Jeepers Creepers.

I am woefully behind on my blog reading.  Seriously.  It's pathetic.  I miss you all so much, it makes me sad inside, like guava-filled donuts.  I can read maybe a post or two a day, and I usually don't end up commenting, which makes me even sadder, because I LIKE commenting.  I am full of how wonderful I am and expect everyone to be hanging on my every word.  Right?

Anyway.

I was reading Grace at ThatsRightISaidIt.Dot.Mom's post and Lizbeth's Four Sea Stars' post on crazy creeper guys, and it got me thinking about just how fucking creepy guys can be.  Not just the usual standing too close thing, but that unhinged moment when you realize that this guy? May be ridiculously dangerous.  I'd like to share my story [thanks so much, Grace and Lizbeth, for the idea - I was in a blogwriting funk.  How many times can I tell you about how much I hate nature before you all desert me? One more? I'm not taking that chance.]

I went to a pretty big university for undergrad.  It sits in a college town that leaves you feeling pretty invincible - people are friendly, there are a lot of kids your age, and LOTS of opportunities to go out and have fun.  And by have fun I mean drink.  I'm not sure where you went to college, but I think that was an extra-curricular at mine.  Or maybe just an extra-curricular for me.

I would go hang out with friends at the bar, at restaurants, at houses, and not really think about walking home later.  Sometimes there were groups meandering down the road, sometimes there was just me.

One time, it was really late, and I was a little drunk [probably a lot drunk] and I had a face off with a raccoon.  Now, as we know, I am no fan of nature [this does not count against me as a post about hating nature, since it's only tangential to my real post.  Right?].  However, I do have a healthy respect for something that may be carrying rabies and most definitely is carrying some sort of disgusting garbage germs.  Anyway, even though I was on a main business street, surrounded by buildings and the accoutrement of civilization, I let that raccoon have its space on the sidewalk and crossed the street to avoid it, all the while carefully keeping it in my sights, and warning people who were walking toward me about it.  [Whether they heeded or understood my warning, I do not know.  I'm guessing it depended on their own blood alcohol level.]

You'd think that incident would have given me an inkling that maybe I shouldn't be walking home alone at night.  You'd be grossly underestimating how dumb I can be.

Later that summer, I was hanging out with friends at the restaurant where one of my roommates worked.  At closing, they were headed in a different direction and I didn't want to wait the extra hour for my roommate to be ready to leave.  I decided to head home.

I was again on a business street, walking along and minding my own business.  The walk was maybe 15 minutes from the restaurant to my place, all but a block on busy streets.  I had done it before and didn't really think about it.  Granted, this was in the dark ages, before cell phones and the pseudo-safety they give you, but still - a few minutes walk by myself in the city I'd lived in for a year? I figured I'd be fine.  And I was.

Until I heard some guy start yelling at me from his car.  I glanced over, didn't recognize him, and kept walking.  I ignored him, or tried to, until I realized he was slowly driving along at the speed I was walking.

Which was starting to weird me out.

He kept telling me how beautiful I was, and how much he liked me and how he wanted to take me out and be my boyfriend.  And I kept walking a little bit faster, wondering when the hell he'd give up and leave. 

Instead, he abandoned his car and started walking with me down the sidewalk.

Now, the things that still stun me are these:

1.  Why would he do this and think it's o.k.?
2.  Why didn't I start screaming?
3.  Why was I even answering any of his questions?

Because he was still peppering me with questions.  Where was I going? Do I want to go out with him? Did I know how beautiful I was? Did I have a boyfriend?

My one-word non-committal answers were not deflecting his attention.  He seemed older, maybe late 20s, and was probably drunk.  I had reached the end of the street and realized I could either turn right down a main street toward home, or turn left down a main street, and hopefully find a business that was still open.  There were [and still are] those emergency phones all over campus, but my great fear at that point was that if I stopped walking, I'd be done for.  He was really freaking me out.

I turned left.

I walked along, ignoring him, hoping I'd find something open when I realized I knew someone who worked at a pizza place up ahead.  Someone who was a guy, who would hopefully scare this douchebag creeper away.

It pissed me off that I had to rely on some guy, because I think of myself as a very, very, very strong woman, I always have.

But at that point?  I was weaker than this guy.  I was smaller and the streets were quiet.  And I didn't think my strength of character or pithy ability to make a cutting remark was going to do the job.

I went into the pizza place, with creepazoid following me in, and saw my friend.  Who was actually more the brother of someone I knew.  I mean, we knew each other, but weren't pals.  Anyway, I quickly explained that creepy guy was not leaving me alone and was really freaking me out.

So my friend's brother shooed the guy away - I think we said he was my boyfriend - and drove me home.  I thanked him for the ride and went into my apartment, glad to be safe at home.

And I wish I could say I was more careful about where I went or walking alone, but that would be a lie.  I did a lot more dumb, dumb things, and it wasn't until my panic attacks and anxiety kicked into high gear that I really thought that walking around by myself in the middle of the night was probably not a good idea.  It pisses me off that creepy guys have that innate ability to pen women in, like polite veal.

What about you?  Crazy creeper stalker stories?

How to make PMS your bitch. Or be a bitch while PMSing. I'm not sure how this is going to go.

I wish I wasn't one of those women who had to deal with PMS. Or, really, anything except maybe making out with Johnny Depp on a regular basis [how pissed am I that I didn't it make it my mission back when I was young and hot to go after him? I could've kicked Vanessa Paradis's ass].

Anyway, I try and stay on top of my PMS by doing all sorts of calming bullshit, like doing yoga every morning [yes, while watching the news], and eating right and getting enough rest and not immediately telling my husband that I hate every single thing about him and my fervent hope is that he start RIGHT NOW to either change who he is or make enough money so we can divorce and I can break up Johnny Depp's non-marriage to the mother of his children.

Some days it goes better than others.

Yesterday? Was not one of those days.

It began thusly:

Wake up at 5:30am because the alarm went off, even though you haven't gotten up at 5:30am in . . . are we closing in on a year now? Maybe.  Fuck.

Roll over.  Try and fall asleep.  Realize it's not working.  Hate the husband because he's able to sleep.  Hate the wind for blowing a cool breeze into your bedroom.  Hate the fact that your pillows are just a 1/4" out of place.

Give up and get up.

Go get your paper in your nightgown and fuzzy slippers and Helena Bonham Carter hair.  Wave at the passing car.  Who cares? You're married and going to stay that way forever because nothing good ever happens to you.

Do yoga while watching the news and hating Matt Lauer more than anyone on earth right that minute.

Realize you hate Al Roker even more.  Debate going back to George Stephanopoulous, but know that you'll punch the t.v. if you do and you can't afford a new t.v.

Wonder if you'd miss the t.v. if you punched Matt Lauer.

Turn off the t.v.

Eat oatmeal and a banana while going through your email.  End up with oatmeal specks on your keyboard and screen because you can't believe the garbage coming through your email.

Sigh and get down to work.  Hate having to work.  Hate not having enough freelance work to make a dent in your enormous pile of debt.

Wonder if you can have an IPO or a garage sale.  Decide which would be easier.  Probably an IPO, even though you technically don't have anything to offer.

Eat a healthy, balanced lunch of chicken & veggies & undressed salad with only brown rice as your carb.  Put your dish in the kitchen sink.  Return to your desk and begin to do your work [read blogs].  Open two links from your reader.  Get up, go back into the kitchen and get 2 of the homemade chocolate chip cookies the girl made earlier in the week.  Eat them pretty much en route to your desk, which is MAYBE 15 feet away.  Sit down.  Open up a new link, but don't wait for it to finish loading before you jump up from your seat to go back to the cookie jar and snag another cookie.  Start to replace the lid before a hand that looks like yours but couldn't possibly be grabs another cookie.  Manage to get back to the desk before you finish eating them.  Feel sick to your stomach from all the sugar and flour.

Ignore every phone call you get because you cannot handle speaking to one more person today.  They all suck.  Completely.  Wonder why does everyone WANT something from you? WHY???

Eat another cookie.  Feel sicker.  Sigh and put your head down.

Hope that you get your period soon because this is ridiculous.

***********************

PS Freedom winner announced on Friday. GET READY TO RUMBLE, BITCHES.

PPS I'm not even sure what the hell is happening here.

An Area for Concern . . . Or Maybe . . . What Now?

I'm a little worried about myself.

I know, when AREN'T I worried about myself?

But.

The past few days I've gotten a little . . . forgetful.  More forgetful than usual.

I spent several minutes wandering around the parking lot the other day, trying to find my car.

I keep mistyping things.

I'm always forgetting words.  The ones I'm trying to say.  You know, "Hey, can you give me the . . . thing . . . you know, that thing . . . that I need," which usually ends up being something as esoteric as the remote control or a napkin.

Plus, there's the usual stumbling and bumping into the walls that I do.  Which I wouldn't worry about too much, except it seems like it's getting worse.  Whereas I used to just walk into the corner of the wall on my way into the bathroom, now it seems like the coffee table is out to get me, as is the dishwasher and, frankly, the side of the car. 

I'm fervently hoping that the Alzheimers gene floating in my paternal pool isn't making a spectacularly early entrance.  I realize that I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I'm sure you're all forgetful, too, right? RIGHT? PLEASE SAY YES!!!  It's probably just a passing thing, one that will disappear when I get a few minutes to just focus on one thing at a time.

Except - I actually worried the other day that I wasn't getting dressed completely before I left the house. You know? You're in a rush and you think, o.k., I'm good to go and then I ended up in the car thinking, "Did I put on underwear?" And then I checked under the waistband and found I did, but that moment of not knowing? TERRIFIED ME.  Because I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I head out in just my bra, and not a cute one.

Also, I find that I'm tempted to start staying things like, "You're motherfucking goddamn right," or "Hiya, Cuntface." 

Actually, I'm kind of o.k. with that.

I missed you so much it's like an ache in my heart. Or tooth. Or ear.

I missed you!

Evidently not enough to get online, but I did.

This was a pretty good weekend, even if I did have more than my share of moments where I sat in the car by myself going, "I really, really, REALLY fucking hate everyone."  I'm not exactly sure why, and I can't even blame PMS, but there it is.  Maybe this UNRELENTING STUPID HEAT.  Maybe.  From 60 to 90 in 3 days is not right.  Is there a complaint box? Because I have some stuff to say about this ridiculousness.  This is NOT how you run things.  It's just not.

We saw a family and friends and had fun and also lots of tasty food and snacks PLUS I got a ridiculous sunburn on one side of my neck and half my chest.  I look like a before and after ad for sunblock.

We also went to Greenfield Village, thanks to the good auspices of Unmitigated Me, and saw the Civil War Remembrance activities.

I'm sweating just remembering them.

At which point I realized that I have become an old lady because:

1.  I immediately had to go the bathroom.
2.  I wanted my sun hat.
3.  I struck up conversations with EVERYONE. The ladies in the Temperance camp, the woman sitting next to me at the fashion show [fancy! but HOT!], the young men at the Civil War pavilion.
4.  I made the husband wear a badge identifying him as a veteran.
5.  I routed our day so that we were near bathrooms AND buildings where we could go in and cool off.
6.  I made the husband go and get the car.

It was a lot of fun.  I highly recommend going.  And taking the husband, because he will get the car AND turn on the AC full blast.

We also took part in our annual Family Water Balloon Fight on Memorial Day.  My cousin filled over 600 water balloons and we went nuts.  Well, mostly everyone else went nuts while I took pictures with my sister's camera and tried to stay out of the line of fire, like a good war correspondent.

The younger kids are now old enough where they are wily and plan out their attacks.  The husband was bombed mercilessly.  I was hit by friendly fire RIGHT IN THE STOMACH while I was trying to take pictures.  That hurt A LOT.

Next year, I'm bringing a supersoaker.  Or a hose.

Raw Photos Springtime Finalists.

Here they are!

The Raw Photos finalists for this round.  These images really conveyed the idea of Springtime to us.  Aren't they amazing?


This is so delicate and yet vibrant - so much going on and such an amazing moment to capture.
By Shnerfle



Are you looking at these colors? At the magic?
By nonspleen


Fluffy and gorgeous and so soft. I think it's incredible. Love the immediacy.
By measagoddess


The bokeh here is outstanding.  I love the charge of the green, too. 
By Dawn Williams-Summitt


These look unreal, don't they? Nature's nearly incomprehensible sometimes.
By daredevil229


Andygirl and I will post the winner and the runners up tomorrow.  I can't explain to you how hard it is to select from among the incredible photos you submitted.  Seriously.  I'm astounded by your ability to capture such indelible and stunning moments. 

God really is in the details. So be sure to take a magnifiying glass to the details.

I'll tell you all about my day at JURY DUTY FUN TIMES later, but first, by request, and fasten your seatbelts, because this is a long one:

How I Accidentally Sent the Girl to Bible Camp:
A Sadly True Story.

Years ago, when the girl was in elementary school, her class went to a nature camp about an hour away from where we live.

I, of course, did not go, because I hate nature [and Nature], and pretty much all children and probably most of their parents and for sure the experience of sleeping in a bunk bed.

The husband did not go because he is a workaholic and this was not a field trip to a sporting event, like a baseball game, which is the only field trip he magically found time to chaperone.

So the girl went with her classmates and those parents who are better at being outside/more patient with children.  A win for everyone! 

Needless to say, she LOVED IT.  Loved being outside and loved camping and campfires and camping games and ziplining and making campfire stew and scratching bug bites and all that other stuff that people do when communing with the great outdoors.

A few weeks after she came back, we got a brochure from the camp advertising its various summer camps - stuff like Outdoor Survival and Live Like Hill People and The Many Uses of Pinecones.  The girl lobbied to be able to camp - a whole week in the outdoors! How exciting! - and the husband and I were trying to figure out what to do with her while we worked during the summer [probably throwing kibble on the floor and making sure the water bowls would be filled was not going to work].  We looked at the brochure, checked it out online, and it looked like a good, American, outdoorsy place to be.

While we were checking this out, friends of ours were also looking for a camp to send their son to.  They were thinking of sending him to a Catholic camp up north.  The husband asked if they were really sure they wanted to send their 11 year old boy out into the woods with priests. 

We met for dinner and lots of drinking and decided it would be nice for the kids to go to camp together.  They'd know someone, they already knew the layout of the camp, and why not? Fun, right?

So my friend got on the phone with the camp and did more checking around and let me know that she was pleased with the camp and impressed with their credentials.  I figured, great, between our information pool, this should be a great place for the kids to be for a week.

We told the girl she and her friend would be going to camp together.  They were excited.  We got applications and sent in the check. The husband, as he was filling out the check, said to me, "You know this is run by the Detroit Presbytery, don't you?" I was busy playing SuperMario or something and said, "Yeah, sure, that's fine," because although I had no idea what the Detroit Presbytery was and though it sounded kind of religious, I figured it was like the Girl Scouts or the YMCA.  Sure, that Christian thing is in the YMCA, but I've not really seen how it affects their day to day operations of a swimming pool and tennis courts.

Then we got the information packet from the camp, including the packing list.  Here are the first few items, which may have caused a more aware person to pause:

Bible
Pillow
Sleeping Bag

The girl and I looked at it and went, "Huh."  I said, "Well, maybe people like to take their bibles with them places." I don't know.  I mean, people do, right?  Or is that just Jehova's Witnesses? How would I know?  I was raised Muslim and am currently . . . a lapsed Muslim, the husband was raised Catholic and is currently an atheist/agnostic [depending on the day] and the girl was raised without much religion at all, except for random holiday visits to mosques and churches and exposure to kid's books such as The Children's Bible and What is God? and What is Islam? [Can you guess that the grandparents were suppliers of reading materials? Except for What is God? I got her that when she started asking all kinds of questions that I had no interest in answering.] and so she's identified herself as an atheist.

So we packed everything, except the bible, and, on beautiful summer Sunday, we drove an hour to the camp and dropped her off, meeting up with our friends so we parents could head out and enjoy some FREE TIME!

My first clue that something was not what I had thought it would be [yes, besides the whole Detroit Presbytery and instruction to pack a bible] was that the guy directing traffic into the camp was wearing a t-shirt with a tree that had a cross in it.  I thought that was kind of Jesus-y, but what do I know?  People wear religious t-shirts everywhere - the gym, court, hoedowns.  Why not while directing camp traffic?

Ignoring this omen, we unloaded the girl's stuff, signed her in, and helped her set up her bunk.  There were a number of other girls already there, and they seemed nice, as did the counselors.  The building was set near a lake and in the midst of all types of greenery and probably near where a lot of woodland creatures made their homes.  The girl's friend was to bunk on the other side of the building and we checked out his space and they looked like they were ready for us to leave, so we left.

And had a lovely dinner.

And enjoyed our week at home, with the quiet and the knowledge that the girl was having the kind of nature-inspired fun she'd never get from us personally.

So a week went by and we drove back out to pick her up.  She looked tan, tired, and happy.  We got in the car and headed home, basking in a parental job well done.  And I asked, "Well, how was it? Did you have fun?"

The girl: It was a bible camp.

Me: What?

The girl:  It was a bible camp.  I was the only person there without a bible.

Me: What?!?

The girl:  BIBLE CAMP.  We had vespers and said grace and they had religious sing alongs that everyone but me knew the words to and people were supposed to read from the bible every day and IT WAS BIBLE CAMP.

Me: I am so sorry.  Oh, my fucking god, I am sorry.

[Meantime, the husband and I are avoiding eye contact because I can see he is going to burst out laughing and I am about a second away from losing it.]

The girl:  It was fine.  We got to swim and stuff, but I was the only person there who was not Christian.  And I didn't have a bible, so I had to borrow someone's to read when it was my turn, and I still don't even know what vespers is.

The husband: Vespers is something something [I forget what].

Me: Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.  I'll do a better job of checking out where we send you from now on.

The girl: Yeah, thanks.

The husband:  I told you it was run by the Detroit Presbytery.

Me: I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS! I'm sorry!

The girl: It was fine.

Me: Do you want to go back next year?

The girl:  NO!

And so I spent an hour's drive apologizing and trying not to laugh.  The girl suffered no long-term ill effects and still enjoys the outdoors.

A few weeks later, I was cleaning the girl's room and ran across her journal from the camping trip.  Now, I am a pretty big stickler for privacy because I was afforded absolutely none as a child, but I couldn't help myself, I had to see what she'd written.

There were only a few pages with writing, and they all had a variation on this theme:


I 
Can't
Believe
My 
Mom and Dad
Sent Me To BIBLE CAMP.


WHY?


WHY????????

We still periodically ask her if she wants to go back. She always says no.

I Have Had ENOUGH

I'm done. Seriously.

I am minding my own business, driving down the street, where the CARS are supposed to be, when I come upon an idiot bike rider who decides the sidewalk isn't good enough (Insert inane bike rider complaint about "I can't ride on sidewalks blah blah blah" here) and so I have to make sure that I look out for Idiot Biker who has no interest in traffic law or in staying in the same general area.

Do you not get that there are VERY LARGE METAL OBJECTS HURTLING DOWN THE SAME PATH? Idiot.

(Biker: "Oh, but you should look out for bikers." Fine. When you are sitting in your house, greasing your gears, be sure to look out for cars, o.k.?)

Even better is when I'm driving down a windy park road where there is a FUCKING BIKE PATH and there are idiot bike riders who insist on riding on the shoulder.

I don't even want to know what the inane rationale is for that one. It's not going to fly. What? The bike path is made of some kind of material from an alternate dimension that eats bike wheels? What?

Finally, today, I was driving down a residential street, which is chock full of sidewalks, when a person was RUNNING in the street. Where, again, the very large metal objects are. Not running like he was being chased. Just out for a jog.

AND THEN. AND THEN! I was driving home down my own residential street which is again, PLAGUED with sidewalks, when I saw a person WALKING IN THE STREET. IN THE FUCKING STREET.

Not a Screw Authority Sullen Teenager, out to show The Man she's not following any dumb rules.

Not a child who escaped his parents' watchful eyes and is scampering, free as a chipmunk, in the street.

No. This was a middle aged woman in a track suit, out for her morning constitutional.

Now I am a very careful driver (because I have horrific anxiety about getting into an accident) and I will watch out very carefully for other cars, because you never know when another driver is texting something important (C U L8R KBY) or suddenly spills the soup they are eating in their lap. Because they are in big cars and might hurt me if they lose control.

I will even brake for animal life, from stupid squirrels and chipmunks to deer to those fucking geese and ducks who think they and their brood can cross ANYWHERE THEY WANT. Because they are idiot animals who evidently cannot read street signs.

But you. You humans. There is no excuse but pure cussedness for your behavior. It must end now.

Attack of teh slugs

We don't treat our lawn with chemicals. At all. I generally don't mind, except for those goddamn prickly weeds, which I believe are Satan's fingernails. (BTW, who watched Reaper last night? That's a great show!)

Anyway, we don't treat our lawn at all, because I'm not a big fan of chemicals and my kid likes to play outside. And the rabbits living under our deck seem to enjoy munching on the pretty purple and white flowers that bloom all over the treelawn in the summer. And the dandelions are fun to pick up and blow when they've died.

So because we are crunchy granola holistic lawn family, we get slugs travelling great distances (I'd imagine) to chill out in our environs. Last night, the mother of all slugs was sliming its way up our screen door. I nearly hurled. And then E and G went outside for something and they found ANOTHER giant slug on the driveway. It's like an infestation.

On the screen door:



We also think that maybe they are coming to meet their master: