Meet My Daughter…

My daughter rests after fighting off an evil intruder. Photo by Owen Rye

Remain calm. Don’t freak out. All is well, I promise. The fact that I have yet to use an exclamation point proves that I’m not upset. This is not a murder scene. In fact, my daughter, who appears to be the victim, was having a difficult time not laughing when this shot was taken. That girl is one tough cookie! (See, that interjection was a positive one.) She’s only momentarily resting in that disgusting pool of gore after fighting off an intruder, and you can best believe that the poor bastard left with aching junk and a depleted blood supply. Like I said, my kid is tough.

This picture is a still shot from a short flick that her film-student boyfriend, Owen made for one of his classes. Thankfully, this film was made at his house. I’m all for creative expression, but copious amounts of fake blood are not allowed in the confines of my home. They can spray and splatter my yard and driveway until Dexter comes to investigate, but one drop of that stuff on my hardwood floors and I’ll freak!

With my favorite holiday only six days away, I have several Halloween posts in the making, including a REAL ghost story that happened to me! I may even be tempted to vlog again, once I figure out what my costume’s going to be! Stay tuned!

Do you like horror flicks? What type? (I’m a psychological thriller kinda girl—no blood and gore for me!) What will you be watching this Halloween?

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Day 5: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

Day # 5 Question: The person (outside of my family) who has had the greatest influence on my life is…

I have to be honest; really, really honest. Of the crazy cast of characters that I have idolized or associated with, outside of my family, none, and I mean none, have had a greater influence on me than the “person” that I am about to honor in this post. I know, gentle, or perhaps not so gentle, reader you are expecting a sappy tale about how a teacher, or perhaps how Oprah, completely changed my life and made me the awesome human being that I am today. Well, that’s not going to happen. For at least 39 years of my life I was a drifter, lost and looking for just the right person to latch onto to reveal to me the vast secrets of life. I went about my daily business, empty and wanting, until one fateful day when recess duty changed everything. I know you teachers out there are wondering HOW recess duty could be life altering. Battling the elements and breaking up whiney fights is usually less than enlightening. However, this fateful recess duty was on the last day of school when all things seem possible.

I was zoned out, totally allergized from the maintenance men mowing, and only semi-watching the kids, when a small voice (just kidding, there are no small voices on a playground) informed me that there was a snake by the baseball diamond. I trekked over to left field, knowing that I was no Steve Irwin. If this viper attacked, I would be pulling an Osama and using the closest kid as a human shield. As I got closer, I could see the tall grass wiggling. I was just about to start scanning the playground for the perfect serpent buffer, when a tiny, striped kitten appeared. In retrospect, I should have noticed that a light poured down from the heavens and a full chorus of angels began to sing, I should have realized that this was it; that I had met the being I’d been searching for my entire life, but there were more pressing matters at hand. This poor little kitty had been grazed by the mower. Her face was cut and she was struggling to walk. I whipped out my cell phone (not allowed, but much better than using a kid as a human snake shield) and called my daughter. She called our vet and then hurried to the school with the cat carrier. Soon my future mentor was at Dr. Daniel’s being cured while I was enduring an end-of-the-year party. After goodbyes were said, and my head stopped buzzing from the noise, I headed to the vet’s where my tiny Buddha was waiting for me. Her wounds were superficial and her back legs weren’t damaged, only temporarily out of socket.  She had been given her first round of shots, some antibiotics and was ready to go home with me.

You have never seen the face of true appreciation until you’ve gazed upon a tiny being, who has just lapped up a lion’s share of cat milk, snuggled deep in the fleecy covers of her new cat bed while kneading the air. Sophie has taught me the important things in life: nap when you’re tired, eat when you’re hungry, and play when the urge strikes you. Never be afraid to jump higher than it seems possible and always land on your feet. Always ask nicely for what you want and reward any gift with great affection. Most of all she’s taught me to remember that even on your very worst day, the possibility of a better life is always on the horizon. (She’s also taught me that drinking from the toilet is unacceptable, as is scratching up an $800 chair, but I already kind of knew that!)

My furry sage finishing up a well-deserved treat!

Never be afraid to go for it!

Is this post a ruse to show off my adorable cat? You bet it is! 

Have the best day ever, dear readers! 🙂

My Husband Insists that I Call this “Why I’m a Bad Wife!”

My husband’s IQ is within the upper 2% of the general population.  He was a member of Mensa until the early 80s when he discovered that mentioning a Mensa membership gets you about as far on a first date as revealing your ability to recite the title, writer, director and guest star of every original Star Trek episode, which I swear to God he can do!   Being a genius has its advantages. For my husband pesky subjects like calculus or quantum mechanics are child’s play. He’s a fabulous problem solver and the king of “thinking outside of the box.”  His superior intellect saves us both money and time.  We’ve never had to fork out big bucks for math tutors for our children, and I rarely have to waste my valuable time digging through the junk drawer for my crumb infested calculator when I need to know what 248 X 17 is.  As beneficial as his mental powers are, they do have their shortcomings.  He’s a complete head-in-the-clouds, absent-minded professor type, sans the professor, (not surprisingly, he’s an engineer). It once took him two weeks to notice that I’d painted the kitchen green, despite the fact that the paint fumes that hung around for several days were making him dizzy.  He doesn’t always recognize social cues, which is probably the reason that long ago, despite the fact that he is very nice looking, the Army issued him a “girlfriend” for functions that required a date.   Perhaps the biggest downfall to my husband’s super intelligence is his inability to devise and execute a successful joke.  This is extremely sad, because more than anything in the world my darling husband, who proposed to me in front of a dishwasher, wants to be thought of as funny.

My husband’s sense of humor is mainly plagued by horrendous word play, one-liners that are funny only in his head, and jokes that he’s painstakingly memorized from the internet.  Always after each failed zinger, he scans the room to see if his quip has conjured at least a smile.  Every so often he’ll return from work beaming, because he made everyone laugh at his weekly staff meeting.  “They’re your subordinates,” I tell him.  “You sign their paychecks and decide who gets promoted.  They have to laugh.”   Then I remember that he’s playing to a staff of other engineers who very well might hoot passionately at his misguided jocularity. 

While his attempts at hilarity do little for us at home, there are times that my husband kicks ass in the humor department when he’s not even trying.  A prime example, is a few years ago when I broke my leg and had to have surgery.  The day my husband brought me home from the hospital our very kind, Southern neighbors brought dinner over to us.  Even in an oxycodone induced stupor, complete with the nods and drooling, I was still able to cringe when I heard my husband say to them several times during their conversation the phrases “Yeah, buddy!” and “Ain’t nuthin’ but a thang!”  This incident wasn’t funny until several days later, when I was fully sober.  “So honey what was with the “Ain’t nuthin’ but a thang!” and the “Yeah buddy!”  when the neighbors were here the other day?” I said nearly snotting (yes, actual snot was about to exit my nostrils) with laughter.  “Well, they have that Southern accent thing going on and I guess I got carried away with trying to fit in.  Was it that bad?” he said with a sheepish grin.  “Well, with your New Jersey accent it sort of sounded like The Sopranos meet Sanford and Son,” I not-so-reluctantly admitted. Luckily, he, too, found the situation hilarious in retrospect.  Several days later, when our daughter recounted to us how the neighbor’s son overheard his parents mentioning my husband’s ill phrasing, we laughed even harder. To this day the phrase “Ain’t nuthin’ but a thang!” still sends us into seizures of laughter. 

  There are many more riotous illustrations of my darling husband’s unwitting comedy, but my blog is beginning to break the rule of being too prolonged.  I’ll close by confessing that although there may be some awkward times associated with being married to a brianiac, that I am blissfully happy to be his wife and supremely thankful that our home is filled with mirth!