This is not the kind of writing I usually post here. That’s why this introduction is necessary - I don’t want to unpleasantly surprise my readers. The reason you haven’t seen any of my attempts at serious fiction here up to now is that I’m painfully insecure about my short stories. But, I’m facing my fear today, because it’s Halloween.

So, whenever you’d like to read my story, kindly lower your expectations two or three notches and then click on the extended entry.

Happy Halloween!
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I don’t hit my kid. But I’m here to tell ya - that Damien boy needs a spanking! There are some misbehaviors that merit more than a “time out.”

“Don’t try to kill your mother, Damien. That’s naughty.”

See? It just doesn’t ring true.

A good ass whipping is what’s called for in this case.

My pledge to you the reader:

I, your humble blogger, do solemnly swear upon my favorite sweater* to hereby more carefully proofread everything I post on this site from this day onward.

I’m so stupid. I should be made to wear a scarlet letter on my chest. Not the usual “A” for adulterer (or apple), but a big “D” for dumbass. When I’m done wearing the letter, I’ll probably make with the self flagellation for a few years, or until someone discovers the bloody scourge in my closet, whichever comes first. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on how that turns out for me.

“Whatever is that woman rambling on about?” you may ask.

Well, I just found and corrected an error in my Stumbly post where I actually managed to use the same damn phrase in two sentences back to back.

This was a shameful discovery, of course. But, it has taught me a critical lesson.

Giving your work an uninterrupted proofreading is not a luxury but a necessity. Sometimes, as a writer, you’ll have to make a choice between checking your work for errors and making dinner. When the time comes for you to make that choice, you should make it unflinchingly and then have the fortitude to stick to your guns. If you try to do both tasks at once, you may burn your dinner rolls and leave an otherwise obvious mistake in your blog.

By the way, when I used the word “you” in my last paragraph, I really meant me. The real you may very well be able to make dinner and proofread at the same time. The you that is me apparently cannot.

Hmm…

Could it be that multitasking is only for people who can do two things at once?

*May it fall apart in the washer if I’m lying.

I find it hilarious that so many warblogger types actually call themselves “military supporters.” Last I heard, that is a jockstrap.

Apparently, I’m not the only person who feels this way. Read this guy’s insightful post entitled “More Thoughts on Winning at All Costs.”

Speaking of winning at all costs, have you heard about this incident of compassionate conservatism?

George W. Bush’s concern for our dead military men and women doesn’t extend so far as to honor them with the traditional homecoming ceremonies to which they are entitled. Dead soldiers are bad PR.

Sorry if this bummed anyone out. I’ll try to be funny later tonight, or maybe tomorrow. I’m sure someone else’s blog is funny today.

Oh, hell, anyone know any good dirty jokes to lighten my mood? I’ll even settle for clean jokes. Whatever ya got.

I’m sober as sober can be today, which is a good thing, I guess, since it’s not quite 10 a.m. yet. But, I must say, sobriety really sucks. Send tequila. Go on a beer run. For God’s sake, help me drown the pain that is my life!…

I’m better now. Had my coffee.

If someone offers you drugs, you could just say, “No.” Or, you could do as I do and just say, “I’ll take cream and artificial sweetener in mine. Thank you.”

Oh, hey, sorry if I offended anyone with my “urgent massage” joke the other day. I’m a mean drunk.

Actually, if I must have a label attached to my drunkenness, it would be much more accurate for me to call myself a sleepy drunk. If I have more than three drinks, I head straight to bed. I don’t care which bed, either. Whomever’s bed is closest will do nicely.

By the way, try not to wake me up if you notice I’m sleeping on top of your cat or something of equal importance to you. Gently and quietly lift my offending limb from your endangered feline, or if necessary, roll me over and off of your flattened pet without making a big fuss about it. You don’t want to be rude to your guest.

However, if somehow I managed to stumble outside and lay down in your driveway, thinking in my inebriated state that it looked all billowy and inviting, kindly place a few orange cones around my body for safety’s sake. Thanks. You’re a dear.

Anyway, since the theme of my post has turned into drunk classification, here’s a little something I find interesting.

It occurred to me the other night that at least four of the seven dwarfs are drunks. Happy, Sleepy, Grumpy and Dopey all need to get to an AA meeting as soon as possible. Dopey may also need to get himself to an NA meeting. He’s one messed up little fella. Look at him staring at his hands in a manner that suggests he’s just dropped some acid. But, I digress…

The other three dwarfs are a bit harder to sort out, but I’ll give it a go:

Doc

There are those who like to play doctor after they’ve had a few, but I don’t see Doc as a drunk stereotype.

Bashful

A lot of folks become more outgoing when intoxicated. My husband is the exception to this rule. He is a bashful drunk. On any given night, if Michael has had the pleasure of meeting with Jose Cuervo, he needn’t look any further for companionship.

But, I don’t see Bashful the dwarf as an alcoholic. I see him as more of a stalker type. He loves to watch Snow White when she is unaware of his presence, and even more so than the other six dwarfs, he likes to stare at her while she’s sleeping.

Sneezy

Sneezy is an asthmatic and an allergy sufferer. I blame Snow White for the bulk of his allergy problems. Poor Sneezy is probably allergic to the Clorox she’s always using to mop the floor, or any one of the other toxic chemicals she brought with her to clean the house. Also, she’s probably the type that drowns herself in heavy cologne, in a vain attempt to attract some Prince Charming. What a stupid broad! I hate that bitch Snow White, and I don’t care who knows it.

Does the fact that three of the dwarfs obviously don’t have “drunk names” blow my drunken dwarf theory? I don’t think it does.

I suspect that the above mentioned three dwarfs were originally going to be named “Barfy”, “Stumbly” and “Spitty” until someone at Disney finally became aware of this correlation.

In closing, I should add that I find it quite unfortunate that Stumbly the dwarf didn
‘t make the final cut. Surely, he’d have been beloved by one and all.

Spitty and Barfy? Er…Not so much.

Michael pointed out to me that my apron looks way too clean. Maybe I was just starting my shift? Sigh.

Oh well. Cest la vie. The lunch lady is not one to cry over spilled milk, so I’ll try to forgive myself this egregious oversight.

There are a few more pictures of me in the gallery, if you have the stomach for such things.