Disclaimer: Lately I have gotten away from some of the dark stuff, and had some inspirational stories. This one has some Mature content. I do not want to put that Content Warning thing on my blog, so I am doing it for you!
She stared at his muscular body lying next to her on the bed. Carly had known Ryan for about a month, but had never entertained the idea of bringing him home to her apartment. It had been at her best friend, Amber’s insistence that she pursue him as a sexual play mate. Carly had been divorced for about a year, and finding the nerve to play the field again was taking longer than she had expected.
Amber was such a bad influence on her when it came to dating and sex. She was one of those women who was open to anything and everything. Amber was also one of those people who could not be embarrassed by any situation. She knew Ryan and thought that he would be the perfect fuck buddy for Carly. Apparently, Amber was correct.
They were both covered in sweat, having just had an aggressive session of love making. Ryan was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, he had pulled the sheet up to his waist. Carly was naked, laying on her side, facing him. As she looked over his glistening body, she realized that they only had four weeks of history together. She knew nothing about him aside from a few personal details that Amber had shared with her. Ryan, himself was very mysterious, but at this moment, he was also very content.
Carly teasingly ran her fingernails along his chest and down to his stomach, crossing his tight six pack abdominal muscles. She watched as the sheet began to move upward, making a tent below his waistline. She reached under the blanket and smiled.
“Already?” She asked, slightly amazed at his quick rejuvenation.
He rolled her over on her back and began kissing her, starting at the nape of her neck and ending at her ankles, with a long stopover at a few places in between. He then climbed on top of her and entered the realms of pleasure that he had only fantasized about since he had first laid eyes upon Carly. He loved the way that she looked, her Strawberry blond hair, and her fair skin, along with piercing blue eyes. The rhythms became faster as he soaked in her beauty. It ended with a sensual explosion that rocked two worlds. The way that things were going, there might have even been a third time that evening, if it had not been for the clock. Ryan looked over and saw that it was 7 pm..
“Shit! I gotta run,” He said, jumping out of bed and grabbing his clothes. “If I am not home by dinner, she’ll know that something’s up.”
Carly brushed her hand across his genital area. “I know that something has been up all afternoon,” She said with a devious smile. She knew that he lived with another woman. It did not bother her. It was safer for her this way. She was not looking for a soul mate, just some occasional sex. Good sex at that!
Ryan had to push her grabbing hands away in order to pull up and zip his pants. Once he was dressed, he reached over and kissed her naked thigh.
Bye, baby, I’ll see you tomorrow,” He said.
Carly grabbed him around his neck and wrestled him down onto the bed. She licked his neck and then whispered in his ear.
“We have a quiz tomorrow on the Revolution. I am pretty sure that you are going to pass it”, she said with a giggle.
“I am so glad that I took history this year!” He exclaimed. “You are the best teacher that I have ever had. Now let me go before my Mom gets pissed that I am late.”
Ryan walked out of the door, and she just watched him go. She thought that he was so cute, even though he was only seventeen.
A few seconds later a doorknob turned and a striking blonde woman emerged from another room. She was completely naked.
“Amber!, you are such a perv!”, Carly said in a playful tone.
“I only peeked out here twice. It looked like he rocked your world,” Amber said.
She made her way over to the bed and laid her naked body up against Carly’s. Sliding her hand in between Carly’s knees, Amber began to passionately kiss her on the mouth. They had obviously done this before. She dropped her mouth down to Carly’s firm breasts and began to fondle them with her tongue.
“I told you that boy was hot, didn’t I?”, Amber asked, taking a break from her own lustful desires.
“Oh , Amber, he was SO good, but it was SO wrong," Carly answered, starting to realize what she had actually done.
Amber began once again assaulting her breasts and stomach area with her busy mouth. Carly let out a pleasureful moan.
“Amber, stop,“ She lightly protested, “You don’t have time for this. Ryan thinks that you are going to have dinner ready for him when he gets home.”
“I left him a note saying that I was working late. It was so hot listening to you two from the other room.”
“It must kill you to know that there is a guy that I can have and you can’t,” Carly stated, finally having one upped Amber in the sex department.
Amber raised her head. “How do you think he learned all of that stuff that he did to you? His Dad? Puhhlease!” She responded with a wink and then her face disappeared from Carly’s view.
If you got to this point, read other Theme Thursday posts, here
GIVE ME A CALL (252) 341-9761
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
So this is Christmas......
December 9th, 1980. I woke up to the song "A day in the Life", by the Beatles. It was playing on my clock radio, which was tuned into WNBC radio, in New York City. It was early morning and I had to get up and go to school. It was at that point that I heard Don Imus announce that John Lennon had been shot and killed the night before.
There are a few times in your lifetime that you will always remember, and those for me are the John Lennon murder and 9/11.
I think that the reason that the Lennon killing stands out in my mind is that, like 9/11, it was just so out of the blue and random. John Lennon was a pacifist. He preached equality, human rights, anti war sentiments, and peace on earth. He was the original Bono, at a time when it was dangerous to carry that torch. He was considered subversive by the U.S. government, mainly for his opposition to Vietnam.
Another thing is that he truly was a musical genius (I don't use the G word that often). He revolutionized rock music. He was just starting to reemerge from his hiatus, when he was shot. He had a new son and his life was reaching a period of contentness.
Lennon always took chances, said what he felt, and never backed down. He truly is the only celebrity that I have ever idolized.
Next year will be the 30th anniversary of his death( Now you see why I don't like anniversaries?)
Anyway, the point to all of this, besides just being a tribute to a kind and gentle peaceful man, is that he wrote the most meaningful of all of the Christmas songs. The song that is playing right now is more than just a Christmas song. It is a message that we all need to live together in peace.
Listen to the words "War is over, if you want it"
Rest in Peace, John.
There are a few times in your lifetime that you will always remember, and those for me are the John Lennon murder and 9/11.
I think that the reason that the Lennon killing stands out in my mind is that, like 9/11, it was just so out of the blue and random. John Lennon was a pacifist. He preached equality, human rights, anti war sentiments, and peace on earth. He was the original Bono, at a time when it was dangerous to carry that torch. He was considered subversive by the U.S. government, mainly for his opposition to Vietnam.
Another thing is that he truly was a musical genius (I don't use the G word that often). He revolutionized rock music. He was just starting to reemerge from his hiatus, when he was shot. He had a new son and his life was reaching a period of contentness.
Lennon always took chances, said what he felt, and never backed down. He truly is the only celebrity that I have ever idolized.
Next year will be the 30th anniversary of his death( Now you see why I don't like anniversaries?)
Anyway, the point to all of this, besides just being a tribute to a kind and gentle peaceful man, is that he wrote the most meaningful of all of the Christmas songs. The song that is playing right now is more than just a Christmas song. It is a message that we all need to live together in peace.
Listen to the words "War is over, if you want it"
Rest in Peace, John.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Random Tuesday Thoughts (With a twisted Christmas Song)
I just cannot get my balls to hang the way that they should! I hate decorating the damn tree!I wonder how old that I will be by the time that they disprove everything that they taught me in school? I was watching a show on dinosaurs. These animals have certainly evolved in 30 years!
Note to women: If you are ever describing an auto accident that you were in and you are talking to me, never say that you were rear ended. It is hard for me not to giggle.
Tiger Woods! Everyone is in this big uproar. Why should I have an opinion? I don't care who he was doing or how he was doing her. Let me just say this, if he were Tommy Lee, his actions would be an accomplishment in some peoples eyes. This is why we have certain political problems in this country because no one knows when some things should be left private and not put to the public to pass judgment on.
Every time that I ever try to order something on line, I screw it up and then spend 3 hours on the phone trying to fix it!
Why do we celebrate the passage of time? New Years, Birthdays, Anniversaries? Every passing moment is one step closer to the end.
Go see the Fragrant Liar. I was shocked to see how many pricks that they put in her! (Boy, you people really have gutter minds! HAHAHA!)
OTIE'S MESSED UP CHRISTMAS SONG
Otie Steroid loves Mean Girl Garages hot little Imaho! Go see Jules! She sounds much cuter than I do! It's good for a laugh, anyway! C'mon people do one, who cares what you sound like?!
Isn't Imaho a cutie?TURN THE MUSIC PLAYER OFF FIRST
Head on over to the Un Mom, all you have to do is bang her cute little button! hehe
Saturday, December 12, 2009
The Lifeguard ( A Christmas Story)
The pills and alcohol had not been helping. Julie Talmadge knew that she needed to clean up her act for the sake of her 6 year old son, Sean. Christmas was fast approaching and she did not think that she would be able to face it without the aid of a mind altering substance. She kept telling herself that she would quit after the holiday season, but realized, in her heart, that she was lying.
Julies’s husband, Doug, had been killed in a road side attack in Iraq, only a few days after Thanksgiving. It was a brutal scene. His vehicle had been devastated by an Improvised explosive device. The insurgents dragged the only two soldiers who had survived the massive blast away from the wreckage. One of the survivors had been Doug. He was stripped of all of his personal possessions and identification and was promptly beheaded. The Terrorists videotaped the incident and then took his clothing and belongings and disappeared. By the time that help arrived, the attackers were long gone.
Julie didn’t know if she could go on with her life. Doug had always been her strength. They had actually met when they were just a teenagers. Julie had hit her head diving into the community pool, and Doug had been the lifeguard on duty. He had saved her. He was her hero, and had always been a superman in her eyes.
She began drinking heavily, but because of her job, she had to try and stay sober enough to function during her daily routine. She went to the doctor and requested tranquilizers, which she used to fill in the void in her drinking schedule. She had begun a steady downward spiral into the pit of despair.
Julie probably would have gone off of the deep end if it had not been for Sean. He was such a loveable little boy. He had not seen his dad very much in the first 6 years of his life, but he was still a Daddy’s boy, everyone could just tell. It was early December, and all that he could talk about was his daddy coming home. Doug was supposed to have been home for good by December first. They had all been so excited.
Julie had hidden the whole thing from Sean. She knew that people would criticize her for it, but she could not bring herself to take her six year old son to his Daddy’s funeral, especially because of the manner in which he had died. Time was slipping away from her. She had to find a way to make Sean understand, and she needed to do it before Christmas.
The days passed on by, and the Christmas holiday was rapidly approaching. Julie’s mother, Sandra, had temporarily moved in with them. She realized that her daughter was slipping and knew that she would not be able to cope with the rigors of work, depression ,and motherhood.
It was on a Saturday, the week before Christmas, that Sean entered the family room and found his mother on the couch, weeping. She was pretty well medicated and even a six year old could tell that something was not right.
“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Sean asked her.
This was Julies opportunity to try to explain to him that his father would not be home for this Christmas, or for any of the other ones that they would celebrate from here on out.
“Are you sad because Daddy’s not here? Don’t worry, Mommy, he will be here soon.,” Sean said as he snuggled up next to her.
Julie just could not do it. She could not tell her sweet little angel that his daddy was dead.
“Daddy may not be home this Christmas,” She told him. “I know that I promised, but sometimes things don’t always go the way that we want them to go.”
Sean began to cry and that caused her own floodgates to open up. She reached for the remainder of her vodka and cranberry and drank it down. Julie could not decide which pain hurt worse, the pain of losing the love of her life, or the pain of deceiving her son and then having to eventually destroy all of his hopes and dreams of a reunion with his father. They both cried themselves to sleep there on the couch.
Sandra came in later and picked Sean up. He was still sound asleep, and she carried him off to bed. She came back and sat on the edge of the couch, near her grieving daughter.
“Julie, I realize that it has only been a few weeks, but you cannot go on like this. Sean needs you. I need you. What good will come out of drinking yourself to death? You have to be there for him. You have to tell him the truth!”
“I know , Mom,” Julie responded, a little annoyed that her mother had decided that this was a good time for a lecture. “It just hurts so bad. I cannot take the pain Just let me get past the holidays and then I will stop with the drinking and I will explain everything to him. I cannot let him live the rest of his childhood thinking of Christmas as the time of the year when his mommy told him that his daddy was dead!”
Even though Sandra did not totally agree, she knew that she had to respect her Daughter’s wishes.
Christmas eve came, and with the ever increasing pressure of being asked if Daddy was going to make it or not, she decided to have another talk with Sean. The last time that they talked about it, she had said that he may not make it home. She should have never left that little sliver of hope for him, because now she would have to hurt him once again. Julie sat him down on the couch.
“Daddy will not be home for Christmas, Sean,” she told him, trying to hold back her own tears, acting like nothing was wrong.
“But he said that Santa was getting me something special,” Sean blubbered. “I want my Daaaaddy!” He began to cry.
Julie hugged him, trying to comfort him, or her, or both of them.
“I want your Daddy, too,” she started sobbing. They both had a long cry, and then she put Sean in his bed and tucked him in. She headed back to the living room, first stopping in the kitchen to get herself another vodka and cranberry. Sandra was waiting for her.
“You shouldn’t be doing that tonight. Sean will need you to be here for him in the morning. No matter what has happened, he is still a little boy and it is still Christmas,” Sandra said.
“Fuck Christmas!” Julie exclaimed, downing her whole drink in one long swallow. Her mother was shocked. Julie hated the F word, and no one had ever heard her say it before. She had a few more drinks and then passed out on the couch.
Sandra looked in on Sean, and saw him tossing and turning. It appeared that he was having a nightmare. She felt so sorry for the boy. She wanted to wake him and tell him the truth, but it was not her place to do so. She looked in on him a few more times. He was very restless, and that concerned her a little.
She was the only one left awake, so she got the presents out of hiding and put them under the tree. Sandra had done all of the shopping. Julie didn’t want anything to do with it. There were about fifteen boxes all together for her to lug down the stairs. She made a mental note that the following year she would buy small items. She only had fifteen boxes, but they were all large. Eight trips up and down the stairs was too hard on an older woman. When she had finished, she headed off to bed.
The following morning, Julie was shaken out of a sound sleep by her excited six year old.
“Mommy, Mommy, it’s Christmas, wake up!”
She sat up. Her head was pounding like a bass drum. She looked over at the tree and saw that her mother had put the gifts out. Sandra had been her rock for the last few weeks. She owed her mother big time.
“Go get grandma up and we can open our presents,” Julie said, hugging her sweet child.
“I saw Daddy last night,” Sean said, out of the blue.
Her smile suddenly reversed itself. For a minute, she had forgotten her sorrow.
“Sean………” She started to say, but he was so eager to talk that he cut her off.
“Daddy said that even though I will not be able to see him anymore, that he is here. He told me not to cry, that there were people that needed his help and that I needed to let him go so that he could help them. He said that he will check on me every day and that for a while he was going to ride with Santa Claus.”
Sandra entered the room, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“MOM! What did you tell him?” Julie snipped.
“Nothing, I swear it!”
“Daddy told me other things too, “ Sean added.
Teary eyed, Julie asked, “Like what, baby.”
“Daddy said to tell you to quit all of the stuff that you are doing. He said that if he knew that you would act like this, he would have left you in the pool. He said that he is with you every day, and that you need to be happy and not worry about him.”
Julie smiled. It was nice of her mother to try to uplift both of their spirits, but it was not going to work.
“Oh yea, Mommy, one more thing,” Sean said. He walked over to the tree and picked up two small, neatly wrapped presents. “Daddy gave these to me. He said that they were for us.”
Julie once again looked at her mother with a scornful glare. “Mom……!”
“It wasn’t me,” Sandra protested, “I swear, I wish that I had bought something that small.”
Sean handed his mother one of the tiny gifts. One was for him and one was for her. They both held their own box and neither of them did anything.
“You might as well open them”, Sandra said, the curiosity building in her mind as well.
Sean tore into his first, exposing a small white box with a lid. He popped the lid off and reaching into the box, he pulled out a set of dog tags. They were charred and scarred, but the information was clearly visible. They were Doug Talmadge’s dog tags.
“Sean, Honey, this is very important. Where did you get these gifts from? Julie asked, terribly confused.
“Daddy gave them to me last night. I put them under the tree before I woke you up this morning. Open yours, Mommy!”
She would find the truth later. Right now, she wanted to know what was in the other box. She tore the paper off like she was a child herself. Flipping open the top of the box, she looked at the contents in a stunned silence. “What is it Julie?” Sandra asked in a semi demanding fashion.
Julie reached in and pulled out a man’s golden wedding band. The inscription on it read, “Forever and Ever”. It was his, she had no doubt. In her stunned silence, she saw a piece of folded paper in the bottom of the box. She picked it out and unfolded it. In Doug’s familiar handwriting, the note read:
You are never without me. Live your life. Love again. And never say “Fuck Christmas” again, it doesn’t suit you. I will always be your lifeguard, Love Doug
Julie began to cry, and then headed rapidly to the kitchen. She put a glass on the table and filled it ¾ full with cranberry juice. She grabbed the bottle of vodka off the counter and proceeded to pour the contents down the drain.
“Merry Christmas Baby,” she said out loud, holding her glass in the air as a sort of toast. The tears that were flowing now were not tears of sorrow, instead they were thankful tears.
“You saved my life again.”
Julies’s husband, Doug, had been killed in a road side attack in Iraq, only a few days after Thanksgiving. It was a brutal scene. His vehicle had been devastated by an Improvised explosive device. The insurgents dragged the only two soldiers who had survived the massive blast away from the wreckage. One of the survivors had been Doug. He was stripped of all of his personal possessions and identification and was promptly beheaded. The Terrorists videotaped the incident and then took his clothing and belongings and disappeared. By the time that help arrived, the attackers were long gone.
Julie didn’t know if she could go on with her life. Doug had always been her strength. They had actually met when they were just a teenagers. Julie had hit her head diving into the community pool, and Doug had been the lifeguard on duty. He had saved her. He was her hero, and had always been a superman in her eyes.
She began drinking heavily, but because of her job, she had to try and stay sober enough to function during her daily routine. She went to the doctor and requested tranquilizers, which she used to fill in the void in her drinking schedule. She had begun a steady downward spiral into the pit of despair.
Julie probably would have gone off of the deep end if it had not been for Sean. He was such a loveable little boy. He had not seen his dad very much in the first 6 years of his life, but he was still a Daddy’s boy, everyone could just tell. It was early December, and all that he could talk about was his daddy coming home. Doug was supposed to have been home for good by December first. They had all been so excited.
Julie had hidden the whole thing from Sean. She knew that people would criticize her for it, but she could not bring herself to take her six year old son to his Daddy’s funeral, especially because of the manner in which he had died. Time was slipping away from her. She had to find a way to make Sean understand, and she needed to do it before Christmas.
The days passed on by, and the Christmas holiday was rapidly approaching. Julie’s mother, Sandra, had temporarily moved in with them. She realized that her daughter was slipping and knew that she would not be able to cope with the rigors of work, depression ,and motherhood.
It was on a Saturday, the week before Christmas, that Sean entered the family room and found his mother on the couch, weeping. She was pretty well medicated and even a six year old could tell that something was not right.
“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Sean asked her.
This was Julies opportunity to try to explain to him that his father would not be home for this Christmas, or for any of the other ones that they would celebrate from here on out.
“Are you sad because Daddy’s not here? Don’t worry, Mommy, he will be here soon.,” Sean said as he snuggled up next to her.
Julie just could not do it. She could not tell her sweet little angel that his daddy was dead.
“Daddy may not be home this Christmas,” She told him. “I know that I promised, but sometimes things don’t always go the way that we want them to go.”
Sean began to cry and that caused her own floodgates to open up. She reached for the remainder of her vodka and cranberry and drank it down. Julie could not decide which pain hurt worse, the pain of losing the love of her life, or the pain of deceiving her son and then having to eventually destroy all of his hopes and dreams of a reunion with his father. They both cried themselves to sleep there on the couch.
Sandra came in later and picked Sean up. He was still sound asleep, and she carried him off to bed. She came back and sat on the edge of the couch, near her grieving daughter.
“Julie, I realize that it has only been a few weeks, but you cannot go on like this. Sean needs you. I need you. What good will come out of drinking yourself to death? You have to be there for him. You have to tell him the truth!”
“I know , Mom,” Julie responded, a little annoyed that her mother had decided that this was a good time for a lecture. “It just hurts so bad. I cannot take the pain Just let me get past the holidays and then I will stop with the drinking and I will explain everything to him. I cannot let him live the rest of his childhood thinking of Christmas as the time of the year when his mommy told him that his daddy was dead!”
Even though Sandra did not totally agree, she knew that she had to respect her Daughter’s wishes.
Christmas eve came, and with the ever increasing pressure of being asked if Daddy was going to make it or not, she decided to have another talk with Sean. The last time that they talked about it, she had said that he may not make it home. She should have never left that little sliver of hope for him, because now she would have to hurt him once again. Julie sat him down on the couch.
“Daddy will not be home for Christmas, Sean,” she told him, trying to hold back her own tears, acting like nothing was wrong.
“But he said that Santa was getting me something special,” Sean blubbered. “I want my Daaaaddy!” He began to cry.
Julie hugged him, trying to comfort him, or her, or both of them.
“I want your Daddy, too,” she started sobbing. They both had a long cry, and then she put Sean in his bed and tucked him in. She headed back to the living room, first stopping in the kitchen to get herself another vodka and cranberry. Sandra was waiting for her.
“You shouldn’t be doing that tonight. Sean will need you to be here for him in the morning. No matter what has happened, he is still a little boy and it is still Christmas,” Sandra said.
“Fuck Christmas!” Julie exclaimed, downing her whole drink in one long swallow. Her mother was shocked. Julie hated the F word, and no one had ever heard her say it before. She had a few more drinks and then passed out on the couch.
Sandra looked in on Sean, and saw him tossing and turning. It appeared that he was having a nightmare. She felt so sorry for the boy. She wanted to wake him and tell him the truth, but it was not her place to do so. She looked in on him a few more times. He was very restless, and that concerned her a little.
She was the only one left awake, so she got the presents out of hiding and put them under the tree. Sandra had done all of the shopping. Julie didn’t want anything to do with it. There were about fifteen boxes all together for her to lug down the stairs. She made a mental note that the following year she would buy small items. She only had fifteen boxes, but they were all large. Eight trips up and down the stairs was too hard on an older woman. When she had finished, she headed off to bed.
The following morning, Julie was shaken out of a sound sleep by her excited six year old.
“Mommy, Mommy, it’s Christmas, wake up!”
She sat up. Her head was pounding like a bass drum. She looked over at the tree and saw that her mother had put the gifts out. Sandra had been her rock for the last few weeks. She owed her mother big time.
“Go get grandma up and we can open our presents,” Julie said, hugging her sweet child.
“I saw Daddy last night,” Sean said, out of the blue.
Her smile suddenly reversed itself. For a minute, she had forgotten her sorrow.
“Sean………” She started to say, but he was so eager to talk that he cut her off.
“Daddy said that even though I will not be able to see him anymore, that he is here. He told me not to cry, that there were people that needed his help and that I needed to let him go so that he could help them. He said that he will check on me every day and that for a while he was going to ride with Santa Claus.”
Sandra entered the room, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“MOM! What did you tell him?” Julie snipped.
“Nothing, I swear it!”
“Daddy told me other things too, “ Sean added.
Teary eyed, Julie asked, “Like what, baby.”
“Daddy said to tell you to quit all of the stuff that you are doing. He said that if he knew that you would act like this, he would have left you in the pool. He said that he is with you every day, and that you need to be happy and not worry about him.”
Julie smiled. It was nice of her mother to try to uplift both of their spirits, but it was not going to work.
“Oh yea, Mommy, one more thing,” Sean said. He walked over to the tree and picked up two small, neatly wrapped presents. “Daddy gave these to me. He said that they were for us.”
Julie once again looked at her mother with a scornful glare. “Mom……!”
“It wasn’t me,” Sandra protested, “I swear, I wish that I had bought something that small.”
Sean handed his mother one of the tiny gifts. One was for him and one was for her. They both held their own box and neither of them did anything.
“You might as well open them”, Sandra said, the curiosity building in her mind as well.
Sean tore into his first, exposing a small white box with a lid. He popped the lid off and reaching into the box, he pulled out a set of dog tags. They were charred and scarred, but the information was clearly visible. They were Doug Talmadge’s dog tags.
“Sean, Honey, this is very important. Where did you get these gifts from? Julie asked, terribly confused.
“Daddy gave them to me last night. I put them under the tree before I woke you up this morning. Open yours, Mommy!”
She would find the truth later. Right now, she wanted to know what was in the other box. She tore the paper off like she was a child herself. Flipping open the top of the box, she looked at the contents in a stunned silence. “What is it Julie?” Sandra asked in a semi demanding fashion.
Julie reached in and pulled out a man’s golden wedding band. The inscription on it read, “Forever and Ever”. It was his, she had no doubt. In her stunned silence, she saw a piece of folded paper in the bottom of the box. She picked it out and unfolded it. In Doug’s familiar handwriting, the note read:
You are never without me. Live your life. Love again. And never say “Fuck Christmas” again, it doesn’t suit you. I will always be your lifeguard, Love Doug
Julie began to cry, and then headed rapidly to the kitchen. She put a glass on the table and filled it ¾ full with cranberry juice. She grabbed the bottle of vodka off the counter and proceeded to pour the contents down the drain.
“Merry Christmas Baby,” she said out loud, holding her glass in the air as a sort of toast. The tears that were flowing now were not tears of sorrow, instead they were thankful tears.
“You saved my life again.”
Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Happy Hour Friday
In Emails with RxBambi, a great friend of mine, we decided to co host a Friday post called "Happy hour Friday". Friday is the end of the work week, and a doorway to free time and hopefully fun. Just list some things that make you happy, and Have a fun weekend! BE SURE TO VISIT RX BAMBI :)Another week is gone, and that is a good thing from a work perspective!
I am happy that we got a few letters on the Santa Claus blog.
I am happy that a few people hung in there to read that long story.I am happy that tax return time is approaching!
Happy that my bowels move regularly.
Happy that I have no enemies!
Happy that I hate no one!
I am happier than Arnold Schwarzenegger in a silent movie!
I am happier than hot wax on a swimsuit model!
I am happier than Beyonce's doctor with a rectal thermometer!
I am happier than the "Two girls and one cup" chicks with a tooth brush and a bottle of mouthwash! ( If you get this one, that means that you are probably as sick as me, if you google it, then that means you are probably as sick as me, and if you just move on and know nothing about this, then you are probably wiser than me! LOL)
And Finally, I am happier than Alix from Casa Hice, having her way with Tim Tebow!
Happy Friday everyone!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Law & Disorder Parts 1-6 and the link to the conclusion
HERE IS THE ENTIRE STORY EXCEPT FOR THE CONLUSION, WHICH IS AT JAIME'S AND WILL BE LINKED AT THE BOTTOM.
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE BEEN FOLLOWING ALONG, PART 6 IS MARKED AT THE BOTTOM!
Tammy Jenkins was very good at her craft. She was a celebrated lawyer, who came from a family of top notch legal minds. Her father and uncle started a law firm years ago, and naturally, Tammy had followed down that same path. Her upbringing had been very strict. She was not allowed to date or go to parties. School and studies are what her parents had preached. Tammy did not have many close friends when she was in high school. Jennifer Dobson had been her only true friend, but when Jennifer got pregnant in her senior year, Tammy’s dad, William, forbid them from seeing each other any more. Tammy grew up very lonely.
Tammy, now fifty, had taken over her father’s law firm. Her uncle had passed on and her parents retired to Boca Raton, where they lived quite comfortably. William Jenkins had made a lot of money and invested it wisely. He was a very wealthy man, and didn’t involve himself in the firm anymore. It was Tammy’s, as far as he was concerned. He was seventy two, enjoying his retirement and still happily married to his wife, Lara, Tammy’s mother.
Even when Tammy was in school, she was involved with the firm. She did a lot of financial work and bill paying, and even cleaned the office on many occasions. After she finished her schooling and had passed her bar exams, she worked side by side with her father until he retired. She was a workaholic, these days, a very lonely workaholic.
Like all power hungry, workaholic lawyers, she was eagerly searching for her next big case. Tammy loved the challenge of criminal defense work. She was absolutely one of those true believers - the ones who fought to protect the innocent from the injustices of an unfair and corrupt system. She had almost accepted a job at the public defender's office, but her dad offered the promise of more money than she could even fathom back then, as well as the ability to practice whatever area she pleased.
Her dad and uncle were incredible trial attorneys, and she had learned under the best, but the civil work they did bored her. She built her practice from the ground up, starting with municipal court matters - traffic tickets, disorderly persons offenses and some minor drug charges.
Tammy was good and quickly earned a name for herself in the criminal arena.
The black phone on the corner of her desk began to ring. Tammy raised her eyebrows at the sound. This was her "special line." The number was top secret, known only to her family and her high end former clients. She let the machine answer, waiting to hear if they knew the right thing to say.
"Uh...I'm in trouble here. Norma Jean referred me."
Tammy smiled. That was the right thing to say. She answered quickly and set up a meet the following morning.
Harold Greenhill was a wreck as he was led down the corridor by a striking brunette. If he wasn't so distracted, he would have enjoyed watching the seductive sway of her hips and the way the black knit dress hugged her curves. Instead, the clacking of her stilettos pounded through his head with every step.
The woman - Harold forget her name the second she gave it - held open the door to a conference room. Harold slid into the chair closest to the door and declined the offer of coffee. He was surprised to see a striking Brunette sit across from him and slide a legal pad from the center of the room. She began asking questions. At first it was the basics - name, address, children, marital status. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched when he responded "widower" with a cracked voice. Then the questions became more focused on his current legal situation. Harold returned home from his job that night to find his front door ajar. He rushed inside, finding his wife, Barbara, laying in a pool of her own blood on the kitchen floor. There were multiple wounds all over her body and the knife was still sticking out of her chest.
Harold's first instinct was the wrong one - he removed the knife and tried to revive Barbara. He called 911, continued his attempts to stop the bleeding, to breath life back into his wife's lungs. By the time the authorities arrived, Harold was covered in blood with his prints on the murder weapon. When he was asked if anyone could corroborate his story, Harold snapped. "Listen. I'm sure you're very good at your job. But I came here to meet with Tammy Jenkins, not her secretary! Now go on back and bring out my attorney!"
The brunette rolled her eyes as she stood. "The name is Rose, Mr. Greenhill. Since I'll be second chair at the trial, I expect you to remember who I am next time and speak to me about your case." She turned on her heel and let the door slam on her way out.
Rose slipped into the room next door, where Tammy had been watching through a two-way mirror. Tammy smirked at their exchange, liking Harold instantly, but more importantly, she believed every word of his story. Something troubled her though. The name - Barbara Greenhill was oddly familiar. Grabbing the file from Rose, she flipped through it briefly. Barbara's photograph was in the file. It was a grainy autopsy photo, but Tammy would recognize that face anywhere. Barbara Greenhill looked exactly like her best friend from high school, Jennifer Dobson. "Rose!" Tammy called. "What was the wife's maiden name?" Rose hesitated for an instant before confirming Tammy's suspicions.
So Jenny Dobson and Barbara Greenhill were the same person. Tammy wondered when that happened, knowing there was something more there. Jennifer's middle name had been Barbara and her mother had sometimes called her "Barbie." Jennifer could have simply decided to go by Barbara when she married Harold Greenhill.
But the name continued to tug at the edge of Tammy's consciousness. She quickly concluded the rest of the initial interview, even more convinced at her client's innocence. A grand jury had been convened and Harold wanted to testify. They set another meeting to prepare his testimony.
"Barbara Greenhill"? She knew that name, but from where?
When she returned to her office, the payroll checks were on her desk. She hated this part of her job and didn't understand why they couldn't just automate this whole thing. Why should she have to sign each paycheck herself? Tammy quickly signed the stack of checks without looking at them and threw them into her outbox for delivery to the HR department.
While on a particularly boring phone call, Tammy tuned out her adversary's rambling rendition of his client's settlement position and pulled out the payroll folder again. She looked at the checks she had signed for the first time in ages. There was a check in the middle for $10,000 made payable to "B. Greenhill." She knew that she had seen that name before!
There had to be some mistake, Tammy thought. Even her dad didn't pull down 10 grand a pay cycle! She yelled for her assistant to pull the payroll records for B. Greenhill. The information was sketchy at best. There was no first name, only the initial "B." Human Resources only had an address, no description of the job she was hired to perform, no time records. Only an amount to be paid each pay cycle and the authorization code indicated that Tammy's father hired the mysterious B. Upon further investigation, it was revealed that the payments to Barbara Greenhill had started almost thirty years earlier, at approximately the same time that Jennifer Dobson and Harold Greenhill had been wed. It had not always been $10,000, the amount had increased over the years. All of this coincidence was beginning to give her a headache. She had probably signed the Greenhill check a thousand times in her life.
Tammy had expensive investigators at her disposal, but she believed that each of her cases warranted her personal attention as well. If she was going to sell her client's story, she had to see the crime scene with her own eyes, walk the victim's last steps, feel the emotion of those last painful moments.
Tammy moved through the house slowly and methodically, her studied eye carefully searching the Greenhill home. She saved the scene of the crime for last, beginning in the bedroom. Experience taught her that you can learn a lot about someone from studying their most personal space. Tammy swept through the bedroom, finding relatively little of note. She found one of Barbara's old high school yearbooks. Tammy flipped through the pages, finding her inscription to Jenny, who she had called the sister she never had. Tammy reached for a tissue to wipe away the tears that sprung from her eyes, knocking a picture frame behind the large wooden desk.
She got to her knees to reach for the frame. The back had fallen loose and when Tammy turned the frame over to fit the pieces back together, an envelope was wedged behind the photograph. Tammy's fingers grazed the creamy fabric of the envelope and took in the elegant script. She gasped, instantly knowing the source of the writing without looking at the return address.
Shaken, Tammy hastened through the rest of her search, happy that her investigator was also there. Tammy did take careful note of the collection of kitchen knives. All of the larger knives were in a matched set. It was a cheap bargain store set, with light natural wood handles. They were nothing of particular note, except for the fact that one was missing. From the space in the knife block, it was a long blade, at least 6 inches - the exact length of the murder weapon. No other knives had been found in any of the drawers.
Later, back at her desk, Tammy mulled over some of the evidence and facts of the case. Barbara Greenhill, formerly Jennifer Dobson, had been receiving large sums of money for thirty years from the very law firm which Tammy now ran. Harold and Barbara lived very modestly. They drove cheap cars. Harold worked full time as a contractor and they had few luxury items. The Greenhill daughter, thirty-three year old Patricia, lived an upper middle class life style, even though she had never had a steady job. Tammy had not met Patricia yet, but Rose had interviewed her and she needed to be investigated further.
The murder weapon was also a bit puzzling to her. It was a very expensive kitchen knife, with a fancy gold flower pattern on the handle. It did not match any other kitchenware in the house. It was possible that they just had one stray knife but the house was so well organized, that wasn't likely. Tammy suspected that the knife was brought into the home. This would be a plus for Harold's case.
He had been fixing an outdoor faucet that evening. Where would he have gotten a fancy knife from, and why? The missing knife in the Greenhill set had been found in the dishwasher, so the murder weapon obviously did not come from their knife rack. The worst thing was that Tammy felt like she had seen that pattern before but could not remember where.
And then there was Harold. What motive would he have for killing his wife? Harold had been under the impression that Patricia was living off of a trust fund which had been given to her by her rich grandfather on her father's side. He never knew Patricia's real father. When Harold and Barbara had gotten married, she had told him that the man was deceased. He legally adopted Patricia when she was three. Money could not be the motive, because if there was a trust fund, then he would not be able to get at any of it anyway. From all accounts, the people who knew both of them said that they had seemed rather happy and rarely fought. But no matter how hard they searched, they could not find any witnesses who saw Harold, or any one else, coming or going from the house. Any other time, someone would have been nosy but not that night.
Tammy decided to set her best investigator after Patricia Greenhill while she took a quick trip down to Florida. Even though she had a big case going, it was Thanksgiving and her family was always together for the holiday. Missing the big meal was unforgivable under any circumstance that didn't involve a hospital bed. It was really a blessing because she would have had to make the trip anyway. She needed to know what her dad knew about the money and B. Greenhill.
Thanksgiving morning came and Tammy slept late, still tired from the flight. The night before, she let herself in the house with the spare key, careful not to wake her parents. She walked into the kitchen and immediately her mother ran over and hugged her.
"Ohhh! My sweet little girl. I have missed you," Her mother exclaimed. They hugged for a few minutes.
"Where is Dad?" Tammy asked.
"He's out hitting golf balls. The man never takes a break from it"
Dad would get his talking to later. Right now, Tammy was all about assisting her mother. Tammy loved to help her mother prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Lara always slaved over the bird and the stuffing, but Tammy enjoyed making all the other dishes. As they labored away in the kitchen, Tammy filled her mom in on her newest case. Not all the gory details, but the ones she could safely share with family without blowing that pesky attorney-client privilege. She was very vague and didn't use any names. During a break in the conversation, Lara asked how Tammy's visit with her dad was last month. Tammy stopped mid-slice and her knife clattered against the table. "I didn't see Dad last month."
Lara got an odd expression on her face, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Hmm...He said he was driving up to check on firm business. I must have been mistaken."
Lara was never mistaken when it came to William Jenkins. Tammy knew it. And Lara knew Tammy knew it. It was time for a chat with dear old dad.
In the mean time, she continued the conversation with her mother, again switching topics. "Mom, you remember Jenny Dobson?" Tammy asked.
"Yes, of course, Helen and Ted's daughter. The girl who got pregnant when she was a senior. You know it's funny that you mention her. Helen and I always stayed in touch after your dad had split you girls up. I never understood your father on that decision. He is a fairly liberal man. I don't know why he was so unforgiving."
"Do you still talk to Helen?" Tammy questioned further.
"Every once in a while. She only lives about an hour from here. About a year ago, Helen, her granddaughter, and her granddaughter's stepfather came by here and we had lunch. That was Jennifer's daughter, a very lovely girl. I think her name was Peggy or Patty? I forget."
"Patricia was here?!!"
"Yea, that's it. Patty."
"Why was her stepfather with her and where was Jennifer?" Tammy was now in interrogation mode.
"Jennifer was not feeling well and the Stepfather, Harry was his name, had driven the women here. We all had a nice lunch."
"Where was Daddy while they were here?"
"He found out that they were coming over and decided to go out and hit golf balls. Men hate to be around a bunch of yapping women. Your dad is not one for entertaining strangers, either. Tammy, dear, could you hand me the big carving knife from the knife rack?"
Tammy grabbed the top knife and then a wave of nausea washed over her. The handle had a very familiar ornate gold floral design.
"Mom," She asked, already sensing the answer to her question. "Are you missing any knives from your set?"
"Yes. And it was my favorite one. The six inch all purpose knife."
Tammy cringed.
Before William got home, Tammy received a call from her investigator. She paid him top dollar for a reason. He was fast and always got results. Patricia (call me Pat, thank you very much) had been drawing money from a Chase account since she was 18. The source of the money was hard to trace - bouncing around several different accounts, in different countries, before landing with Pat. He wasn't able to find the ultimate origination point, but the amounts corresponded directly to the draws "B Greenhill" received from Tammy's firm.
Just then William Jenkins walked through the door. He was still a powerful man, his charm and charisma drifting through the door before he did. When Tammy heard his shoes clacking on the floor, she called out, "Dad! We need to talk."
Tammy and William made their way to his study, which was basically a little den located off of his bedroom. She shut and locked every door behind her as they went through the two rooms.
"That wasn't a very nice greeting, Pumpkin," he said, trying to lighten her mood. He practiced with Tammy long enough to know when she had a bone to pick with someone.
"Dad, a few months back, you came up to take care of some firm business, yet you never came to see me? That seems a little strange, being that I am running the firm," Tammy began grilling him.
"Your Mom told you this?" He asked back.
"Yea, I know that it is Thanksgiving, but this is also a business trip for me. I have a bunch of questions that I need answers to, and it all seems to lead to you."
"You are acting crazy, Honey. What's going on?"
"Do you know who B. Greenhill is and why she has been getting well financed by the firm?" She asked.
He did not respond right away, he knew that he could not dodge her. She had the tenacity of a bulldog.
"B. Greenhill is Jennifer Dobson," He replied, staring down at the floor. "The money that she has been paid over the years is because of the guilt that I carry.""Guilt?? Over splitting us up?" she responded, already sensing the true answer, but wanting to hear her dad say it.
He knew that it was all going to come out anyway and figured that she might as well hear it from him.
"No, not over splitting you up," He said reluctantly, "Over the fact that I was the one who got her pregnant! Her daughter, Patricia is your half sister."
Shocked as she was, anger took over. "You Lousy Bastard!" she said in a hostile voice. "You ruined my friendship, you hid a sister from me, you paid this girl enough money to live like a queen, you cheated on Mom! With a high school girl! My Fucking Dad, holier than thou lawyer, couldn't keep it in his pants! You make me sick!"
"Now you look, Jennifer was 17, but she was no innocent school girl. She asked me for a ride home. I am not going to go into details, but I will tell you that I did not initiate any contact with her. She was the aggressor."
"Great excuse, Dad." Tammy scoffed. "She asked for it. She wanted it. You are disgusting! So is this why you killed her?
"Killed her???" William seemed genuinely surprised. "Jennifer is dead??"
"Yep, knife in the chest. Mom's missing kitchen knife, if I had my guess." William collapsed in his chair, muttering to himself for a minute before he spoke again.
"Why would I kill Jenny?" He asked Tammy, in a much slower and softer voice.
Tammy pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "I found this in Jennifer's room. No one else has seen it but me. I thought that it looked like your handwriting, but was not 100% sure until a few minutes ago."
She began to read the note:
Jennifer, I cannot give anymore than I am giving. If it comes down to you blowing the whistle, then I might have to take some drastic action. You have been well compensated for your part in our little secret. I have upheld my end of the deal. You cannot keep changing the rules as you go, or someone is going to get hurt.
There was no signature.
"I did write that," he confessed. "When Jennifer moved out of her parent's home, she came to me for money. She said that if I did not give her five hundred every month, that she would tell our story. Over the years, as the firm grew so did her desire for money. I should have come clean and put a stop to it, but she mailed me statements showing that the money was going into a secure account that only Patricia would be able to draw from when she got older. I think that I let it go because I felt so guilty and wanted to support my child, even after Jennifer married that Greenhill guy. When I turned seventy, I sent her a note telling her that I could no longer do it. She threatened to tell everyone that I was the father. It would have ignited a shitstorm!"
"You mean like what we have now?" Tammy broke in.
"This will blow up only if you allow it to," William responded calmly. "I wasn't physically threatening her. I meant someone would be hurt emotionally. You, your mom, Jen, Patricia, Helen, Ted, everyone. I am sorry that she is dead, but all of that crap could end right here in this room."
He went to hug Tammy and she withdrew from him. "Don't touch me, don't call me, you are dead to me! Harold Greenhill is sitting in jail, waiting for me to come up with something to set him free. I am keeping this note, and I am leaving right now. Don't even think about throwing your knife set away. It would make you look even more guilty."
"You are defending Greenhill? How did he just happen to find you? Ask yourself that one!"
Tammy stormed out of the room. She crossed the hall and grabbed her small suitcase, which she had never unpacked. She made her way out to the kitchen where her mother was still laboring away.
"Tammy, dear," her mother said, sounding concerned, noticing her flustered appearance, "Have you been crying? What's Daddy done this time? I wish that you two would not fight."
"Mom, I can't stay here. I have some...um...business that is really important. I may have to do something that is going to be hard on all of us. Promise me that you won't hate me."
"Hate you!?! Never sweetie! You are just like your Dad, business first. You do what you need to do, Baby. I wish that you could stay."
They hugged and then Tammy grabbed her bag and disappeared out the door. William came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "What was all of that about? Tammy was pretty upset with you?" Lara asked him.
"It was nothing. We just had a little spat about business," he replied.
Lara smiled. She knew more about his business that he could ever imagine.
PART 6
Out in her car, Tammy pounded the steering wheel. How dare her father do this to her. How could he put her in this position! She either had to let an innocent man go to jail or bring her dad down. What the fuck was she going to do?
Tammy had a first class ticket on the next plane out of Boca, but she thought better on the road. She turned her car onto the interstate and headed north, planning to drive as long as she could keep her eyes open.
Her whole life, she fought to protect the innocent and those who were not-guilty. The distinction was important. So rarely did you have a client who never committed the crime they were accused of. Usually there was something else - a coerced confession, a bad stop, unlawful search, selective prosecution, defective warrants... Tammy never thought of them as technicalities. People had to be protected from the abuses of the system - and if that meant that a hundred guilty men had to go free so an innocent man wouldn't be put in jail, so be it.
But here she really had an innocent client! Harold didn't do it. Tammy was sure of it. Tammy was equally sure that the murder weapon came from her parents' home.
Okay, sure. More than one person probably owned those hideous knives, though Tammy couldn't understand why anyone needed to cut meat with something so expensive (and ugly). But her dad had motive. He had the murder weapon. He had threatened the damn vic, for Christ's sake. How fucking stupid could he be? It was like someone gift wrapped the whole damn thing in a bow. She had to present it to the prosecutor. Morally and ethically, she could not let her client spend one more second in jail.
Then it would be her dad's turn to rot in a freaking jail cell. DAMN HIM! Tammy thought for the hundredth time. How the hell could she put her dad in jail?
They had their differences over the years. But getting into a spat over office politics and putting her old man in the slammer for the rest of his life were two radically different things. This was her father. The guy who raised her. Who came to every one of her softball and field hockey games her entire life. The man was always there for her, whether she wanted his help or not. How could she turn her back on him when he needed her most?
Tammy pounded the steering wheel again. A wave of weariness came over her just as she was passing by a sketchy looking motel. She pulled into the parking lot, quickly paid for a room and crashed on the bed, not bothering to remove her clothes.
Her dreams tore her apart. First images of Harold sitting in jail, calling to her to save him. Then Lara bawling her eyes out as daddy dearest was being led away in handcuffs by two cops. A third image scared the hell out of her - Tammy before the ethics board because she did nothing, letting an innocent man go to jail while she allowed her father to remain free.
Out of nowhere, she heard her father's voice echoing through her dream. "How do you think Harold found you Tammy?" The question never had crossed her mind, though to have gotten her special line, Harold had to know someone very connected to Tammy.
Tammy bolted awake and reached for her cell. Her fingers shook as she dialed. When the sleepy voice answered the phone, Tammy jumped right in. "I know it was you," she accused. "And you will not get away with it!"
THE CONCLUSION IS HERE AND IS UP NOW
THE CONCLUSION IS HERE AND IS UP NOW
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Law & Disorder Part 4
*Note* This story was not a case where Jaime wrote one part and I wrote another. We emailed the story back and forth, both editing each other's writing.
This is part 4
Part one is HERE
Part two is HERE
Part Three is HERE
Part Five is up right now at Red Red Whine
LAW & DISORDER (Part 4)
Tammy decided to set her best investigator after Patricia Greenhill while she took a quick trip down to Florida. Even though she had a big case going, it was Thanksgiving and her family was always together for the holiday. Missing the big meal was unforgivable under any circumstance that didn't involve a hospital bed. It was really a blessing because she would have had to make the trip anyway. She needed to know what her dad knew about the money and B. Greenhill.
"Ohhh! My sweet little girl. I have missed you," Her mother exclaimed. They hugged for a few minutes.
"Where is Dad?" Tammy asked.
"He's out hitting golf balls. The man never takes a break from it"
Dad would get his talking to later. Right now, Tammy was all about assisting her mother. Tammy loved to help her mother prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Lara always slaved over the bird and the stuffing, but Tammy enjoyed making all the other dishes. As they labored away in the kitchen, Tammy filled her mom in on her newest case. Not all the gory details, but the ones she could safely share with family without blowing that pesky attorney-client privilege. She was very vague and didn't use any names. During a break in the conversation, Lara asked how Tammy's visit with her dad was last month. Tammy stopped mid-slice and her knife clattered against the table. "I didn't see Dad last month."
Lara got an odd expression on her face, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Hmm...He said he was driving up to check on firm business. I must have been mistaken."
Lara was never mistaken when it came to William Jenkins. Tammy knew it. And Lara knew Tammy knew it. It was time for a chat with dear old dad.
In the mean time, she continued the conversation with her mother, again switching topics. "Mom, you remember Jenny Dobson?" Tammy asked.
"Yes, of course, Helen and Ted's daughter. The girl who got pregnant when she was a senior. You know it's funny that you mention her. Helen and I always stayed in touch after your dad had split you girls up. I never understood your father on that decision. He is a fairly liberal man. I don't know why he was so unforgiving."
"Do you still talk to Helen?" Tammy questioned further.
"Every once in a while. She only lives about an hour from here. About a year ago, Helen, her granddaughter, and her granddaughter's stepfather came by here and we had lunch. That was Jennifer's daughter, a very lovely girl. I think her name was Peggy or Patty? I forget."
"Patricia was here?!!"
"Yea, that's it. Patty."
"Why was her stepfather with her and where was Jennifer?" Tammy was now in interrogation mode.
"Jennifer was not feeling well and the Stepfather, Harry was his name, had driven the women here. We all had a nice lunch."
"Where was Daddy while they were here?"
"He found out that they were coming over and decided to go out and hit golf balls. Men hate to be around a bunch of yapping women. Your dad is not one for entertaining strangers, either. Tammy, dear, could you hand me the big carving knife from the knife rack?"
Tammy grabbed the top knife and then a wave of nausea washed over her. The handle had a very familiar ornate gold floral design.
"Mom," She asked, already sensing the answer to her question. "Are you missing any knives from your set?"
"Yes. And it was my favorite one. The six inch all purpose knife."
Tammy cringed.
Before William got home, Tammy received a call from her investigator. She paid him top dollar for a reason. He was fast and always got results. Patricia (call me Pat, thank you very much) had been drawing money from a Chase account since she was 18. The source of the money was hard to trace - bouncing around several different accounts, in different countries, before landing with Pat. He wasn't able to find the ultimate origination point, but the amounts corresponded directly to the draws "B Greenhill" received from Tammy's firm.
Just then William Jenkins walked through the door. He was still a powerful man, his charm and charisma drifting through the door before he did. When Tammy heard his shoes clacking on the floor, she called out, "Dad! We need to talk."
Read Part 5 HERE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STACY THE RANDOM COOL CHICK!!!!!!!!
This is part 4
Part one is HERE
Part two is HERE
Part Three is HERE
Part Five is up right now at Red Red Whine
Tammy decided to set her best investigator after Patricia Greenhill while she took a quick trip down to Florida. Even though she had a big case going, it was Thanksgiving and her family was always together for the holiday. Missing the big meal was unforgivable under any circumstance that didn't involve a hospital bed. It was really a blessing because she would have had to make the trip anyway. She needed to know what her dad knew about the money and B. Greenhill.
Thanksgiving morning came and Tammy slept late, still tired from the flight. The night before, she let herself in the house with the spare key, careful not to wake her parents. She walked into the kitchen and immediately her mother ran over and hugged her.
"Ohhh! My sweet little girl. I have missed you," Her mother exclaimed. They hugged for a few minutes.
"Where is Dad?" Tammy asked.
"He's out hitting golf balls. The man never takes a break from it"
Dad would get his talking to later. Right now, Tammy was all about assisting her mother. Tammy loved to help her mother prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Lara always slaved over the bird and the stuffing, but Tammy enjoyed making all the other dishes. As they labored away in the kitchen, Tammy filled her mom in on her newest case. Not all the gory details, but the ones she could safely share with family without blowing that pesky attorney-client privilege. She was very vague and didn't use any names. During a break in the conversation, Lara asked how Tammy's visit with her dad was last month. Tammy stopped mid-slice and her knife clattered against the table. "I didn't see Dad last month."
Lara got an odd expression on her face, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Hmm...He said he was driving up to check on firm business. I must have been mistaken."
Lara was never mistaken when it came to William Jenkins. Tammy knew it. And Lara knew Tammy knew it. It was time for a chat with dear old dad.
In the mean time, she continued the conversation with her mother, again switching topics. "Mom, you remember Jenny Dobson?" Tammy asked.
"Yes, of course, Helen and Ted's daughter. The girl who got pregnant when she was a senior. You know it's funny that you mention her. Helen and I always stayed in touch after your dad had split you girls up. I never understood your father on that decision. He is a fairly liberal man. I don't know why he was so unforgiving."
"Do you still talk to Helen?" Tammy questioned further.
"Every once in a while. She only lives about an hour from here. About a year ago, Helen, her granddaughter, and her granddaughter's stepfather came by here and we had lunch. That was Jennifer's daughter, a very lovely girl. I think her name was Peggy or Patty? I forget."
"Patricia was here?!!"
"Yea, that's it. Patty."
"Why was her stepfather with her and where was Jennifer?" Tammy was now in interrogation mode.
"Jennifer was not feeling well and the Stepfather, Harry was his name, had driven the women here. We all had a nice lunch."
"Where was Daddy while they were here?"
"He found out that they were coming over and decided to go out and hit golf balls. Men hate to be around a bunch of yapping women. Your dad is not one for entertaining strangers, either. Tammy, dear, could you hand me the big carving knife from the knife rack?"
Tammy grabbed the top knife and then a wave of nausea washed over her. The handle had a very familiar ornate gold floral design.
"Mom," She asked, already sensing the answer to her question. "Are you missing any knives from your set?"
"Yes. And it was my favorite one. The six inch all purpose knife."
Tammy cringed.
Before William got home, Tammy received a call from her investigator. She paid him top dollar for a reason. He was fast and always got results. Patricia (call me Pat, thank you very much) had been drawing money from a Chase account since she was 18. The source of the money was hard to trace - bouncing around several different accounts, in different countries, before landing with Pat. He wasn't able to find the ultimate origination point, but the amounts corresponded directly to the draws "B Greenhill" received from Tammy's firm.
Just then William Jenkins walked through the door. He was still a powerful man, his charm and charisma drifting through the door before he did. When Tammy heard his shoes clacking on the floor, she called out, "Dad! We need to talk."
Read Part 5 HERE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STACY THE RANDOM COOL CHICK!!!!!!!!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Random Out of Tune Tuesday Thoughts
Stacy the Random Cool Chick ( I am pretty sure that you all know her)
and I have started a blog for people to let their kids write Christmas letters to Santa, and Santa will respond back!Check out the website HERE
The third installment of Law & Disorder is up at RED RED WHINE. Part 1 is here on my blog and part 2 and 3 are at her site, for those of you who are interested.
It seems like the Pearl Harbor anniversary comes and goes with less attention every year. I wonder if 9/11 will still have an impact 50 years from now?
Apparently when Tiger Woods told his wife that he was going to play 18 holes, he was referring to 9 women.. I wonder how many girls have seen Tiger's Wood?
Why do they have a tip jar at places like coffee houses and some drive throughs? I bought a coffee and muffin at Starbucks, and it was 4 bucks. Why would I tip someone for ringing me up?
When you break it down into two syllables, Hormone is kind of a sexy word!
Why are all of the women into vampires?? All I hear about is
Do blondes exchange gifts and then wrap them?
I think that there should be a national law that says no one can leave their house until after noon on Monday. The National sleep in law!
Santa must be married, he only comes once a year!
Otie Steroid loves Mean Girl Garages hot little Imaho! Go see Jules anyway! She sounds much cuter than I do! It's good for a laugh, anyway! C'mon people do one, who cares what you sound like?!
Isn't Imaho a cutie?TURN THE MUSIC PLAYER OFF FIRST
Head on over to the Un Mom, all you have to do is bang her cute little button! hehe
Sunday, December 6, 2009
LAW & DISORDER
Jaime from Red Red Whine is one of my oldest blog friends. We often chat over Theme Thursday stories and she does proofreading for me and I do it for her also. We talked about writing a story together and it finally happened. She is a lawyer, and this story would have never come to life without her. She wrote most of the crucial parts, actually. I really don't usually like the things that I write. I am usually very critical, but I think that this is very good. It is long, in seven(Yes I said 7) parts, the first two of which will be up when this one posts. You can go immediately from here to part 2, on her site. Part 3 will post tomorrow night at about 10 pm on her site, and then part 4 and 5 will post Tuesday night at about 10 pm on my site and hers and then Weds night I will have part 6 and she will post the conclusion. Please bear with us :))
LAW & DISORDER
Part 1
Tammy Jenkins was very good at her craft. She was a celebrated lawyer, who came from a family of top notch legal minds. Her father and uncle started a law firm years ago, and naturally, Tammy had followed down that same path. Her upbringing had been very strict. She was not allowed to date or go to parties. School and studies are what her parents had preached. Tammy did not have many close friends when she was in high school. Jennifer Dobson had been her only true friend, but when Jennifer got pregnant in her senior year, Tammy’s dad, William, forbid them from seeing each other any more. Tammy grew up very lonely.
Tammy, now fifty, had taken over her father’s law firm. Her uncle had passed on and her parents retired to Boca Raton, where they lived quite comfortably. William Jenkins had made a lot of money and invested it wisely. He was a very wealthy man, and didn’t involve himself in the firm anymore. It was Tammy’s, as far as he was concerned. He was seventy two, enjoying his retirement and still happily married to his wife, Lara, Tammy’s mother.
Even when Tammy was in school, she was involved with the firm. She did a lot of financial work and bill paying, and even cleaned the office on many occasions. After she finished her schooling and had passed her bar exams, she worked side by side with her father until he retired. She was a workaholic, these days, a very lonely workaholic.
Like all power hungry, workaholic lawyers, she was eagerly searching for her next big case. Tammy loved the challenge of criminal defense work. She was absolutely one of those true believers - the ones who fought to protect the innocent from the injustices of an unfair and corrupt system. She had almost accepted a job at the public defender's office, but her dad offered the promise of more money than she could even fathom back then, as well as the ability to practice whatever area she pleased.
Her dad and uncle were incredible trial attorneys, and she had learned under the best, but the civil work they did bored her. She built her practice from the ground up, starting with municipal court matters - traffic tickets, disorderly persons offenses and some minor drug charges.
Tammy was good and quickly earned a name for herself in the criminal arena.
Part 1
Tammy Jenkins was very good at her craft. She was a celebrated lawyer, who came from a family of top notch legal minds. Her father and uncle started a law firm years ago, and naturally, Tammy had followed down that same path. Her upbringing had been very strict. She was not allowed to date or go to parties. School and studies are what her parents had preached. Tammy did not have many close friends when she was in high school. Jennifer Dobson had been her only true friend, but when Jennifer got pregnant in her senior year, Tammy’s dad, William, forbid them from seeing each other any more. Tammy grew up very lonely.
Tammy, now fifty, had taken over her father’s law firm. Her uncle had passed on and her parents retired to Boca Raton, where they lived quite comfortably. William Jenkins had made a lot of money and invested it wisely. He was a very wealthy man, and didn’t involve himself in the firm anymore. It was Tammy’s, as far as he was concerned. He was seventy two, enjoying his retirement and still happily married to his wife, Lara, Tammy’s mother.
Even when Tammy was in school, she was involved with the firm. She did a lot of financial work and bill paying, and even cleaned the office on many occasions. After she finished her schooling and had passed her bar exams, she worked side by side with her father until he retired. She was a workaholic, these days, a very lonely workaholic.
Like all power hungry, workaholic lawyers, she was eagerly searching for her next big case. Tammy loved the challenge of criminal defense work. She was absolutely one of those true believers - the ones who fought to protect the innocent from the injustices of an unfair and corrupt system. She had almost accepted a job at the public defender's office, but her dad offered the promise of more money than she could even fathom back then, as well as the ability to practice whatever area she pleased.
Her dad and uncle were incredible trial attorneys, and she had learned under the best, but the civil work they did bored her. She built her practice from the ground up, starting with municipal court matters - traffic tickets, disorderly persons offenses and some minor drug charges.
Tammy was good and quickly earned a name for herself in the criminal arena.
Her dad had a lot of high end businessmen as clients and some of them occasionally dabbled in pursuits that weren't always legal. Tammy dabbled in the white collar stuff for awhile, until one of Bill's clients got caught at the Ritz with a dead hooker in his bed. That was Tammy's first taste of big time criminal defense. She had been hungry for more ever since.
PART 2 IS UP NOW AT RED RED WHINE
PART 2 IS UP NOW AT RED RED WHINE
Saturday, December 5, 2009
CHANGING TIDES (another Miller/ Otin tale)
THIS IS A CONCLUSION TO BRIAN MILLER'S STORY. READ HERE FIRST, THEN COME BACK!
Ethan Faisil still had hope within his heart. Hope that he would one day see his wife and children again. He also hoped that Charlotte had moved on with her life and had not spent the last 8 years thinking about him. He often wondered about who had become the male influences in his son’s lives and prayed that they were worthy role models, no matter who they had turned out to be. He imagined that his situation would not last forever and that one day he would see them again, but for now, he just waited.
It had been 8 years since he had made that fateful trip to Saudi Arabia. His Grandfather had passed away, and he had wanted to be there for his family. Ethan, as well as his parents, were all born and raised in the United States, but his grandparents had moved back to the middle east when he was a young boy. This had been only his second trip over seas.
He remembered sitting in Newark airport that day, many years ago, furious at himself for having been late. He had missed his flight home that morning. Ethan was supposed to be on Flight 93 from Newark to San Francisco. It would be a three hour wait for a later flight. He grabbed a coffee and some magazines and sat right there in the passenger area. Ethan decided to wait and call his wife, it was too early on the west coast to wake her up.
He got so involved in his reading that he never really noticed the commotion at first. Then it hit him. People had become frantic, running to phones, and the police presence had doubled. He did not know what was going on, but could not wait to get back home. Ethan could never understand how people could function in such a hectic environment? He lived about seventy miles from San Francisco, in a rural area. Ethan had been taking flying lessons and was not far from getting his pilot’s license. He knew that he would never fly into a place like this. Local sightseeing was going to be his gig.
That is about the time that he noticed all of the people crowding around the television monitor near the lounge area. He made his way over and saw the twin towers burning against the early September sky. Ethan was frozen with an emotional rush of horror and anger, as the story unfolded.
He looked at the flight schedule board and saw that all of the flights were starting to be listed as canceled. It had now been a couple of hours since he had missed his plane. He tried to call his wife, but all of the circuits had been overloaded and he could not get a connection. That was when the flight 93 story broke. The flight that he had missed. The flight that went down in Pennsylvania. The flight that his wife was expecting him to be on.
Not long after his last attempted call home, two men in suits approached him.
“Ethan Faisal?”, They asked.
“Yes,” he responded, puzzled that anyone would know him or single him out in all of this crowd.
“You need to come with us,” The one man said, flashing an FBI identification.
The two men grabbed him and started pulling him through the crowd.
“Who are you?!” Ethan began yelling. “What the hell do you think that you are doing?”
“Lucky for Washington that you did not make it on that plane, Scumbag, one more of you guys and that flight may have found it’s target,” One of the FBI agents said, in a vicious tone.
One more hijacker? What were they talking about? He was just a guy returning home from the ..middle…..east. Oh shit, he knew that this would not end well.
The interrogations seemed endless. As many hours as they could keep his body awake, they bombarded him with questions and made bold accusations.
“What were you doing in Saudi Arabia?”
“Why did you back out on your team?”
“Why are you taking flying lessons?”
“Where is Osama Bin Laden?”
It went on and on, but he knew nothing. How could he? After all, he was just an average guy who was making a family visit.
Ethan spent time being transferred from secret prison to secret prison. The only information that he had been given was that his wife was told that he had been killed on flight 93. If he had known about any terrorist activities, he would have talked, because there was no torture that could have compared to the thought of his wife grieving over him.
He had spent what seemed like an eternity locked away at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The government tried any means at their disposal to extract information from him, almost drowning him several times in the process. Ethan thought about making up things to confess, so that they might execute him and the nightmare would be over with, but his mind always drifted back to Charlotte and his boys. He still had hope in his heart.
Ethan had just finished reminiscing, when a guard came and unlocked his cell.
“Ethan Faisal, come with me,” He said, in a friendlier than usual manner.
They walked through the prison and then into a large room. He was still handcuffed, but the atmosphere was different. A military officer appeared before him with some documents.
“Ethan Faisal, I am Colonel Tom Harwell. After years of study and inquiry, we have come to the conclusion that we have done you a grave injustice. You will be released, but we need to iron some things out.”
Ethan began to cry, not holding anything back.
“Obviously, you were reported as deceased. We have to reverse that without getting egg on our faces. So, first off, when asked, you will report that you have been in a state of amnesia for the past 9 years. You have been a John Doe at a government hospital. I have your whole history right here.” He handed Ethan a thick booklet. “Read this and learn it. It is your fictional life story for the last 9 years. It covers all bases, and has an answer for any questions that you may be asked.. Secondly, If you speak about the truth to anyone, things will not go good for you. I know that there will be temptation to run out and try to make millions from the tabloids, but I strongly urge against it. You will be compensated for your lost years. The business that you want to start may get some unexpected financing or your children may get some full scholarships to some great schools. Your dream home may be a lot cheaper than you could imagine. I know that you catch my drift and that you would not risk throwing all of that away for a little fame and fortune, especially at the risk of always having to look over your shoulder."
Ethan understood completely. The tears of anger and frustration were now becoming tears of joy. The Colonel put some more papers in front of him and continued talking.
“You need to sign these forms saying that you agree to all of our terms, and then you will be taken back to the States and will have a month in a luxury hotel, so that you can learn your life story.”
Ethan signed without even reading.
“What about the plane crash? People were told that I died on the plane.”, Ethan asked.
“If it comes up, we will blame the airline for faulty record keeping”, The Colonel responded. “We can fix just about anything, Ethan”
“Anything but my lost years with my family,” He said in a mild protest. He did not want to rock the boat too much.
“Regrettably, we cannot fix that. You cannot contact anyone until your 30 day hotel stay is complete. I will not go into details, but during the years that we assumed that you were a terrorist, your family was put under surveillance. You will find them in the same area and I think that you will be ok. Ethan, the US government is truly sorry.”
With his spirit starting to soar, Ethan offered up a little joke, “ I thought that it would have been easier to take me out and shoot me?”
The Colonel looked at him and smiled, “We have a new administration, son, the last one…maybe.” At that, the Colonel walked out.
He boarded a plane and took off from Gitmo, on route to Cherry Point Marine air station in North Carolina. As the plane ascended, he looked out of the window over the ocean. The US mainland was only 90 miles away. As he stared to the sea, he wondered if Charlotte would even remember him. He had been gone so long.
****************
I am standing on the beach watching a boat on the far horizon. I had no logical reason for driving three thousand miles to stare out over the Atlantic, when the Pacific ocean was right there in my own back yard. Maybe it was the change of scenery or just a feeling that I had. Something has always bothered me about Ethan’s death. Why did the authorities wait until near Christmas to tell me that he was officially declared dead, but , at the same time, also tell me that there were no remains? All of the other flight victims had been honored and praised for their heroism, but no mention of Ethan was ever made.
I still have hope. Until I have proof that he is dead, I will always look for Ethan.
On my way to this beach, Atlantic Beach, in North Carolina, I passed Cherry Point Air Station. A huge military plane came flying in just over the treetops that line the highway. It gave me chills thinking what Ethan must have felt if he really was on flight 93. I fantasized for a minute that he was on that military plane, landing safely, just so that he could be with me again.
There is always hope.
Pathetic, I know!
Ethan Faisil still had hope within his heart. Hope that he would one day see his wife and children again. He also hoped that Charlotte had moved on with her life and had not spent the last 8 years thinking about him. He often wondered about who had become the male influences in his son’s lives and prayed that they were worthy role models, no matter who they had turned out to be. He imagined that his situation would not last forever and that one day he would see them again, but for now, he just waited.
It had been 8 years since he had made that fateful trip to Saudi Arabia. His Grandfather had passed away, and he had wanted to be there for his family. Ethan, as well as his parents, were all born and raised in the United States, but his grandparents had moved back to the middle east when he was a young boy. This had been only his second trip over seas.
He remembered sitting in Newark airport that day, many years ago, furious at himself for having been late. He had missed his flight home that morning. Ethan was supposed to be on Flight 93 from Newark to San Francisco. It would be a three hour wait for a later flight. He grabbed a coffee and some magazines and sat right there in the passenger area. Ethan decided to wait and call his wife, it was too early on the west coast to wake her up.
He got so involved in his reading that he never really noticed the commotion at first. Then it hit him. People had become frantic, running to phones, and the police presence had doubled. He did not know what was going on, but could not wait to get back home. Ethan could never understand how people could function in such a hectic environment? He lived about seventy miles from San Francisco, in a rural area. Ethan had been taking flying lessons and was not far from getting his pilot’s license. He knew that he would never fly into a place like this. Local sightseeing was going to be his gig.
That is about the time that he noticed all of the people crowding around the television monitor near the lounge area. He made his way over and saw the twin towers burning against the early September sky. Ethan was frozen with an emotional rush of horror and anger, as the story unfolded.
He looked at the flight schedule board and saw that all of the flights were starting to be listed as canceled. It had now been a couple of hours since he had missed his plane. He tried to call his wife, but all of the circuits had been overloaded and he could not get a connection. That was when the flight 93 story broke. The flight that he had missed. The flight that went down in Pennsylvania. The flight that his wife was expecting him to be on.
Not long after his last attempted call home, two men in suits approached him.
“Ethan Faisal?”, They asked.
“Yes,” he responded, puzzled that anyone would know him or single him out in all of this crowd.
“You need to come with us,” The one man said, flashing an FBI identification.
The two men grabbed him and started pulling him through the crowd.
“Who are you?!” Ethan began yelling. “What the hell do you think that you are doing?”
“Lucky for Washington that you did not make it on that plane, Scumbag, one more of you guys and that flight may have found it’s target,” One of the FBI agents said, in a vicious tone.
One more hijacker? What were they talking about? He was just a guy returning home from the ..middle…..east. Oh shit, he knew that this would not end well.
The interrogations seemed endless. As many hours as they could keep his body awake, they bombarded him with questions and made bold accusations.
“What were you doing in Saudi Arabia?”
“Why did you back out on your team?”
“Why are you taking flying lessons?”
“Where is Osama Bin Laden?”
It went on and on, but he knew nothing. How could he? After all, he was just an average guy who was making a family visit.
Ethan spent time being transferred from secret prison to secret prison. The only information that he had been given was that his wife was told that he had been killed on flight 93. If he had known about any terrorist activities, he would have talked, because there was no torture that could have compared to the thought of his wife grieving over him.
He had spent what seemed like an eternity locked away at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The government tried any means at their disposal to extract information from him, almost drowning him several times in the process. Ethan thought about making up things to confess, so that they might execute him and the nightmare would be over with, but his mind always drifted back to Charlotte and his boys. He still had hope in his heart.
Ethan had just finished reminiscing, when a guard came and unlocked his cell.
“Ethan Faisal, come with me,” He said, in a friendlier than usual manner.
They walked through the prison and then into a large room. He was still handcuffed, but the atmosphere was different. A military officer appeared before him with some documents.
“Ethan Faisal, I am Colonel Tom Harwell. After years of study and inquiry, we have come to the conclusion that we have done you a grave injustice. You will be released, but we need to iron some things out.”
Ethan began to cry, not holding anything back.
“Obviously, you were reported as deceased. We have to reverse that without getting egg on our faces. So, first off, when asked, you will report that you have been in a state of amnesia for the past 9 years. You have been a John Doe at a government hospital. I have your whole history right here.” He handed Ethan a thick booklet. “Read this and learn it. It is your fictional life story for the last 9 years. It covers all bases, and has an answer for any questions that you may be asked.. Secondly, If you speak about the truth to anyone, things will not go good for you. I know that there will be temptation to run out and try to make millions from the tabloids, but I strongly urge against it. You will be compensated for your lost years. The business that you want to start may get some unexpected financing or your children may get some full scholarships to some great schools. Your dream home may be a lot cheaper than you could imagine. I know that you catch my drift and that you would not risk throwing all of that away for a little fame and fortune, especially at the risk of always having to look over your shoulder."
Ethan understood completely. The tears of anger and frustration were now becoming tears of joy. The Colonel put some more papers in front of him and continued talking.
“You need to sign these forms saying that you agree to all of our terms, and then you will be taken back to the States and will have a month in a luxury hotel, so that you can learn your life story.”
Ethan signed without even reading.
“What about the plane crash? People were told that I died on the plane.”, Ethan asked.
“If it comes up, we will blame the airline for faulty record keeping”, The Colonel responded. “We can fix just about anything, Ethan”
“Anything but my lost years with my family,” He said in a mild protest. He did not want to rock the boat too much.
“Regrettably, we cannot fix that. You cannot contact anyone until your 30 day hotel stay is complete. I will not go into details, but during the years that we assumed that you were a terrorist, your family was put under surveillance. You will find them in the same area and I think that you will be ok. Ethan, the US government is truly sorry.”
With his spirit starting to soar, Ethan offered up a little joke, “ I thought that it would have been easier to take me out and shoot me?”
The Colonel looked at him and smiled, “We have a new administration, son, the last one…maybe.” At that, the Colonel walked out.
He boarded a plane and took off from Gitmo, on route to Cherry Point Marine air station in North Carolina. As the plane ascended, he looked out of the window over the ocean. The US mainland was only 90 miles away. As he stared to the sea, he wondered if Charlotte would even remember him. He had been gone so long.
I am standing on the beach watching a boat on the far horizon. I had no logical reason for driving three thousand miles to stare out over the Atlantic, when the Pacific ocean was right there in my own back yard. Maybe it was the change of scenery or just a feeling that I had. Something has always bothered me about Ethan’s death. Why did the authorities wait until near Christmas to tell me that he was officially declared dead, but , at the same time, also tell me that there were no remains? All of the other flight victims had been honored and praised for their heroism, but no mention of Ethan was ever made.
I still have hope. Until I have proof that he is dead, I will always look for Ethan.
On my way to this beach, Atlantic Beach, in North Carolina, I passed Cherry Point Air Station. A huge military plane came flying in just over the treetops that line the highway. It gave me chills thinking what Ethan must have felt if he really was on flight 93. I fantasized for a minute that he was on that military plane, landing safely, just so that he could be with me again.
There is always hope.
Pathetic, I know!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Happy Hour Friday
In Emails with RxBambi, a great friend of mine, we decided to co host a Friday post called "Happy hour Friday". Friday is the end of the work week, and a doorway to free time and hopefully fun. Just list some things that make you happy, and Have a fun weekend! BE SURE TO VISIT RX BAMBI :)I know that I have not sounded all that happy this week, but I am not an unhappy person, if that makes any sense. We all have situations that cause us to rant from time to time, but that does not mean that a ranting person is an unhappy person.
Just like the stories that I write don't usually have perfectly happy endings, or someone always dies. These stories do not reflect my attitude or moods, that is just the way that I like to write. I guess that what I am saying is that if I write a story where a bus load of women and children plummet into a volcano, I am still a happy camper! LMAO!!!
I am so happy that it is Friday! (well Thursday night!) It was a long week and I am happy that it is over.
I am happy that people are finding me on Twitter. I do not use it much, but thank you anyway. (Yes, I am talking about Twitter and not body parts) I am Otin43 on there, by the way. (Shameless plug!!)
I am working on a couple of story collaborations, one with Jaime, from Red Red Whine, a long time friend, and go to person.
The other collaboration is a second story with Brian Miller. I really need 9 days in a week, it seems.
I talked to another blogger on the phone. I won't say who it was, but it was a wonderful conversation. That makes about 10 or so people that I have actually talked with.
Well, that's enough happy, How happy am I????
I am happier than Tiger Woods with a chauffeur!
I am happier than Martha Stewart with a tax loophole!
I am happier than Jessica Alba's gynecologist!
I am happier than Angelina Jolie hiring a nanny!
I am happier than R Kelly buying girl scout cookies!
And finally, I am happier than Raven with a backstage pass at a Godsmack concert!
Happy Friday everyone!!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
A Very Rushed Theme Thursday(FRIENDS)
FRIENDS
Rocco couldn’t wait to be with his friends again. It had been quite some time since he had seen any of them. The protection program that was forced upon him, just did not work for him. He was much more miserable now than he was when he had been living the life.
He thought about his old buddies. There was Big Tony. Tony was the type of guy who was always the life of the party, unless you got him mad, then he would rip you apart. Tony had more assault charges against him than most people could imagine. There was even talk of Tony committing a murder or two, but Rocco would never admit to knowing that, even if it were true. Still, he looked forward to seeing the big guy. Tony was really his favorite, and the one who he spent the most time with.
Paulie was another of his friends. He was very effeminate, but was not gay. He used to annoy people by pretending to be homosexual, just to spark a reaction. It never bothered Rocco, although it could be embarrassing at times. Paulie was always talking about porn and deviant behavior. The other guys hated him. There was definitely a personality clash, but Rocco was a much more accepting soul. He turned a blind eye to some of his friends indiscretions.
He also looked forward to seeing Gambling Bob. Bob would bet on anything. He would bet on the outcome of a bet, for Christ’s sake. Bob’s gambling had gotten him in trouble from time to time, but at least he had never hurt anyone.
He wished that he could see them all at once, but the natural rule maintained that he could only have one visitor at a time.
One by one, his oldest and dearest friends came to visit. He remembered the fun that he had with Tony. In their heyday, they were always chasing women, and picking fights with their boyfriends or husbands. Tony brought out the aggressive side in him. Tony was probably his best friend. Rocco, himself, was a bit shy. He never really got into the kind of trouble that the other guys frequently found themselves in. Tony spent the good part of the morning with him, before he departed. Rocco was so happy again.
Bob only spent about 20 minutes with him. He and Bob were never as close as he and Tony had been. Bob was never around all that much, but when he was, he was a bad influence. He always had some scam going, and somehow, Rocco always seemed to get involved. He was always guilty by association. Still though, he was happy to see Gambling Bob. At least in this setting, Bob could not be too much trouble.
Paulie spent over an hour visiting. He spent most of his time checking out the guard, telling him what a nice ass that he had. The guard was not too amused, he was new and had never met Paulie before. He could be very annoying. He kept blowing kisses at the burly guard, until the watchman eventually walked away.
The guard walked down to the control center and approached his captain.
“What’s the deal with 212?” He asked.
“Oh, Rocco?” The captain said, “Sad story, really. He has never had a single visitor in the five years that I have been here.”
“Is he gay?” The guard asked.
“Not exactly. Rocco has a multiple personality disorder. You must have met Paulie, that’s his effeminate persona. He actually raped a woman when he was acting as Paulie. Hard to believe, huh? As bad as that sounds, Gambling Bob and Tony are far worse. When Rocco was Tony, he killed three people in a knife fight, and as Bob, He robbed two banks so that he could play blackjack. Bob would do anything for gambling money. One word of advice, if you go into that room, always have your pepper spray on hand, because the Tony personality can be violent."
“So let me get this straight,” said the guard with a little pause. "That guy Rocco is responsible for three murders, a rape, and two bank robberies?”
“Not Rocco, per say. When he is Rocco, he doesn’t do those things. They almost had him cured. He had gone nearly 8 months without the other personalities emerging. The drugs that they were giving him seemed to be doing the trick. We almost forgot that the other three existed.”
“So what will they do now?” The guard asked.
“They will probably adjust his medicine, and hopefully he will come back around. For now, just accept the fact that he thinks that your ass is cute, and move on.”
They both laughed.
“Rocco,?” a male nurse asked as he wheeled the little medical cart into the room. He wanted to be sure that he was not dealing with one of the other three.
“Hey there,” Rocco responded.
The nurse knew by his tone that it was him. He gave Rocco a cup of pills and a glass of water, and Rocco downed them and then smiled.
“Thank you,” He said, in a very sincere voice.
The male nurse smiled at him and then wheeled the cart out of the door, locking it behind him. Rocco waited a few minutes and then headed to the bathroom. Putting his finger to the back of his throat, he engaged his vomit reflex, and regurgitated the pills into the toilet bowl.
“You can lock me in a room, you can take away my life, but you will never stop me from seeing my friends,” he said to himself. “They all most had me!”
“I know, good move Rocco, by the way, that nurse had a great bulge.”
Rocco, Paulie, Bob, and Tony, climbed back into the bed and fell asleep.
It's nice to have friends!
FOR MORE THEME THURSDAY TALENTED PEOPLE CLICK HERE
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Rant and Rave Wednesday
Little Miss Blogger has her Rant and Rave Wednesday. Go visit her, she is really funny!RAVE: I love the fact that I am a genuinely good natured person who will go out of his way to help someone or make other peoples lives better by sacrificing my own standard of living.
RANT: I hate the fact that there are people around me that will take advantage of the fact that I am so good natured to the point that it makes me want to throw their asses out on the street!
RAVE: I love the fact that it is still in the 70's in the afternoon and has not rained in a few days!
RANT: I hate the fact that the temperature change is so drastic all day long that I can never wear the right clothing. I end up changing clothes twice a day.
RAVE: I really enjoy stargazing and the pondering the universe, and love the pictures and videos from space
RANT: Why do we spend so much money on space exploration? What good is really going to come of it? People will say that we have developed a lot of technology from space travel, but that is not true, we have developed the technology so that we could travel in space. We could have developed those things without going. What did the moon landing get us? Space rocks in a museum, and a one up on the Russians. What does the shuttle do? They have been working on it since the 70's and every time it goes up, they cross their fingers and hope that they can bring it back down! Unless we can achieve light speed(And that will never happen) Then we are limited to maybe a mission to mars. What would be the purpose of that? Someone tell me what we are really going to learn. They spent 600,000,000 dollars last year to repair the Hubble telescope. How about fix my road? It costs like 1.6 billion per launch of a shuttle. OH YEA, and who is really funding the international space station? International, my ass!
RAVE: I love the Google reader and how it allows me to keep tabs on all of the blogs that I follow and everyones new posts!
RANT: I hate the fact that there are so many new posts in my Google reader that I will never be able to catch up!
RANT: I need a lot more time to write!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Random Tuesday Thoughts (With an out of tune Otie singing video!)
I am so juvenile. I was in pet smart and there was a lady talking to one of the employees about birds. She said “I used to have a cockatoo,” I just died! I was wondering if she meant at one time!?When you are driving behind someone who is doing 5 miles per hour below the speed limit, make sure that they do not have a problem first, before condemning them. I had to drive 30 miles Sunday with one of those temporary donuts, down a road where people typically drive close to 70 on. My 50 really did not go over too well.
When Jesus was a little kid, I bet every birthday felt like Christmas to him!
I hear on TV all of the time, some ultra conservative shouting about how people should fend for themselves and that the government doesn’t owe people anything. Excuse me, I give the government 15,000 dollars annually! They owe me a little something!!
Monday morning after a four day work week is pure torture!
There is something very comforting about your own toilet. The feel of the seat, the way it flushes! Ahhh, heaven! Did you ever go to someone elses house and stop up the toilet, only to find that there is no plunger? Been there, done that!
When I used to eat Lucky Charms, I would eat all of the cereal and end up with just a bowl of marshmallows and milk! Why did they have to put that damned cereal in the box!?
Did you ever just feel like packing as much shit as you can into your car and just leaving and starting over again? That's where my heads at! I think that I am on the Grand FUNK Railroad!
Otie Steroid loves Mean Girl Garages hot little Imaho! Go see Jules anyway! She sounds much cuter than I do! It's good for a laugh, anyway! C'mon people do one, who cares what you sound like?!
Isn't Imaho a cutie?TURN THE MUSIC PLAYER OFF FIRST
Head on over to the Un Mom, all you have to do is bang her cute little button! hehe
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.bmp)
