Random Thoughts Thursday

I have had the Tom Petty song, “Last Dance with Mary Jane” on repeat in my head for the last two days and I don’t know why. It’s not like this is a happy, feel good song that gets my mojo going. I am pretty sure that Kim Bassinger dancing around as a corpse is NOT the epitomy of a jovial, good time song. But there it is haunting my brain and distracting me from things like my broken ass cheek or the fact that my house is haunted.

That’s right I broke my ass cheek. Getting out of a tanning bed. And this, my friends, is why I haven’t exercised so strenuously in the last 15 years. Well, that and the fact that I was a lazy hooker, but that’s secondary to my plight. I am pretty sure yoga was the culprit. Something about being in downward facing dog and lifting your leg behind you as far as you can, only to swing that leg between your hands and come into a crescent pose, has pulled an ass muscle and it was exascerbated by me crawling out of a tanning bed while half sleep. Because I totally take naps in the tanning bed. But don’t worry, I lock the door and keep my panties on. So apparently me + exercise = broken things. First I broke a sweat, then I broke my vagina and now I have broken an ass cheek. And I walk like a cripple who has just suffered a minor stroke, and act like a schizophrenic maniac swearing to myself the whole time. It’s a real treat to watch.

And yes, my house is haunted. And I know this because I have Ghost Radar on my CELL PHONE, which must be totally accurate. I am sure all the coolest ghost hunters are using this superhuman technology. For $1.99 how could I go wrong? So let me start by saying, I do believe in ghosts, I do believe in ghosts. And I wish Dan Akroyd would show up at my house and slime the little haunting bastards, but in truth, I ain’t scared of no ghost. The man who lived in this house before us died. Not in the house, but from what the locals tell me, he was dragged out of this house kicking and screaming and died in a nursing home. His kids then went on to sell this gorgeous house below market value. Which can’t make his ghost very happy. But in all fairness, we have maintained and upgraded the house, and while I sense that his watchful eye is always upon us, I think he is happy with what we have done. One day, as I was filling out Mother’s Day cards and balancing my check book, the little bobble head on my daughters craft project just started wobbling to and fro. I'm not sure if he was shaking his head in shame at watching me trying to balance a check book, or if the head was shaking in laughter, but I am sure it was the ghost who made the head bobble. I hear the floor creak and see things move, but honestly it doesn’t bother me too much. After all, who wants to be alone all the time? And for the record, when I ran my little $1.99 ghost hunting app on my cell phone for the first time, it said “John”, “Master” and “Rose”. John was the man who owned this house for over 30 years. He was the master of the house. And he had a love of rose bushes, which we know all too well by the 15 or so planted all over the land. I’m just sayin’. Ghost Radar rocks. So don’t screw with me or I will sick Master John on you and he will stick you with thorns.

Lastly - and this is more of a rant than a random thought - if you are walking across a busy parking lot talking on your cell phone, oblivious to the ½ ton of steel heading in your direction, you DO NOT have the right of way. Death by stupidity is a really horrible way to go, but I will mow you down with my mommy van if you cross my path. I can’t believe the narcissistic idiocy of some people in large plazas. They think the entire parking lot is one giant cross walk, but I am here to tell you I am a rule breaker, and I will run your ass down. Just some food for thought.