Alone and scared.

To this day sometimes I find myself afraid to be in the house alone.  I don't quite understand it, as I am pretty unafraid of living things.

I guess it started when I was a kid.  Bigfoot was all over the TV in the 1970's, and I remember watching a program in which Bigfoot crashed through a living room window.  After that, I was afraid for years to look out a window and find Bigfoot staring back at me.

It doesn't help that I LOVE watching shows that deal with ghosts and the supernatural.  Add to that the fact my grandmother was a huge believer in ghosts and you have the makings of a disastrous fascination with shit that scares me.

It all came to a head one night while I was watching a scary show on television, downstairs, by myself.   Everyone was asleep upstairs.

We had 3 ft tall ceramic Santa (he is in another blog, my issues with this Santa were HUGE) and I found him very creepy.  As I watched the program, I became convinced Santa as moving closer to me.

This wouldn't do.  I gathered my things, shut off the TV, and began backing up the stairs (wasn't about to turn my back on Santa, he would likely scamper up behind me and leap on my back to assassinate me) slowly.  As I backed up, suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

It was Papi, who had decided to come downstairs just as I was backing up the steps, and he had touched my back to keep me from backing into him.  No matter.  I had already peed down my legs in fear.

Not long after we did away with "Creepy Santa".  I continue to have periods of fear when alone in the house (especially in the shower...have you ever seen PSYCHO???)but I am trying to get better.  Additionally, I only watch scary programs on an empty bladder.

Smoking. Why I still do it.

I have tried to quit smoking quite a few times, and have been repeatedly unsuccessful.

My generation began smoking in their teens.  There was no secondhand smoke, and when I went to college I smoked in the classroom.  I was a receptionist at a law office, and I smoked at the desk.  It was a different time.

A few years ago I decided I needed help with quitting smoking so I tried the patch.  I immediately began having terrible nightmares, culminating in one in which I was being chased by a giant penis, and people around me were fleeing it as well.  I ducked down an alley to get away and found I was trapped with several other people, all of whom were backed against a wall that was a giant mattress.

My next effort involved my trusted family physician. He prescribed me an antidepressant that had been successful in helping some people quit smoking.  I started the medication, and for a week everything seemed fine.  I was smoking less, and I was jazzed about the possibility of finally quitting.

It was Christmastime, and I had a ceramic Santa about 3 feet tall that completely creeped me out.  While in the shower preparing for work one morning while the girls slept in their beds, I became convinced that Santa was going to crawl from the living room and harm the children.  Covered with soap, I ran naked from the shower to the living room, where Santa stood, unmoved.

  I grabbed a jacket and threw it over his face to keep him from looking at me, and ran back into the shower.

  I had barely rinsed my hair when I had the shocking realization that if Santa was thinking about attacking the kids before, the jacket over his head would surely piss him off enough to give it a shot.  So I ran naked from the shower.  Again. This time I picked up the phone to call Papi. "PAPI THE SANTA IS GOING TO HARM THE KIDS!!! WE NEED YOU TO GET HIM OUT OF HERE!!!"  He remained calm and replied, "This medicine is making you batshit crazy. I will put Santa in the basement when I get home.  Call the doctor."
I freaked out.  "YOU CAN'T PUT SANTA IN THE BASEMENT!!! HE WILL TAMPER WITH THE HEATER AND BURN THE HOUSE DOWN!!!"

 A pause on the other line.  Sigh.  "Yvette, I am on my way home."
Turns out the medication had psychosis as a side effect. My doctor ordered me to stop the medication immediately.

And people wonder why I still smoke.

Driving my parental units

Nothing is worse for me than having to drive my parents anywhere.  It is a torture beyond compare.

It starts with my father commenting on every pothole, slight bump, and curve in the road.  He looks at me in a condemning fashion, and makes a comment that always makes my blood boil.  "Yvette, you are driving a little erratically."

The last time I drove him he flipped out because I was driving behind a lawn truck.  On a two lane road. "YVETTE YOU NEVER DRIVE BEHIND A LAWN TRUCK!!!! THINGS COULD FLY OFF THE BACK!!!!"  I imagined he thought a branch would fly out the back and impale me in the chest.

Instead, he continued..."THE LITTLE BRANCHES AND THINGS COULD CHIP THE PAINT ON THE CAR!!!!!"

Not that my mother is any better.  Any time a vehicle approaches within a mile of me, she gasps and grabs the dashboard, calling out, "YVETTE!!!! LOOK OUT!!!!!"

I actually drive like  normal person.
I do not perform extreme multitasking...

Nor do I drive with my feet.

In fact, my driving record is quite good.  Just ask Papi.  WAIT.  Lets not talk about driving Papi.  This is about my parents.

The last trip I went with them, I swore I would NEVER drive them again.  After making my life a living hell, they actually asked me if I would like to drive with them to Florida.

Wait.....

uhhhh, forget it...I think thats illegal anyway.

PAPI VS. WINSTON

Anyone who knows me knows that one of my great loves is my Yorkie, Winston.   I obtained Winston when he was so small he could fit in the palm of my hand.  As much as I loved him immediately, he and Papi got off to a rocky start.  It all started when Winston stole every pair of Papis insoles for his shoes.  I thought it was funny, but Papi claimed it was VERY INCONVENIENT to go to work without any insoles in his shoes.  I thought he should just get over it.  Winston looked sooo cute and happy stealing those insoles.  

Well, Winston and I became best of friends. He  was happiest whenever he was cuddled in my lap.  We were like peas and carrots.

Winston kept getting under Papis skin.  Papi swore the dog was making fun of him and was jealous of him with regard to me.  I thought Papi was being ridiculous.

Things really began to heat up when Papi realized that sometimes Winston went peepee in the house.  Papi wanted to punish Winston with a yell and a tap, but I couldn't let him do it.  All I could see was my angel.

Things haven't gotten much better over time, and now Papi and I are arguing about my baby Winston every day.  

Since Papi doesn't wait for me in the window and jump up and down with joy when I get home, I think Winston is going to win this war in the long run.  

Wow. Its been two years.

I can't believe I haven't posted an opinion in two years. Unfortunately, I have been somewhat addicted to Facebook and have been posting many of my great ideas there. But Facebook limits one to 452 characters, or you have to write a "Note". Many of you know I cannot say hello in less than 452 characters, so Facebook limits my psyche. I also want to start posting cartoons with my thoughts and Facebook doesn't give me a format to do so. So I am returning to Blogspot for my BIG ideas and BIG stories. Lets see how it works out!!!

Lipstick makes me dangerous

I have found that I have two distinct personalities. One is the "Regular Yvette" (sans lipstick) and the other is the "Look out here comes Yvette" lipstick personality.

The regular Yvette is fairly benign, she goes to the Wawa for cigarettes and cream, wears slippers in the house, and is an avid reader.

The lipstick Yvette drives terribly fast, shakes her ass when she walks, tosses her hair in a "f*ck off" kind of way, and gets into trouble. A lot.

When I go over the events of my life, I have come to the startling conclusion that most of the trouble I get into in life occurs when I am wearing lipstick. I wonder if I am having a chemical reaction to the lipstick, as it causes me to believe I am the sexiest creature alive, rules don't apply to me, and high heels don't hurt.

The regular Yvette isn't bothered by traffic jams, lines in the grocery store, or designated parking. The lipstick Yvette freaks out over all the above.

Someone should perform a study on the affects of lipstick. Or it could be explained that I am a native New Yorker. Hmmmm.

Dog Farts

Ok. This is the second post today, but I have to vent.

My husband and I put the 8 year-old yellow labrador "Chumley" on Purina ONE's Chicken and Oatmeal Diet about a week ago. Chumley has not stopped farting since. Chumley's farts are not garden variety "Oh my, that stinks" farts, they are more like Saddam Hussein's lost chemical weapons farts.

When it started, Chumley would look at his rear end and get up quickly and leave the area. (As if they alarmed even him) That generally resulted in the people remaining in the room looking furtively at each other (Who the hell laid that one!?!) After a few misquided and poorly received accusations among the humans, Chumley was nailed as the culprit.

Today my husband and I decided we could take this no more. He apparently is not moving past this gasseous and foul response to the food, so we are going to change his food.

However I am tired (from driving the parental units a total of 8 hours today, and the hubby changed the oil on both the cars and washed my SUV for me. However, as if knowing his farting days are coming to a close, Chumley is rocking out one hell of a last hurrah in the fart department.

The homeland security department could use this against our global enemies.