rules or regulations for a person to be my friend other than you couldn't be a total asshole.  I would talk and befriend anyone and it would remain that way until they did something to piss me off.  As time went on and my family and I relocated to Fort Hood, these lackadaisical stipulations proved to be more time consuming than previously anticipated. 
With deployments and loneliness running rampant throughout the base, spouses clung to different forms of companionship.  I chose the safe, platonic route.  At first, it was nice to have the company of other women.  I felt a bond with them due to our similar circumstances.  Little did I know the drama that would surround many of these females like the dust cloud that hovers around Pigpen from Peanuts comics.  Like I said, at first this entertained me.  It was like watching an episode of Jerry Springer or Maury Povich pan out right before your very eyes.  I wanted to grab a bowl of popcorn and sit back and enjoy the show.  That was until these loonies began including me in the craziness.  It was at that time I had to step back, take a deep breath, and say "Fuck. This."
After the military, we headed back to our hometown in New Orleans area on the good ol' Westbank which by the way was only supposed to be temporary.  It, unfortunately, turned into nearly two years.  During that time I stuck to the handful of people I knew who where a.) not boring, b.) not crazy, and c.) trustworthy.  Seriously when I say handful, I literally mean like five people, nearly half of which were family members.
On more than one occasion people would tell me how they didn't understand how I could cut myself off from others so easily.  I don't really see the problem.  Why should I befriend people who I don't really enjoy being around?  What?  Just so I can say I have oodles of friends??
Now we are in Oklahoma and I must admit I am a little lonely.  However, I'm not lonely enough to resort to being bored to death just for the sake of company.  I also will not participate in their drama just to be entertained...they have reality shows for that.   Also, I can't stand liars.  Furthermore while I believe fully in freedom of religion, I cannot be around someone who feels the need to "save" me.  I must be able to be myself 100% and the truth is I curse like a drill sergeant and I am completely random ESPECIALLY after a few drinks which I look forward to consuming at least one a week if not (and hopefully) more.
As you can see, I do think it's wise to have a hobby.  Everyone needs something to occupy their time.  So as for me, I'm going to blog my own thoughts and try to avoid falling into the same old habits.  Truth is, loneliness is a bitch and as much as I'd love to move into a cave somewhere, we both know it isn't going to happen.  So in the meantime, I'll keep my fingers crossed that one of these days in my trek around Texhoma, I'll actually come in contact with someone that can hold an intelligent conversation with me that doesn't involve gossip and rumors.  I won't hold my breath though.