Today there is a plague upon my house. Flashes of a gloomy visage pass in the mirror. Cloven hooves tap tap tap across the kitchen floor. Steam makes the radiator hiss or, is that rattle something far more ominous? Continue reading
I think the election season we just witnessed makes it pretty clear that life is surely stranger than fiction, wouldn’t you agree? Witches, Nazi reenactments, secret Muslims yes, it’s quite the bouillabaisse of absurdity bubbling in our country. But you don’t have to watch the news to locate the fictional nature of life, do you? I take two steps outside my door and suddenly wonder whose filming me for this TV show, and will I be making money when it goes into syndication? If you haven’t read my post about eavesdropping yet, that ought to give you a good indication of just how strange my life can get. But in case you were hungering for a few more ridiculous tidbits about my world, my pal Ilana over at Mommy Shorts sent me a challenge yesterday. She posted a list of five truths about herself and one lie, and then threw the gauntlet to me to do the same on my blog. Here now THE LIST: Continue reading
I’m considering alternative careers. Which do you prefer?
HOME CONTRACTOR
JENGA CHAMPION
For the Halloween options click here. For earlier options try here and also here.
PS: As for my previous post My Bat-Shit-Insane Menagerie Of Truth, I will reveal which is the lie and which are the truth’s tomorrow.
Also please note: For those of you itching to leave a comment, but confused by the system, just click on the title of this post, then scroll down past the post and you will discover a box in which to leave your comment.
I’m considering alternative employment. Which do you prefer?
DRY-CLEANER
MANICURIST
Yesterday in the midst of working on today’s post a challenge presented itself on twitter, courtesy of Frank Delaney. The chance to write up the creepiest character studies I could, using the prerequisite twitter 140 characters. I must say my fiction muscles have been feeling atrophied lately and this task was just the thing to get my despicable motor running. Which speaks to a level of deviance you’re all concerned about, I’m sure. But don’t call the asylum just yet, at least not until after you’ve read these little gems. Continue reading
I’m considering alternative employment. Which one do you prefer?
SLEEPY'S MATTRESS PROFESSIONAL
GYNECOLOGIST
You can find more options by clicking here.
Somewhere, deep in the bowels of New York city, the roaches are teaching adult education classes to the mice and I thought you should know. A thousand years ago when I moved here, I knew full well I would have no choice but to deal with the occasional roach. Bug-phobic from childhood, I endeavored to locate my steely reserves and deal with it. Thus, armed with a lifetime supply of Raid I headed for the Isle of Manhattan, a demure, nubile suburbanite, unaware of the challenges that lay ahead. Six months into studio apartment living while baking brownies I sensed movement in my peripheral vision. As the goodies lay cooling on a rack, I lounged in my livingroom-bedroom-laboratory-parlor-library-office. It was then that mouse numero uno made its appearance, running past the TV and under the heater. Mice? Oh no, I had not prepared emotionally for mice. Continue reading
Sometime around the age of four I became obsessed with ballerinas. I don’t know if it was the tutu or the toe shoes or the reenacted fairy tales but for whatever reason, I was intrigued. The only thing I wanted more than a career in the ballet was chocolate. Which is why on a visit to find a child-sized tutu at the local department store, when I saw a group of happy children clutching chocolate bars after standing in line to meet Santa, I wanted in.
Let me explain, there were no sweets in the house growing up. Well, that’s not entirely true. Scour the cupboard hard enough and you’d find two snacks, diet licorice nibs and some sort of healthful raisin cookie. Think Fig Newton’s very ugly step sister. Pickings were slim is what I’m saying. So when my child-mind got wind of the holy grail of cocoa–a Hershey’s bar–I knew I had to have one at all costs. Who cared if I went to temple on Yom Kippur and my great-grandmother carried herring in her purse on the boat over. This was chocolate. This was serious. My parents and I stood in line for what seemed like hours until finally Mount Kringle sat before me. I scrambled up on the man’s lap. Continue reading
Madame Paradox 