Showing posts with label ghost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost. Show all posts

Thanksgiving Bitch Edition

Posted by Dayle Winnifred | Comments (0)

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I am so friggen thankful this week is over! I spent the better part of 2 weeks before with a miserable pain in the ass of a broken tooth. I finally got a temp on it Tuesday, so I had to spend Wednesday playing catch up for all the crap that I let go or overlooked while I was hurting and hopped up on delicious prescription drugs.


Is it to much to ask that when mom is down and out for the rest of the family to step up and perform a little? Why must every little chore be so damn hard to get them to do? Just because I am a stay at home mom does not mean that I am the only one capable of doing any work around here! And offering to order pizza or telling the kids to pick up is not "helping". Trust me.


So, no, I am not going to brave the crowds and go Black Friday shopping, dear.



I am thankful that I didn't freak out (visibly) on my family during this week. I'm way bent out of shape over the self-entitled exwife and the way that the holiday "visitation" with the boys is going. But, with the help of venting to friends, venting to my mother and liberal doses of happy pills - I made it. Maybe Husband got to feel the full force of my wrathful yelling a few times since the exwife isn't handily around to verbally abuse.

This morning before the boys went to their mother's for dinner? They had a full Thanksgiving meal for breakfast. They were also allowed to stay up as late as they wanted the past two nights since they're out of school for the holiday. They were a wee bit cranky and full when we dropped them off. (insert evil chuckle here) If she didn't want them fed - then she should have drove her happy ass to our house to get them!

Now I have a whole month to get myself good and lathered up over Christmas! Wheeee! *whimper*





I spent this week in a state of stress over work. Nothing makes working in a food supply store as fun as anal sex as the week before Thanksgiving. Not even Christmas is as bad, because Christmas is about gifts and greed, while Thanksgiving is all about the food.

I loved having people, who had been in the store six times already, ask me where the cranberry sauce was. Or where the milk was. Or where the Whipped Cream was. It's all the same place it was thirty fucking minutes ago, douchenozzle, and the same place where every goddamn store keeps perishable items like milk and Whipped Cream.

I was more than happy to lock the doors at closing time the day before Thanksgiving, smiling as I twisted the key in the lock, shrugging my shoulders at the people pulling up to the door because, of course, I'll postpone going home to help YOU because you didn't make a list of things needed for your family gathering. I don't care that you need the Green Man brand of corn/green beans/broccoli, use the cheap versions you bought and deal with the fall out.

I spent my day shoveling snow, and pretending I was happy to spend the holiday alone. Truthfully, I was damn pissy about it. I spent the day in my pajamas (which is always something that cheers me up) with a long list of Ghost Hunter episodes I had DVR'd and a stack of new books from the library.

I didn't read. I didn't watch the shows. What time I didn't spend shoveling, I spent in bed, lamenting about moving to the wrong side of the country in my journey from Married to Newly Divorced.

I didn't cry, which is a source of pride, as my period also came today. When my period shows up, I cry over coffee commercials (you know the one, where the son comes home Christmas and manages to surprise his entire family? Que Niagra Falls) and start looking at Dove chocolate like Jenna Jameson looked at an erect penis.

(By the way, girls, how the bloody fuck could we NOT have a 'chocolate' tag? I fixed it.)





I love having a Friday bitch especially the day after a family holiday. You know you are supposed to focus on the warm, fuzzy feelings and the good times and memories and shit but in the back of your head you have some bitches milling about that you feel would be completely inappropriate to air. 

At least I have Friday bitch session. I was up Wednesday until almost 2am prepping a ham, duck, and turkey for Thanksgiving so my husband could drop it into the deep pit, put the lid on and go to bed. He spent Wednesday evening around the deep pit burning down logs into a fat bed of coals while drinking beer with his buddies. It's a tradition and I wholeheartedly support him because I know how much he loves it. What I don't love is when I get called out at midnight to help prep all the meat and wrap it in foil.

I was up Thanksgiving morning at 7am cooking. His royal highness stayed in bed until 11am when I woke him up to get ready to go to my dad's house for Thanksgiving. We came home around 2pm and he promptly started nagging at me for the apple pie I made that morning that was meant for dessert AFTER DINNER - the dinner I had been up since 7am prepping for. Then he fell asleep and slept until almost 6pm. While he napped I finished up cooking and cleaned the kitchen. Thank God for my oldest daughter because she is always right there next to me helping out in the trenches without a single sigh, whine, or complaint.

After dinner I started cleaning up the kitchen and actually had to ask my husband to help out. I finally made my way upstairs leaving my son, three cousins, one friend, and one of the cousin's two buddies from the marine corp. in the family room with my husband. Did I take a long hot shower and climb into bed? Nope, I started doing laundry and cleaning the bedroom. At one point I left the bedroom to switch over a load of laundry and returned to find my husband plopped on the bed changing the channel from the show I was watching because I "don't own the television or the bedroom!" and complaining about the channel being changed is "shitty and just picking an argument."

Drop warm fuzzies into the toilet and flush. Rinse/Repeat.

This morning I'm adding my bitch here at 10am - and his royal highness is still up in bed asleep. Must be fucking nice. If I hear ONE slight HINT about how "tired" he is I'll fucking jab his eye out with a rusty spoon.

Who?

Posted by Dayle Winnifred | Comments (3)

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I never used to believe in those things that went bump in the night. Until 4 years ago this week when our friend died in a motorcycle accident. After he passed we frequently had little visits from him. The stereo in the garage used to turn on in the middle of the night, full volume to a local blues station. A station that we never listened to. He used to show up every now and then, turn on the radio, and after I would acknowledge him, it wouldn't happen for a few months.

Then for several months after my grandfather passed my mom, my aunts, and I, would find hot water running in our bathrooms when no one else had been in the room. My grandfather was known for demanding scalding hot water before he would bathe or wash his hands.

But that is not what has been haunting me lately.

Since we moved here to this house there have been... things.

Starting shortly after we moved in, I was returning from the store. I pulled into the driveway. Our master bedroom windows are above the garage. As I got out of the car, I clearly saw a hand move the curtain in my room as though someone were checking to see who was pulling up. I thought it was my oldest son. Imagine my shock when I walked in the house, seconds later to find him sitting at the computer desk. I knew I had seen the hand of someone upstairs in our room. There was no fan blowing, no air moving to move the curtain. I told my husband who immediately checked out the whole house (with his gun. Men!). Naturally, he found nothing.
I managed to convince them that I was wrong and left it at that, but I KNEW I had seen something.

Frequently when I am up in the room alone, I hear someone walking up the steps, but no one ever arrives to the top.

More than one occasion I have been laying in bed at night and felt someone sit on the edge of the bed, only to find no one there.

My hall closet doesn't ever remain closed, even when I have been positive it was latched.

My grandpa and my friend never bothered me, because they were loved ones. But this one? I don't know who she is. I do feel like she is a she though.

I wonder who she is


Just Leave A Message

Posted by Celeste | Comments (4)

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My Mom said that she saw my Grandfather and her Father after they died. To be honest, I kind of thought she had an over-active, grief-stricken imagination.

A few years ago, her husband’s aunt passed away. Mom and Aunt had been very close and Mom started hearing things in her house. Something that sounded like Aunt’s laugh. I again thought that Mom was just really sad and this was her way of coping.

I was talking to my Stepdad on the phone one day and he said that he woke up the night before because he thought Mom was talking loudly on the phone but she was asleep on the couch when he went into the living room. I figure that Mom has talked to him so much about hearing Aunt that he’s starting to dream about it.

About a week later my sister calls me and she’s freaking out and she asks me to call Mom’s phone number and then call her back. I do. She asks what I heard on the machine and I told her it was the generic message that Mom keeps on there that came with the machine.

My sister had called the number right before calling me and instead of the generic message, there was Aunt saying “You’ve reached Aunt, leave a message!”

Paranormal... just like normal, only not

Posted by Surreal SaDiablo | Comments (6)

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We're all fascinated by what we cannot explain. Whether it's vampires (side note: Edward Cullen is NOT a vampire. He is a creepy stalker douche bag who needs to meet Buffy or Blade or even old skool Anita Blake in a dark alley), werewolves, ghosts, monsters, or God, we love to take things on faith.

Because, truly, that is what is comes down to. Faith. Belief in something beyond us, beyond the basic senses and it's something we have true control over. We either believe in something, or we don't. We can have a weak belief, or one that is strong enough to survive the test of time.

I believe in ghosts. Places I've lived... I don't have a choice in it.

Two little girls I would baby sit when I was fourteen, they would talk to "the old lady" all the time. Every night I was there, I'd be reading them a story, and they're talking to the old lady. At first, I thought the old lady was simply kids being kids. How children imagine things that aren't there.

Then I saw the old lady; I'd broken up with my first love, and I was still weepy over the whole thing (really, when is a teenage girl *not* weepy over a boy?) and I was holding the littlest girl in my lap, smelling her hair, when the old lady appeared on the chair across from me. She had the saddest smile on her face, her eyes swallowed up by wrinkled skin. I almost dropped the little girl in fright, and the old woman disappeared. I never again sat in that chair.

My very first apartment, I had a girlfriend spend the night (we'd had fights with our mutual partners and were having a 'men are scum' night), and after we went to bed, neither of us could sleep. We lay in that queen size bed, on our bellies, with pillows tucked under us just right and snuggled together for maximum warmth. Just as we'd doze off, we'd be jolted away by an old woman who got a thrill out of seeing us jump. I swear, if a ghost could laugh out loud, she'd have been rolling around cackling like a crazed witch.

This same old woman would check on my neighbors daughter when she was sick. She'd rub my forehead when I had a headache. Not a real rub, and not on command, but when I would be truly ill and want only to pass out to get away from the ache, I'd feel her touch me between the eyes. It didn't make the pain go away, but it reminded me of when I was small, and I'd feel better.

In that same side, I've felt the angry presence of someone who would not rub my forehead when I was hurting. If they had the chance, I fully believe they'd have shoved a spike in my eye and called it a day. Vanishing pools of blood on my bedroom floor, the sensation that I was being choked when I was completely alone, and shadows moving around my bed at night that had me terrified enough I'd leave during the witching hour and sleep in my car.

Not everyone caught in that forever twilight was at peace with their leaving.
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