Back At The Desk . . . Sorta

So I've been experiencing technical difficulties with my computer. It crapped out last week, and in that time I've come to some limited terms with my newly discovered internet and computer addictions. My window to the world was dark. *unholy shudders*

I've got some bandaid fixes on the computer, and it's up and running - for now. It must have been that last huge entry about Sasquatches Who Shanghai. That'll teach me to make a long post.

This also means I probably won't make my writing goal for the month. I'm way behind and it's doubtful I'll catch up by Saturday morning. So at this point, why bother.

I'm still sick and haven't been out on my motorcycle in over a month. I'm going into withdrawal. If only I could get out and ride. It would change my attitude in an instant. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Riding a motorcycle is better than therapy.

So lay it on me - either computer crapping stories (yeah, I called it that) or things that are better than therapy. I could really use the lift.

Kidnapped By A Sasquatch

I have these two great books that relate weird happenings throughout history all over the world. The first is Strange Stories Amazing Facts published by Reader's Digest. The second is Mysteries of the Unexplained, also published by R.D. I love these books, but they simultaneously give me the willies.

The second one, Mysteries of the Unexplained, is broken down by the following sections:
Beyond the Walls of Time - Prophesies - Anomalies - Coincidences

Unearthly Fates - Spontaneous Human Combustion - Inexplicable Crimes and Assaults - Appearances and Disappearances

Monsters and More - Monsters - Spectral Incursions

The Unquiet Sky - Strange Things From Above - UFO's - Atmospheric and Astronomical Oddities

In the Realm of Miracles - Cures and Immunities - Signs and Wonders

Each section offers it's own delights. I may blog later on the Atmospheric Oddities that has a section devoted to the different reports of bizarre things falling from the sky. From rock storms to coins to flesh. *shiver*

But the one I'll discuss today is in the Monsters section. Mysteries of the Unexplained breaks down recorded sightings of monsters by type, area of the world and date. Sightings and encounters with upright ape-like creatures have been reported all over the world, though different countries' creatures vary a little in height and color, there are many similarities. With the North American variety, many times hair and blood samples have been recovered for scientific analysis. Footprint casts have also been taken.



There are lots of reports of sightings, close encounters, and posses trying to round up a Bigfoot. But there are two stories which stand out in this book. Those are of the two times people have been taken by them.

The first happened in 1924 when Albert Ostman, a construction worker and miner, went looking for a lost gold mine in British Columbia opposite Vancouver Island. An Elderly native from the local tribe warned him about the huge hairy creatures that lived near the area of the lost mine, but Albert refused to give any credence to old Indian tales.

He hiked in on foot for about a week, then made camp. Each morning when he woke at the camp, his supplies would be disturbed and food taken. He decided to try and stay awake to see what was doing it. He kept his rifle in his sleeping bag with him to be safe. That night, while still in his sleeping bag, he was scooped up and carried away.

After several hours of being carried, he was laid down. "He heard a strange kind of chatter he couldn't understand." He made his way out of his bag and saw four people, covered in hair and not wearing any clothing. Two adults -a male and female and two younger ones he assumed where their offspring.

The adults, he estimated were over seven feet tall and about 500-600 pounds. They didn't try to hurt him, but seemed intent that he stay with them. After six days with this "family" he decided he'd had enough. He shot his rifle and startled them enough to make a break for it. Ostman didn't tell the story of his capture for years - believing people would think he'd lost his marbles. Can't say that I blame him.

The second one tells of a native of the Nootka tribe in Canada named Muchalat Harry, who gives his version of being taken. The year was 1928. He was "of strapping physique". A fur trapper by trade who would go out for weeks at a time in the wilderness by himself along the Conuma River on the west coast of Vancouver Island. One day he stumbled back to his village after one such trip nearly frozen, uttering wild cries, wearing nothing but torn and soaking wet long underwear.

After being nursed back to health, he told of being snatched up from his camp while he was in his blankets sleeping. He was tossed over something's shoulder and carried for two to three miles.

When he was put down, he found he was surrounded by about "twenty of the big hairy creatures." Both males and females. There were lots of bones scattered around him and he began to think they may want to eat him. He sat motionless while they touched him or pulled at his undergarments. After many hours most of the Bigfeet left him. Harry jumped up and ran for his life. He ran past his camp, ran twelve more miles to the River, found his canoe and paddled 45 miles nonstop back to his village. He never left it again.

I personally can't even begin to imagine being kidnapped by a group of Sasquatch in nothing but my underwear in the middle of winter. Or any season, for that matter.

If I could insert the Supernatural Tall Tales scene about the alien abduction and probing here, I would. But the embedding of that video is disabled. Here's the link, just for fun.

So there you have it - two Sasquatch abductions. As Jack Palance used to say - Believe it *heavy breathing* or not.

It's All About the Pants

The best one is grandpa with the sweatband on. He's workin' it for all he's got.

And Now - A Triangle Solo

Make It STOP!!

The song Baby Beluga has burrowed into my brain and laid eggs. I can't get it out!!!!

Kind of like this. You can just dub over the lyrics to Baby Beluga as subtitles and know the space worm is bringing Hell on Earth in the form of Raffi.

A Lid For Every Pot

I have a theory, that receives some rather substantial proof every August when the fireman's fair erupts just beyond my back fence. This theory may seem hopelessly optimistic, but I believe wholeheartedly that there is a lid for every pot.

As the smells of funnel cake and pizza, french fries and horse manure fill the air, a sweltering mix of humanity flocks to the rides and food. A wondrous mixture of lids and pots.

Some pots have found their lids and display their tandem-ness with pride. The elderly couple who shuffle along, carrying their aluminum lawn chairs to reserve their spot on the grass for the gospel singers who perform the first night. The vinyl webbing for the chairs has been removed, and in their place are matching woven yarn patterns. His and hers. They sit together and chat with everyone around them. He cheekily pats her knee with a gnarled hand which earns him a girlish smile that rearranges her wrinkles and a playful smack on his arm.

You look around and there's the middle-aged couple advertising their fit by strolling arm in arm as they wear matching outfits. Dressed alike, you can't miss that he's her lid.

Then there's the odd couple. A gigantic man with natural orange hair, pencil drawn eyebrows, tattooed eye liner, and a lavender shirt covering his substantial bulk loudly expounds on the golden era of Hollywood. A thin young man, in black from the tips of his spiked hair to the tips of his combat boots hangs on his every word as tightly as he hangs onto his arm.

Lids and pots. Everywhere you look. Some matched up; others on the hunt. Flocks of teenage girls giggle and scream, sounding the availability call to the gaggles of teenage boys, who laugh and shove and bullshit their way around the midway. The flashing neon lights of the rides and games draw them just like clouds of moths, looking to try on a lid for the night to see if it fits.

As I wait in line for the umpteenth time to put my youngest urchin on her favorite ride, the operator strikes up a conversation that doesn't require much on my part.

"How old is she?"

"Three."

"Oh, that's almost as old as my twins. They're four." He bares his twisted teeth at me in a friendly way. "I got a seven year old and another'n on the way."

He nods his head across the midway to a surly looking young woman with a severe ponytail; pregnant out to here. She glares at me as she slumps in her decrepit metal folding chair, and I smile the smile of someone caught staring, before she returns to taking the tickets for her ride.

"They gave her a chair so's she c'n sit down."

I nod, and he flashes those teeth again, as I try to decide if he's seventeen or thirty. All I can discern for sure is he looks like life has already ridden him hard and put him up wet.

"Yup," he continues undaunted as he takes in the midway with awe, "They gave us both jobs, 'n they've been good to work for. Just look at that chair they gave her." His chest swells with pride as he gazes over at her again.

And I can almost hear the metallic clunk of a lid falling into place.

Why? Just . . . Why?

I've been sick for several days. I've kinda lost count, so here's what I've dug up for you in my spare time.

Watch only if you have a strong constitution.





Don't hate me. I'm just the messenger.

Things That Suck

1. Crappy new neighbors.
2. Having to cook again after four glorious days of surviving on carny food.
3. Having no ooomph to write.
4. Dealing with the disposal of a dog crap encrusted rug.
5. A severe lack of chocolate in the house when I desperately need it.
6. Being attacked and slightly maimed by a maliciously evil humidifier.
7. Still not having a reliable source of minions to deliver my wrath.
7. a. Stalled negotiations with the Sea Monkeys.
7. b. A messy and smelly end to the tentative cease fire between myself and said Sea Monkeys.

All of the above and more is giving me a big shove towards more serious steps for villainy.

I Love Me Some Rummage

Ok, I guess this should be secret confession number four. I love rummage sales. Usually at a church, but not necessarily. Some place where blue haired old ladies sort and price items with skewed logic. You know, a bundle of half used spiral notebooks for four dollars and Muppet Show Colorforms in their original box are ten cents. An ancient Avon perfume bottle shaped like an owl is fourteen dollars, but books are ten cents for paperbacks, twenty five for hard cover.

I was at one of these last weekend. Unfortunately I wasn't a doorbuster. It started at seven and I was there at seven thirty. So in my mind, since I didn't find much, all the good rummage was taken before I got there. Damn those other doorbusters!

Still, I rubbed my hands together with gleeful anticipation and asked the retired guy at the door handing out paper bags where he kept the rummage. He passed me a grocery bag, and informed me I could fill it with clothes for a dollar.

If that statement doesn't get a rummage junky's heart racing, I don't know what will. Crazy, subjective pricing. Ahh, gotta love it.

So I found a few books, and a Fisher Price Woodsey the Squirrel log house with Uncle Fletcher squirrel inside. That was the extent of my purchased rummage. Five books for a dollar and an eighties toy for fifty cents. But the thrill of the rummage hunt?

Priceless.

Re- Runs Again?

Yes. Re-runs again. Here's an early post from October 2008. In it you will find out about my small motorcycle crash and my exercise program for outrunning weapon wielding psychopaths. Enjoy!

Two Kinds of Riders