It's Your Own Fault...

I'm an introvert. But I'm an odd introvert. I have zero issues with being shy. Like none. I am not one bit shy. I don't embarrass easily. I don't mind people looking at me. Or even laughing at me. I dance in public spaces. I laugh loudly at jokes. I sit up front at seminars and in classrooms. I am one of those annoying people who will butt into a conversation in public if I have what I think is helpful information.

That is what the title of this blog is about. Monday when Brent and I came home from Las Vegas we stopped at Blue Star in the airport for a donut (it was a holiday, sugar is totally allowed on holidays). While we were sitting there I overheard a woman talking to one of the workers about the lack of apple fritters and if there would be some soon. They had pear lavender fritters that day. I'm sure they were lovely for people who aren't allergic to lavender but I had felt her disappointment because I had also hoped for an apple fritter. They make the best apple fritters. BUT...I also knew something I thought would be helpful information. So I butted in. I always apologize for eavesdropping, not because I'm actually sorry I heard people talking, I mean you're in public talking assume people are listening...but because it's polite and I cannot abide by rudeness. ANYWAY...I had just read an article about Blue Star buying a new space where they could have a bigger bakery and one of the things they were going to do was always have apple fritters along with a specialty flavor. So I shared this bit of information then went back to my table.

Brent was like, "this is why people talk to you. It's your own fault." And well, yeah, sometimes. BUT not always. I mean people will come up to me and download their entire life story and I'm just sitting there. Though he points out I'm not just sitting there. I have a very open aspect about my personality. And I am rarely rude to people when they start talking to me. I've written about that before. I have no idea what their day has been like, maybe I am the only person they will talk to all day. Maybe they are dying for some human interaction. It won't hurt me to give them 15 minutes of my attention and it just might make a huge difference for them. So I'm not rude.

This was also following the cab ride we had in Vegas where the driver told us all about her life and her grandkids and how she does whatever the fuck she wants with them and gets around the rules her daughter sets by following the letter of the law but not the spirit, like she doesn't feed them cotton candy but will give them donuts...and on and on and on...It was quite the ride. But I made friendly noises at her while she talked. Because I didn't want to be rude to the person driving us someplace, that could end up a nasty ride, and also because it costs me nothing. Brent was like, short answers, no eye contact, headphones or phone. Which never works for me anyway. Seriously. I can get on a plane put on headphones and open my Kindle and the person next to me will still want to engage in a conversation.

I have friendly face syndrome. I've talked about this, I call it FFS. Because it makes me laugh. FFS people stop talking to me!

But I'm still an introvert. Even as social as I appear and as much as it doesn't bug me.

I'm just an odd introvert.

Crowds drain me. Like I can physically feel the difference if I've been in a crowd all day. I am exhausted by the end. Big groups where I have to be social toward everyone make me want to curl up in a ball for a week to recoup. It's like all of my energy is being syphoned off by these people. I have friends who the bigger the crowd the better, the more people to interact with the greater the energy. And I'm like, yeah, no. Can we just go home now?

But get me with one or two or three people and I will hold court. We can talk about everything and I will be engaging and interested and focused on you and thrilled to be around you....right up until I'm done and then I'm like, Gotta go! Thanks!

So yeah, I'm an odd introvert. I have FFS. I will chat with you even if I don't know you because I'm hopeful that what I'm telling you is helpful to you or that you will feel better because you talked to someone. Maybe I'm just an introvert with an overly inflated sense of do gooderism? My feelings of needing to help are greater than my feeling of leave me alone, okay? Maybe.

I want to help.
I want to make a positive impact.
I want to share knowledge that I have that might make a difference in your life.
I do not want to be rude.
I also just want to read while I'm on the plane so please don't think that just because Brent is napping or I'm travelling alone that I want to chat with you, mmmkay?

And yes, I know, it's usually my own fault.

Draft...

I'm down to the last two May blogs. I have a rant in my head but I don't really want to write it out. It's tied to yesterday's blog and my status update and I just don't feel like giving it more attention. I might end up doing it anyway, because that happens sometimes. Things get lodged up in there and won't make room for anything else until they are written.

And then there are the other things. I have WIP (work in progress) folders on my desk for short stories and longer stories that have been started but never went anywhere. Those are the things that actually get edited and rewritten and worked on to get a little more polish to them. The submittables. My blog is normally the write, read, post, fix a typo when someone sends me an email pointing it out.

Usually.

But I have 9 draft posts here as well. Things that were started but not posted. Two were things I wrote and then when I read them before posting thought, "Yeah, this is too personal for even me." A few were things that were obviously just ideas and I wrote them as loose notes on the blog instead of in my little notebook like normal. One I just couldn't figure out how to do the format style I wanted to do. I still think it would be a really clever story, just beyond my and my blogs formatting abilities. And there are two that are full fledged starts to short stories. One of them I really like the beginning. I remember writing it and then sitting back and asking out loud, "And then what?" because there is a moment of SOMETHING but nothing after it. What in the world was going to happen? Where was my mind going before just stopping?

I read it again today, fixed a typo, re-saved it to drafts so now it looks like I wrote it today instead of 8 years ago. Eight years ago. I'm trying to remember where I was going with a story that I started 8 years ago.

The other fairly interesting thing is how my style has changed a bit over the years. For one these characters have names. They actually have two full names each! And another character that pops in has a name. And the people they interacted with have names! NAMES! Crazy...but even without that there is just something different in the tone and voice. I have a really strong voice when I write. Obviously in the nonfiction. When you read what I am writing you are listening to me talk. I "sound" the same on paper as I do in real life. Some people don't. They have a different speech pattern than writing style. I blend both. I use commas and periods and ellipses to try and get my pauses and stutters in on paper. It's why my grammar sucks so badly. (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) But not just in nonfiction, in fiction as well.

I have a style. You know that most of my stories are going to be a little sideways. I try not to twist every story because I want you to be surprised when it happens, but you never really trust what I'm writing to be "true" until you get to the end. I like writing things that surprise even me. The story I was reading this morning is kind of a twist at the beginning. It's a setup that you are in on from the start. Then something else happens and that's where I stopped. What was it? Was it going to be a double reverse twist? Was there a dead person just waiting to make their appearance? I don't know. Partly because it's not as strongly my voice as what I write now. It's like reading something by someone who writes sort of like me, but not exactly.

It was interesting.

And of course now I'm trying to think of where to take that story. Because I do like the beginning. It's odd, in that it's not exactly like me, but it's kind of interesting. And I think there could be a fun story waiting to finish up there. Or maybe a terrifying one. Who knows...

I am hopeful that it doesn't just sit there for 8 more years collecting virtual dust before I figure it out.

And now I only need one more blog for the month of May...whew!

Consequences...

No, I'm not done talking about this, so if you want to tell me to stop you can just move along right now...

Roseanne (the TV show) was cancelled today because Roseanne the titular star went on a tweet spree that capped with a racist one about Valerie Jarrett. ABC said, "Oh hell no, this isn't us..." and cancelled the show. Of course I am full of cynicism about it because this is who she is. They knew that. They had to address it in press conferences when they rebooted the show, the whole "She's going to say or do something what are you going to do then?" Line of questioning. Which was met mainly with "Roseanne gonna Roseanne you know?"

And then the first night released and it was BOFFO! BIG TIME! RATINGS BONANZA! DOLLA DOLLA BILLS, Y'ALL! President is tweeting and calling and taking credit in campaign rally speeches (to which Roseanne was like, Oh no...thanks for the support Big Don but THIS IS ALL ME!)

So the network felt pretty smug about their decision. This was genius. Second season renewal! BAM!

Then the next week it was a little less genius.

And a little less genius.

And then at the finale it was 43% fewer viewers genius.

But still the network had to be fairly happy, right?

Guess not.

Because what Roseanne tweeted was racist and vile and not the first time she's gone to the black women as ape comparison. They knew. You know they knew. You know it was someone's job to scour all of her old tweets to be prepared for what might come. Like when she got ahead of the whole Hitler costume baking little children cookies. What a HILARIOUS joke that was and if you couldn't see that it was a HILARIOUS joke you're just a snowflake that doesn't understand satire. Or the whole PizzaGate conspiracy theory stuff, if we can't have differences in opinions we are all lost, 9/11 was an inside job belief, Oh come on you know she's just quirky...

Anyway...

They knew is what I'm saying. The people working with her knew, the writers knews, the crew knew, they all knew. ABC knew. It was always just a matter of time before the ratings weren't going to be good enough to ignore who she is.

It just came sooner than expected. And sure, I feel badly for the number of people who are out of work, except you knew. You knew who she was when you signed on. So...

And I feel a little badly for Roseanne in the abstract because she's finding out what so many others have, Trump gets away with all of this shit and you don't. Somehow he does not face consequences for his actions he just makes up bolder and brasher lies and his base eats that shit up. You, you don't get to do that. You have to face consequences.

So yeah, I'm pleased that ABC did the right thing even though I'm really cynical about their reasons. I'm glad that somebody out there faces consequences for their actions. I'm glad that she didn't just get to scream about FAKE NEWS! WITCH HUNT! NO COLLUSION! and walk away with people nodding behind her, fake news...witch hunt...no collusion...(By the way, five guilty pleas, 19 indictments, it's not a witch hunt, it's a hunt where there's bears to be hunt situation)

So today I'm glad that there are still consequences out there. Let's hope that sometime soon it makes it all the way to the White House. REAL NEWS! BEAR HUNT! POSSIBLY COLLUSION! DEFINITELY OBSTRUCTION! HE FUCKING ADMITTED IT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION! COME ON!

Vegas, Baby!

Well that delayed posting thing while I was gone worked really well except there wasn't an automatic notice for me this morning telling me the blog for the day was posted. Bummer...

Quick dash to Las Vegas this weekend at the last minute trip is in the books. It all started on Monday or Tuesday when Brent sent me a note from Chicago (he was traveling for work) on the cost of tickets to Vegas. We had been talking about trying to get tickets to a hockey game. For those of you living under a hockey free rock, the Las Vegas Golden Knights are playing for the Stanley Cup in their very first year as a hockey franchise. This is a huge freaking deal. And all year long the Knights have put on an amazing show along with great games. So we really wanted to try and catch a game and with the long weekend it seemed perfect. Except they decided to start the series on Monday not Sunday so we weren't going to be able to spend and arm and leg for a couple of tickets and go...

Then Brent tempted me with Hawaii and I realized he really needed a weekend away. I am not good at last minute stuff. I know most of you are SHOCKED at this news. I am a planner. I am an adjuster. Spur of the moment, while almost always fun once you are there, never seems like a good idea to me before it happens. But I realized I was just being weird and a trip away for the long weekend would be fun, and really, Vegas would be something to see even without hockey so why not?

Brent hadn't been in around 25 years. I haven't been in about 10. I used to go a LOT for work. A few trips a year. But traveling for work is totally different than traveling for fun. So off to Vegas we went.

So here is the other SHOCKING part for you all. I don't really gamble and I don't drink a lot. The joys of Vegas have generally been lost on me. I'm a decent poker player and I did win enough money playing Blackjack to pay for my massage table and my massage chair when I was in school. BUT...that comes with a huge caveat. The table was playing for me. Hit here, stay here, hit, stay, split, double down. When every player at the table is telling you what to do and you get a little luck streak going it's much easier. I also knew exactly how much I needed and tucked it away and walked away. Normally I would "play" craps on business trips. Stand at the table with my clients and put a chip on the pass/no pass line and play for hours on about $20, that's what I can handle. I hate losing money.

So what did we do since we didn't drink a lot or gamble? We walked around and looked at everything on The Strip. Well pretty much everything. We didn't do the side jaunts to the Rio or The Palms and we didn't make it all the way to Mandalay, but we wandered through most of the other bigs. We also saw Carrot Top. He gets very little respect from the comedy world, prop comic is to stand-up like puns are to satire I guess. But as I love puns as well I've always thought he was funny. And he was. I laughed pretty much constantly. I will say you could leave offended by at least a half dozen of his jokes, take your pick which ones, but if you take it all as comedy and lighten up a bit it's as a whole a very enjoyable night. I didn't laugh at everything, I cringed at a couple of things, but I laughed more than I didn't and I laughed more at his set than I did at Jerry Seinfeld's and the tickets were much less expensive so there is that as well.

We walked down The Strip after the show to take it all of the lights as well. It's really something to see. Of course The Strip during the day was something to see as well. On work trips we used to say that people have a Vegas Wardrobe. That corner of the closet that housed outfits they would only wear in Vegas. The cut down to here and up to there dresses. Well, work trips generally happened in the Fall and Winter, being there when it was warm was something else entirely. People were just walking around in their barely bathing suits with a see through cover up. Lots of thongs and triangles. So much T&A and we didn't even have to pay for the show. Brent and I were trying to decide the difference between body confidence and total lack of shame. Because there were some people that should indeed have body confidence, they looked great. And there were others that just had no shame.

We also went to the Mob Museum, which was interesting but I really thought it would be more about the Mob in Vegas specifically and it really seemed like they wanted to shift the focus on Chicago then, and organized crime in other parts of the world now. Which, in a way, is a very American thing to do. Bring up a crime problem and people want to shout, WHAT ABOUT CHICAGO? Mmmhmmm...  But I did learn something new about how the mob ended up really focusing on Vegas so any trip to a museum that lends itself to learning something new is a good trip to a museum. (basically putting the squeeze on illegal gambling in bigger cities led the Mob to set up shop in the only city where it was legal)

We also went to the Neon Graveyard. I had wanted to go there for ages. A friend of mine did a photo shoot there a few years ago and it looked amazing. The night time access was all sold out and they don't just let you in to wander around anymore so I was stuck with a daytime guided tour, but that's better than nothing. When I download the photos from my camera I'm optimistic that there will be some nice shots on there. I also learned a few new things, so we know it was a good trip.

Then we hit up The Fremont Street Experience, and yes, yes it was. When we went 25 years ago, downtown was just downtown. The gambling was a little better than on The Strip because table limits we lower and the slots were a bit looser. Now they've covered the street and do a show on the ceiling. I described Fremont as what would happen if The Strip did acid. It was crazy. The people were wild, and trust me they had a lot to top. There were a lot of buskers and most of them were lacking a bit in talent. There was one guy whose entire act was him in a jockstrap with a lumpy stuffed sock and a very small dildo covering his penis while he "played" electric guitar. He was rocking out with his cock out...And then there were the barely clothed men and women who would pose for pictures with you for a small fee. And the Times Squaresque people in cheap costumes also willing to pose for pictures for cash.

We also saw the Stanley Cup! Woo! We've seen it a few times, I was even in Toronto during a Hall of Fame weekend and posed with the cup there. But it's still the Stanley Cup and as a hockey fan you just are so excited to see it and be near it and feel the history radiate off of it. I got a great picture of Phil Pritchard giving side eye to someone who wanted to see the "show girl" again when I asked Phil to pose with the cup for me. See, here's the thing, the way to know that you are looking at THE Stanley Cup is if Phil is with it. He's the Keeper of the Cup. So a picture with Phil is a picture of the real deal. I'll forgive Vegas fans for not knowing yet, but they better learn. Their story is a great one, but hockey has a lot of great stories.

Overall impressions, still can't stand being in the casinos for long without a headache. Indoor smoking is blech. Now though there is the added bonus of weed being legal so people outside are smoking pot. And because they don't want to spend all of their money on weed they are buying really skunky shit. The headache for two days was real. Smoke inside and out. Bleh.

People, people, people, don't bring your little kids to Vegas. It is not for kids. Really. The entertainment is for adults. The atmosphere is for adults. The hangovers are not conducive to young children running and screaming down the halls. It's okay, Vegas will be there when they are older. You can come then. Or let them stay with their grandparents. Really, an adult weekend away will be much more fun than trying to navigate a stroller down Las Vegas Boulevard, or explaining to Johnny why there are pictures of naked ladies all over the ground. It's just not for kids. And yes, I'm judging you. So is everyone else here without kids.

And here is one for our pilot this morning. He gave an overly long welcome aboard speech where he touched on Memorial Day by asking any Veterans on the plane to raise their hands, then talked about the ultimate sacrifice we honor on Memorial Day and calling for a round of applause to thank them. Just a note, don't ask for people to applaud for dead soldiers. It's not appropriate. We mourn them, we honor them, we respect them, but we don't clap for dead soldiers. AND yes, wearing your seatbelt at all times is a thing we should do but don't point out that the plane we are on is the EXACT SAME TYPE as the Southwest plane that just lost a window and a passenger lost her life. One, she had her seatbelt on, it's why she wasn't sucked completely out of the plane, and two WE DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THE WINDOWS BLOWING OUT ON THE PLANE! It was a crazy preflight announcement.

And let me tell you a 6 AM flight out of Vegas is an odd one. Fully half of the passengers hadn't yet slept off the drunk from the night before and in the two hours it took to get home the plane soaked up the stench of alcohol and smoke seeping out of everyone. I cannot imagine how much the flight crew hates that flight...phew....

I picked up money at the bank on Friday before we left and came home with all of it so we broke even. Which is always the goal right? Sure, sure, it's easier when you don't bet any but over all it was a good, if not traditional trip, to Vegas. And we walked 26+ miles so I'm not even feeling guilty over the two missed trips to the gym and the ice cream and drinks we had. Now I just need sleep. Thin walls, late nights and early mornings...Viva...

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

Okay, I wrote a short story that will be published tomorrow, well yesterday, and now I've got this Sunday blog to write and I will schedule it to publish in two days, well today, and then I'm covered for the weekend so my restless brain can feel accomplished. Yay me!

The story I wrote "yesterday" was another writing prompt that Dana sent me. It's actually a thing I've done before because I like patterns in writing. It was to start a story with a line that was positive and end it with the same line that was now sinister. Paraphrasing, but that was the gist.

I really had no idea what the middle parts were going to be, and I think it does show in the story a bit. I mean, that's a completely off the cuff, oh wouldn't it be cool if the roses were red story. At first I thought the florist was going to be a bad guy. Then it was like, nope, she's leaving the florist so where is she going? Her mom? What did her mom do? And again nope, that's not it. I know it seems really odd that I often have no clue what I'm going to write even while I'm writing, but it happens a lot.

Sometimes it's really great and the story is wonderful. Sometimes it's not great and the story doesn't work at all and it gets put "away." The one I wrote just now, two days ago, yesterday, is in the middle. I wrote it in an hour, I re-read it twice, I set it to publish and I called it good. This is what happens when you are in a challenge to yourself. You cut some corners. It's good enough.

And that, my friends, is my writing process a lot of the time. Good enough. I write to get the words out of my head. And sometimes I write them in such a way that they are really good. Those are great days. Even when I'm the only one who likes the story. I wrote one recently that got like close to zero interaction on my blog page and I was bummed out for a bit because I was really proud of it. But that happens. Especially because I tend to favor things that are a little off. I view the world sideways so I know my writing is cockeyed as well.

Another thing that happens because of the fast way I write a lot of blog short stories is that I forget them. You've seen me post about it. I'll be searching for something else I've written and stumble across a story I don't remember at all. I like reading those and seeing if I like them. You don't often get to judge your own work. The good news is that I generally do like them. Can you imagine if I didn't? What an existential crisis that would be. I mean, it would be great in one way because that would be like, 3 or 4 blogs worth of material right there! But probably horrible over all...

It happens often enough when I am working on a piece that really needs to be polished and GOOD. I get about halfway through it, or halfway through editing it and decide it's crap. And not only is it crap, but everything I've ever written is crap. And everything I ever will write is crap. And I am not sure why anyone would ever tell me differently, except for Brent and he has to because we're married and he doesn't want to see me cry. CRAP I TELL YOU. But that's pretty standard for the writers I know and the writers I've read who talk about their writing process. There comes a point where you are sure you suck. The trick is to not delete everything and just wait it out. Then a break through comes and you are good again.

Let's hope for something really good for next week to wrap up this month. If you have a cool writing prompt you are always welcome to share it with me. If it grabs ahold of the muses I will be grateful for the help, if it doesn't then please understand the prompt was good, it just wasn't for me.

I hope your weekend has gone well and you are enjoying your time. I am sure I am. I mean, I am. I know I am. It's Sunday after all. I would know that I am having a good weekend by now, right?

And done...

Whew.

Red is for Love...

She'd never seen a rose that shade of red before.

"Lovely isn't it?" the florist startled her.

"Yes, it's so deep. It's like velvet."

"Red is for love you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Roses. The color rose you give is symbolic of your feelings. Yellow is for friendship. White is purity. Red is love. I created this deep red to try and capture that feeling of everlasting love."

"You created this color?"

"Well, sort of. Crossbreeding. That's how we get different colors and even shapes. Crossbreeding between various strains. This was the result of 10 years of work."

She laughed, "I would say that is deep and everlasting love for sure."

"It's not just a job, it's an obsession."

She laughed again. "Well what do tulips represent? My mother loves tulips and that's what I was hoping to get today."

"Tulips represent spring, hope, optimism and new beginnings. It's a good choice for a gift for your mother. How many would you like?"

She wrapped up her business with the florist and was on her way.

As she drove to her mother's place she thought of the florist and the red roses. What would be something she would be willing to put 10 years of work in to? The perfect recipe maybe? She loved to cook and could imagine having one perfect dish should could serve that would always be a hit. But 10 years to perfect it? No, probably not. A song? If she wrote music maybe a song. But, again, for 10 years?

Maybe it helped to do things incrementally. Like the deep red must have come from trial and error and each step of the way presented something unique. That might keep her interested. But again, she didn't think she would have kept trying if that was the case. After all a few shades lighter, just a touch less deep and that red rose would still be something beautiful to see. Why keep going? Why keep trying to make it better when it was good enough?

She pulled into the driveway at the assisted living facility her mother had moved in to last month. Or more accurately been moved in to. She had not been happy about it at all. She seemed to be starting to settle in, finally, a little at least. Hopefully it wouldn't take her 10 years to fully accept it. As soon as she had the thought she gasped, she hadn't meant that she hoped her mother didn't last 10 years! She knocked on her dashboard and called it wood as the feeling of guilt flooded her. Which she knew was ridiculous. She knew that wasn't what she had meant, she hadn't said it out loud. There was no reason for the heart racing, panic she was feeling. But the guilt over dragging her mother out of her own home and in to this horrible death's waiting room (her mother's description) was real.

She probably should have asked the florist what color flowers were for guilt. She looked at the bouquet of tulips and realized it was mixed. She laughed again. That actually worked. Mixed. That was her right now. She knew this is where her mother needed to be. She wasn't able to live on her own anymore, and she couldn't live with her. Nobody was at the house full time. She had work and the kids and it was all just too much. But moving her out of the house she had lived in for 40 years, the house she had raised her family, loved her husband, lost her husband? The guilt was real.

She took a deep breath and walked in the front doors bracing herself for the smell of cleaning supplies, old people, and cafeteria food that seemed to permeate the air. She showed her ID and signed in at the front desk. They were starting to recognize her but the procedure was always the same anyway. Show your ID, sign in on the visitor's sheet while they checked you against the authorized visitor list.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rancine. Your mother is in the rec room with your brother."

"With my brother?"

"Yes, he got here about an hour ago."

"Okay, thanks."

She started to walk down the hallway, faster than a stroll but not running. She didn't want to call attention to herself. Her brother? He was on the authorized list, her mother had insisted on it, but he hadn't been to visit her in at least a decade. Why in the world would he be here now? And for an hour?

She stopped at the doorway of the rec room and scanned for them. They were sitting over by the window. James was talking to her mother while he patted her knee over and over again. Patronizing. She tried not to think things like that. It was a knee pat, how could it be patronizing. But it was the only way she could think to describe it. To describe James.

"James, this is a surprise. Mom, these are for you." She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek while handing her the flowers.

"Sis, Mom said you might stop by."

She tried not to look as annoyed as she felt, "Yes. I come a few times a week to check in." She looked at her mother who was staring at her with a blank expression on her face. "Mom? You okay?"

James reached out and patted her mother's knee again, "She's good. Probably just tired. We have been visiting for awhile. Did you want to go back to your room and get some rest?"

"I just got here, James, I would like to spend some time with Mom as well..."

"Now, now, Sis, don't be selfish, Mom needs her rest."

She could feel the anger rising in her chest. How dare he try to tell her what their mother needed. She had been the one taking care of her all of these years. She had been the one to handle everything. And now he wanted to tell her what she needed? She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Mom? Is that what you want? To go back to your room and rest?"

Her mother nodded her head slowly. "Okay, I'll help you get settled. James, why don't you wait here for me and we can visit for awhile?"

James smiled, "That would be fine."

She helped her mother back to her room. She fluffed the pillows on her bed and helped her get settled in for a nap. She noticed a smear of black on the side of mother's hand.  "Mom? What is this?"

For the first time since she had arrived her mother spoke to her, "James had some papers for me to sign. He said he knew you were doing your best but I really need a man to take care of things."

She felt the panic rising again, what had he done? She finished getting her mother situated and even took the time to put her flowers in a vase before heading back out to the rec room to talk to James about just what exactly he had had their mother sign.

He was nowhere to be found.

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!" She yelled as soon as she made it back out to her car. Then the irony of the statement washed over her and she laughed, just a bit hysterically. She had been there, had taken care of everything, had made all of the sacrifices and he had swooped in and had her mother sign over...who knows what all she signed away. The house probably, maybe a whole new will or power of attorney. She couldn't believe the asshole had done it. She had worked so hard to protect them all from him and his greedy ways and he waltzed back in and undid it all in a moment.

The next day the extent of the damage was starting to be felt. The nursing home called to let her know that her brother was trying to to have their mother moved to a new facility. A less expensive one. The broker for her mother's house called to let her know that James wanted to take over the selling of her parent's place and putting it on the market right away instead of waiting to finish sorting the contents. By the third phone call of things James was trying to do she had reached out to her own lawyer to see if there was anything she could do to stop him. If he had paperwork that gave him power of attorney that was dated after hers she might now. Though she could fight in court to prove her mother was not capable of making an informed choice right now.

She finally reached James and he agreed to meet her at their mother's house. She found him in the backyard looking at her mother's rose garden. She started talking as soon as she saw him.

"The home is the best in the state. Moving her isn't a good idea. She needs stability. She needs the care they are able to provide."

"That care is expensive, Sis, it's eating through her savings. There won't be anything left within a few short years if she isn't moved."

"If she is moved she won't be here in a few short years. She needs that care. She started wandering. She doesn't remember to feed herself. She doesn't remember to take her medication. She needs that level of care."

"Sorry, it's just too expensive. I wouldn't expect you to be able to understand."

"How do you think you could understand? You haven't been here. You haven't had anything to do with any of us since Dad died. And even then you only showed up for the funeral and left."

"I did more than just show up and leave. I wasn't here for a funeral."

"What?"

"I checked on the will. Seems he had left everything to her, so there was no reason to stick around. And she was planning on leaving it all to you. Can you believe that? I mean, I'm the oldest. I'm the one who should be incharge of all of this. Not you."

"You've been gone. You weren't the most responsible of people when you were here. You haven't taken care of anything. And like you said, there isn't going to be much to be incharge of. The house proceeds will go toward her care as well. She needs this money. She needs this level of care."

"She's an old woman who is dying anyway."

"She's your MOTHER."

"It's been a long time since I needed my mother. You should have tried growing up as well. It would have done you a lot of good."

Suddenly she was filled with rage. Rage for all of the years growing up that he had only thought of himself. The problems he had put their parents through. The drug abuse. The forged checks. The shame of seeing their oldest child serve time in jail. He was her brother, but she could find no love for him in her. And now he dared to come back to try and rip her mother off one last time? He'd been gone a decade. Ever since their father had died. Ten years.

She started to laugh then.

"What is so funny?"

"Just yesterday I was trying to think of something I would be willing to work on for 10 years. I just realized that I have spent the last 10 years forgetting what an absolute asshole you are."

"I'm glad you find that amusing."

"I do. Because I also spent the last 10 years learning not to be afraid of you."

"Oh real..." was all he was able to get out before the shovel she had picked up hit him in the back of the head.

She didn't feel guilty. Not about this. She searched his rental car and found the paperwork he had had her mother sign and burned it. She went through his wallet and his luggage and then his cell phone. Nobody listed as an emergency contact. She would just have to see what would come of that, when, if he was missed. For now she calmly sat down in the backyard on her mother's porch and called the home, the realtor and her lawyer. They were all very glad that she and her brother had reached an understanding about what was best for her mother.

She would have to figure out what to do with the body. She thought about it, how long would it take to dissolve into nothing here in her mother's garden? Ten years? Was she willing to hold on to the house for that long? She could sell her own and move in here. The kids would love the school district. Ten years, she had found what she would be willing to work on for ten years. Protecting her mother. Protecting herself.

She went to the back of the garden to start to dig. Stopping to look at the roses she noticed a spray of blood, she was going to have to wash that away. She'd never seen a rose that shade of red before.

Old Stories...

I'm pretty sure most of you have heard my prom story, but I'm going to tell it anyway, just so you know.

So the first thing you will notice is that there is something deeply wrong with this picture, and I'm not talking about the fashion. It was 1986, we looked OUTSTANDING for 1986. It's that Brent is the one smiling and I'm not. I didn't smile for pictures unless you caught me off guard. I hated the way my smile looked. Too much teeth and gum and my cheeks would wipe out my eyes and I hated it. I still have too much teeth and gum and my cheeks still wipe out my eyes but that's just the way I smile so I'm okay with it now. In fact, I think I have a pretty great smile. Now.

But then? No way. Not smiling. Take the damn picture and let's move on.

I was deeply, deeply insecure about how I looked. How I smiled. How much money we didn't have. Who I was. And those things added to prom being a really lousy time. Let me backup...

I did not go to prom until senior year. We didn't have a lot of money and the costs involved were not something I was willing to ask my parents for so I convinced myself that it would be more special if I just went senior year. I did that a lot during that time of my life. Convinced myself that I really didn't want something anyway. We didn't have the money for me to go on student trips. Who would want to do that anyway? Being locked in to only seeing what someone else thought important? What a drag. We didn't have the money for me to buy the uniforms necessary for choir, or band, or drill team or...so who would want to do that sort of thing? I'm not really a joiner anyway, and they all needed so much extra time. Drama? All donations? Cool. That's a much better outlet for my particular creative talents anyway.

I'm not saying it was a bad coping method, in fact I think it helped me not resent being broke as much, but it was totally a coping method. And prom fell right into that pattern. Freshman year I was asked to prom by an older boy, in a dramatic fashion (for the day, now people do crazy things to ask people to prom) but I turned him down. One, I thought he was asking me out as some sort of joke. We didn't really know each other except for passing nods in the hallway and so why would he ask me out? (crippling self esteem issues here in play) I was just a dumpy little freshman and he was a popular older jock so it had to be a set up of some sort. But mainly I couldn't afford the dress. I knew I couldn't afford the dress so there was no way I would say yes.

Sophomore year I was asked again and again said no. I was only going to go senior year. It just wasn't happening, but thank you anyway.

Junior year the boy that asked realized that part of why I said no to everyone was I couldn't afford it. He offered to buy me a dress. And a coat. And get a limo. And I looked at that and said, Hell no. That's a debt I am not willing to pay off at the end of the night, and it's one that would be expected to be paid. We talk about our teenagers as if they are young innocents, and they are, up to a point. But they are not nearly as innocent as we try to pretend they are. We weren't. Why do we expect them to be?

So anyway, Senior Year! This is THE prom! And it couldn't be better, I found a beautiful dress, I'm going with my fiance. I'm wearing the shoes and the jewelry I will be wearing again in 7 months at our wedding. It was going to be great. I'd waited all four years for this one perfect shimmering night.

There was no way it was going to live up to the hype.

So a few weeks before prom hits my best friend and her boyfriend break up. He's already got the tickets so asks someone else. She's like hell no, I'm not staying home while he goes to prom I'm getting a sexy dress and going stag! And she did get a great dress. I was actually kind of bummed when I went with her that I went with the ballgown dress when there was a form fitting mermaid dress that was cheaper and so va va voom I could have gotten. But, I digress...

So she is going to ride with us. We will pick her up and go to dinner with her and four other friends. We are all dressed up acting like adults at dinner. Feeling very mature. When I hear someone yelling through the restaurant, "SQUIRREL! SQUIRREL YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" It was my brother. I had forgotten my wrap that went with my dress and so my brother, being nice, brought it to me, and my brother, being an older brother, decided the best way to get it to me was to embarrass me in the process. Yay...So I'm feeling like I really don't belong in a fancy dress in a fancy restaurant acting like a grown up and we haven't even gotten started. (crippling self esteem remember) But I bluffed it off, went outside for a cigarette and composed myself. Really, it's not terrible. Only embarrassing.

So we get to prom. Walk in the door. My friend sees her ex slow dancing with the new chick realizes this was a horrible mistake spins on her heel and goes outside to wait by the car for the rest of the night.

Oh.my.god.

Brent and I did a quick walk through of the place. Nobody says anything to me. People are glaring at us. And I'm thinking, "She didn't even make a scene she just walked out, what is your major malfunction?" But I also can't get over thinking that she's just outside waiting at the car to go home. And what sort of friend would I be to let her?

So we left. We took her home. We spent maybe a half hour at prom. I don't think we even danced a single dance.

After calming her down and getting her settled in for the night we went to Village Inn. Just the two of us, me apologizing for ruining the night. Him being him and letting it all slide off his back. Then this little old couple came over and told us how we reminded them of them at our age and how they could tell we were a really good couple. Which was incredibly sweet.

Then we went home and Brent spent a half hour getting the pins out of my hair and brushing it all out so it wouldn't be a rat's nest in the morning. And we laughed about how lousy of a time prom was and how glad we were to be home together anyway.

And that to me is what makes my lousy prom story actually a good one.

We had a lousy time together then went home and brushed it all off.

It was a good lesson for a life together. Now, don't get me wrong, we've actually had it pretty easy. We've had some lousy times, every couple does. We've had some really stressful experiences. We've had heartbreaking times. But we are home together brushing it off. And that's where we prefer to be anyway.

Also, the reason people were glaring? Monday morning at school I had people come to tell me all about how Brent took someone else to prom. The hair and makeup was like a superhero disguise I guess. It made me laugh and shake my head. One that they would think Brent would take someone else, first off we were engaged, secondly we lived together so how was he going to get out of our house and to prom without me noticing, and then that they ratted him out to me, but didn't confront him that night. It just added a funny twist to the whole story.

So we had a lousy senior prom, but a funny story to share later. We (I) learned to not put pressure on certain dates to fill outsized expectations, which actually led to us not celebrating most holidays in a big fashion. Which is so much more relaxing and chill for us. It's perfect. And our lack of a formal at prom official photo led us to start doing this when given the opportunity for a couple's photo:

Which makes me laugh every time! So really, it all worked out for the best.