Jack Blakeney - My Dream Guy :-D

I know that men in fiction are always better.

I know that daydreaming about Sir Percy saving me right as Chauvelin throws me in front of the guillotine isn’t going to help cure me of my “single” status (which wouldn’t be so bad if this town wasn’t all like oh my god, we’re nearing middle age – 23 – let’s get married).

I know that no fictional man is going to swing in from a chandelier with a rapier in hand (yes, I did say rapier, Andrea, don’t laugh) and fight off evil Lord Beckett while cupping a hand around my waist and trying to make out with me.

I know that I won’t wake up in the morning and have to see my darling Hector, future King of Troy, march off in the morning to face his executioner. Although, I do know that if I wouldve been Andromache, I would’ve marched right into the Trojans camp into Achilles tent with a sharpened dagger, and then just as he sees I’m about to kill him, he kisses me and while I can’t quite forget Hector, I can seek solace from Achilles. True, he would’ve murdered my husband, but only because my husband murdered one of his best friends…war kind of sucks like that and I’m just going to try to make the best of a bad situation.

Anyway, on the way home from yoga…I began thinking…what is it that I really want from a man? Hmm…this is an excerpt from the scene that played in my mind.

Jack Blakeny (Like I could really choose between Percy and Capt. Jack?!): Oh dear, you look exhausted. Was yoga good? Did you get in those five miles with Mac this morning? Try this tilapia. I came home for lunch just to marinate it in this delicious lemon pepper and herb recipe I got from Emeril’s website. I hope you enjoy it.

Me: Oh, that sounds delicious. Jack, you’re so good to me.

JB: It’s easy to be so good to you. You’re one of a kind. I don’t even mind that you’re neurotic, masochistic, and a bit un-centered at times. I find your off-kilteredness crazily attractive. You’re unexaplainable compulsions are why I love you. Might I rub your feet? I know you work hard to maintain that perfect size two figure (because in this day dream I am a size two), but I would love you as a size six! In fact, let me loosen you up with a foot massage and some chocolate covered strawberries from Stephen Libs.

Me: Jack, honey, chocolate covered strawberries? I really couldn’t.

JB: Oh yes, you could. You try too hard to be perfect. Besides, it’s your imperfections I love.

Me: Oh all right (Jack feeds me a strawberry. Of course it is heavenly).

JB: I hope you don’t have plans for this weekend, but it’s our five-year, three month, two weeks, and one day anniversary this weekend so I chartered a plane to fly us to New York and see Wicked. And I just got the call today that the amazing black ostrich-skin Hermes Birkin bag I ordered for you on our wedding is in. I hope you like it.

Me: You ordered me a $20,000 dream purse on our wedding day?

JB: Of course. If course. You’re sister told me how much you’d like them. Oh, and I got you these limited edition Bulgari sunglasses to match. The sales clerk at Saks said they have Swarovski crystals on them and that detail is great. I hope you enjoy them. They’ll look great paired with your Harry Winston blue diamonds earings and matching necklace.

Me: But Jack, I don’t have Harry Winston. You buy me Tiffany’s.

JB: All the manuals say that if a woman can put up with you for over five years, then you should buy her Harry Winston’s diamonds and nothing less. And I know how partial you are to the Yankees, so I figured blue would be a perfect color. And do you know how extremely rare blue diamonds are? About as rare as the Dali painting I bought for you at an auction yesterday.

Me: I do hope you mean a print.

JB: You’re cute when you’re silly. Why on earth would I buy a print?

Me: Because Dali’s are worth millions.

JB: You my dear are worth trillions…no quadrillions…honey, you’re priceless! And to show my love, I also have this for you.

Me: A black AMEX?

JB: The sky’s the limit.

Me: What’s going on?

JB: I just found out today that I am the descendant of Charlemagne. A huge treasure was uncovered and we are now the world’s richest family on the earth. Do you want me to buy Microsoft?

Me: No, too many viruses.

JB: Very well, Apple. Did you happen to look out back? I know how much you love those old GTOs so I bought you a vintage cherry-red GTO convertible with white leather trim. Of course, that’s your toy. You’re practical car is now a new Aston Martin Raptide which should be pulling up to the house in a matter of minutes. And I do so hope you enjoy working with Karl. George is picking him up the airport. He’ll be designing your new wardrobe.

Me: George? Karl? What are you talking about, Jack?

JB: (laughs) George is our new driver. He’s picking up Karl Lagerfeld from the airport. Don’t tell me your sister lied to me about your favorite designer. Anyway, I made some calls and once Karl found out just how royal we were are, because Charlemagne’s dynasty encompasses pretty much all kingdoms of the world, he was more than happy to meet with us. It’ll be red carpet all the way. Did I mention I was buying the Yankees? And I know how in love with Derek Jeter you’ve always been, so feel free to enjoy his hospitality for one night, but one night only, because I don’t want to get too jealous.

Me: Wait?! What! Lagerfeld is designing my wardrobe? You bought the Yankees!

JB: Why not buy the most-storied franchise in all of sports. Steinbrenner tried to play hardball, but he was no match for my negotiation skills. I showed Derek your picture. He said he had never seen a more beautiful woman. And I did mention how amazing your chocolate chip cookies were. Want me to call him for you?

Me: Jack, I’m not going out with Derek Jeter.

JB: But sweetie, you said he was your celeb crush.

Me: And you said yours was Giselle.

JB: I just said that to make you jealous. Do you really think some Brazilian super model is more attractive or loveable than you? Why, I’m sure she thinks Charlemagne is just a champagne. And if it hadn’t been for you, I never would’ve put those clues together to find that missing treasure. Imagine that the old family bible was valuable. But you saw the true value hidden inside it.

Me: That was my pirate-fascination. I love a good quest, you know that. And that map looked really old. I’m glad we took it to that lab. So, a treasure?

JB: That’s right, your Highness.

Me: You’ve been tracking down clues from that old bible all this time.

JB: Rather Da Vinci Code of me, huh?

Me: I just…I can’t…why I can’t believe this is happening. Jack! We’re rich? And we’re royal descendants?

JB: That’s what I’ve been explaining to you, sweetie. Oh, by the way, I called Neiman’s and described your looks to a personal shopper. We’re having tea with the Queen by the way tomorrow afternoon. A stop-off before Wicked.

Me: The Queen?

JB: The Queen of England. Do you know we’re know more royal than her! And wealthier! Oh, here’s your gown!

Me: Jack, $15,000 gown.

JB: You don’t like it?

Me: It’s Vera, I love it! But this is all handstitching. It’s…

JB: Coming from a man’s point of view, I think you’ll look rather hot in it, but what do I know. You’re sexy in everything! Even your work clothes.

Me: Jack! Be serious.

JB: I am, but you’d be even sexier out of them!

Me: Jack…

JB: I’m serious, Erin. If you don’t get stripped right now, I’m getting rid of everything I just for you.

Me: That’s blackmail.

JB: Don’t act like that doesn’t turn you on.

Me: (Rolling me eyes), Ok, fine!

The rest I will keep to myself, but I will say this – it does require the unclothing of both parties. Ah, dream man…Mr. Darcy, Sir Percy, Capt. Jack…wherever you are…you’re out there…with your impeccable taste and amazing treasure that needs to be uncovered! Until then, you’ll remain in my thoughts!

Love,
Erin, your one and only!

Sit Down...It's a Food Baby

Food Baby (n) - 1. A word pertaining to a protruding belly after eating a hefty meal; 2. The mass of food after a heavy meal that forces the belly to expand creating the appearance of being pregnant; 3. A protruding belly after eating a big meal and then sticking a blanket under your belly.

I have used this word for years. In 2006 when I was teaching at Acros, a little girl was walking around patting her stomach. I asked her what was wrong and she said she was full. She had ate breadsticks, a salad, and spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I told her she had a food baby.

"A food baby?" Andrea asked when I told her about the little girl. And I explained. So when we saw Britney at the VMA with her half-done hair and no Criss Angel, we said: FOOD BABY.

Anyway, this evening...Kind of a last hurrah until I come back from vacation, we did our chicken stir fry. It's delicious. You cut up chicken, marinate it, roll the pieces in flour then sautee the chicken in a skillet in olive oil and we do rice with chicken broth to compliment. And we did rolls. And since I opened the bag resealable bag in a manner befitting a barbarian, we had to cook all ten of the rolls.

Yes, we ate quite well tonight.

And after we were eating, Andrea made a very deep sound and then said, "I've got a food baby," in a manner resembling Fat Bastard from Austin Powers.

And we laughed and reminisced over the first time I introduced Andrea to the word "food baby," and also fugly, another word I swear I piloted back in the grade school days when I wanted desperately to swear. I graduated from fuji (for the f*** bomb) to Fugly (F***ing ugly) and Fungry (F***ing hungry). I also used La Fowfa for food. I was a weird child. Now I'm just play weird,

But back to the food baby...

Andrea, always a genius, picks up a folded blanket and begins to tuck it under her a shirt, a shirt that is form-fitting and tight (they way it is supposed to be) around her midsection.

"You're gonna stretch that out," I told her.

"I don't care," she responds as she struggles to put the blanket under her belly. "It's from Target.

With the blanket properly in place, she than sat on the couch and began to pose for me. I couldn't stop cracking up. My stomach was hurting as I tried to catch my breath. Somehow I managed to ask, "Can I take some pictures?"

Andrea said yes so I ran out to my car and grabbed my camera. And clicked away. It was great. Priceless. I laughed so hard I peed a little.

When we were done, Andrea and I went into her room and I tried on some of her jersey dresses. I tried a pretty yellow one.

"That has hungry ass," Andrea said.

I laughed and sang "Hungry Ass, I look at you and I fantasize, you have Hungry Ass," to the tune of the Dirty Dancing song.

Apparently, the newest phrase the Hobgood Kids have coined, Hungry Ass, means your dress, when you walk, bend over, stand up, wedges itself between your buttcheeks giving you a Melvin. So when you hear of Hungry Ass...thinking of the Hobgood Kids.

And try not to laugh too hard...you'll probably pee a little.

Vacation - This Is Why It's Necessary for Your Sanity!!!!

I’m going to be on vacation in Florida in a few weeks. Feel free to rob my house. A warning though, I am not the only one in my house, I am one of four, and of those four, pretty much one single person is there nearly every minute of the day. The dogs absolutely love this. Mac has a tendency to get a bit nuts when people aren’t there to properly stroke his ego

So, vacation…In Florida…nonstop, roundtrip airfare for less than $150 and free room because we’ll be at my Papaw’s place.

My Papaw has had a winter place in Florida ever since I can remember and every spring break since I can remember has been to his place. When I was in college, though, he moved into a house a little closer to the beach. Because of 15+ spring breaks and vacations I have taken to the area, I know it pretty well.

And have several memories.

Always first on the list is when Kevin shot scum remover in my eye. He was in the bathroom and like any pair of sibs, I liked to annoy him. The doors to the bathroom didn’t touch the floor so I stuck my hand under the door and raised my middle finger at him. He grabbed my hand. I wrenched it out of his grasp. Some back and forth antics resumed which culminated in him grabbing the bathtub scum remover and shooting me in the eye. In his defense, he didn’t know he was shooting me in the eye, but he did. As the only child of three with 20/20 vision, I began to panic and had horrific images of my eye as a melted worthless piece of tissue, my perfect eyesight a thing of legend. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. My eye stung, but after ten minutes of my mom holding my head under the faucet, the pain subsided.

Also high up on the list is one of the first visits to the beach. We had bought hamburgers and cheeseburgers from the concession. Andrea, around kindergarten-age give or take a year or two, was poised to take a bite out of her burger when a seagull swooped down and literally swiped the meat out from between the buns. Andrea took a big bite of bread and cried.

The water park was a place we would always go when we were down there. Kevin, who was terrified of roller coasters and carnie rides refused to do anything that required adrenaline. He would ride the lazy river or spend time in the wave pool. However, it became a game between of one-up-man-ship between Andrea and me that resulted in me riding the tallest water ride there, one of those monstrosities that is around 200-feet high and dives straight down. I got the wedgie from hell riding that thing and nearly pulled a muscle in my ass from squeezing my cheeks so hard. Once I was safely on level ground, Andrea went and arrived in the same state of disarray as me. I like to think I won that contest since I was the one who bit the bullet and went down the ride first.

Kevin had recently told Andrea and me, “You guys are gonna die,” when we went off to ride The Zipper at the annual Fall Festival. We didn’t quite care because The Zipper was fun and Kevin was missing out. He was a stick in the mud like that and never cared for the daring stuff like his older sisters did. So it was a treat to see him wait in line at the amusement park and ride an actual roller coaster that happened to have an upside-down loop in it. As it came time for Kevin to get into the car, he flipped out, but with nice sibs around like Andrea and me, we made him ride it. He had fun, but still wouldn’t ride any carnival type rides. Even though he was young, he didn’t trust the carnies. However, about two years later, he was peer pressured into riding the Loop-O-Planes. With that experience out of the way, Kevin now rides any and all roller coasters at any amusement park.

Another memory high up there has to do with me and my shell-collecting obsession to find a completely intact sand dollar. We would take a ferry over to a little island and stay for about four hours. This island wasn’t that far from the mainland, but for some reason, the sun was way more intense. Sun at the beach we normally went to was so intense that my mother bathed me in sunscreen (she halfheartedly lathered me one time and I was all streaky with burned patches all over my body). At this beach, I would burn even worse. I knew that I would burn, but saw a few other beachcombers already scavenging my shells and I could not let them find my sand dollar. I went collecting without sunscreen. I paid dearly for it the rest of the vacation with a sunburn on my back that was so fierce that looking back I’m amazed I didn’t contract skin cancer right then and there. Also, Andrea complained about a small pink spot on her nose and tried to argue that she knew the pain of a sunburn. Right, Josephine Baker, right.

Of course, nothing beats people watching – especially when you see those who walk to the beat of their own drum. For the longest time, there was a local who would dance down the beach. Dance is…not quite the right word. This was something resembling erotic stripper meets Elaine Benes. Bizarre and nonconformist are the only two words for this. Needless to say, we all started laughing when this MAN dropped down into the MIDDLE SPLITS and began to HUNCH the beach. Also great was his gun bit. He held his arms out like he was holding a gun and shot the gun, then acted like the victim would, by clutching his chest and falling back onto the ground. This of course led into some even more interesting gyrations. I’d like to add that this was not a young guy, he was middle-aged man no younger than 50. All I can say is: What a long strange TRIP it’s been.

And then there have been college spring breaks down there.

There was a mishap at a Sink or Swim night at one of the clubs. I was doing fine until my best friend accused me of trying to steal the man she had been eyeing. When I’m drinking, I’m either your best friend or your worst enemy. When she got mad and yelled at me I quickly turned her into an enemy. We argued on the car ride home (neither of us were driving), and when I got home, I packed my suitcase and managed to dial 411 to request a flight home and then to hopefully get a cab to take me to the airport. My friends (the ones that hadn’t yelled at me) stopped me, but then I hid and in the morning, everyone assumed I had run away. My disappearance sparked a call to my parents who were not quite pleased with my behavior. After that, thought of alcohol in clubs didn’t seem quite as fun as it once had. And my friend and I remained friends until we graduated college and she got a boyfriend and then promptly fell off the face of the earth.

The same said friend though had her night too when some guys, one who was named Jeffy, put some kind of a pill in her drink. Andrea, who was now 21, and I believe it was a Loratab. Anyway, my friend suddenly thought it would be a great idea to go home with a person named Jeffy. Andrea and I assured her it was not. Of course, she fought us, but the two of us overpowered her and I’m pretty sure Andrea threatened Jeffy. The nice thing about the Loratab was that it knocked her out the minute we hit the car. In the morning, she barely remembered anything. Which is probably for the best, because a guy named Jeffy? It’s just a good thing she had decent girlfriends with who knew a mistake named Jeffy was not something she’d want to wake up to!

Along with that, there are other aspects about spring break that will always bring a smile to my face. Like hearing “I Touch Myself” and then Lil Troy’s “Wanna be a Balla” right after, renting a car that had a tape deck and no CD changer (this was a car made in THIS millennium too people), the multiple bodies of water and long bridges we would have to take to get to the city and/or the beach, the “shopping” in Neiman Marcus and swooning over the REAL Louis Vuitton purses. Getting lost and simply relying on my own version of navigation to get us back, spring training and my Derek Jeter infatuation, getting four or five hours of sleep to wake up at 8 a.m. and get to the beach in order to get maximum tanning time and then falling asleep, cocktails on the beach, the “HOT TIE” shorts, the Tweeter and Ruby Tuesday’s, the Curse of the New Outfits, hot black pants, E/C Catholics…the memories are endless.

So it was a sense of nostalgia and desire for new memories, memories that revolve around me as an employed, responsible adult instead of a borderline irresponsible college kid.

Ok…so maybe I’m just employed.

Either way…this vacay is going to be fun…and complete with a sunset pirate cruise! Capt. Jack! I love you!

The Haunting of Hobgood House

My life goal is to see a ghost.

I know that once I see this ghost, I’ll probably piss myself and run screaming in the other direction, but with the goal crossed off, I can then “rest easy” when it’s my time and not swan around the earth with unfinished business (You know you saw Casper and learned about the unfinished business too).

Anyway, once I had my ghost experience, I became more resolute with my goal to see a ghost.

I t was summer 2001. I had completed one year of college and was accompanying my mother and sister on some college tours for her. We made a stop in Charleston, SC. I love the culture of the Old South. We were staying at this charming Bed and Breakfast that was originally a plantation owner’s city home. It was all done up in period pieces. It was beautiful. I also heard about possible hauntings and haunted ghost tours.

We went on a tour.

We saw Edgar Alan Poe’s wife’s grave.

We didn’t see a ghost.

I was a disappointed.

We go back to the Bed and Breakfast. A tropical storm has just come through South and North Carolina. My sinuses have been in complete pain and the air is as thick mustard gas. Every breath you take is chalked full of moisture. And it’s summer. So it’s hot and muggy. Mom instructs Andrea to turn the air on. Andrea turns the air all the way down.

After several miserable hours, I go to sleep. And awake at 6:30 a.m. barely breathing from a stuffy nose to hear my mom’s voice saying my name.

“Erin,” she says. “Did you turn the thermostat back down?”

“What thermostat?” I groggily say. At this point, I didn’t know we had a thermostat. I was in the bathroom when Andrea turned on the air.

And the story unfolds:

Apparently mom woke up way too cold and she crept out of bed over to the thermostat. She saw that it was turned all the way down. She turned it all the way up so it wouldn’t kick on anymore. Then she lies down and goes to sleep. However, she is awakened at 6:00 a.m. to hear the air kick on again. Thinking it’s one of those systems tied to heating and air, she checks to make sure she hasn’t triggered the heat. Cue the Twilight Zone music…the thermostat is back all the way down where Andrea set it.

Andrea was a little flipped by the ghost tour and sleeping with my mom in a bed. There were two beds in the room, both three-foot-high monstrosities that were pushed against opposite walls. Mom made Andrea sleep against the wall. She would’ve felt Andrea climb over to turn the thermostat. She knows Andrea didn’t turn it down.

Her curiosity gets the best of her, and she then decides to wreck my sleep by asking me if I messed with the thermostat.

Guess what.

It is really hard to sleep if you think there’s a possible specter hovering around watching your vulnerable unconscious form.

Anyway, vulnerable unconsciousness aside, I still want to see a ghost.

And after this second encounter, I still want to see a ghost.

Oh, right! The second encounter.

Ok, fast forward to present day.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in the living room (Odds are I’m either watching Entourage or The Office) and Kevin began to tell me this story. I was only half listening by when he said “disappeared in my closet” I was all ears. I mean, I’m going to get the full details on a possible Narnia sighting in my brother’s closet.

But there was no Narnia. There was only…the unexplainable.

Kevin woke up and he had a distinct impression that someone was watching him. He looked around and saw a girl standing in front of his wide-open closet with a hat on her head. The figure looked like my sister Andrea so he called out Andrea’s name and asked her what she was doing. ‘Andrea’ did nothing. Kevin then rolled to a sit and walked towards his closet. ‘Andrea’ bent over at the waist and scooted backwards into the closet.

Kevin was alarmed and confused by now. He walked over to the closet and began to search for ‘Andrea.’

Needless to say, she wasn’t found.

The real Andrea was asleep in her bed.

Never one to be outdone, my mother had a similar ghost story.

One night, she awoke to find her bed shaking. Thinking it was an earthquake (you know you saw that one coming), she hopped out of bed to discover that only her bed was shaking. Standing in the middle of the room, she said “Ok, I’m up now. What do you want?” Apparently the bed stopped shaking and no further furniture was tampered with. She then went back to sleep.

Which brings me to last night. I went to bed. I had some trouble falling asleep because I let myself sleep in too late on Sunday morning. So around midnight I fall asleep. Now, I know my sleeping patterns. I know that by the time I start to have a vivid dream, it is near 2:30/3:00 a.m. AT THE EARLIEST.

Anyway, I have this dream…I don’t remember the details but I do remember that I was with a ghost and the ghost was my sister, only it wasn’t. Andrea hadn’t died, but the ghost was her (this will all make sense in a moment, just hold tight). I was with friends and the ghost got jealous and haunted them. I dreamed more details, but now the details are as vague and translucent as a phantom’s “body.”

Anyway, I jolt awake and suddenly feel quite frightened. I have had some creepy dreams before. I was killed in a bobsled accident (I had just watched Cool Runnings), I was chased by velociraptors (after watching Jurassic Park), Jigsaw came after me one time (and I slept with pots and pans in front of my door for a week…Brinks has nothing on my own hillbilly security system!), and Dick Vitale held a knife to my throat and tried to car jack me (after watching the NCAA tourney…I’m not sure about the carjacking part though).

Anyway, the one common thread that all of these bad dreams have in common is that they were the last thing I saw before I went to bed. When I watch these movies, I am not scared, but my brain likes to keep these images handy to scare the living bejeezus out of me when I’m at my most vulnerable.

Now I watch bits of The Scarlett Pimpernel before bed. If I’m going to dream, I may as well dream about my dream man.

After dreams like those, I normally open my eyes and glance around my room. Once I get my bearings, all of the fear disappears and I concentrate on Sir Percy Blakeney so I can have that deliciously good dream instead of the bad dream.

But this time…

This time I was utterly afraid to open my eyes and look around. Not only that, but I began hallucinating an icy caress against my cheek that may not have been my fan, but a ghost. Despite the buckets I had been sweating, I pulled the covers all around me and closed my eyes tightly.

Now, I know, had I opened my eyes, I might have seen ‘Andrea’ and would accomplish my life goal of seeing a ghost. However, I don’t want to see a ghost in my house. I want to see a ghost in someone else’s house and then come back to my ghost-free house where I am nice and secure and can sleep completely unmolested by people or phantoms.

I laid their shaking, trying hard to get the thought of icy fingertips out of my mind even though they kind of sounded good because I was so hot under the covers. Finally, I summoned a bit of bravery and grabbed my phone to look at the time. 1:30 a.m. I had only been asleep for an hour and a half. That’s a little odd for me.

Anyway, I finally went back to sleep. In the morning, I remembered the dream and I remembered Kevin’s ghost. It was a little spine-tingling.

Later in the afternoon, I tell this to mom. We talked and we find a common thread in all of the so-called haunting. Hans, Andrea’s fiancé has been in town.

True, the ghost could be following Hans. But that doesn’t account for two people associating this ghost with my sister.

My theory is simple and is centered around the fact that my sister was an IDENTICAL twin. During the pregnancy, the one fertilized egg successfully split in two eggs: Andrea and Aerdna (the reverse Andrea!). Andrea had the bulk of the umbilical cord and was able to get plenty of nutrients to survive. Aerdna didn’t get near enough nutrient and didn’t survive. She died months prior to birth.

So what I am wondering is this: Is Aerdna jealous because Hans is taking Andrea to live in Denmark?

And if she is…what do they do about it?

Notice: I said they because I am not getting involved with Andrea and her Unborn-Shit. I like to keep myself out of the line of fire and a match between Andrea and her possibly paranormal unborn twin? I’ll watch, thanks!

Anyway, it’s enough to give me the chills.

An Eight-Year-Old's Desire to See Transformers and Not Get Ripped Off

I have an eight-year-old cousin whom I absolutely adore named Brenton. Brenton has a five-year-old sister named Emily. Emily and my sister have always been close. Andrea has taught her dance, had girl days with Em, and gone shopping with her. I took it upon myself to do these things with Brenton.

Summer of 2007, unemployed, I took Brenton out of day camp to introduce him to Transformers.

Brenton loved it

There are certain movies that I will forego sleep to see. Transformers, Harry Potter, Twilight, and when Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief comes out I will be one of the first in line.

Brenton found out I was seeing the midnight movie. He asked his mom if he can go. She said no.

“But I’ve stayed up until midnight lots of times,” Brenton told his mother.

He didn’t get to go.

Tuesday night, I was in line with the sibs and Miss Jada waiting for the movie to begin. Wednesday, I got up after two hours of sleep, went to camp and then stayed there for the overnight. It was sadistic and masochistic, I know, but I felt I owed it to Optimus to be there to see the movie at the earliest opportunity possible

Anyway, the overnight…camp is on the Westside of town. Melody, my aunt (Brenton’s mom) picked me up food and dropped it off on her way home from work. It was nice that she passed the campsite on her way to and from work because the food grilled was not food I would order in a four-star restaurant because of my pickiness.

She drops the food off and Em climbs into the front seat to ask if she can sleep in a tent with me. I don’t see Brenton.

Mel says Brenton is in the car.

That’s when I see a head peak up from the back and then a hand strikes the window. Mel says something to him, but he ignores her as he rolls down the window and makes sure I know that he hasn’t seen Transformers yet. I tell him I haven’t forgotten, that Mel and I will something out.

I talk with Mel on Monday, June 29 (the movie has been out for almost a week) to ask her about the coming week – we both have Friday off due to Fourth of July – and to see when I might be able to take Brenton to the movies.

“He said you were taking him Sunday,” Mel says.

“What?” I ask. “I didn’t think I told him a date.”

“You didn’t,” Mel says. “But he was hell bent on you taking him. I told him he had baseball practice, and he had to go because it was his first practice. He told me that he would have lots of practices.”

Anyway, Mel isn’t sure what their plans for the weekend are. I call on Wednesday night after my yoga class and Brenton answers the phone.

“I thought we were going to see Transformers on Sunday,” is the greeting I receive.

“Well, Buddy,” I say going for diplomatic, “You had that baseball practice. I didn’t think you’d really want to miss it. Mom and I are working on something though.

He’s somewhat pacified and hands the phone off to his mother.

Mel thinks they might go to a water park on Friday if Chris, my uncle, is off work.

Friday comes around, and I call Mel to see if they did indeed go to the pool. It’s a hot day and I like hanging with my cousins. Plus I can work on my tan. Mel tells me Chris had to work. I ask her about their afternoon plans and I learn that they will have some free time around two. A perfect opportunity for me to take the Little Man to the movies. Since we’re both driving to the gym (she on the Westside, me on the North), she says she’ll call back after Zumba to discuss times. Before I hang up, I ask her if Brenton knows what we’re planning. She says no because he is listening to his Ipod.

She calls back and we settle on 2:40. I ask to talk to Brenton.

“When are we going to see Transformers,” he asked me in rather unhappy voice.

“Mom and I working on things,” I tell him and then we have a very sarcastic conversation centered around their lunch at Red Lobster and him declaring very loudly that he will eat the lobster and yes, he’ll video tape it for me if that will make me happy.

His sarcasm makes me so happy. To be so young and so cynical…the boy has great potential. In fact, I call every ten days or so to get my fill of sarcasm. I’ve been told that he’s going to tase me, that if I bring a boyfriend over like Andrea, he’ll tase my boyfriend, that he’ll beat an ass…it’s pretty great. My heart soars when I hear the potential in his voice.

Anyway, I meet Mel at the movie theatres and I have some old t-shirts that I am gifting the kids with. Emily is ecstatic to get new clothes and has a big grin as she sorts through what is hers and what is Brenton’s.

Brenton isn’t happy and he scowls in the backseat.

“Why did we have to meet you at the movies?” he asks me.

“She wanted to give us this,” Mel says and I put the pieces together and realize that Mel is still keeping the secret.

“Why the movies,” he whines.

“I’m meeting a friend to see a movie,” I say.

“Transformers?!” he shrieks and then begins to have a meltdown.

This goes on for a few seconds before Melody hands him money.

“What is this for? To make me stop?” he asks mightily pissed off. I wish my mother would’ve bribed me like that back in the day.

I look at Brenton and say “I’m going to the movies with a friend.”

A slow, sly grin breaks over his little face. “With me?” he asks.

“And me,” chimes in Emily.

Brenton gets out of the car and Emily has a meltdown when she learns she isn’t going.

But the story doesn’t end with Brenton seeing the movies.

We see a matinee and the movie costs $12.50. Then we buy popcorn for $5.50.

“$5.50!” Brenton hisses.

“The movies aren’t cheap, Brenton,” I tell him. “Do you have pockets,” I ask and hold out his money. He looks and doesn’t find any. “Want me to put it in mine?”

“No,” he says and grabs the money. We enter the movie and sit down. Ten minutes later, he passes the money off to me to put in my pocket.

He’s enjoying the movie, but halfway through, he decides he needs some candy, so we go back to the concessions. I hand him his money.

“This is all I have!” he asks of the remaining seven dollars I gave him. “I had a ten!”

“We used the ten for popcorn, Brenton, and they gave you back the five.”

He isn’t happy with this and yammers on about it some more. Seriously, I feel like I am being accused of stealing an eight-year-old’s money. Who honestly steals from a child? Alcoholics and addicts maybe. And yes, I’m all for margarita Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday…etc…but I control my urges until Friday.

We get back to the counters and I realize its not that I am being accused of stealing, it is that he has inherited my Grandma Rita’s penchant for cheapness. This proves that cheapness is genetic because Grandma passed away two years before he was born. It is quite astounding.

How cheap was Grandma?

In 1999, she was still wearing polyester clothes from the 70’s because the clothes were still in good shape. Well, that was up for debate, but I guess the clothes did manage to cover her, though they were a hideous eye sore upon all who looked at the clothes.

The woman also took the bus everywhere. She never ever had a driver’s license. My Papaw Jimmy pleaded with her to get her license, telling her he would get her any car she wanted: Mercedes, Lexus, hell, Rita, even a Ferrari and she simply told him “The bus will take me wherever I need to go.”

Note: my grandfather wasn’t poor and could have easily bought her one of the aforementioned cars. Yet she still horded money like it was 1927 and the stock market had just unemployed the entire country (You know…thinking about the state of the country today…maybe she as onto something). During my mother’s years growing up, Grandma would get groceries and pay bills and what was left over would be put into a bond. My Papaw and Uncle Danny finally convinced her in the 80’s to cash in over 30 years worth of bonds. It totaled over $100,000 and she demanded it all in cash. Once she had all of her unmarked bills, she walked outside at Fall Festival time, a big street festival with carnies and people with two teeth in their head not to mention a few who possibly make the sewers their homes, to wait for the bus. My aunt found her before the bus got there and my grandmother yelled, yelled with all of these…people (for lack of a better word) around that she had over $100,000 in her purse. My aunt drove her home.

Back to the present. Brenton approaches the concession stand with his money in hand and asks for Buncha Crunch. They tell him it’s $2.50 and Brenton has a mini-meltdown with there.

“This is all I have left!” he hisses as he holds up $4.50 in one hand and the Buncha Crunch in the other. “Mom gave me all that money and THIS is all I have!”

I just smile and lament upon the ridiculous prices that the movie charges and ask him if he was glad that I snuck those drinks in for us.

And as we sit down, I know that this child is going to do great things.

Why I Do What I Do - This May Cause Severe Psychotropic Effects

I don't really think anyone cares to know why I do what I do...in fact...it might scare a few to know the inner, deep, dark workings of my mind, my motivations, in essence, what makes me tick.

Don't worry. I'm not going to tell you that. In fact! I don't even know why I do what I do.

But I do know why I write.

I write because it is cathartic. Because it helps me rid the toxins of the day.

And I write because my sibs and me are often complete morons.

Well...I kind of think I have the "Midas Touch" when it comes to acting like a fool. Either people have this "foolishness" inside of them or I just turn people into complete fools. Jury's out.

As stated before, the entire month of June was devoted to day camp - preparing and carrying out two weeks of camp. Due to the cathartic nature of writing, I needed to blog more than ever. Due to my hectic schedule and love for sleep, I was unable to write.

So, I'm going to give you a little low-down on camp.

Week one: Things went fairly smooth. I had twist some arms to find a VOLUNTEER leader for one of the units, but I found a somewhat willing soul and no kids or parents had any complaints. The weather was wet at the beginning of the week and while the rest of the city got rain, we merely got worried about rain. Can't beat that. All in all, it was a nice week for day camp and the 80-something girls had fun which is the primary goal of the camp.

Week two: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED? My nice, fairly uneventful week of camp suddenly became a crazy, heat-stroke of craziness. Literally. Ok, no one had heat stroke. BUT it was entirely possible when temperatures were in the upper 90's with heat indexes of 105+. That is no joke. Monday morning at 8:30, I was sweating buckets and choking on all the moisture in the air while I had parents sign their children in to camp. Needless to say, I wasn't surprised when the weather bureau issued a Heat Alert.

Apparently though one parent was. I remembered this parent from Monday morning and saw that while I was sweating buckets, he clearly looked like someone who had been parked in the front row at Sea World to see Shamu perform. He was that wet. And this man wanted to know why he wasn't contacted for a heat alert. My initial thought was to nearly say: Well, I when I saw you standing in line, I thought I was going to have to radio the nurse to bring the AED, but I bit my tongue. When he asked me why he wasn't called for a heat alert, I nearly cried from keeping laughing. Had this man lived under a rock? The whole weather community had told us the entire weekend that the Monday was going to be gruesome.

Assuming he couldn't possibly believe I'd call just for a heat alert, I asked him if his daughter went to the nurse. He told me no. I asked him if she complained of being sick or simply asked her leaders to speak to a parent. Again he said no.

I asked him how I would have known to call.

Now, this is the kicker - I had several people calling my cell phone on Monday to check on their children. I had several more pick their kids up early. My own mother even called to make sure I was drinking plenty of water. The previous week I had parents call to make sure I knew a thunderstorm was in effect and the certain storm had winds gusting up to 60 mph. My thought is that if this man REALLY cared, was REALLY a good, caring parent, he would've taken it upon himself to call and check on his daughters.

And then I found out that his daughter doesn't tell people when she's sick until she has literally gotten sick. Her unit leaders, two women that had neither met nor seen this child before, were simply supposed to know this about the girl.

Hmmm...

Right...

And that's when he told me that provisions needed to be made. He tried to argue with me about going inside. There was no "inside" to go into. Sure, I was at a college, but I had a contract and in that contract we only paid for the outdoor area we were occupying. And no, I do not believe the college was going to let 60+ kids into the BRAND NEW library for the week. If they would have, I would have hated to have seen that bill.

I was then told that if "provisions" couldn't be made, then camp should be canceled.

Right, buddy. I'll cancel camp and please you and maybe two other people and have 57 other people pissed at me, at least half that number relying on my camp for day care because both parents are working. Sure. I'll call them and tell them that because of your selfishness, I am going to fuck their plans for the week because if this camp is canceled, I KNOW they will not be able to find day care for their child with less than 24-hour notice.

And no. You're not getting you're money back. Plus, you admitted your daughter WANTED to come back, but you weren't going to let her come back.

You made that decision, my man, and I will not reward you for bugging me everyday while I signed kids in with parents who complimented me on the job I was doing and told me their kids were having fun despite the heat by giving you your money back. Had you wanted to keep your $50, you would've grown a working brain and thought...this is the Midwest...this is June...the weather might actually be hot! My daughter might not mind the heat, but I sure as hell will and will wreak havoc on a poor unsuspecting camp director who is poor because she works for an NPO and naively believes she can help kids grow up and not become the next reality-star train wreck, meth-head welfare case, or mother of 4 by the time high school is over. Pardon me for thinking I can change the future!

Okay...

That was...a bit of a rant...I feel better now though.

That was definitely the worst of the camp experience. For the most part, my two weeks looked like this:

Up at 5:00 am for the gym.
7:15 leave
8:00 arrive at camp (after a stop of the Franklin Street Donut Bank, the best donuts EVER!)
8:30 camp check in
9:15-3:45 circulate and make sure units are running smoothly.
4:00-4:30 check out kids
4:30 - 5:30 pick up stray supplies

I did yoga two nights, ran one night, and stayed for an overnight on both Wednesdays. That made Thursday fun, waking up after being all sweaty and nasty and not being able to show, simply being out and getting even sweatier and nastier as Thursday drug on. But, like I said, the kids had fun. And that's what it is all about!

Things I Learned During Two Weeks at an OUTDOOR Day Camp

I know, my posts SERIOUSLY lacked in the month June. This is due to two things: a shoddy internet connection and getting ready for two weeks of day camp, serving around 130 kids. By the way, this is an OUTDOORS day camp. Everything from the flyer to the confirmation letter made sure parents knew the camp was outside in the month of June. Now June + MIdwest State = HEAT.

1. I can continually get up at 5 a.m. to get in my work out and did this for two straight weeks

2. I will forego sleep if it involved the Transformers (or Harry Potter although he comes out later)

3. Two weeks of day camp will drive you insane

4. Children do not care that it is hot out if you keep them wet enough

5. However, if a parent flips about the heat/weather, the child will too

6. If you spend 10 hours out in 95+ degree weather (with a heat index of 105 degrees) then go home and eat 3,000mg of sodium, you will still be two pounds lighter in the morning.

7. Popcorn with lots of butter at Transformers + Heat = SICK

8. If a parent wants to complain, they will.

9. If a parent wants their money back, they will overlook the simple fact that they signed their child up for an outdoor day camp in June and demand compensation. And I refuse to give compensation for those with no common sense.

10. I am expected to control the weather (I.e.: drive away all thunderstorms, keep the temp a nice cool, 70 degrees with the occasional cloud).

11. Parents will not bother to call for something trivial like an absence from camp.

12. But those same parents will hunt like mad for your phone number if a storm system is moving through and they think their daughter might be unsafe.

13. Parents treat boys differently from girls. Girls are coddled by parents, while parents just seem to shrug and say whatever to boys.

14. My sister has toe nails that look to be as dangerous as shanks.

15. My sibs have substituted the word “Wool” for “Well.” (I.e.: Wool, put in a movie then, Erin!)

16. It is damn near impossible to go without a cell phone when you’re in BFE.

17. For some reason, girls like me and will call out my name if they see me anywhere (Like in the vicinity at camp, in a car at a light, or at Walmart).

18. Even though they like me, they still have no qualms with me hurting myself and will chant until I do a round-ff back handspring like some performing monkey.

19. Sliced apples with cinnamon and marshmallows wrapped in foil and cooked over a campfire is a delicious treat.

20. Too many chiefs is quite a common problem.

21. All girls are intrigued by fire and will gather around a fire pit when the sun is out, it is near 80 degrees and stifling.

22. Super soakers entertain PEOPLE of ALL AGES

23. No matter what, I will always have to plan for Andrea. (I.e.: She helped on Thursday when we were tie-dying t-shirts and wanted a t-shirt when we didn’t have one for her.

24. If you’re out in extreme heat, drink water AND Gatorade (or something similar). If your stomach starts to hurt, it’s from losing too much salt. Eat some Cheez-Its.

25. When you’re out in extreme heat, there’s nothing quite as soothing as an ice-cold wringing wet bandana.