If the Dog Could Talk

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 10 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My secret subject is: One day your (pet of choice) looks at you and says ........

It was submitted by: https://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/


I'm not sure I really have an explanation for this.

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I felt like living with so many pets had turned my life into the sort of chaotic weirdness of a Shel Silverstein poem. So I wrote one. And then I read it aloud to them all:


"Rost Bubbert "Bubby" French filled the house with an incredible stench.

It wafted through the kitchen across puddles of drool and came right for us, this posse of fools. It brought tears to our eyes, that stench, stinging our nostrils and causing pained cries.

Each pet took notice, every single French, and all of them added to that merciless stench.

Layla rose from her slumber and gassed her kennel cover off. Now even the cats began to cough. Donnie, not the bowler, howled out a horrendous toot while we managed to yell, "it's a good thing you're cute!"

But still each and every French added more and more to that hot cloud of stench.

Cash, always wanting to be part of the crew, squealed out a tiny fart or two. His brother Pee-Wee, the smallest pooter of all, blasted his stink through the living room and into the hall.

But they were not done, these Frenches with their awful stenches. Not done at all.

The cats joined in singing "the more the merrier" 'til each one of our chests grew quite a bit hairier. Each butt trumpet played a foul-smelling tune filling, to the ceiling, every single room.

But were they yet done? Not even a chance. Across all of our faces that stench cloud still danced.

Finn and Fiona, two peas in a pod, added puffs of their own that smelled of American cod. Me-Mow and Wigs, both nearly blind, let no disability stop them from tooting in kind.

It didn't end, that stench. There were more gas clouds left from the fur gang named French.

Aloy and Zelda lived up to their names and tooted while parkouring like in video games. Olive and Popeye, spooked by the noise, sharted while playing with a few of Rost's toys.

But that stench, having now grown misty, continued its travels smelling rotten and fishy.

Seymour and Mario, brothers for life, shot out foul streams that hit like a knife. But, it was Burton and Andy, the sweetest of lads, who farted right on me and gave me the sads.

Was it over yet? I dared to dream, and that's when all the b-holes really began to scream.

Scully and Marceline, the weirdest of the bunch, waltzed around the kitchen cropdusting our lunch. Queenie and Garth, not to be left out, tooted in unison while prancing about.

That stench grew bigger and bigger yet still. It filled every corner and continued to spill. The pressure was rising; the house began to quake. But the French pets still farted. How much more could we take?

The house expanded with every gaseous poof until finally one loud blast exploded the roof. It shot into the clouds and continued to soar into the stratosphere and a little bit more.

But still these Frenches tooted the smelliest smell until even the walls splintered and fell. So there we stood homeless and reeling. Words couldn't describe the feels we were feeling.

We did make plans though right then and there. This could never happen again; it wouldn't be fair. So we went to every store, every mall, and online and bought every box of gas ex we could possibly find."

When I'd finished, finally, Rost looked at me and said, "what the fuck, ma?"

But I didn't have an answer for him.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/04/water-on-ringer-off-secret-subject-swap.html

Never Ever Give Up Hope https://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Wandering Web Designer  https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/my-dream-car-one-that-runs-secret-subject-swap/

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/04/oh-to-my-surprise-april-sss.html

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

The Crazy Mama Llama https://www.thecrazymamallama.com/

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

Bookworm in the Kitchen http://www.bookwormkitchen.com/2019/04/03/where-have-you-been?/

Stacy Sews and Schools https://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/

Take It Easy, Beezy

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: duvet, handle, sky, trampoline, and project. They were submitted by: https://followmehome.shellybean.com

This is probably not the kind of story that comes to mind when you see this list of words, but I already had the idea for it and wanted to get it written, so here we are. the words fit perfectly.

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It started innocently enough with me waking up to my cat sitting on my chest on top of the duvet. She was bent over close enough that I could smell her ocean-whitefish breath and staring me down like I’d just stolen the last hairball treat in her stash. The whole scene kind of creeped me out a bit. Who likes being watched while they sleep? Sometimes I snore, though, so I figured she had heard me and wondered if I was possibly dying, and I just happened to catch her at the moment she’d leaned in to check. She’d been with me long enough to know my quirks, but cats can kind of be sensitive about those things, so I gave her a few pets and reassuring words, then rolled over and promptly fell back asleep.

In the light of morning with all traces of darkness fading from the sky, it was nothing more than a hazy feeling of weirdness that I soon forgot as the chorin’ for the day wore me down and kept me busy.

But then it happened again the next night.

And the next.

And, well, for a whole week every single night I woke up with her green eyes shining down on me haloed by the glare from my Frankenstein night light. I was more than a little creeped out, but I figured she was going through something hormonal and would take her to the vet if she acted out of the norm in any other way.

On night 8, she was quietly meowing in a rhythmic tune while she stared. Like she was chanting… A few nights later, she was moving her paws in circular patterns in the air in rhythm with her little chant. I hated to do it, but it was time to put her out of the room while I slept. So I tried. Didn’t work.

Didn’t work the next night either. Or the next when I actually put her in the kennel I used to take her to the vet and closed her in the guest bathroom.

I wasn’t sleeping. At least not at night. I fell asleep in a team meeting about a new community project at work and got a write up. I fell asleep in the car on the way home one night and almost wrecked the car. I was falling asleep on the toilet, in the elevator, and every time I was still for longer than a moment. I couldn’t handle it. I felt like I used to as a kid when I’d fall on the trampoline at my aunt’s house and all my cousins would keep jumping closer and closer to me so I couldn’t get up. I’d panic and flail and beg them to quit while they laughed and bounced me harder. It was like all the air had been knocked out of me and left me spinning.

It was time for the vet.

Okay, it was probably beyond time for the vet, but that’s where I drew the line. I made the appointment in a sleep-deprived fog, don’t remember the drive there, and stumbled my way through the motions of the sign in wondering just how I was going to explain what was going on. Obviously, I left out the parts about about chanting and paw movements. Who’d believe that? But I at least went through the waking up with her in my face every night and that something just felt…off. The vet had more questions, but I hadn’t changed anything up, no changes to her schedule, same food, same litter, and there were no other symptoms. She got her answers, did the standard checkup, and said everything looked fine and to call if anything changed. Ha. Everything had changed already. Everything was weird and different and fucking scary. I wanted answers for myself. I left feeling defeated and drowning in a web of confusion. She wasn't just any cat, and if something was wrong, I needed to know.

That night, it was more of the same. I didn’t even bother with the kennel or putting her out of the room anymore. What was the point? She’d end up in my face no matter what doing her creepy little stalker thing. It was just part of the routine now. It wasn’t until a couple days later that I felt something more in the room. I wrote it off as sleep paralysis at first. I hadn’t been sleeping well. I was exhausted. Sleep paralysis made sense. I woke up several nights in a row feeling absolutely terrified but unable to see anything at all. I could feel this swirl of anger and resentment pressed into me like a weight keeping me from moving. It was so intense one night I nearly choked, unable to lift my chest enough to get a good breath in.

As the nights wore on, that weight felt more and more real. I thought I could see a shimmering outline of a figure in the corner a couple times, but it was never solid, and I could have sworn I could smell something rotten. I convinced myself I was losing my mind and withdrew from everyone. I took a year’s worth of vacation time from work claiming I had to go in for surgery and basically isolated myself so no one would have to bear witness to my descent into madness.

I kept holding on to the fact that none of this was happening during the day. It kept me hoping that I wasn’t making any of it up or hallucinating it. I wasn’t seeing it all the time or anywhere I happened to be. It was just my room, my bed really, in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe I could figure it out…or maybe I could have if I wasn’t so fucking exhausted.

A couple nights before I had to go back to work I woke up with that same presence and Maude Lebowski (my cat) doing her little thing, but this time, it felt more defined, and the smell was very real. The dread and fear were there, but that weight of anger wasn’t suffocating me. The figure was solid but shrouded in darkness. I couldn’t see features, but it didn’t much matter. As soon as I heard the laugh, I shut my eyes so tight I couldn’t see a fucking thing anyway. Tonight I could move and took full advantage of snatching the covers right over my head. If I can’t see it, it can’t get me. Funny how that kid logic sticks with you when the shit hits the fan.

“Human known as Claire Ramona LaFleur, I have a message for you.”

What in the wide world of fuck? I thought. A message. A message? From who? Or what? What the hell was going on?
I know I whimpered out some kind of mumbled, garbled version of “message?” But it understood fully what I meant and replied in its deep, gravelly voice, “Maude Lebowski has requested that you purchase her the food you used to buy because, and I quote, ‘that new shit is crusty, and I’m not here for it anymore.’”

“What?”

“This is your feline companion Maude, yes?” It pointed.

“uh…yessssss…”

“Maude has summoned me and traded exactly one of her 9 lives in order for me to request that you buy her, and, again, I quote, ‘that good shit.’”

“my cat summoned a….what?”

“Demon. You can call me Beezy though I do think we both hope this night is the end of all this mess.”

“Okay, Beezy. Beezy, Ok. Let me get this straight. Maude has been torturing me for two months with the nightly wakeups and the weird ritual shit and what I can only assume was your presence for at least the last couple weeks. And she did all this because she wants Taste of the Wild not Blue Buffalo? AND it took 2 months to accomplish it?”

“Yes. That is exactly the deal. Also, it took so long because I can’t understand cats very well, and she can’t speak my name or do the symbols very well. It took a lot of tries and a lot of frustration for the two of us to get it together. But she made good on her deal, so I had to complete my end of the bargain no matter how long I took. Here’s the thing though: I’m thoroughly amused now that I can see the look on your face and your reactions, but hear me—I’m done. I want no more of this insanity. Please for the love of everything evil, buy your cat the fucking food she wants.”

And with that, it was gone.

I got myself dressed and made coffee, so I could wait in the parking lot for the nearest pet store to open. I wasn’t going to take any chances on Beezy coming back. Besides, who could sleep in that room smelling so strongly of sulfur and death? 

So that's the story about how I met Beezelbub. As they say, the truth is stranger than fiction.

Oh, and I buy Taste of the Wild every time now no questions asked. I perfectly understand what that says about my cat owning me. But until your cat summons a literal demon into your bedroom, you have no room to criticize.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado  https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/03/you-can-do-it-use-your-words.html

The Blogging 911 https://theblogging911.com/blog/

Cognitive Script  https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/03/that-rascally-rabbit-strikes-again.html 

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2019/03/almost-home.html

The Crazy Mama Llama: https://www.thecrazymamallama.com/

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2019/03/use-your-words-beige.html

Follow Me Home https://followmehome.shellybean.com

The Lady Who Pet a Bear

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 9 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

What is your biggest fear? Why?

It was submitted by: https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Okay, so this probably isn't really my biggest fear, but my health has been extremely poor lately and has put me in a negative headspace, and I wanted to keep this light. If I talked about the kinds of fears I have associated with being sick, I'd just dig that negative headspace deeper to the point I might not be able to dig out. it's been hard enough to find good days as it is. thanks for understanding.

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If you’re my facebook friend, you might recognize this story, but it’s a story that needs to be told in order to understand the gravity of my situation.

I was showering with the dog a couple weeks ago. Let me add here that we all take turns showering with the dog because it’s easier. Pushing a 150+lb great dane into a tub takes W O R K. And that’s before you factor in that if you put him in the tub, you’re going to have to get in there with him if you don’t want the entire bathroom soaked after he jumps out and flees out the door. So he showers with us. None of us like it except him, but dogs have no shame. At all.

There I am trying to shave. With the dog in the shower. I have no good explanation for why it couldn’t wait, but it just couldn’t. The leg I’m shaving is propped above the dog’s back on the back wall of the shower, so I could get the job done without getting my hair wet. But here’s the problem—my foot slipped. My foot slipped down the wall until it hit the floor on the opposite side of the dog, so there I am, naked, with one leg on either side of the dog.

Naked.

For clarity, I am, in fact, naked. In the shower. With the dog.

Here’s the even bigger problem—the dog is taller than my legs are long, so that when my foot initially slips and lands on the floor, my other foot lifts up, and I can’t really stand with that one anymore. I don’t have my balance and kind of teeter there with my toes sort of gripping the shower floor at alternate times. My life flashes before my eyes because I just cannot see this working out in my favor when I finally managed to get a stable grip and get my shit together. Crisis mostly averted. This time.

While I finished shaving—obviously it still had to be done--I realized my entire purpose in life is to embarrass myself as much as humanly possible every single day.

Can you imagine the horror of falling and hurting yourself and whoever finds you also finds you in the shower, naked, and with the dog? And the harder you try to explain how things went awry, the more ridiculous and unbelievable you sound…

I figure that the likelihood I become some urban legend kind of story, some weird death or injury or hilarious anecdote, is looming larger than life, and who wants to be reduced to that?

Lady, 37, dies at home after slipping on a puddle of dog drool and gets eaten by her 16 cats.

Neighborhood woman gets trampled at local dairy farm while attempting to “save the cows.”

Georgia resident dies attempting to pet a bear, screams “fuck yes” just before the attack.

Local woman dies from rabies after attempting to save an injured raccoon.

Climax woman goes missing after calling a local militia member a “walking participation trophy.”

Get the picture? At some point, I am absolutely sure that my lack of judgment when it comes to pets and animals or just in general is going to make me some kind of laughing stock erasing every good I’ve tried to do in my life. Just a “foot in my mouth” legend who might have dreamed of cuddling a cheetah cub. Who knows? What I do know is I have no idea how to turn it off at this point in my life, so I guess I’m just going to live in fear that I won’t realize how terrible my judgment is until the moment it all goes south while hoping for the best.

And maybe I’ll actually get to pet a bear.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado  https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/03/dont-forget-gardener-secret-subject-swap.html

Never Ever Give Up Hope https://batteredhope.blogspot.com

The Blogging 911  https://theblogging911.com/my-life-reinvention-secret-subject-swap/

Cognitive Script  https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/03/no-longer-friends-march-sss.html

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

The Crazy Mama Llama https://www.thecrazymamallama.com/?fbclid=IwAR37KD4fA2qGenGetu8_KXpldlzKHRSC0mNDeyDnuVEUWyYj8dfTZNdX-Xc

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2019/03/secret-subject-swap-leaves.html

The Face-Stuffing, Running, Decaying, Ghost -Torturing Dead

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words were: autistic, you never know, stuffing, manual, heart, build. They were submitted by: https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

Okay so full disclosure: this isn't a 100% original idea. I saw a prompt of the general point of the thing and wanted to write it, so here we are. I sort of made the words fit instead of letting them fall naturally where they do like I have with a lot of other UYW posts, but I think it still turned out pretty good. 

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The first sound Vanessa uttered in her afterlife was an exasperated yawn. See, she didn't quite realize yet that she was dead. To her, it was any other day she didn't want to get out of bed to face. Another day, another $1. Well, another $.25 if she wanted to be realistic.

The thought of money made her brain kick through the sleep fog and realize a couple things at once. The late afternoon lighting meant she was about to be late for her evening shift at work. Again. And she was *not* looking forward to getting her ass chewed out for it or the potential write up and suspension she might face.

And, two, she wasn't actually at home.

What in the wide world of fuck? She was in the middle of a cemetery.

The breeze she felt and the lighting is what really made her open her eyes and focus long enough to take in her surroundings. Tombstones, creepy angel statues, the cloying scent of too many dying flowers, shade trees every few plots as if the dead got hot in their little rectangular dirt prisons and needed some respite...definitely a cemetery.

The thing of it was, though, being in the cemetery was actually not as shocking as the fact that it was filled with ghosts. Like, actual translucent beings hovering inches off the ground. There but not there. Eerily familiar but not. Ghosts without a doubt.

"Holy fuckeroni! I have never seen an actual ghost before. I didn't think they were real! Huh, you never know with this life. You never know."

A tall drink of ethereal paleness in dr. martens and a flannel shirt floated in her direction, "uh, honey, do i have news for you then."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Take a good look at yourself."

So Vanessa did. Her shock grew by miles as she took in her luminescent skin, the fact that she could see the ground through herself, the fact that she almost but not quite touched the ground. No being in the history of the universe had ever screamed as long and as loud as she did in the few moments following.

"Was that necessary?" the flanneled ghost with the slim build asked her.

"Maybe," she huffed while internally she cringed at how much she was checking out this ghost seconds after finding out she was dead. Always thinking with her heart not her brain. Okay, okay heart and vagina. Mostly vagina.

But in her defense, the girl ghost was definitely hot.

"I'm not a girl. They/them pronouns please."

"Whaaaaaat?! You read minds? And I apologize for assuming gender."

"No problem. But to answer your question, you're not human anymore, you know. What you are now was pretty much what your mind consisted of when you were alive. Your internals are all out here in the ether, so, like, everyone knows everything about everyone else until they're finally at rest."

"Okay.... creepy. Also, 3 questions real quick. 1) what the fucking fuck? 2) How do you know all this? 3) what do you mean 'finally at rest?'"

"In order: 1) it is what it is. 2) there's not a manual like in Beetlejuice. We figure it out along the way. 3) you know that cliche movie plot where ghosts exist because of unfinished business? Totally true."

"I don't have any unfinished business. I barely have finished business. All I do is work and watch Netflix. No great mystery there unless it's about finishing my 12th time watching Trailer Park Boys start to finish."

"Remember how you died?"

"Oh. No actually. Was I murdered or something?"

"How the hell would I know?"

Vanessa started to speak then stopped, one ghostly finger in mid-air while she paused before finally saying, "you're the one who said everyone knows everything about everyone!"

"Only if you know it. I mean, otherwise how would the info get to me? Just think back and see if you remember anything at all. Maybe it's a clue."

The last thing she remembered was calling in sick to work with a fever, cough, and stomach cramps. She'd been home in bed trying to relax with comfort tv, something to make her laugh but that she'd seen enough that she didn't really have to pay attention and how could she so loaded up on medication? A little weed, nyquil, Phenergan she had left over from the last time she was sick, and a vicodin for the cramps. No wonder she didn't remember much.

"You were sick, you say?"

"I didnt 'say' anything but yes why?"

"Shit. You're not going to like this."

"Well don't leave me hanging!"

The ghost drew closer and pulled her away from her spot. "It's almost time. If I'm right, you can see for yourself in a few moments then I'll explain."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Let's hope I am."

The two of them sat together quietly for awhile as the sunlight streaked in multicolored tendrils across the sky and began to fade. When the last of those tendrils started to pull away, she heard it--a faint scratching coming from the freshly covered dirt plot she woke up on. Her eyes grew 5x their normal size as she saw a hand shoot out of the ground like something out of a Romero movie. Not just any hand. Hers. She'd recognize that botched nail job she did herself the day before she got sick anywhere.

Never day drink on your day off and try to do your own acrylics.

The other hand followed then a muddy face growled and pushed its way out of the ground. She stared across at her own self in absolute terror. It *was* her, or, at least, it looked like her, but it was also eerily devoid of any sort of--well, for lack of a less cheesy word choice--life.

Her body pulled the rest of its way free from the dirt and made a shambling run for the gates.

"I was afraid that would happen."

"Well what the fuck happened? What is going on? Why did I just climb out the damn ground and make a run for it while ghost me is still here?!"

"That wasn't the real you. It was zombie you."

Vanessa's jaw dropped open a few inches leaving her utterly speechless which was all fine and well considering she heard growling and screams coming from the entrance. Apparently, someone had chosen the wrong time to visit their loved one's memory, and she, er, her body, or, uh, zombie her was taking advantage.

"Look at zombie you stuffing her face! She's really putting back that thigh meat."

"How?"

"I mean, looked to me like zombie you just ripped the sucker right off and bit a huge chunk out, clothes and all."

"No, asshole, how did that...thing...happen? How am I... how is my body or whatever... fucking whatever. How does that zombie exist?"

"I guess seeing my lifeless body reanimated and tearing into the first warm body it could find would be a shock for me too so I'll forgive the 'asshole' comment. Just this once though. As for the zombies--yes there are more than just you. You aren't that special--there was a measles outbreak in the northwest then the northeast then it spread to the South and mutated. We could talk all day--or I could at least--about conspiracy theory culture, the legitimate fear Americans have over their own healthcare system, and the resulting need for research and self diagnosis, but regardless of the nuance and need for that conversation, this is different. *THIS* all started in an area with a bunch of crunchy moms who were terrified about vaccinations making their kids autistic despite all the evidence to the contrary. Oh no your kid works differently. The fucking horror, amirite? Either way somewhere during its travels across the country it mutated and became something else entirely. I don't quite know how it worked on a molecular level or why it affects humans the way it does, but that's why the stuff that made you who you are is here and the physical you is working its way through a 250 lb man like he's a candy bar."

"Oh."

"And my guess is the ectoplasmic you will exist until someone takes your body out however long that takes."

"Ohhh."

"Are you okay?"

"um. no?"

"Fair enough."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Enjoy my company. Obviously. I mean, you do think I'm hot after all. wink, wink. We can follow your body around and make bets on how many humans you take out in a day and see how long it takes you to figure out my name, Van."

The familiarity of the nickname made her smile in both sadness and nostalgia. "I guess there are worse ways to spend eternity, but it would be lit if I didn't look like death."

Vanessa shrugged when she realized her unintentional pun, and the two set out after her physical self already arguing over who would win the night's bet as more zombies gathered around the closed cemetery gates trying to free themselves for a night of gluttony.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/02/red-hot-on-inside-use-your-words.html?fbclid=IwAR0vGxdg_AwDYviruz5SfInd4BBLQiLJibj4FvnXrzJhSqrIXRyFNQHVnJ8

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/02/the-demise-of-rabbit-feb-2019-uyw.html?fbclid=IwAR1pQsLnztlVM0Xsu7FyBkQw8pINTlrWsaQMaJCJUgFvQByGDpipU4uhtyM

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2019/02/hanging-out-in-hawaii.html?fbclid=IwAR1FqlOElmrwBk986Vs54w4c3Juedhtt_1Z6A8zTVNV6CV-1sW1wRO8m84U

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2019/02/use-your-words-twins.html?fbclid=IwAR3aNwBJfTMUggFhvfnZxS6JExc3BDqGGugtSKTlG6aTTbU5bZ3ITE9cs3c 

Follow me home http://followmehome.shellybean.com

GTG Deluxe

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 8 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

Imagine yourself as a product people can buy. Tell us about yourself... Create an ad, to get people to buy you. What are the best parts of you?!

It was submitted by: https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Ok, so admittedly I was a little intimidated by this prompt. I'm not good at talking myself up and I kinda felt awkward about the whole equating myself to a product thing, but I did my best with a little help from some friends. 

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Is your life a little too colorful? Could you use a little darkness and mystery? Do you need a constant voice of sarcasm following your every move? Well, look no further. This Titty Goblin, deluxe goth version, can satisfy all your needs.

Titty goblins are known for adding a little weirdness to life, but with the new goth version you can amp up the weird to astronomical levels. Witchy paraphernalia, obscure subgenres of heavy metal, and a deep fascination with the occult and dead things are included with all goth titty goblins, but with the deluxe model expect a closet full of interchangeable black clothes, at least a dozen different matte sanguine lipsticks, and collections of geeky merchandise like Pop Vinyl figures, enamel pins, vinyl records, and Halloween décor. In fact, be prepared to embrace all things Halloween all year long.

This deluxe version of the goth titty goblin might have a chronic illness, but she can still make a mean cheesecake and makes the most of her energy and time. When she’s not absolutely rocking your world, you can find her taking care of animals, writing prisoners, or working on any number of crafty projects.

She’s a snack. A pumpkin shaped candy with a hard, sour outer shell and a soft, sweet gummy center. 

A goddess with purple hair in a bat print dress. 

A Tattooed Lady with a coffee addiction who still watches Scooby Doo. 

She might come with a little emotional baggage, a soul scarred and cobbled together like Frankenstein’s bride, but she’s done the work to at least make herself whole. Patched but whole. 

In other words, life might just be better with her than without.

But don’t just take our word for it. here are some friend testimonials!

“Best titty goblin on the market!” –Tessa

“Hardest working mom of 2 and 4 legged kids you could ever find!!” –Tom

“What more than ‘goth titty goblin’ do you need?” –Phil

“Jenniy is a highly satisfactory product! Self maintaining, efficient, and compassionate, Jenniy has excelled at self awareness, truth-seeking, and backing causes that help people without harming.” –Mel

“Jenniy is hilarious, compassionate, and really cool despite living in BFE Georgia. 13/10 would recommend!” --Amber

"Do you need to kill machismo in a single witty quip? Definitely use the Jenniy model of the GTG Deluxe!"--Brandon

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado  https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/02/small-gestues-secret-subject-swap.html

Never Ever Give Up Hope https://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/02/from-rabbits-to-squirrels-feb-2019-sss.html?fbclid=IwAR3iMcpxE5ubWHgcz67KDF3bA-YAY1Ov28SEI1HBLkyIFDXkfTC4yVdsuiY

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2019/02/secret-subject-swap-days-of-week.html?fbclid=IwAR1ctBdSlpN0dYmwFtH0TGTBA0gcEVizQwp0gmG18xUz35MrFCky1zonFyQ

Granny Candy part 4

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: cut, collaborate, call, compare, car

I love these characters. I think that each installment can kind of stand on its own, but if you haven't and would like to, you can find the first ones within the last couple of months on the blog. I may come back and add links when my internet isn't playing with my emotions. 

here's to a future Lizzy book series. i really think I want to give it a shot. 

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About a week into The Job, Lizzy escorted a seemingly ancient, possibly older than time itself, grammar teacher to Hel, the Norse version of afterlife for those who didn’t die in battle. Odd but still not the weirdest escort of the week. The woman was short and slightly rotund. Her back was a little rounded from age and poor posture but not quite a hump. She swished down the hallways beside Lizzy in a navy blue woolen skirt and a pale blue cardigan that almost matched her hair. She had a floral hat on her head and the peachiest lipstick Lizzy had ever seen haphazardly swiped across her thin lips but none of that old lady shit made her seem less intimidating. Lizzy started to speak a hundred times but couldn’t find the courage until they were almost at the woman’s destination.

She took and a deep breath and in a rush, “howintheotherworldlyfuckdidyoubecomeNorsepaganma’am?”

The woman stopped in her tracks. The orangish lip color making her scowl look more garish and vulgar that it possibly could have on its own. “Young lady, I would suggest you modify both your language and manner of speaking so you do not sound like such an utter buffoon. Act according to your age and title, and learn to breathe. The spoken word should be elegant, sharp, and direct not some circus sideshow of vulgarities and strings of improper syntax formed from letters cut from smutty magazines.”

Lizzy hurried her to the door and nearly pushed her down trying to usher her through the threshold. She slammed it shut so hard the frame split at the knob a little and made a move for the elevator at the end of the hall. Inside, she, in her flustered frame of mind, accidentally hit the button for the basement, before correcting and hitting the 1. A little musak played through bat speakers that hung upside down in the back corners of the space while she descended down from nearly the top of the building (not the top where The Boss stayed, though).

Once at the bottom, the doors opened onto a space she wasn’t at all expecting. Part of the floor was obviously used as the mailroom. There were stacks upon stacks of letters, mail shoots, and workers in little white uniforms running all over the place in what was probably a bit of controlled chaos. To her left though, she could see a small kitchen and seating area surrounded by glass walls. There was a water cooler and a row of vending machines and tables full of...well, beings in the middle of what appeared to be a pretty intense argument. Before she could investigate further, the doors closed on her and sent her back up a floor.

Grimmy was there waiting. And not smiling. She couldn’t see his face, but his panicked disapproval left a bitter taste in the back of her throat that almost made her yak on her new work shoes (there were at least 372 Walmarts in the Christian Hell portion of eternity and between them at any given time only 13 checkouts open).

Why were you just in the basement of all places, Lizzy? She felt his cringy embarrassment, a hot blast of sticky humid swamp air and immediately wondered what the fuck was up. 90% of their time together he spent in irritated confusion or being disgusted by something she said. Embarrassment was a new one.

“Yeah, I had this old school marm on my ass about how I talk and hit the wrong button on the way down. Elevator closed before I could get a good look, but it definitely didn’t look like any basement I've seen. Why didn’t you tell me we have a breakroom and coworkers, dude???! I need to get my snack on."

Coworkers. Ha. These are not beings worth your time, dear child. That breakroom is full of interpersonal problems and nonstop fighting. I stay away and so should you.

“Interpersonal problems, you say? Oh shit, spill the tea, sis.”

I know you have some meaning to this, so I will refrain from offering you a mug of this new ginger chamomile tea I found in the atheist eternity, but I will say it is delicious.

“Grimmy, I explained tea to you last week. Tea means, like, gossip/dirt/trash talk. Spill it. Tell me. Who are these ‘beings’ and what’s up with the fighting?”

Chronos, Idun, Dionysus, Geb, and Minerva are regulars, but many of the deity iterations pop in and other supernatural beings.

“What about Paul Rudd?”

Who is this?

“How in Hades can you not know who Paul Rudd is?! Pretty sure he is immortal. Also, I would worship him, so there’s that.”

I do not know this being. Perhaps he only has longevity not immortality.

“You really do ruin all the fun, you know. Either way, can we go to the breakroom and check out the reality tv drama or nah?”

I would prefer nah.

“Ugh. Are you going to make me beg here? Come on, Grimmy. I can’t go alone. I need my partner there to give intros. And I need some trash in my life. I haven’t watched a cat fight in way too long.”

Why does others’ misery entertain you so?

“Because it ain’t mine?! I mean, I love seeing people happy and shit. Give me a video of a little kid getting their lost dog back, and I turn to mush, but there’s also this part of me that revels in the pettiness of seeing someone else being called out for being an asshole especially when I am not that asshole or dealing with that asshole. Ya dig?”

That is actually quite a bit more insightful than I would have expected coming from you.

“ I aim to please.”

Hardly.

“Does this mean you’ll go?”

I suppose the only way to get you to shut up about it is to give in, but once there, you absolutely will not be able to say I did not give you fair warning about how awful it could be.

“it’s your call.”

His irritation bloomed over her like nibbling teeth. I will never understand why you must have the last word even when it makes you look utterly ridiculous.

“Whatever. Can we go now?”

We need to wait until after the lunch rush. Traffic and terrible workdays always puts the newly dead in foul moods. No point making them wait.

Lizzy turned without a word then. Her eternity’s mission was to prove him wrong every possible opportunity.

After lunch, and he had been right unfortunately about the state of the newly dead, the two met at the elevator. He didn’t say much beyond an exasperated grumble and pressed the B. Lizzy was nearly vibrating with excitement which in turn made Grimmy bristle with even more annoyance. She loved it.

The car slid to a stop. She braced herself, fixed her posture, and held her head high in the moments before the door opened, but she was absolutely not ready for the scene that played out before her.

The vending machines were broken heaps thrown around the room. The mail that had been sorted into stacks and crates was strewn across the floor covered in drops of blood, splatters of food, and swipes of mud. Hopefully mud. She didn’t want to think about what else it could be. Objects were flying across the field of her vision too fast to discern exactly what they were. Voices were shrieking in tones too loud and garbled to be heard, but she caught a few words in the mix: sleazy, two-timing, corroborate, hag, can’t compare the two. It was easy enough to put together that someone’s partner had shown up and caught two of the beings that worked in the building, well, fornicating in whatever way such beings do. And the results were not pretty. She couldn't see anyone, but they were definitely waging a personal war that would make a Jerry Springer show look docile in comparison.

Grimmy had gleefully placed a foot to hold the elevator doors open. She could feel the vindication slinking off him like a drag queen’s favorite boa come to life. He was absolutely reveling in the chaos because it meant he was right and she was wrong. Again. And he would never let her live, uh, exist it down.

She was about to mention something about his pettiness when a web of lightning bolts crisscrossed the top of the building causing lights to flicker, screams from the mailroom workers to erupt, and sparks to fly. One of those sparks happened to catch the very tip of Grimmy’s robes and next thing she knew, he was ablaze halfway up his bony legs. He screeched loudly—the only real sound she had ever heard from him externally instead of in her head—and snapped a small fire extinguisher into existence to put out the flames.

She was still laughing when the doors closed, and he pressed the 1 amidst a cloud of agitated shame. 

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Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com

Southern Belle Charm https://southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch

Exes

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 6 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My  “Secret Subject” is: You’re grocery shopping & run into your “first love”. What do you do? What do you say?

It was submitted by: https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

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Here's the thing about relationships: I don't do them often.

 I am commitment phobic, independent to a fault, and I have high expectations in a partner. Not too many people understand that and can jive with it, and I can't stand most people, so my relationships have been few and far between. I don't have many exes at all, and those I do have I don't have some weird bad blood with. There is only one person from my early high school days with whom I will never speak again, but that had more to do with things he had done before we met over anything that happened between us while we "dated"...and I mean, does high school even count anyway? Either way, my first actual love came a few years after, but either way I just don't have a lot of hate or anger when it comes to the few people I tried the commitment thing with...

 Here's the thing about first loves: I don't think I was able to have one in the same way a lot of people do.

 Being sexually assaulted at 13 changed me forever. Even my first really serious relationship wasn't uncomplicated and without baggage. I held back, grew depressed, and was a large factor in why it ended. I absolutely couldn't be happy, and I couldn't be confident or feel safe. I had entirely too much anger and resentment, and I couldn't relinquish any little bit of control. A lot of that stemmed from trauma, and in so many ways everything from the moment that trauma occured has been shaped by this sliver of time in which every part of me was violated and rebuilt into someone wholly different. I died for someone's 2 minutes of pleasure and became someone who had REALLY BIG ISSUES to work through. Love was always and will always be a very complex topic that needs a lot of navigation for me, and since it happened so young, I didn't get a chance to explore love and relationships without that stain of trauma. 

Here's the thing about MY first love: A part of me still loves him. And always will.

 There's no anger or resentment that he couldn't handle me as a mess. I'm not angry that he, too, was a mess. He's probably still a mess to be honest. He was (is?) a beautiful, dorky soul. We didn't remain friends, and honestly, sometimes I miss that friendship. It got me through dark times in high school before we dated after graduating. We were friends first, dated for a bit, got our first apartment ever together. It was freeing but chaotic and stressful. Between always hurting for money and the messes we both were, we destroyed what we had. So what I ultimately mean is that there's no reason for it to be tense and weird because we dated. We made good memories and really loved one another...it just wasnt the time and place in our lives for things to work.

 Here's the thing about social standards: fuck 'em.

 I know it's supposed to be weird and taboo to run into someone who saw you naked a bunch, but I just don't operate that way. I'm still friends with several people who have seen me in all kinds of states of nudity, who I have shared myself with just once or plenty of times. It's really not all that odd for me, and it wouldn't be a factor in how I reacted to seeing this person.

Finally, here's the thing about unexpected social interaction: I avoid it like my dog avoids me anytime she hears the word "tub."

 If I saw him anywhere, I might duck and run like I do when I see anyone I know because I hate social interaction, but if we happened to wind up in the same checkout line, I'd speak and treat him like anyone else I feel forced to socialize with--like I'm the most awkward human being in the world or perhaps an alien just getting used to posing as a human for the first time. I might respond to questions like "how've you been" with "thanks, you too" and turn 15 shades of red in a record .2 milliseconds. Rest assured, though, that's how I am with anyone not just someone i gave my battered heart to nearly a couple decades ago.

So. If I ran into my first love...it'd be just another thing.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/01/team-summer-secret-subject-swap.html?fbclid=IwAR1JVZUKpAytvUQ-5UEHGTRvgi85AZ20ZNIyX_siCSUSlpFri4P1SizPD6Q

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/01/jasper-jan-2019-sss.html?fbclid=IwAR2w-WszcjXApy401KzHhZhiO_E9GvMHEF6wgs-GbOREe1UA0e7EYy34UXg

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch