Okay, this just creeped me out, so I had to write about it.
Mom, Dad, and I were trying to put together my dresser, which has had a broken bottom drawer for years. We finished it and put it in, everything worked, we're cleaning up, Mom sitting on the piano bench, me and Dad down on the floor. Dad's gathering his tools back together, but he couldn't find the pliers. They were left smack dab in the middle of me, Mom, and Dad. We looked all over the place in a 3x3 foot area. We cleaned it bare!
Finally, Mom gave up the search and left. I got to my feet, ready to leave too. Then, while straightening my pants, I happened to look down.
The pliers were at my feet! Dead in the middle of us three, perfectly open view.
All three of us swore they were not there just a moment before. They were not buried nor even obscured, and there was no way I could have been sitting on them, they were in the middle of the floor, right in the center of where the three of us had been positioned. It's like a Bermuda Triangle.
The whole thing gave Dad the chills. Even Mom couldn't explain it. My boyfriend had one explanation:
Poltergeist!
Gee, I'm gonna sleep great tonight!
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Monday, July 05, 2004
Fireworks in Suburbia
First, I'll explain that, in my city, fireworks are totally illegal. You can get fined for even setting off Whistling Pete's. Because of this total ban on the sulfuric favorites of 4th of July celebrations, I know nothing of fireworks.
On the other hand, my boyfriend's hometown allows some fireworks to be shot off, and his block has a firework show every year, with chips and hot dogs and beer for everyone along with some no-quite-legal fireworks. And he used to work the fireworks stand the local high school marching band put up, so he learned a thing or two about the different chemicals used, if for no other reason than it was a cool, geeky thing to learn and... well... Matt's always been the geek of my life, he was no different as a teenager.
But they have one rule: no fireworks in the park. So when I wanted to get away from the noise, I suggested we take a walk down the street to Teewinkle Park.
No such escape. There were more fireworks being set off at the park than any of the small cul-de-sacs we passed walking there. Dozens of families had come.... and so had the police.
Took them a while to arrive, I must say, but they chased the majority off with a stiff warning, while Matt and I watched with laughs during our romantic walk through the pines and around the lake. And so they packed up and left.
And then came more. In came the helicopters, who flew around checking out the local parks to inforce the law. Just strange to see such militant enforcement over something meant to be done in fun and for patriotic expression. And so they left. And yet more came after them. These late comers got the actual fine. Poor guys, no warning at all, they just thought to stay at home a little later.
Fireworks simply do not belong in suburbia. So where do they belong? Good question, one I do not have an answer to. Something explosive, meant to be used in warfare, should not be wrapped as a flashy toy and set in the hands of four-year-olds, or suburban dumbheads.
On the other hand, my boyfriend's hometown allows some fireworks to be shot off, and his block has a firework show every year, with chips and hot dogs and beer for everyone along with some no-quite-legal fireworks. And he used to work the fireworks stand the local high school marching band put up, so he learned a thing or two about the different chemicals used, if for no other reason than it was a cool, geeky thing to learn and... well... Matt's always been the geek of my life, he was no different as a teenager.
But they have one rule: no fireworks in the park. So when I wanted to get away from the noise, I suggested we take a walk down the street to Teewinkle Park.
No such escape. There were more fireworks being set off at the park than any of the small cul-de-sacs we passed walking there. Dozens of families had come.... and so had the police.
Took them a while to arrive, I must say, but they chased the majority off with a stiff warning, while Matt and I watched with laughs during our romantic walk through the pines and around the lake. And so they packed up and left.
And then came more. In came the helicopters, who flew around checking out the local parks to inforce the law. Just strange to see such militant enforcement over something meant to be done in fun and for patriotic expression. And so they left. And yet more came after them. These late comers got the actual fine. Poor guys, no warning at all, they just thought to stay at home a little later.
Fireworks simply do not belong in suburbia. So where do they belong? Good question, one I do not have an answer to. Something explosive, meant to be used in warfare, should not be wrapped as a flashy toy and set in the hands of four-year-olds, or suburban dumbheads.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
I Done Kilt It
Okay, title isn't as clever as I hoped.
Anyway, Matt and I had a great anniversary. He loved the kilt and tried to wear it. I must say, he looked darn handsome in it! We went for a nice Italian dinner and a walk along the beach. After six years, he's still a romantic!
Not much else to say.
May all your walks be like slow strolls on moonlit sands!
Anyway, Matt and I had a great anniversary. He loved the kilt and tried to wear it. I must say, he looked darn handsome in it! We went for a nice Italian dinner and a walk along the beach. After six years, he's still a romantic!
Not much else to say.
May all your walks be like slow strolls on moonlit sands!
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