Daily ritual..

Like most bloggers,I have a morning routine that I strictly adhere to.

My alarm clock is set precisely for 5:21 AM,so that I can hit the snooze button,and gain an additional 9 minutes in which to decide whether or not I want to call in sick for work...I almost never do.
And like most bloggers,I wonder at the genius who decided 9 minutes was some kind of standard time increment for people to deal with first thing in the morning...Asshole.
At 5:30 AM,I crawl out of bed,and like most bloggers,I boot up the computer,and tune the TV to the local news slash weather.
By this time I'm conscious enough to go into the kitchen,and nuke me a cup of coffee left over from the day before.
I'm sure most bloggers know that at this point,it's time to go out on the front porch,and enjoy a blissful morning cigarette.It's cool and crisp at this time of the day,and one can fully appreciate the sublime burning sensation of that initial drag.
Back in my room,I check my blog and e-mail,and marvel at the cheerful delivery of the talking heads while they apprise me of all the catastrophes that have occurred while I slept.No one can lighten up a tragic fire at the orphanage like young Ashlee of the blonde persuasion...I must have her.
Once I've finished my lukewarm coffee,and am satisfied that I'm fully updated on all the happenings around the great Town-of-O,like most bloggers,I spin a favorite 45 on the victrola,and dance around my room naked.



Now I'm ready to start the day.

Tit-for-Tat

The lovely Ms. Cowbell has suggested that I get this marvelous cat tattoo!..
Tastefully done!

After careful consideration,I've decided to go ahead and do it.
I mean,..it's the least I can do... ..after she went to all this trouble.

Wanna see something REALLY scary?...

In keeping with the season,..a tale of horror.

My wife and I had just purchased our very own home in the "Inland Empire".That nebulous area lying at the foothills of the high desert,which over the last 25 years has basically become a suburb of Orange county,which is now basically a suburb of Los Angeles.

Built in the 30's,it was a charming 3 bedroom cottage.Just perfect for my wife and I,.."Audry Rose" our 2 year old daughter,and "Shatzie",our beloved Sheltie-mix mutt.

The following incidents occurred within the first few weeks of moving in...

Like most people,immediately upon getting settled in,I was anxious to check out the attic to see if the previous owners had left behind any vintage clothing...Wouldn't it be cool to find an actual WWII leather flight jacket amongst the usual cache of Mason jars,and old newspapers!!..Oh yes.

I had been rifling through a stack of autographed Gustave Dore lithographs I'd discovered under some Faberge eggs in an old Chippendale credenza (sadly..no leather flight jacket) for about ten minutes, when I became aware of a "presence".

Not one of those malevolent,Amityville,"GET OUT!" kind of spectres,..more like a, "This really isn't a good time for me" type sensation..

I felt like a telemarketer trying to sell timeshares at KOA during suppertime,and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled...Needless to say,..I got the hell outta there!..

"Did you find anything useful up there?..'Cause I gotta tell ya,we're up to our asses in Mason jars"..

"There's a ghost in the attic".

"Fine..Take out the garbage"..

That night,shortly after we retired to our bed,we heard the unmistakable sound of the toilet flushing!

Knowing that Little Audry was fast asleep,I lept from the bed to investigate.

I burst into the bathroom just in time to witness the final "gurgle" of blue toilet water descending the porcelain bowl in triumph,..AND!..The toilet seat was up!..Inconceivable!

I live in a house with two women..Do the math.

"What was that all about?"

"I'm pretty sure the ghost flushed the toilet".

"Fine..Aarrgh!..Your feet are cold!"...

Over the next several nights,this phenomenon occurred like clockwork..Each time I would rise,walk down the hall to the bathroom to that same blue hemispherical "Whoosh",..and put the toilet seat down.

No way I'm gettin' blamed for that!...

Then,..one night...

.."Daddy?"..

"Huh?...Wah'..??"..

"There was a man on the couch,..and he floated up in the ceiling!"..

"...wake me if he comes in your room"..

**NUDGE!!**

"Oh!..umm,..come sleep with us honey..Daddy'll take care of it in the morning".

Shortly after sunrise the next morning (10 am),I climbed up the ladder,and thrust my head through the claustrophobic opening,into that terrible space.

"Hey!!...WE LIVE HERE!..You can stay if you want,but quit being such a putz!"...yer scarin' the women folk"...

.."And put the toilet seat down when yer done!!...dammit"..

I know without fear of equivocation,that all ghostly activity ceased after that bold confrontation with our resident poltergeist.

Still,..and to this very day,..my ex-wife swears that it was he that continued to leave the toilet seat up for years afterward...

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!**

Adventures in Babysitting..

I was 6,and my little brother Mark was 3,when my parents decided that my 12 year old sister was mature enough to babysit us while they enjoyed a long overdue night out for themselves.
I loved my sister,but I wasn't too sure about how this whole thing was gonna work out.The good news was that dad said we could stay up late to watch Red Skelton,which came on right after Huckelberry Hound.
Mom and dad got ready to go,while my sister got Mark ready for bed,and started making some rice Krispy treats for us to snack on while watching TV.
Mark was asleep,and night had begun to fall,when sometime during Huckelberry Hound,my sister thought she heard a strange noise.
"Probably just the wind",..she assured me...Only she didn't appear to be all that sure herself.This was her first time home alone with her little brothers after all.
Now,I don't know that I ever actually heard any thing,but I could see my sister making furtive glances toward the back of the house,and becoming more and more agitated,until sometime during Red's "Freddy the Freeloader" act,she anxiuosly grabbed me by the hand..
"There's somebody in the house!"..and we both ran hell-bent out the front door into the yard.
In those days,if Tony Perkins didn't come screeching into the shower to plunge a carving knife into your torso,then you still stood the very real chance of being spirited away by Caryl Chessman..In any case, clearly a homicidal maniac had found his way into our home,intent on the wholesale slaughter of whomever dwelt within, and...
"CRAP!"..."Mark's asleep in the bedroom!"..
"Wadda we do,wadda we do??".."Think,think,think!"..
"We can go around the side of the house to the bedroom window,and haul him out to safety!"...Brilliant!..Sis was on the job.
It's Summertime,so naturally the window is slightly open.(Apparently,our parents were not all that concerned about Tony,..or Caryl)
"Pssst...Mark..Mark..",my sister coaxed in a whisper,so that the intruder would not be alerted to our presence.."Wake up!"..
No response..
"Hand me some dirt clods from the planter"...And she began heaving chunks at the bed,in the hopes of rousing him to the alarm..."He's not moving"...
This calls for some drastic action,and my big sister is up to the challenge.
She grabs the water hose,unreels it to the window,and issues the command,"Turn it on!"..
She held the nozzle in a death grip,spraying the entire room as if she were the machine gunner in one of those Robert Mitchum flicks...
Mark.Doesn't.Budge.
There could only be one conclusion.
No doubt,the psycho,axe murdering,kidnapper had dispatched him while he slept.The hypnotic blip,blip,blip of water dripping from the ceiling sounded his death knell.
Now,and this made perfect sense at the time,my sister decided the best course of action would be to,"Wait on the front porch for mom and dad to come home,and explain to them how little Mark went and got himself murdered"..
Turns out that we hadn't waited too long,when a group of my sister's friends came along.
She told them about the noises,the dirt clods,the water hose,and how even now Mark lay in his bed hacked to bits,looking all the world like a muddy bowl of Shredded Wheat.
The boys in the group screwed up their courage and,(partly to impress my sister,partly 'cause they wanted to see the dead kid),burst into the house,down the hall,and back to the bedroom.
Little Mark was fast asleep,oblivious to all the drama due to some asthma medication I'm told.
"This is just too good to be true!..We can clean up this mess before.."
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON??"...Dad.
"OH..MY..GOD!!"...Mom.
The boys beat a hasty retreat,Dad is yelling,Mom is having palpatations,my big sister is trying desperately to explain herself between sobs,and Mark is finally awake,soaking wet,and wailing in the middle of a bed full of dirt clods.
Me?..I'm keeping a low profile,..secure in the knowledge that none of this is my fault.

I was 6 years old..and life was good in Little Sling's Domain.