Best Scares, part 1

It's that time of year again.

Those of you relatively new to the Hell Bus may not be familiar with my 'other' job. Since 1994 I'm been scaring the living shit out of people every autumn. For six years I did my spooking at the Haunted Hotel and I've been spooking (and managing) Literally, a Haunted House since 2000. Although I 'retired' from my Chairperson position after last season, I'm still heavily involved with this year's planning. I've been mentoring my assistant (now official Chair) and helping out with design, construction, organization, media relations... the list goes on. The staff insisted I stay on as 'co-chair.' Even tho I'm not officially running the place, it's still kinda 'my baby.' I may step away from being in charge, but I'll never give this up. It's just way too damn fun.

I have seen everything in this business we call scare. I've seen grown men cry. I've seen adults panic and quit. I've seen breakdowns, pass outs and people lose control of their stomachs, bladders and rectums.

Don't believe me? For the past two years we've kept a tally.

But there are some moments that stick out as being, well, special; the events that keep us veterans talking years after they happened. This is one of them:

During my third year at the Haunted Hotel I was working on the 2nd floor of the two-story house. Those 5 to 10 of us working the second floor would gather at the top of the stairs in between groups. We would talk, play cards, tell jokes, anything to pass the time and keep ourselves awake while we waited for the next group of people to come around the corner and head up the steps. Upon spotting the next group, we would all scatter at the speed of sound to our assigned spot and wait for the group to come thru our area. Group would come thru, booga booga booga, and we'd all run back to the top of the stairs again.

This particular night I was working in the first room on the second floor. Two guys were working the second room right next to me, so we could see each other if we leaned out of our spot.

Anyway, a group was on its way so we positioned ourselves and waited. Now for some reason, this particular group seemed to be taking an usually long time to get to my room. I waited and waited, poised and ready. Finally, after several minutes and no group, I was just about to peek around the corner to see what was up. Like I said, people have a real tendency to panic and quit, then leave thru the nearest fire exit. But I pulled back quickly as the shadowy shape of people came around the corner. I stood 'prop-still' as I observed the following:

The group consisted of 3 females. Girl Number 1 was black. I knew this because, even in the dim lighting, I could see the back of her hands since they were both covering her eyes.

Girl Number 1 is the leader, and she's hiding her face.

Girl Number 2 is a blonde white girl. Even tho she has the bravery not to cover her face, I know she's not handling this very well either because she's crying. And I don't mean a gentle weeping either. I mean a full out sobbing and wailing. She might be frantically looking around, but her arms are tightly wrapped around Girl Number 1's waist.

I have no idea what Girl Number 3 looked like because not only are her arms tightly wrapped around Girl Number 2's waist but her face is firmly buried in Girl Number 2's back.

The twisted daisy chain slowly shuffles their way into my area and I lunge with a snarl. All three of them, still tenanciously attached, slam against the opposite wall and nearly slide down, but manage to stay up on all 6 legs.

I could have really done some psychological damage at this point, considering how vulnerable these three gals were, but I'm so amused at their antics I can only stand back and watch them desperately and slowly slither along the wall into the next room.

This is where the real fun begins. I'm just gonna stand here and watch this.

Upon making it into the next room (please note, Girl Number 1 still has both hands covering her face), the three girls are so surprised by the two guys who jumped out like crazed psycho killers that they go crashing down to the floor. They are now lying on the floor, still holding on to one another's waist. Girl Number 1 still hasn't seen anything. Neither has Girl Number 3. But they are all sobbing and screaming and wiggling like a dying fish.

At this point, I'm having a hard time keeping my pants dry because I'm laughing so hard.

The psycho guys are dancing around, acting all crazy and evil, while the girls continue to writhe on the floor in a sobbing blob. After about 30 seconds of this the guys calm down. In fact, they actually break character and come to a complete halt to watch dumbfounded at this mess on the floor.

I've stopped laughing now. This is getting serious.

I hop out of my spot and walk over to the whole group. The guys and I continue to look down at the three conjoined sobbers as they continue to squirm helplessly on the floor. I bend down and say, "Ok, it's over. You saw it. Now go."

They don't move.

"Come on, it's ok. We're not gonna hurt ya. We're done. You can go now."

They won't move.

"Come on! There's more people coming behind you! You HAVE to GO!!"

Blondie is still crying and looking around at me and the other two guys like she doesn't know English. Girl Number 1 and 3 still have never seen anything. And they won't get up.

By now all three of us actors are shouting at them to get up and go. After several long moments they finally get it and somehow manage to stagger upright and bolt down the hall into total darkness, Girl Number 1 still leading with her hands over her face.

The three of us could only look at one another in total disbelief, which was quickly followed by some high fives.

"Damn, we are GOOD!"

Duranfan, the Tattooed Lady

So I went and did it again. For those of you keeping count, tat number 1 is this one:
I got this when I was 23. It's located over my left boob. I drew it up real quick on a scrap piece of paper at the tattoo studio. I'd always wanted a holly spring. And it comes in handy as a second form of indentification.

Tat number 2 and 3 are these two:
These are located on my right hip. The top one I drew up myself. Since I've got some Scot/Irish/Welsh in my genetic background I wanted something Celtic. And you can barely see it, but in the open space in the center of the knot is a pale spot on my skin. It's some kind of reverse birthmark that has very little pigment. The one below it is a flash design spotted at the tattoo studio's collection. I like dragons and I'm a medieval history buff.

Tat number 4 is this one:
Like I said, I like dragons and this one was small yet sinister looking. Because this one is on the inside of my left ankle it hurt the most. The skin there is really thin. People always ask if tattoos hurt. It really depends on where on your body you get them. I dosed off during the stone dragon tattoo on my hip. Sure, you feel the sharp needle, but after a few minutes the pain endorphins kick in and you get used to it. But that ankle one really hurt. After that I said, no more."

But I was wrong. You forget the pain. And these things are addictive.

About a year ago I started pondering a fifth tattoo. I worked on a design, tweaked it, worked on it some more, printed it out and carried it in my purse for that one day I would decide to get it done. So earlier this week, I sat down for an hour and half and got number 5:
I have a feeling that I will be explaining this one more often that the others. I've been using Apple computers since the early 80s (first computer was an Apple IIe clone - the Franklin Ace 1000) and I've been a Mac Fan Girl ever since. And the black Victorian/Gothic design was just some clip art I found and pieced together. I was Goth before Goth was cool (back in 1983). The tattoo artists enhanced it with some extra elements and shading and there you have it. The spouse loves the new one and it already pondering getting a third for himself. Even my mother is pondering a second for herself. I am such a bad influence.

Photo updates

Ok, so that green thing that was growing in our garden that we thought was a watermelon...

It's a pumpkin.
So it's not an alien pod. We still didn't plant it, tho. But that's ok. It's nice size and will make a swell jack-o-lantern come this October.

And remember way back when... when I said I was gonna make my Gothy Little Christmas tree and enter it into the State Fair?

Did it.

It'll be traveling to the Fairgrounds Saturday. The Fair opens next Thursday. Hopefully, I'll have a very happy update then.

Random thoughts and links, part 112

So we've been munching away on the Spouse's garden harvest this summer. Plenty of yellow squash and cucumbers. And now the peppers and tomatoes are coming along...

But a few weeks ago, the Spouse noticed something odd on one of the vines. He pointed it out to me one day while we were sitting on the deck (now raccoon-poop free), admiring the garden. I ran down to the ground to discover this small round green thing growing on one particular plant.

Now all vining plants look pretty much alike. Squash, cucumbers, melons, gourds... they all have these alien-like vines that take over your yard and sprout huge, elephant ear-like leaves and large, yellow flowers. These flowers eventually turn into tasty veggie goodness.

But now we have this large, round green thing. So I was thinking it's a watermelon.

Which is really strange, since we didn't plant watermelon.

But there it is. And it's growing like big ol' cancer. It's the size of a basketball now. But something's happening.

It's turning orange.

Maybe it's a pumpkin, which would be weird, too, since we didn't plant any of those, either. I'm hoping that it's a simple a mistake as the wrong seed got tossed in the seek packet at the seed factory and that just happens to be the seed that turned into this huge fucking vine that's taking over the yard with this large, green/orange growth.

But I'm also haunted by scenes from "Invasion of he Body Snatchers."

Just a warning... if the Spouse suddenly wants me to sleep next to this thing, I'll have to kill him.

If it does not hatch into a body-snatching alien, and it does turn out to be something edible, I'll let yall know.

In the meantime, while we're watching the melon/pumpkin/pod thing continue to grow, here's da links:

Ya know, it might not be a pod monster, it could be a full-fledged demon.

Don't deny it. You know you're gonna try this the next time you're at the Mall.

I have just sucked several hours of your life away. How do you feel?

Not since Leatherface has a chainsaw been so entertaining.

But why take out zombies with a chainsaw when you could just take one out on a date?

Pole dancing gone wild. Awwwwwww yeeaaahhh...

If you're normal, you'll just giggle a little. If you wet your pants, you must be a graphic designer.

The Phantom Shitter

When we last left our heroine, she and her beloved hero were battling the Plague of Locusts:

Yes, you heard that correctly. The Spouse spotted it, I turned around and saw this:

We were dumbfounded. Our deck is on the second floor. Something had walked up the stairs, chosen this particular spot right underneath our kitchen window, and emptied its bowels.

Now we knew it wasn't our cat because he stays inside (altho his 'guard cat' qualities are now questionable since he did nothing to scare off the late night poopertrator). We deduced it wasn't a neighborhood cat because the poop was too big to be cat turdlings and the nearby catnip plant was untouched. We also figured it wasn't a dog because our entire backyard is fenced in, three sides of which are a 6 foot privacy fence.

What the hell? Some woodland critter came up on our deck and shit a big pile! Possibly a possum but more likely a raccoon. But why our deck? Why not the backyard, or someone else's deck for that matter.

I guess it's because all the other backyards surrounding ours have dogs. Perhaps the critter can concentrate better on the quiet peace of our deck, making his bowel movement more satisfying. We do have a nice, clear view of the night sky. Perhaps that makes his movements border on the spiritual.

Our theory on the raccoon was proven the very next morning. It was a cool enough night to leave our windows open. While I'm getting myself ready for work I hear something rummaging around in the Spouse's compost pile. I grab a flashlight and aim it directly down from the bedroom window, only to have a little furry masked face with glowing gold eyes stare me down.

I yelled for the Spouse and we both ran for the deck. Sure enough, a large raccoon goes scampering off to the far corner of our backyard, occasionally stopping to glance over his shoulder to make sure we aren't coming after him.

There was no poop on our deck. This time.

But for the next several mornings we were greeted by a nice steamy pile of raccoon shit. Sometimes it was very seedy. Seems the critter likes mulberries.

So now we have this phantom shitter what shows up sometimes between 11pm and 5am to take a dump on our deck. We have a gate at the bottom of the deck stairs, but closing that did no good. The critter climbed right over it. We see its little muddy footprints leading up to the latest pile of shit.

I even wedged our very large grill right into the corner. Didn't stop him. He either shat next to it or even climbed thru the bottom rack, wedged his little furry raccoon ass between the grill and the exterior house wall and let loose, leaving a nice streak on the aluminum siding.

Sometimes there's been two piles. One morning there was three. Either his colon is really active or he brought friends.

"Boys, you GOTTA to try this new shittin' place! I been comin' there for about a week or two and it RAWKS!"

I've been asking around about how to repel raccoons. One answer sounded logical enough to give it a shot: coyote urine. Apparently, besides kayaks, running shoes and rock-climbing gear, you can also get coyote urine at your local sporting goods store.

So off we went to our local sporting good store (that's named after a penis) and proceeded to the hunting supplies. We asked the guy behind the counter for coyote urine and (of course) he asked what for. When we told him to ward off raccoons, his illustrious answer was:

"Well why don' yew jist shewt'm?"

Now, in my head, I said, "Oh, yeah, Cooter, that's a swell idea! We'll just stay up all night long out on our deck with a shotgun and wait for the little fucker to show up for his nightly shit and blow his little mulberry-eating ass all over our yard. Brilliant!"

But instead, the Spouse and I eloquently explain that we don't have a gun and killing the animal is not an option. We don't want to hurt him. We just want him to go away and shit somewhere else.

But 'Cooter' and his pal, 'Skeeter,' at the penis-named sporting goods store's hunting section are no help. Altho they did offer another suggestion of using a trap to catch him. We have a trap, but if he's clever enough to figure out the gate at the bottom of the deck stairs, he's probably be smart enough to avoid the trap.

Another suggestion we got came from WasabiJohn. He said when he was a kid some raccoons got into his house and after they scared the critters off his dad had to clean up the raccoon poop with ammonia. Seems the ammonia kept them from coming back.

I mentioned the ammonia plan to my mom, who then suggested bleach. So I found a metal pan, put a large sponge in it and filled it with about a quarter inch of bleach and set it at the top of the deck stairs.

Four nights in a row I've done this. Four mornings in a row the Spouse has not had to clean raccoon shit off our deck. Clorox: is there anything it can't do? Well, ok, it can't restore the finish on an '89 T-bird, but dammit, it keeps the shitty raccoons away.

And we didn't have to shewt'm.

Random thoughts and links, part 111

So I had this thought the other day... Dining outside is called 'dining al fresco.' Why don't we have working al fresco?

It was earlier this week, the weather was beautiful and those of us stuck in Cube Farm Hell were lamenting our being inside instead of outside. It was then the thought came to me; why CAN'T we work outside? Just move our desktops and Macs outside, set up a large patio umbrella over us and viola. Or at least have some windows that open or install some French doors or something.

But then we'd have to deal with the natives. And the natives downtown can be quiet scary.

Speaking of scary, those space-alien looking things above have invaded our area something fierce. It's still quiet in downtown Loserville but once I venture home to exotic Fern Creek the noise is deafening. Imagine an invisible Mother Ship hovering over your house all day. After being outside for only a few minutes your eardrums start to vibrate.

And there's thousands, nay, millions of them out there. There's a constant halo of bugs hovering around all the tree tops. They've been smacking into the window as I type this. It's brutal.

So the invasion has begun; They're here, they're loud and apparently, they're tasty.

But if cicadas don't do it for ya, there's always bacon.

I did surprisingly good on this. Was it because A) most of my friends are geeks or B) I know WAY too much about serial killers?

Have fun navigating, and go green at the same time.

Cat yodeling... I'm glad to know that the Spouse and I weren't the only ones doing that...

Me want!!! Especially this one.

Nifty Mac tricks.

Forget cheaper gas or a thriving economy, this is the shit America needs.

Comfort for all of us graphic designs to know that A) other designers make mistakes and B) other designs are forced to do horrible Photoshopping, too.

Oh my, aren't Policemen interesting people?

No matter how much you hate your job, it could always be worse. Especially when caught for two angles.

Crash bang boom

Fellow blogger Lena made an excellent point yesterday that everyone’s music sucks when blasted into the general atmosphere, thereby disturbing drivers, pedestrians, homeowners, children, old people and pets.

She’s right. I don’t care if you’re playing my absolute favorite musician or my absolute favorite song. If I can still hear it and feel it from more than 20 feet away, you should be shaved, sterilized and destroyed, after your sound system is shot full of holes and then set on fire.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love music. Been jamming to it since my tenure in the womb. No shit. Mom has this great story about how I was kicking to the beat when Dad put on his Stones records. Been hooked ever since. Was an addict to radio; AM in the 70s, FM in the 80s. I don’t think I got any sleep from 1982 to 1987 because of MTV. That of course was back in the day when they played music videos and not some insipid programs about overly rich 20-somethings or has-been celebrities stuck in a house together.

I’m on my third iPod that’s filled with nearly 9000 songs and over 330 music videos. iTunes, Amazon and ear-X-tacy get a LOT of my money. Plus I’m constantly finding some oddball, out-of-production musical gems scattered around the net. So I have a lot of weird stuff on there.

I listen to it in the car, at home and at work. But I have a rule that if EVER something really awful, disturbing or unpleasant comes outta that thing, all someone has to do is speak up and I will gladly turn it down and/or skip ahead to the next song. I do NOT want to become a nuisance like the punk-ass troglodytes and their boom cars.

Ever since I moved out on my own I’ve had to deal with the stereo morons. Every apartment, every house, I’ve had to complain to someone about their fucking stereo blaring thru the floor, the ceiling, the wall or rattling the building off its foundation.

I was hoping that would stop once the Spouse and I bought our house in a nice, respectable neighborhood. And for the past 3 or so years it’s been peaceful. Until yesterday.

About a year ago some people moved into a house on the corner of our street. All seemed quiet until a few month ago when there seemed to be an increase in traffic and the number of vehicles parked in their driveway and in front of their house. My paranoia kicked in and I’ve been watching the activity down there. And that’s when I noticed to boom cars. Up until now, the cars would turn the boom down as they entered the street. And I can live with that.

But last night about 8 the Spouse and I were parked on the couch, reading our respective books when the booming started: BOOM da da boom. BOOM da da boom. In my head I sighed and trying to relax and stay focused on my reading while taking quick glances outside to see what was going on down there. There were four cars currently parked, one of which is a junker that never leaves. The second was a truck I had never seen before and a teen boy standing on the driver’s side talking to someone inside. The other two cars are in the driveway, one of which has its trunk and doors open.

Fuck. Great. Somebody down there has decided to serenade the entire neighborhood with their personal selection of melodies about bangin’ ho’s and poppin’ bro’s.

It wasn’t that loud. I mean no one is on the street, shaking their fist and yelling. The neighborhood Scooter Brigade of children are playing nonchalantly. The houses aren’t rattling off their foundation. But I can still hear it. And feel it.

Fifteen minutes pass and I’ve barely read a page. I get up and go to the bathroom. Even with the door closed I can still hear it. Fuck. I go to the office and sit in front of the iMac to check email. I can still hear it. Damn. I go back to the living room and try to read again. And I can still hear it. It’s now been going on for 45 minutes when I snap.

“All right. That’s it.” I storm off to the bedroom to grab some shoes and while I’m back there I can still hear it. That just adds fuel to my growing anger inferno. As I charge by the Spouse on my way out the front door I say, “Keep a look out and make sure I don’t get my ass shot while I’m down there.”

I blast across the front yard and onto the street. Two little girls from the Scooter Brigade see me and yell, “Hi! Hey, where are you going?” I didn’t even answer. My radar turns on as I stomp towards the guilty house and quickly deduces that the noise is not coming from the truck with the teenager standing next to it, but instead focuses in on the car with the open trunk and doors. Standing next to the car is an older lady talking to a pair of legs sticking out of the trunk.

I am now rethinking my action as I see the sweet, grandmotherly face of the woman. I’m starting to feel ever so slightly stupid.

“Excuse me, but could yall turn that down just a smidge? We can hear it down the street,” I say in my most pleasant voice with a smile on my face.

She looks at me and then calls to the legs sticking out of the trunk. I’m expecting another teenager, an obnoxious one at that. Instead I get a kindly, older man with a smiling face emerging from the trunk.

As they couple explain that they’re working on the car and are very friendly and polite about turning it down, I now feel like a fool. I’m trying my best to smile and act like it’s nothing major. My anger has cooled to the temp of your average Otter Pop®. We all smile as he agrees to turn it down and I thank him profusely. I quickly walk back to our house, much to the amusement of the two Scooter Brigade girls. One of them shouts, “Wow! You sure do walk fast!” I smile, say ‘thank you’ and dart back in the house.

The Spouse is happy I didn’t get my ass shot off.

I sat on the floor and said, “Well, that’s taken care of.” Then I proceeded to tell him all about the nice older couple who live there, and how friendly and pleasant they were, and how they’ve instructed their kids to turn the music down or off when they come home. And how stupid I feel for blowing up over it when it wasn’t anything like what I thought it was going to be.

But the Spouse was supportive and understanding, even if I have become the ‘crazy lady down the street who hates loud music.’ And at least the neighborhood was quiet for the rest of the night.