NaBloPoMo for August

It’s a sad, sad day in my household today. July 31st marks the EXACT halfway point of summer. Zombiegirl is panicking. More reading! More swimming! More soccer! There’s only a month left of freedom! Argh!

Right now the rest of us are gearing up for our “Third Annual Soccer Family Camping Trip.” Planning, shopping, cleaning out the BINS. Emails a-flying. It’s going to be fun, but time is going to fly before the trip. Afterwards we’ll be prepping for the first day back at school. Pretty much say bye-bye to August then, okay?

So since I have all these ideas flying around in my head, and pictures that need to be posted, and restaurant reviews to be written, I decided to follow the lead of a few of my favorite bloggers and NABLOPOMO!

WTF? Is that a secret sex society? A dreaded disease?

Nope. Just an incentive to get off my ass.

National Blog Posting Month. Post every day for a month. You can pick any month, and as Nike said, just do it. So I picked August. Thirty-one posts. And then brain-damage. Remember me trying the 30-days to change habits? Uh-huh. I did SO well (eye roll!) I’m going to stick to this, however. I have tons of bloggy drafts that I can finish and it’s summer- I can always post pictures of the beach. But who’ll blog while I’m camping, you ask? I’m lining up some guest bloggers, and Beena’s going to help me out and post stuff while I’m gone. Maybe, they’ll be WiFi in the woods of Little Pond…

NaBloPoMo’s website also suggests themes for the month you’re going to participate in. August’s theme is “Tomorrow.” So I’ll try to work that into my blog posts.

Should be interesting. I have a big craft sale in the Hampton’s on the 22nd, so I’ll also be sewing like a madwoman. If I run out of blog ideas, I’ll fill you in on what I’m sewing. I know, I know- interesting! NOT! At least it’s a post!

I’m also working on my church’s website this month to get it ready to kick off in September. See? I have oodles of inspiration to draw from!

Stay tuned!

Outta The Mouths of Babes

Jason and the kids came out to the beach house yesterday. I wasn’t too keen on them coming out because it was supposed to rain all day. But they brought the sun with them. So maybe it’s not the Corrado’s that cause the rain every year when we camp. And that monsoon we experienced at Splish Splash. Mandy wasn’t with them, so maybe it’s her that causes it to rain. We’ve ruled out Jodi’s clan- they didn’t come to Splish Splash with us that year. And it’s definitely not Ronnie- she organized the Splish Splash trip, but ended up not going, lucky her. So I think the rain has to be attributed to a little Espey, or Mandy. It just seems to rain every time we all get together. It even rained the night last week we PLANNED the camping trip. But yesterday, we ended up with a beautiful day and a fun time at the beach.

So I’m making dinner for the men and the kids, and JJ walks into the house and says, “Mrs. Soo– are you having a baby?”

Um. Excuse me? No, JJ. I’m fat.

“You’re not fat, Mrs. Soo. You’re having a baby.”

No, JJ. I’m fat. Now get out of here. Go play. Somewhere. Anywhere. Me and my fat have to be alone.

I called the gym today and made an appointment with my personal trainer.

LiV at 5.

Hoo boy. I had to start this post three times. My spelling is shite right now because I’m a little drunk. Can you be a little drunk? I mean either you are drunk or you aren’t. You can be a little tipsy, right? But not a little drunk. So let me rephrase that. I’m drunk.

It started around 5:00 this afternoon. We were hot and tired from the beach. I had a headache because I came up under the beam in the bathroom (I’m re-painting) at the beach house. I swear my head was forced into the second vertebrae in my back. Plus I have a goose egg on my forehead. AND I wasn’t drunk at the time…

Where was I?

Oh. So we showered, got dressed and went to LONG ISLAND’S ONLY DISTILLERY. That’s right, folks, Long Island has a vodka distillery that makes vodka from LONG ISLAND POTATOES! Before Long Island was known for it’s grapes, it was known for it’s potatoes. So it just made sense to Richard Stabile and Dan Pollicino to start to make vodka from this bountiful crop. The end result is LiV Vodka.

We found this place passing by on our way home from Lewin’s farm, where I was in desperate need of some veggies. The minute we got home, I googled LiV, and found their beautiful website.

In a beautifully renovated farmhouse, LiV Vodka has tastings for $3.00. That includes the cute shot glasses. This vodka has a clean, crisp taste with a buttery aftertaste- even though I didn’t taste the butteryness until I started sipping it warm. It didn’t make me shudder when I shoot Absolut, or Grey Goose. It went down icy cold and smooth. I started envisioning this vodka with cranberry and with orange juice. THAT’s when the tasting lady whipped out the Limoncello.

Ahhhh. Limoncello. I fantasize sipping Limoncello on a beach in Napoli, or Greece. That smooth, tart taste that when served cold can cool you off on a hot summer day. Yummmm.

So tasting-lady whips out the new Lemon Vodka that unfortunately is not on the market yet- they’re waiting for approval on the label. Oh. My. Goodness. This is wonderful stuff. It doesn’t have a “hint” of lemon. The whole lemon zest is soaked in the vodka, infusing it with a cool sunshine of taste.

I am drunk…

This shit is good. When it comes out- buy it.

The vodka, I think, is on the same par as Grey Goose. But Grey Goose is distilled from wheat (French wheat, at that). Potato vodka is best consumed straight, where as the wheat/rye vodka are best in mixed drinks. I think the LiV vodka will be best in both those worlds.

LiV Vodka– 2182 Sound Avenue, Baiting Hollow, NY. 631.630.9322. Go and enjoy the view from the upper deck. It’s breathtaking! And try the vodka. It’s worth it.

Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’

Yeah, I was cranky yesterday. I saw the dentist on Monday to get my left side done (peeled, scraped, jack-hammered that placque RIGHT off!) and my teeth were still sore yesterday. Plus it’s the busiest time of the quarter for me, and I need to get my work shit done by Friday before I go on vacation. I don’t want to leave a mess for my team to straighten out while I’m on the beach. I’m courteous like that. So I’m stoopid busy and trying to get answers from the powers on high, who wait until the last minute to reveal strategies that I have to put into place in less than a week. Wonderful.

So yeah, I was cranky. So what else is new, huh?

I ragged on my two bestest co-workers about Michael Jackson. Sorry about that guys. But really- am I the only person on the planet who is not mourning his death? Sure, I felt bad. In fact I was a little shocked when I found out- especially the way I found out. My bus driver told me. As I was getting off the bus. How he found out is beyond me. Isn’t he supposed to be concentrating on driving, instead of listening to the radio or talking on the phone? And why did he feel that he needed to tell ME, the palest person on the bus? Oops, sorry- the ONLY pale person on the bus. Anyways, I was shocked. I was also shocked when I heard about Farrah and Billy Mays, Ed McMahon and Karl Malden. Will I go and place flowers at a made up “shrine?” Nope. I don’t understand that “shrine” business either, but let’s not tackle that issue right now.

To me, Michael Jackson was a freak, albeit a talented freak. He was accused of child molestation, mutilated himself to become something he wasn’t, and dangled his baby off a balcony. And that’s just a little of his crazyness. Yeah, I danced to “Thriller” and loved the Jackson 5, but that’s about where the admiration ends. He had problems, serious, serious problems. So why is he so revered? Why, as one of my Facebook friends suggested, should there be a “Michael Jackson Day?” When will we stop the hero-worship of people who fall way down on the hero scale?

Yesterday MR says he wanted the girls to watch the MJ Tribute, which was shown on ALL channels. It’s history, he says. I don’t agree. It’s entertainment. I won’t watch an event (like the inauguration) if it’s going to have “acts.” It’s tacky, and a pure scheme for money. The people who really make out in all this? The advertisers.

I don’t get Celebrity Love. I was never into buying the celebrity rags, or frequenting the gossip blogs. Sure, I think some actors and actresses are cute, and I did have a Shawn Cassidy and Robert Blake poster hanging over my bed as a teen, but I don’t follow the lives and loves of celebrities. I couldn’t give a rat’s butt what Angelina’s newest foundling is named, or who Jennifer Aniston is dating now. I don’t want to know the details of Michael Jackson’s autopsy, or care to listen to his daughter at his memorial service. Call me cold? So be it. Call me uncaring? Sure, whatever. But also call me HONEST. Which is one thing Hollywood isn’t. The entertainment industry is just that- entertainment. It will feed you exactly what it wants you to see, no more, no less. The gossipmongers and tabloids aren’t much better. They go for the “real” lives of the celebrities, taking pictures of them on the beach with cellulite poking out all over the place (hey- I saw this while waiting on line at Stop N Shop.) Yet the unsuspecting masses don’t realize that many of these pictures are touched up- photoshopped- to make money.

I have to admit that I do watch movies (not network TV) with IMDB.com on the laptop. I love seeing the “backstory” and trivia of movies, and occasionally I’ll check out the actors bios. Okay, so I get interested. But not obsessed, okay? So I can see the allure, the general interest in celebrity gossip. Just don’t ask me where Lindsay Lohan is partying tonight or who’s holding hands with Paris Hilton. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I have to get back to work now. Sorry R and R for getting up on my soapbox yesterday. I was cranky. Yeah, blame it on my teeth.

Boo!

Do you believe in ghosts? Have any of your dead relatives ever contacted you? Have you ever seen one, or experienced something preternatural? It happened to me…

Right after my divorce, I was living in a garden apartment my high school friend Virginia had moved out of. I lived downstairs from a very Italian family and across the street from Spring Creek (otherwise known as landfill, or knowing that neighborhood, where they hide the “bodies”) where we saw pheasant, rabbits, cranes and other cool country wildlife.

The girls shared the only bedroom, and I slept on a pull out couch- more often than not throwing the mattress on the floor and sleeping on that. The floor in the bedroom was carpeted, but the flooring in the living/dining/kitchen area was a black linoleum. It was a really cute apartment, except for the nights that the landing pattern for JFK airport was right over the house. One time we counted 15 planes stretched out miles away waiting to come in to land. People in Howard Beach speak in five minute intervals due to the deafening roar of the planes.

One night a noise woke me up. It sounded as if something was being dragged across the kitchen floor. I got out of bed and turned on the light, but didn’t see anything on the floor except the green garbage bag by the table waiting to be thrown out. Tired, I shut out the light and got back into bed. A few minutes later, I heard the noise again. I jumped out of bed, threw on the light and…nothing but the green garbage bag by the front door waiting to be thrown out.

Wait a minute.

That bag had just moved three feet from the table to the front door. There was only garbage inside of it- garbage night was the next night. I dragged the garbage bag back to the corner where I usually keep it (we didn’t have a garbage bin- the ex got that.) and IT WAS THE SAME SOUND THAT WOKE ME UP IN THE FIRST PLACE!

(Insert spooky music here…)

So that time, my garbage was haunted. Either that or I had monster rats moving it across the floor. Not that I ever saw rat poop or anything.

The second time I saw something unexplainable was in our next apartment which was in my Nana Frances’ house. I was actually born in that apartment since my parents lived there when they were first married. It became available after my cousin moved out and since my Italian landlord’s bathroom caved in into my bathroom directly below and we had to pee holding an umbrella so their creepy teenage son didn’t peer down at us- it was perfect timing.

So again, the girls got the bedroom and I was still sleeping on the mattress in the living room. The layout of this apartment was different. You entered my Nana’s hallway, and opened the door to our apartment and immediately encountered the stairs. After a really tight turn in the stairs, you ended up in a little hallway with a bathroom on the left, bedroom in front and the entrance to the living room/dining room on the right. Kitchen was in the back, but this time doesn’t figure into my ghost story.

One night, I was in bed which was not REALLY bed. I could say I was in MATTRESS, but that doesn’t sound good at all. So I was in “bed” watching TV when I heard one of the girls stirring. I looked at the doorway to see if they were getting up and sure enough one of them, I thought it was Beena, passed the opening on the way to the bathroom. I turned my attention back to the TV because it wasn’t really a big deal- they got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night often. After a while, though, I got concerned because I didn’t hear a flush and I didn’t hear her go back past the living room to bed. I got up and went in to check on them. They were both sound asleep in their bunk bed, covers thrown off. While I was covering them back up, I noticed that they were wearing their feety pajamas. You know, the fuzzy one-piece pj’s with the rubber soles that made their feet STINK when they took them off. A chill ran up my spine and I got covered with goosebumps.

The girl that passed the doorway was wearing a LONG, WHITE NIGHTGOWN.

Maybe Beena changed into feety pajamas because she was cold? I don’t think so. She was sound asleep and didn’t even stir when I put the blankets back on. I just naturally thought it was Beena because of the long blond hair but when I thought about it, that other little girl’s hair was much longer than Beena’s. And later on when I thought about it, neither of the girls had a long white nightgown. All their nightgowns had characters- Barney, Baby Bop, Disney Princesses- on them.

I asked Nana the next day if she ever had a tenant with a little girl, but the only little girl that ever lived in that apartment was me.

(Insert more spooky music here…)

So why this post today? Well, I was walking to the train station this morning listening to “Sir Psycho Sexy” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers (what a dirty song! lol!) with my bag over my shoulder when I felt someone grab my bag. The motion pulled my shoulder back and made me take a step back. What the heck? I was ready to start swinging and looked around- no one was there. I got the chills and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. A block or so later, it happened again! It felt like someone grabbed my bag and pulled me to a stop. My immediate thought is “someone is trying to stop me (from going to work?) maybe it’s my mother, or brother reaching out from the grave.” I keep walking. My knees are watery. Nothing happens for a few blocks then BAM, it happens again. But this time when I turn around, my back comes with me and my pants pull tight. Seems my bag was catching on the button on the back pocket of my new jeans and my ass motion was pulling it back, yanking my whole body to a stop.

I can’t believe I just admitted that my ass was playing a trick on me.

And am I that desperate for my dead relatives to make contact with me that I imagine them sending me signals through my pocketbook?

I’m pathetic.

But at least I was able to explain this “phenomenon.” I have no explanation for the other two “supernatural” events. Hallucinations? Stress? Who knows. Not exactly fodder for a Stephen King book though.