Someday...

... I will be the kind of person who lives in a place for more than 8 months. And when I am, I won't have to spend the remaining 4 months as a nomad, dividing my time between summer camp, my parents' house, friends' houses, vacation rentals... mostly my parents' house. I will have you know, that this round of nomatisim (don't look this word up until I've had time to make a Wikipedia entry) I was able to stay at my parents' house for 3 weeks before Steve really figured out that I had moved back home! I was able to do this because ever time he asked me if I was living in the playroom, I would clear my throat and looses my collar, until everyone was sufficiently uncomfortable and the issue was dropped (j, sorta, k).


Anyway, spending time at home, especially during the summer, reminds me of all the fun I used to have spending time at home during the summer. I know, not a huge stretch, but meaningful none the less. I find myself, REALLY remembering the terrifying times I had at home. I don't think my childhood was more scary than the average American's, but the combination of my active imagination and the fact that my parents are mildly evil-spirited had a tendency to make one jumpy here at 12018.

Quaint terror house

Starting the summer I was 12, Anne and Steve (mom and dad) did something on our Blockbuster account, so that us kids could rent rated R movies. Maybe they did that so we could watch things like "Schindler's List", and talk about how one man could change the course of history, but we used the privilege to rent scary movies. Which, in turn, afforded my parents many opportunities to freak up the EFF out. A favorite prank, of my parents, was to leave the house when we were watching something like "Scream" (at the tender age of 12, 10 if you're Emmy, 9 if you're Bunny), and after an hour or so, sneak back into the garage and flip a circuit, cutting the electricity to the living room, while simultaneously using Steve's state of the art cell phone to call us on the kitchen phone. Us kids would scream and cry, and the 'rents would just laugh, and laugh and laugh. I remember this happening 4-10 times. Why didn't we learn?!?!?! Well, ladies and gentlemen, we were stupid, that's why! (FYI, the first time I wrote that sentence I wrote "studpid" instead of "stupid". Who knows. Maybe we were a little studpid too[Again, let me get on Wikipedia before you look that one up]).


It's no wonder us kids were a little gun shy. When a beautiful summer day turned into a dark stormy day, we were nervous. Certainly, mother and father were behind this somehow. When the thunder and lightening started, we weren't taking any chances! We turned off all electrical things (Imagine pants that would be soiled if Anne and Steve, or God, were able to cut the lights just as the thunder rolled), sat in the middle of the living room (safely away from any windows, like you do... we had also rented the Helen Hunt classic "Twister" that summer. It taught us a thing or two), pulled out the Sandbo Family picture bible( ), and began reading it to one another. God would never strike down three young girls, who were reading from the bible, NEVER. Similarly, if you have to go out to the garage to get a sody pop, you won't get a possessed if you quietly cry "I Love Jesus", also a very real fear of us young girls. And look at me now! It worked!!!!


I started this post, with the intention of telling you all about the time Emily and I thought we heard our neighbor being killed. However, I think I'll leave that for another post. Maybe on like, Saturday or something.


Good Night, God Bless!!!