Last week when I whorishly announced on Twitter that I wanted to guest post on someone’s blog I was genuinely surprised when people responded positively. It was like the first hour of my first night under the street lamp on the corner of Jolly Balls Lane and Blow Job Alley and I had five cars pulled alongside the curb; none of which were the fuzz. Which really, would have been enough in and of itself but then I realized that one of those shiny vehicles was THE VDog and for a second I thought to myself, Holy SHIT! This is like Jesus asking me to write an extra book for the Bible! But it was even more rawkin’ because I've met VDog. In the flesh! Chances are not looking good for me meeting Jesus, if you know what I mean.
Unfortunately, I am the world’s most accomplished procrastinator. Truth be told, it’s one of the only things I’ve ever really excelled in. So, as is my nature, I waited to write the post that would be my debut into the world of the bloggin’ rockstars. I did not however hold back on the promises. Oh no, I immediately promised VDog I’d spice up the cracker that is her space with a little redneck of my own. After all that is a recipe for blog success made in heaven, don’t you think? But then, it happened. Last Saturday, after promises had been delivered but the final product had not a thunderstorm of epic proportions rolled through and fried the hell out of my computer. Fine it’s wasn’t all that epic, but it did fry my computer.
All of the pictures I’d planned to use to demonstrate true redneck-ness? Gone. My ability to take, download and spice up new ones of the same caliber? Also, gone. I was devastated. But mostly pissed and immediately went on strike. I demanded the husband get my baby back up and running before Wednesday, I had a date with VDog on Thursday, dammit! He didn’t. He tried, I’ll give him that, but much like my attempts at getting anything done early; he failed. And so, this morning at in the morning when I realized I had a post to write and no pictures to accommodate my original plans for writing it I went to our closet and reached for my laptop. Words would have to do, but the laptop was not there. Cosmos, why do you hate on me so?
It didn’t take me long to realize where I’d left it. Here’s the thing though, it was in my car, and at in the morning it is DARK outside. I am bat shit crazy afraid of the dark. Hell, as long as we’re in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m deathly terrified of it. There. I said it. Every night I leave lights on all through the house on my way to bed; one in the family room, another in the hall, and finally one in the kitchen. I hop in bed (the bedroom light is another one I turn on as I make my way there) and, since the husband goes to bed a good hour or so before me I wake him up and ask him to go turn them all off. And he does. Here’s why:
When we were dating we went to a haunted barn. Why I agreed to go I still do not understand, but the essential information here is that I did. As soon as we walked in the door my heart started to pound and by the time we made it to a pitch black corner in a back hallway about halfway through where no goblins, ghosts or demons were currently waiting I was in full panic mode. I couldn’t see a damn thing. It was dark and all of the things I am afraid of in the dark were really, really there.
“I’M STAYING RIGHT FUCKING HERE!” I screamed in his face, or at least where I thought his face was. I certainly couldn’t see it.
Calmly he responded. “We have to keep going. We’re almost out. Come on, it’s just for fun.”
“Oh, YES. I’m having a BLAST, asshole!”
And then out of nowhere some dumbass grabbed my ankles. Both of them. He grasped them with both hands and I freaked out. I kicked, jumped and then tumbled over the top of him scrambling down the hall. The husband followed and I heard him giggling to himself, the bastard. I would find out later that many of the people working in the barn that night were his friends and he’d put them up to it.
On the way out I plowed over a six foot tall man with a chain saw and a couple of vampires. When we reached the two final hallways there was light, but there were also hundreds – fine, tens – of boogey men and women of all sorts and they were all reaching for me. I screamed and started hitting their hands away as I made my way to the exit faster than I’d ever moved without full out running before.
There, just before the exit door stood a mummy, his hands both outstretched towards me. As I came toward him I yelled a warning.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
He kept reaching.
I wasn’t about to stop, there were too many of them behind me. I kept going and when I got right to him I punched him; in the face, and then went on by. Once outside under the parking lot lights I stopped and gasped for air. The husband emerged behind me chomping on a tootsie pop.
“Hey psycho, they were trying to give you candy. Nice swing, though.”
And he’s never argued with me about turning off the lights again.
What does this have to do with VDog you ask, everything my friend. You see, I’m pretty sure every time I saw her at BlogHer it was after sunset which leads me to believe her hot mom exterior is just a cover up for the terrifying creature within. If I had to put money on it, I might just say she was what was lurking in the bushes this morning when I made a run for the laptop. Yes, I’d put money on it. Not much. But some.