The Bronze Surfer - Flash Fiction Magazine

Unbelievably, I have been published in Flash Fiction Magazine.  If you are not familiar with flash fiction, you should be.  It's exciting, imaginative and FAST!  So, since I started writing on this blog, I will post my first published work.  Click the link and enjoy!



The Bronze Surfer - Flash Fiction Magazine: The bronze surfer is always there. He is the only thing consistent, shielding you from the sharp breeze that whips the sand over the cement strand and the spray of the public showers onto the skaters. He’s been there as long as you’ve been there. Somehow, he is leaning into his sculpted wave, yet looms tall and proud. You, instead, slouch on the pier and dream of a past that promised to be a shiny new life which will never have the chance to happen again. Everything now has morphed into something else, dull and unfriendly. The people, the bustle, …

Birthday gift via Christmas gift

Life is funny.  Sometimes not in a “ha ha” kind of way, but funny regardless.  This is a lesson in “what you should and shouldn't joke about”.  This is something I know nothing about.

My Dad was a player.  Literally and figuratively.  He was a fantastic drummer and vocalist and 100% rock star, through and through.  This man was an entertainer and lived the life of one for many years and, enjoyed all the perks, especially the ladies. 

Now I’m not going to creep you out with sleazy stories about my dad, but just ask my mom DeAnne, she will be more than happy to share stories that will make you uber uncomfortable.  Ask her about the marriage counselor.  That one is a doozy.

Here is what I do know, even hanging out and living with dad as an adult, when he was no longer the 22- year-old rock star, the women still flocked to him.  It was kind of mind blowing.  And unnerving.   He had the most magnetic personality of anyone I have ever met, then and now.  I am not the only person who thought this, anyone who knew him would agree.  But this can cause things to get messy on occasion, especially if you are dating and/or married to a hot-blooded Italian woman.

 

Somehow my parents made it work for over 20 years and even remained the best of friends after they divorced.  I know despite mom meeting and marrying an amazing man in Eddie, she did always love George.  And he knew that, the little shit. 

After dad died, we did make some pretty funny remarks about his ashes, like we separated the wanker ashes from the rest of him so he couldn’t chase tail in the afterlife. (Yes, those of you that don’t know me well, get used to this humor.  I’m inappropriate and it’s too late to change now.  If you are offended stop reading now, it’s just going to get worse). Then I started in on the commentary.  “Mom, you DO realize that I have a sibling out there somewhere.  I mean, the odds, seriously”.  I have been joking about it for at least 15 years.

On dad’s birthday at 7:30am the phone rang.  It was mom, and I was expecting her.  We check on each other on this day every year to try and help avoid depression, crying fits, anger, whisky, tequila, heavy medication, photo album marathons, more whisky, and gambling binges.  You know, the usual shit you do when something is upsetting.

Here was the first 10 seconds of the conversation.

Me: Hi Mom.  How are you doing?

Mom: Well, I’m ok.  Need to talk to you

(at this point I roll my eyes and wait for mom to get upset and tell me she misses dad and blah blah blah….)

Me: OK Shoot.

Mom: You know how you are always joking about how someday a brother or sister is going to come knocking on your door?

Me: Yep.

Mom: Well today is that day.

RADIO SILENCE. 

Yep, I, the constantly yapping over-talker, was speechless.  Which was good, because this is a great story.  

Mom received a text from my Aunt Janet the night before.  She was already asleep and didn’t get it until the morning.  My Aunt Janet is my dad’s sister.  She’s 80 and a pistol, so add that nugget to the details of this whacko story.   Let me back up a little…

Aunt Janet wanted to do the whole DNA thing.  You know, ancestry dot com and yadda yadda.  Me, my husband Mike, mom and my cousin Patrick did it on MyFamilyTree DNA and guess what?  Mom is my mom and Patrick is my 1^st cousin.  Shocker.  So, Aunt Janet asked her kids to get her a kit for Christmas and well, they did.  Aunt Janet though, is a busy-ass lady and was snowbirding in Phoenix for the winter so didn’t bother with the test until she realized she was going to have to pack it back to Michigan so, what the hell, in March she swabbed away and mailed it in.  5 weeks later, 23andme posted her results.  (which by the way, the Sheehan family has some jacked up heritage.  We are all scratching our heads, but I digress).  Not long after this she gets a message from someone claiming that she could be her first cousin.  Of course, Janet would certainly know her first cousin, not to mention the math really didn’t work so she explained there must be a mistake and well, sorry but no.

This is where things get interesting.  The lady in question, Laura Iaquinto wasn’t convinced, with good reason.  Now Laura has one of those family members knows the entire history of everyone (there’s always one) but, they know their way around the heritage/ancestry/DNA game and she explained that with the markers found, this woman could also be her Aunt.  So, not taking no for an answer (surprised?) she contacted Aunt Janet again. 

This time the question was not about first cousins.  This time, the question was  “Do you have any brothers?”.  To which of course the answer is yes.  Two.  George and Frank were the Sheehan boys, and sadly neither one of them are with us any longer.  They were however both in Michigan in 1966. 

The question of which brother took exactly one sentence from Laura Iaquinto: 

“My mother was a go-go dancer”

Well shit.  That’s George.

At this point is when Janet sends the text to DeAnne, including Laura’s phone number, which leads to the 7:30 am phone call to me from mom.  Mom then gave me Laura’s phone number.

I do not know why there was no hesitation whatsoever, but I just picked up the phone and dialed.  It was crazy.  Laura answered.  She was sweet.  Picture a sweet, nice, teacher version of me.  Ok, you can’t but it was worth a shot.   We walked through the whole scenario again, as well as the name of club where her mom worked (which I recognized) and the correct spelling of her last name, which then led me to facebook. 

Now, when I tell you this woman looks like my dad, I mean, give this girl some drumsticks.  I saw the picture of her with a beer in her hand and knew immediately - it was uncanny.  But of course, I really wanted to make this official.  Seeing as how 23andMe does not allow imported information but FamilyTreeDNA does, I managed to wrangle the instructions, send them to Laura and she sent me her info.  Once she signed the release the information uploaded.  I was sitting in front of my laptop in the living room when I hit refresh on my screen.  And there she was.  Right in between mom and Patrick.  Laura Iaquinto/Half Sister.   I get goosebumps every time I think about it.  I gasped and dialed the phone as she was dialing me.  I have to say, we’re now like a couple of kids at a sleepover.  “You have two dogs?  I have two dogs!”  It’s giggly and ridiculous and I love it.  

What led Laura to look for her biological father at this point in life is her story to tell, but I will say this, she didn’t know to look until recently.  If it weren’t for Aunt Janet’s Christmas present, none of this may have gone down at all so thanks to the O’Neil family for everything.

So, I have a sister, the Sheehan clan has another cousin and it’s all wonderful.  There are many, many things to be thankful for in this scenario.  But here are a few that are not so obvious.

 I am thankful that Laura is my older sister, and not my younger.  She was born in 1966. My parents married in 1968.  So, thanks for not making this more awkward than necessary, dad. 

It’s wonderful finding out that people are genuine, caring individuals.  Laura just wanted to know who her father was.  A wonderful, heartfelt quest. She seems to be a kind, caring person.  In turn she now has a pretty nutty sister and a whole tribe of cousins I’m guessing she wasn’t counting on.  I hope I don’t completely freak her out or disappoint her, as you know, I’m just a little off-kilter.  I don't think this blog will help but I'm one for full disclosure so here I am, smart ass, cursing and all.

Although it may be selfish, I am glad this reunion happened a little later.  If either of my parents were made aware of Laura in January of 1966, I may not be here at all.  I would never want to deny anyone the love of George, but in the spirit of self-preservation, I’m glad I made it.

And guess what?  George was a grandpa.  Something I never did for him.  It also makes me a real aunt.  Now, I have many wonderful nieces and nephews through Mike’s huge family and my amazing friends, but it is kind of cool to welcome these two kids into the family.  Besides that, now I can be a LEGIT CRAZY AUNT!  Look out guys, Aunt Kelly is more fun than a frog in a glass of milk.

 

Let’s not forget my mom.  Not only has she been fully supportive and wonderful, she seems as excited as I am. ‘There’s another part of George out there’ she said. Which makes me want to cry.  But I won’t, because I’m a badass, and we don’t get all soft.  She called Laura and welcomed her to the family.  All class, that lady.  So, I’ll just smile and say thank you and make an inappropriate joke about a singer, a go go dancer and a drummer walking into a bar…no, never mind.  I just can’t. 

So that is the story of the Christmas gift that led to the Birthday gift.  As usual in my life, same old, same old.  Move along people, nothing to see here.

The Morning After...

Just a quick note to follow up on Mike & Kelly's Annual Halloween Bash. Huge Success. I will not post photos as they are incriminating.  As usual, I fell asleep early and missed the real debauchery. My house is a force to be reckoned with, so I thought I would take a break, fill everyone in, and answer all of the questions I know you are asking......

To answer a few questions:
Stream casualties: 1
Fish casualties: 0
Holdovers: 3
Hangovers: 41
Nudity: Yes
Lap Dances: 1


Random items in my house that are not mine:

One wizard wand that makes noises
Two werewolf shot glasses
Two blond wigs
One entire set of Negro Modelo bar glasses
One studded leather hair band
One pair of red vampire-ish glasses
One cavalier hat with a feather
Three fairy wands of different origins
One pack of menthol cigarettes
One half full packet of gum
One half full bottle of Jack Daniels (not from our bar)
One black and white garment that looks like a table runner
One black handkerchief
One gatorboard mini dumpster with a "waste management" sign (I'm guessing this was 'HumptyDumpster's')
One werewolf glove


Missing items:
One lava lamp
One battery operated strobe light

 Thank you to everyone for coming and Happy Halloween!

A Three Hour Tour

 In honor of Labor Day fast approaching, here is one of the few Ho Fest stories that will make it to print.

For those of you that do not know, Ho Fest is a bunch of ladies taking a vacation to Ida-HO.  Don’t get excited. It's nothing dirty or hooker related.  We travel almost every year around Labor Day.

We have had some wonderful adventures and activities at Ho Fest over the last 10 years.  Some have included rafts, boats, horses, cows, wheelbarrels, swim fins, falling down, falling off, kayaks, dogs in bars and pick-up trucks with gun racks.  This little adventure was with a Sea Doo among other things.

Usually there are a dozen or so of us up at Julie & Russ Neil’s cabin for the weekend and let’s just say, some of us are more adventurous than others.  This particular trip there was a nice, relaxing sunset cocktail cruise planned on Mike and MJ’s pontoon boat on Cascade Lake.  Now Cascade Lake or Reservoir, if you will, is the closest body of water to the cabin.  It’s bigger than I thought at 693,100 acre feet and it’s kind of long and skinny.  There is an area along the coastline is covered in this nasty sea-weedy algae stuff, but more about that later.  The plan was (Note: There’s always a plan with Julie Neil)  the majority of Ho’s, friends and neighbors would launch the pontoon boat, start cruising and Gayle (I Da Ho) and myself (Gung Ho) would pretend to be 16 again and ride on Gayle’s Sea Doo to meet the boat.   In the middle of a lake. With no GPS.

There were a few things I neglected to inquire about prior to this; one was how to pilot a Sea Doo.  The other was how far we were had to go.  Now, I still do not know exactly how far we were from that boat but if you ask me it was the entire 693,100 acre feet.

So some of the guys trailer the Sea Doo and Gayle and I down to the lake and drop us in.  With a quick lesson we are sent off into the wilderness.  Let me explain.  I know nothing of Sea Doos or any other watercraft.  I am sport craft illiterate, but as usual, I was not about to admit that.  “Oh sure!  Ride them all the time!”   But I am just a passenger in this adventure.   What I do know is I am wearing a lifejacket, I have an ample supply of Giggle Juice (this concoction consists of a myriad of booze and fruit juice) and Gayle supposedly knows what the hell she is doing.  I also know that I am now riding on the back of a machine I know nothing about in a body of water I have never been in.  What could possibly go wrong?

Off we go.  The thing goes a lot faster than I thought, so I’m hangin’ on to poor Gayle for dear life.  The lake is a lot bigger than I imagined and Gayle admits over the roar of the engine that she “really doesn’t drive these often.  Mostly the boys use them”.  Thanks for that.  We head out into open water and I realize that I do not see the boat we are supposed to be meeting.  At all.  As a matter of fact, I don’t see any boats anywhere.  What kind of lake is this?

It becomes apparent after violently bouncing around the water that Gayle is not an expert, although she is maneuvering pretty well.  The bouncing is of the beast is making us crack up and before we know it we are two hysterical, puffy vest-wearing lunatics zipping across Cascade Lake.  She decides to stay within site of the shoreline so we don’t get lost.  There is no GPS after all, and I have no idea where we are headed.  She has never made this trip before.

I can’t recall exactly what struck us as so damn funny but 20 minutes later we were still laughing.

And then the noise started.  It was kind of a glub, glub, blub over an above the wailing engine, but it was evident that there was an issue.  The craft slowed down and so did the giggling.  Before we knew it, the Doo was at a standstill and well, if you don’t know, two women, one with a large ass (mine) cannot stay balanced on a stationary Sea Doo.  It’s like trying to balance on a bike at a stop.  It takes practice which we did not have and it also takes about 50 pounds less of ass in my case so – over we went into the drink. This all happened in about three seconds. 

Now we are bobbing in our jackets, treading water.   I have a sippy cup of Giggle Juice and we are both looking at each other with an “I hope YOU know how to fix this” look.  Gayle tries to start it again.  Nada.  So, crash course on Sea Doo.  This was the conversation, generally:  “There is some green stuff coming out of this pipe thingy.  What is the pipe thingy?  I found a screw driver.  Let’s stick it in the pipe thingy.  Let’s stick it in the other pipe thingy.  Hey, there’s a vine coming out of this framis-sarpis.  Put the screwdriver in the framis sarpis.  Hey look, there is a compartment door.  Ohhhhhhh, pliers!  Put the pliers in the thingy.   Put the pliers and the screwdriver in the thingy……” and on it went. 

After 20 minutes of treading water and no sign of life coming from the machine, I start to panic.  A little.  Plus, we are out of  Giggle Juice, which actually is a legitimate reason to freak out.

Back in the day, I was a great swimmer.  Swim team, Dive Team, I even took the lifeguard course.  That particular course however does not have a chapter on Stranded In Cascade Lake with a jacked up Sea Doo and a quickly evaporating buzz.  So Gayle notices, I get just a bit nervous.

“We’re going to fucking DIE out here” I wail.  Boy the truth comes out in the middle of a lake, doesn’t it?  “Sweet Jesus we have to fix this thing…whatarewegonnado?” I’m babbling.  I’m kicking under the water frantically and expelling three times the amount of energy needed to tread water in a life jacket.  I honestly could have just stopped moving all together and been fine, but of course that didn’t even remotely happen.

Gayle at this point is again laughing.  Not only that, she’s laughing AT me, not WITH me, as I don’t think this is humorous.    And I tell her so.  “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” I scream.   “There isn’t a boat for miles, I don’t know where we are at and I’m floating out here in the middle of nowhere, I’m….I’m…. pruney!!”  They are going to find us out here….wrinkled skeletons grasping on to a defunct Sea Doo and you think this is funny you, you… HO!!”

Gayle is now in tears cackling watching me huff and puff, legs kicking, arms flailing in panic mode. 

 “Kelly” she says.  I don’t answer.  I’m too busy freaking out.  Gayle keeps trying to reach me…“Kelly, Kelly, KELLY….” 

“WHAT!!!” I blurt.

Gayle looks at me with the first straight face she’s had in 45 minutes.

  “Stand up”.

Well Fuck. Wouldn’t you know it?  I was about to drown in four point five feet of water.  Shit. 

Well, that launched us into ten more solid minutes of howls and screams to the point of exhaustion. 

We then took to fixing the damn Sea Doo.  The sea weedy crap that follows the shoreline of Cascade Lake had plugged up what we presumed to be the intake.  We stood there, yanking out about fifty feet of green slimey crap from that intake pipe for about thirty minutes.  Miraculously, the craft started.  This posed a completely different dilemma.  Have you ever tried to mount a small watercraft in roughly five feet of water?  Well, let me tell you, it’s damn near impossible.  What makes it worse is that extra fifty pounds of ass I referenced earlier.  Not too often in my life would I want a video camera present but fuck me if that wasn't a million dollar winner.

Gayle is trying to balance on a running Sea Doo and me, in graceful moves fitting a water buffalo trying to play hopscotch, I am trying to haul up onto a moving target.  Another twenty minutes later I have managed to hoist (and I mean HOIST) up on to the puttering boat and we are off.  You know we managed to clog up that damn intake one more time before we found the pontoon boat?  Lather, rinse, repeat.  The second time was not as time consuming, but not funny anymore.

There were not as many giggles for the rest of ride, with me being a confirmed idiot and all, but it was fun regardless. 

When we arrived at the pontoon boat, (miracle of miracles!) the Ho’s were in full swing.  We pulled up and they were laughing and hootin’ and hollerin’ clueless of our adventure.  The fact that our arrival was two hours later than planned apparently made no dent in the festivities.  They cut the boat engine and we jumped on thankfully without incident.  We tied up the Sea Doo to the back of the pontoon boat.  Mike Bowen, our captain and boat owner went to re-start the huge boat….turned the key.  Glub…blu…glub.  Nothing.   What the Fuck?  Is there some kind of mechanical curse following my big ass around Cascade Lake?  Now there’s eleven Ho’s, a captain and two additional bystanders stranded out the in the middle of the lake on a double decker pontoon boat.  Now honestly, the thought crossed my mind to jump on the damn Sea Doo and head to shore, because as you could imagine, I was over The Lake at this point. 

But no.  The team “Ho” that I am, I stuck with the group and helped develop a master plan, which sounded good at the time.

There were roughly a dozen of us now, on a two story floating plank with pontoons strapped to each side.  There have been plenty of beers consumed and cocktails were a-flowin’…so the fact that we didn’t have enough REAL paddles didn’t seem to faze any of us.  All items even having the resemblance of a flat surface were used as oars.  Cooler tops, swim fins, seat backs, lawn chairs and even a couple of actual oars were located.  We even used lifejackets as if I recall, pretty much everyone had shed them at this point. 

So we paddled.  And paddled.  It was now dusk.  And we paddled.  By some miracle we got to shore and loaded up the boat.  Buzz gone, arms tired, and bitching up a storm we descended on the only full cooler remaining in the truck and soon, all displeasure faded into giggles and stories. 

Apparently, the Sea Doo story was not enough excitement for me, so I threw in a stranded pontoon boat kicker.

Although shockingly, the option has never again been presented for the borrowing of the Sea Doo, every year Julie seriously asks, “So, how about a cocktail cruise on the pontoon”.

All the Ho’s just smile and say “Uh, NO”.

What you don't know CAN hurt you.

As I mentioned before I travel quite a bit, which means leaving my car at the airport in long term parking.  Abunch.  It’s actually much safer there because for some reason, people like to try and steal my car.  Sometimes successfully out of my own driveway, but more on that later.  The reason I mention this is that my car is not some great prize.  I love it, but frankly most people think it’s a big piece of shit.  It’s a 1994 Honda del Sol.  I bought it about 5 years ago off of Craig’s List.  The car was cheap.  It came with no manual, a short in the aftermarket radio and one single key with a key fob that did nothing.  I asked about this when I purchased it and the response I got was “Dunno.  Guess there was an alarm, but it don’t do nuthin’ now.”  I just left the fob on the ring.  Fair enough, off I drove, useless fob and all.

Fast forward 5 years – FIVE -  and here I am at McCarran Airport in Vegas.  I just had a whirlwind of a trip to Phoenix/Tucson/Phoenix that included piles of invoices, meetings, billboards being torn down, one old friend, a mysterious bag, a hooker, 240 miles of driving and a Waffle House.  Again, another story.  Regardless, I was wiped out.  I landed, threw my backpack over my shoulder and with the iPod still blaring, waltzed to the long term parking.  It was a Saturday around 9am and in another freakish coincidence, raining in Las Vegas.

I found my car among the masses, dug out my keys and opened my trunk and heaved my bulging backpack into the abyss of crap (see chicken story).  Mind you, iPod is still on, and loud.  It’s a good thing too, because some idiot’s car alarm is just wailing away.  I open the car door, plop down, insert key, turn.  Nothing.  Wonderful.  Dead battery.  Did I leave my lights on?  No.  I get out of the car. 

WHEEWWHEEWWHEEWWHEEWWHEEW……Damn that is loud.  So I figure I need a jump, and this not being my first encounter with a dead battery at the airport I lock up my bag and  decide to head over to the “Emergency Phone”  which, by the way, if there ever actually were an emergency, we’d all be fucked.   It is at that point I turn off the iPod and get the full effect of the idiot’s guilty car alarm.  Where the hell is it coming from and why won’t it stop?  And then I see it.  Flashing parking lights.  On my car.  Ok wait, I have no alarm.  Never have.  Not even a hint of an alarm.  What the hell is this?  It stops.  I am now baffled.  I gingerly walk back over to the car like there’s a field of land mines surrounding it.  Tippy toes.  I open the driver’s side door….. WHEWWHEW WHEWHEWWHEW WHEW WHEW lights flashing all hell breaks loose again.  Now I get a look around and realize travelers have been glaring at me for 10 minutes as they retrieve their vehicles because as it turns out, I’m the idiot with the car alarm.  This does not answer the issue of well, I DON’T HAVE AN ALARM.   Never ever.  This car has been smashed into, jacked with a slim Jim and once (just since I’ve owned it) stolen.  Out of my own driveway.   They shimmied the window, shoved a screwdriver in the ignition and stole it t around 4:30 in the morning.   No alarm.  It was found after being picked of parts, including the roof and seats - not one peep out of an alarm. 

So, since the alarm made a comeback, I tried the mystery key fob.  Nope.  Nothing.   It will not turn off.

 WeeeeeHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW……

So ladies, what is the first thing a married lady does when in a pickle?  Call the husband.  My husband is a no-nonsense kind of guy, that’s why I married him.  But in this particular instance, a little sympathy might have been in order.  I drove at 4am from Tucson to Phoenix, returned the car, hopped a plane schlepped bags out to my car for a drive home in the rain only to be confronted by the loudest most obnoxious car alarm ever and I can’t turn it off.  What does he say to me?  “Well, what do you want ME to do?”  I hung up on him.  There was no help to be had there.   Not that I could hear him anyway… WHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW…………..back I trek to the emergency phone.  “Hullo ?  Yes, I’m on level four. LEVEL FOUR IN A YELLOW HONDA”.  I scream. “YELL-OW HONDA.  YES IT’S AN ALARM.  YES I NEED ASSISTANCE…”  and so it went on,  And on. Me hollering into the funkified emergency phone in the parking garage.  I walk back to the car.  It has stopped.  I crawl in the driver’s side window head first, my huge ass sticking out the window.  Legs a-kickin'... I don’t want to open the door and start the offending noise.  I'm twisted under the dash looking for some sort of light, switch, lever, something.  Nada.

Finally, “emergency” Assistance arrives via Gomer in a pickup.  So start the questions…Battery?  Not exactly.  I explain that a mystery surprise car alarm has revealed itself and will not turn off.  He looks at me like I have two heads.  No really, I explain, there is no alarm on this car.  So what does he do?  Opens the driver door………….. WHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW……. The genius then proceeds to do what I have already attempted.  Looks around for a switch, kill switch, something.  Of course there is nothing.  So he calls Gomer number 2 over and he gets on the radio to Gomer number three on the security bike and before you know it, I have an impromptu imbecile convention in front of my still shrieking, flashing Honda.  After all this, four mechanics, two sets of jumper cables and a now an hour of “Yes, I tried that” I finally send all of the Einsteins on their merry way and do the only thing left in my arsenal.  Call the Honda dealership.

Have you tried to find a maintenance guy at an auto dealership at 10:30am on a Saturday?  Press two.  Press three.  Press zero.  Thank GOD it wasn't voice activated.  My side of the conversation: “Hello?  Yes, YES. KELLY SHEEHAN (insert alarm whewwhewwhewhwhew) at the AIRPORT.   NO AIR port.  It’s a DEL SOL.  Yes, the alarm that you hear.  It tried that.  I tried that.  Yes, that too.   Well gee, thanks”.

And the recommendation?  Call a tow truck.  No shit.  Isn’t there some secret button?  Nope.

It is at this point, my cell phone battery runs out., which is awesome.

Of course the only thing I can do is plug it into my finally silent car and turn the key, which of course turns on the alarm. 

 WHEWWHEWWHEWWHEW “HELLO EWING BROTHERS?  I NEED A TOW.  THE AIR PORT.  AIR-PORT.  IN THE GA-RAGE” WHEWWHEWWHEWWHEW….and so on.

The driver had to call me for directions.  I’m sorry, could you not follow the shrieking and find the flashing yellow car? Apparently not.   And guess what… I didn’t hear the phone on the call back.  He couln't hear me on the return call and so on.  Back and forth.  Another 45 minutes and Mr. Tow guy shows up.

At this point, I learned something new.  If you try and tow a car and cannot turn off the alarm, it just stays on.  There is some sort of elevation trigger that sets it off.  So here I am, almost four hours later, in a tow truck in the rain with my flashing yellow SCREAMING Honda all tilted up in tow.  That car screamed, wailed and flashed all the way across town to the Honda dealership. 

Oh, the looks I got. 

We pulled in to service.  “So, problem with the alarm?” 

Did he REALLY just ask that? Asshole.

So, four hours, $285 and NO alarm later I drove home to my don’t-call-in –a-crisis husband.  So not speaking to him.

Flash forward and do you know, I just paid $175 for a new alarm on that very car.  They said they found the remnants of a very fancy-schmancy alarm system already installed, but it looked like something may have been wrong with it.

“Really?” I said.  “Who knew?”.

Jimmy Hoffa

As you all have read, my car is a bit of a freak show.  I have a tendency to not keep up on the maintenance, mechanical or otherwise.  Many people in my life, My Dad, Step dad, cousins, numerous boyfriends and now two husbands have all wondered when I am actually moving into my house.  for some reason I have a bit of hippy gypsy in me, which is a nice way of saying I'm a hoarder and hate to clean things.

So, on Saturday, I decided to clean out my car.

Let me explain.  I bought this car in February of '07. I'm going to fess up, I have not really cleaned it since.

Someone brought to my attention that the actual size of the car is what makes it more interesting  It is a two seater targa top that is about the teeny-ist car ever.  One step above the Smart Car.

I started working on it around noon and by 1pm I decided that although this may really freak people out, I HAVE to write down the stuff in this car.  And then I thought, nobody will ever believe this is true, so I took photos. 

Below is a list - the REAL list of some, not all of the items in my car.  This was not embellished, it did not need to be.  Read and enjoy.

INSIDE OF CAR:


42 pens
4 unused notebooks
7 used notebooks
1 fedora (black)
6 lipsticks
1 mascara
3 bottles/tubes of makeup foundation
4 lip glosses (1 shaped like a Scottish terrier and 1 on a keychain)
12 cds with cases
9 cds without cases
8 sample tabs of Soma
1 Studio Tattoo window sticker
1 photo of Mike at a wedding
1 pr old tennis shoes in new shoe box
3 old registration certificates
1 old insurance card
3 new greeting cards (1 belated birthday, 1 thank you and 1 congrats-new baby)
2 birthday cards from others to Mike (from Tami) and me (from Joan)
2 removable bra straps
72 business cards (self and others)
1 blowable Viking horn on a leather strap
1 roll of packing tape
1 dashboard sun shade
1 half eaten box of Raisenettes
27 bottles of water (both open and unopened)
Unknown amount of matches
3 lighters
½ Box Valentines sweetheart candies (exploded)
2 car phone chargers
1 pr sunglasses
4 hair brushes
2 hair picks
8 hair combs, clips, ties , etc.
1 keychain of Taylor’s footprint
3 unknown plastic pieces parts to the car
1 blanket
1 suit in a grocery bag (dry cleaning?)
1 set of lung x rays (mine)
File of medical records (mine)
File of Health District requirements for an Ice cream Truck
9 Las Vegas Weekly magazines
4 Vegas Rocks magazines
1 Juxtapose magazine
1 Las Vegas Strip magazine
3 View newspaper articles, cut out
2 spare bulbs one interior, one parking
1 Mickey Mouse antenna topper
1 Defunct Blue Tooth
3 earrings (no matches)
1 electric dog shock apparatus for a dog collar
1 Envelope of Shriner Circus tickets, 2008
1 Envelope of 4 haunted house tickets, 2009
1 dog muzzle
1 dog leash
1 pair of half boots
1 black tank top
1 paperback (romance)
$5.62 in change

GLOVEBOX:
3 Garage openers (besides mine!?)
6 pens
3 business cards
Registration and insurance (current!)
2 lighters
2 tampons
1 eyeliner
1 hot pink hair comb
1 canister eclipse mints
 tube makeup foundation

TRUNK
1 Music stand gig bag
1 Rolling backpack gig bag with music stand top bungeed on
1 band banner
1 bag zip ties
1 bundle oversize (3’) zip ties
Attaché case with proofs of House of Blues flyers from 2001
1 speaker cable labled "Stolen from Eric Dahl"
Stack of flyers from the 2009 New Vista Wine Walk
Large purse containing (among others) a wallet with several credit cards reported missing
1 large bottle of Windex
Files of stuff
More files of stuff (ex. ACTS 2009, EMAS 2008 etc)
Bid sheets from the 2009 Pat McRight Bowl a Thon
Bracelet found in Moms garage
1 box of opened Glad oven bags
1 roll of Saran Wrap, out of the box
1 can Krylon Spray paint for plastic
1 leather trench coat
1 set Jumper cables
3 Nielsen Viewer in Profile data cds
8 hangers
1 black & silver high heel
4 Safari Landscaping Frisbees
Christmas wrapping paper
Tissue paper (again for wrapping)
Cocktail napkin with a bass player’s number on it
Hospital discharge papers from 10/19/07 Sunrise Hospital
1 strap for a piece of luggage
Sunny 106 Christmas tree ornament, new in box
Fake ZZ Top beard
1 empty shoe box
about 30 old media plans/buy sheets
1 beach towel
Program – NV Broadcasters 2008
Program – Adam & Eve 2008
Christmas head band with candy canes on springs
Multiple Peacock feathers
Many plastic shopping bags (empty, no chicken)
The other black and silver show (size 6 – not mine)
6 Beta TV dubs, various clients
2 cds of radio spots
1 wedding cake tier stand
1 jingle bell stick
3 more notebooks
Photo cd “Pub crawl, April 2008”
2 more hair brushes
1 issue of People Magazine (Twilight)
1 boom arm for a mic stand
1 black platform high heel, size 8
1 more car phone charger
1 loose roll of paper towels
1 cell phone case with a belt clip
G2E Event Guide, 2008
Unused Christmas gift bag with tissue
1 more roll of packing tape
ZZ Top beard #2
1 Cooking apron featuring Hannah Barbera cartoon characters
1 Magic Kingdom sippy cup
1 MNI Calculator
1 black platform high heel shoe – not a match to the last one
Victoria’s secret gift bag with sealed Ziploc containing organic material
Alzheimer’s notebook (I’ve been looking for that)
ACTS file 2008, program book proof, lineup, board member list
1 stretch beaded bracelet
Another dashboard sun shade
2008 broadcast calendar
The front license plate for my car
6 additional Las Vegas weekly magazines
Program – Women of Distinction awards, 2009
Personalized embroidered Christmas stocking, with remanant contents
Contents: 1 Christmas tree eraser and one lip gloss on a keychain
1 white tank top
1 sealed half full jar of dirty water
Match to shoe already thrown away
Container of Armor all wipes
Scotch tape and desk dispenser
1 washcloth
1 newborn Onsie with tags still on “Mommy’s little sweetie”
One more container of Armor all wipes
Early voting sample ballot Oct 2008
Program – Super Summer Theater, 2007
Band set lists
1 knockoff Kate Spade handbag
14 hangers
1 bandanna
1 new binder with price tag still on
1 shellacked alligator head (about 8” long)
1 unopened dog poo wrist bag dispenser and bags
1 pear percussion shaker
2 travel coffee mugs, 1 unused
1 home cell charger
3 more NV Broadcasters Hall of Fame Gala programs
4 razors
1 unused ticket to UNLVino 2008
1 drum stick (not chicken)
1 CW memory jump drive
1 unopened package “shit List” to do notes”
4 paint brushes
1 kazoo
1 Janet Evanovich Audio Book “Man Hunt”
1 used ticket stub to UNLVino, 2008
1 copy Advertising Age, June 2, 2008
1 car jack
1 tube Winton Oil paint, Titanium White
1 empty box – Playtex seamless soft cup 40C Microfiber bra
1 red Beret
Hertz Rental contract, Boise Idaho, September 2009
Southern Nevada Heath District temporary food handler card, issues 3/5/08
1 Apple percussion shaker
1 green plastic Pom Pom
An additional newborn Onsie, new with tags – “Daddy’s Little Girl”
1 tube of bubbles shaped like a severed finger
6 hotel key cards

About a THOUSAND receipts, but the most interesting winner (that I’ll admit to:
Beverly Hills, CA Century Plaza Hyatt Regency with one charge, $4.22 for a Snickers bar 10/10/07

Here are some of the photos....enjoy.

Trunk mid-clean

Wow, really old flyer proofs.  Have no idea why these were in there....

Yes, that is a real aligator head.....

Muscle relaxers, running shoes, a hat and a viking horn - what more does a gilrl need?

Gimmie a "P"!

If memory serves, I believe the child intended for these onesies is now 3....

Bubbles in a severed finger....Brilliant!!

Random garage door remotes of friends & family

Mikes been looking for that tape dispenser...

I guess this one never made it on the tree...

Yes, it's a jar of dirty water.  Don't ask.

Well isn't this handy?  It'd be even more handy out of the box...

Oven bags.  And a tank top. Nuff said.

You can never have too many jingle Bell sticks, I always say.

Light the candles, George!

I guess nothing has been on my Shit List lately

clean!

The Pizza Guy

I travel a bit for work and most of my clients are Indian casinos. Indian casinos are as you know, on Indian property which sometimes has a tendency to be a bit rural. Sometimes they are just plain in the middle of effen nowhere. This particular client was located in an itty bitty town called Mahnomen in Minnesota. The closest airport and lodging to Mahnomen was in Fargo, North Dakota. My partner in crime and career was Tracy. There will be more posts not only featuring Tracy, but certainly featuring Fargo and Tracy. This is a short and sweet story about the Fargo Holiday Inn.

The Fargo Holiday Inn, as far as I know, is the only chain hotel in Fargo. It’s where we always stayed when traveling there. Now being from Las Vegas, we had a tendency to assume that we would have at least some of the comforts of home, like food. Well that just isn’t the case at the Fargo Holiday Inn. Or surrounding areas for that matter. We had just flown in that afternoon and by the time we got situated it was late. By late in Fargo I mean 7pm. We got checked in to our shared two-standard-doubles room and needed showers but we were starving. We have no car, no room service and everything is closed anyway. After all, it’s 7:30 on a Wednesday in Fargo. The only option was to order pizza.

Trace got on the phone with the local pizza shack and ordered a pie and jumped in the shower first. Showered and squeaky clean, she informed me she was going to check out the stellar selection of TV entertainment while I showered and she waited for the pizza.

30 minutes later I emerged from the shower just as there was a knock. Pizza. Awesome. Before I could even adjust to the situation, I looked over and across the room Tracy approaches in her sleepwear, twenty dollar bill in her grasp.

Now let me stop you right here and explain something. Tracy is beautiful. I mean just gorgeous. She’s about five foot nine, long brown hair and blue eyes that are stunning. If you have ever been to Fargo, North Dakota you would know that they don’t make women like her there. I’m not saying that there are not pretty people in North Dakota; I’m saying this girl makes everyone look bad, but in Fargo, well she stuck out like she had Christmas lights hanging on her. The first time we walked the casino floor in Mahnomen men were physically dropping things. Money. Cocktails. Pull tab tickets. Wives. It was embarrassing.

So Tracy walks past me to the door….and I catch a good look at her, which I didn’t think to notice before. Her long hair is wet. She’s still shimmery drippy from the shower. She is wearing nothing but a white t-shirt that is so thin it only has one side to it. It barely covers everything of importance. BARELY. Let’s just say if she had to reach up for anything, someone’s gettin’ a show. Mind you, this was not intentional, we were both about to eat and turn in for the night. I mean in Vegas nobody would give two shits about an almost naked women opening a hotel room door…..But in Fargo….. ? She opens the door.

This kid could not have been but days over 16. He was skinny-scrawny, gangly and pimply. He wore glasses stronger than your seventh grade biology microscope and a trucker logoed baseball cap. One quick glance at Tracy and his bottom jaw was damn near resting on the cheap industrial carpet of the Holiday Inn hallway. There he was in all his glory - in shock, holding our medium mushroom and pepperoni.

“How much” Tracy blurts without batting an eye. She doesn’t even get it. I’m witnessing, astonished.

“Helllll oh-ho? How much?” She then looks over at me like “what’s his problem?” All I can do is grin.

The kid takes a shallow breath “Ba. Buh buh buh babababba. bah ba.”

“Darlin’” Tracy says “You have got to speak up. How much?”

“Buh buaa bu. Ba ba bub nun buh buh”

I shit you not, the kid could not speak. It was priceless. I am now fighting to keep from bursting into hysterics.

Tracy looks at me again with the “What the hell am I supposed to do with the mentally challenged pizza guy” and my only advice is. “Trace, give him the 20, take the pizza”

“But…” she starts to argue

The kid has not spoken. I think I see a string of drool. His eye is twitching. I’m afraid to look any lower than that.

“Give him the money Tracy, take the pizza”

The kid has no open hand, so Tracy pries the pizza from his hands bent at the elbow, the box at his chest. They stay intact, like claws. She forces the twenty into the kid’s paralyzed hand and shuts the door. He is completely frozen where he was the second we opened it, sans pizza.

“Well that was a weird little dude. There was no way that Pizza was 20 bucks” Tracy states, miss nonchalant. “Hungry?”

Unbelievable. She had no idea why the kid froze. I actually had to explain it to her. I am still convinced that to this day, the pizza kid is still telling the story. Let’s face it, shit like that does not happen in Fargo. My guess is that you can find it on his blog, right now.

Contact Your Dealer

So before anyone asks, I got permission from DeAnne to tell this story.  She said as long as I made it funny, I could.  I don't see how this couldn't be funny.


As most of you know, my mother is actually funnier than I am. The best part about this is, half the time she doesn’t even know it. She is truly hysterical. Unlike my Father who knew good & well that he could crack people up, DeAnne is just plain funny without any effort. Don’t get me wrong, I know she purposely does silly things on occasion, which yes, is funny, but the best ones are not intended, and this is one of them.

Every year for a dozen years now DeAnne has organized the Advertising Community Talent Show (ACTS). It’s a wonderful show; it raises money for a worthy cause. If you really want to know about it go to www.actslv.org . We are recruiting ACTS right now for this year. Various people have helped and the show is a story in itself, but this is not that story. This takes place after the show, last year.

ACTS was great last year. 80’s themed, wonderfully talented people performed and the advertising community in Southern Nevada again supported us at Green Valley Ranch. The show was about three hours and it really is exhausting. There were 13 acts, about 30 performers, just to give you an idea. It’s quite a production. DeAnne performed, with Dirk (yep, same one from the chicken story – see a pattern?) and she was awesome. After the show, there’s a lot to be done. Props, including a 6 foot high wedding cake, platform shoes, wigs, a life-size mannequin, various feather boas and a huge amount of neon spandex need to be packed. I’m backstage schlepping and well, most of the performers were out in the casino socializing.

Now a lot of us got rooms, which is good. But some of us, DeAnne included, like sleeping at home. Which may or may not be good in this case. Really, everyone is exhausted at this point, but high on performance buzz that often follows a great show. In DeAnne’s case, she was really into it. Performing as Grace Slick, she bought a wig for the number and now, two hours after the show has ended, will NOT take it off. She has developed some sort of alter ego that often comes with donning a disguise except as most of you know, DeAnne already looks like Grace Slick, so what the hell was the wig for? I couldn’t tell ya. I will say she looked great.

Looking good and feeling good are two different things, however, and D was not about to spend the night at Green Valley Ranch. The conversation went like this:

Ma, really, stay. We are all tired.  We have a room, there’s another bed.

Nope. Going home. I’m exhausted.

That was it. Off she went, keys in hand, towards valet. Again, in a normal family this would be the end of the story. But for us, not so much.

DeAnne gets to valet, wig and all, and jumps into her shiny new Hyundai Sonata for the hefty trek across town back to her house. It’s mostly freeway, the 215, but still it’s a haul. It is midnight on a Friday night in Vegas, so yes Virginia, there is a ton of traffic.

Now before I proceed, let me explain. DeAnne loves new cars. She trades in more cars than anyone I have ever known. The problem is, she’s got a few clients and friends that are associated with auto dealerships, and well, no self control. So she sells them a remote broadcast for the radio station she works for, shows up to “make sure everything is ok” and dammit if she doesn't buy a car. They see her coming you know – she’s had eight cars since 2000. Really. This happens all the time. This was one of those cars. She just bought it a couple of days before from her friend Frank who is the Big Kahuna at Henderson Hyundai.  I'm sure she bought it at a remote.

So, back to our hero - She pulls out from the valet at the casino and into traffic on Green Valley Parkway, gets in the turn lane for the freeway and hits her turn signal, makes the turn and takes the ramp in to traffic. No problemo. The turn signal clicks off……..and wait, what the hell is that?

She realizes, going 65, in the dark, in heavy traffic, on the freeway in a Grace Slick wig, that somehow her hazard lights are on.

I asked her what she had said at this point….

“Shit”.

Well traffic is really moving and she is scared to death to try and pull over. Besides, it’s just hazard lights; the switch has to be around here somewhere, right? It is at this point that DeAnne starts playing Go Fish with the mechanical features of her new 2009 Sonata. Horn? Go Fish. Cruise Control? Go Fish. Electric seat? Go Fish. Interior lights? Well, you get the picture. DeAnne told me she learned more about the inner workings of her vehicle in that 30 minute drive that she would have ever known about the car. EV-ER.

So here she is barreling down the freeway, hazards on and shit is going Inspector Gadget in the car. Lights are blinking, horns going off, seats moving – it is bad. But wait it gets worse. She finds the windshield wipers. Dear God. Now the windshield fluid is squirting and the wipers are going batshit. I mean if she couldn’t see before, now she was screwed. This goes on from Green Valley Parkway to Decatur. Now, for those of you that don’t know, that’s a decent amount of heavily travelled freeway.

In any other city, a heavily made up 4 foot eleven Italian woman in dressed in pleather and a Grace Slick wig zipping down a crowded freeway with every possible blinking, swishing part (including the gas tank cover) in perpetual motion - would attract attention. I don’t think she could get away with this in say, Ocean Springs Mississippi. But in Vegas, just another day. Not one call was made.

At this point, DeAnne is pissed. She’s nearing her exit and does not want to drive all the way down Decatur Boulevard with a possessed Hyundai (rhymes with Sunday by the way, DeAnne made sure I knew that). She exits the freeway and pulls in to the first parking lot available. This lot of course, is not lit and in the midst of her education on her new toy she did not take notes and therefore does not even know how to turn on the interior dome light. As a matter of fact, she did something so that the light now will not come on even when you open the door.

Well, time to take stock. She’s on the side of the road at Decatur and the freeway and cannot find the button for the lights and she’s not that far from home…might as well make a run for it. She puts the car in drive and off she goes. It’s almost a straight shot.

Thankfully and with more luck than skill DeAnne arrives at home and opens the garage. The gas tank door is open. The windshield wipers are still on delay and radio is on AM, but she’s home. “Thank God” she exclaims. “I’m going to turn this effen car off and go to bed.” It is at this point that DeAnne again is educated in automotive skill. She does not know that when you turn the car off, the hazard lights stay on. That’s what they are there for - a HAZARD. Such as an immobile car.

She is now sitting in a black garage. Yellow. Black. Yellow. Black. Yellow. Black.

“Shit”.

She gets back in the offending vehicle and now she’s really pissed. I mean how hard can it be? Then a flash of brilliance. The owner’s manual. In one motion the glove box is open and the manual is in hand. Hazards….hazards…..she’s mumbling to herself now. Ah –HA! Hazards. Now, she did not see the little drawing of the dashboard showing all of the little buttons and explanations. Here is what she did see:

“In the event that your hazard lights will not turn off, contact your Dealer”.

Well, ok she thought. If you say so.

While sitting in her closed alternating black and yellow garage with the owner’s manual of the vehicle on her lap, DeAnne whips out her phone and dials Frank’s personal cell number from Henderson Hyundai.

I’m not kidding.

Sometimes I wonder if there is a God, because thankfully, Frank did not answer. But of course, DeAnne left a message. At 1am.

“Frank, hi it’s me DeAnne. Hey Frank, when you get a minute, could you call me? I’m here in my garage and my hazard lights won’t turn off. I looked in the manual and it said to call you, so I’m calling. OK. OK. Bye.”

DeAnne now surrenders to the situation. She takes the keys out of the ignition and walks away from her blinking shiny new Hyundai. She leaves it, blinking, all night in the garage. Deal with it in the morning. At 1:30 am, she’s done.

Bright and early in the AM, DeAnne awakens. In those few foggy moments in between groggy and really being awake she beings to replay the movie in her head from the night before.

If all this is true, she thinks, I will have a car parked in my garage with the fucking hazard lights on.

She opens the door to the garage.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Shit”.

Literally in five seconds she walks over to the car, opens the door, leans inside and presses the huge, HUGE, big red button in the middle of the dashboard with the red HAZARD triangle on it and shuts the car door.

“ Well,. Guess I’d better call Frank”.