Me: No, not all the answers. But I can Google the rest.

But yesterday that curve didn’t put me ten minutes from home as it usually does. It took me into a sea of brake lights. Traffic stood perfectly still.

Any other day, the delay would have driven me to madness. Yesterday I simply sighed and listened to the radio.

Without you, I didn’t feel the pull that draws me directly home every evening. There was no urgency, no rush to return to a quiet and empty house. I missed you most then, realizing that “home” is not the structure we live in. Home is where you are.

Viral Networking – Save my DOGGIE!

Hi,

Pardon the intrusion.

For those of you already ‘on it’ – THANKS!.  To those of you just finding out, I was being a good Samaritan yesterday and pulled over to help a guy who was in a car accident last night.  Turns out he was drinking and had a prior warrant out and decided to push me out of my car and steal it (with my completely useless Doberman inside).

I am SO not a Facebook/Twitter/teenporn marketing person, in fact, I refuse to have a facebook or any other social page.  BUT in this circumstance I am asking for your help.

The State Police still haven’t found my dog or my car, but maybe you can.

Please post on your pages my story and this information:

Car and dog inside last seen in Ellington Connecticut on Route 30 heading South toward Tolland/Vernon at approximately 7pm March 1.  License Plate 46C K03.  2004 Black Suzuki Aerio SX with Dobie and a Pitbull stickers on the back.  The jerk who stole it was about 250lbs, 5’7” Italian with facial hair and partially balding or short hair, 29- 32 years old.  Andre is my black and tan Dobie’s name, and he is super friendly!

Please pass this on to everyone you know to try to find my dog and/or car.  And if you see the guy, feel free to throw an egg (but don’t tell him I said to do it).  Karma baby!

UPDATE: Andre was found in Hartford earlier today. He is now home safe. The car is still missing.

I had been shedding tears of my own just a few days earlier when I finally confessed a secret horror to my mother – the bridal superstore seamstresses had ruined my wedding gown. When I said the words aloud, the reality finally set in. The way it didn’t lay right anymore. The bunching and the puckering. These issues weren’t figments of my imagination. Oh my God, the alterations people destroyed my dress.

“Just breathe, baby,” my mother told me. “It will all be ok.”

Somehow, in this moment, it was all ok. The stress of a new search, the six week deadline, the lost money faded from my mind as I floated in a white cloud of tulle.

That is all.

I sigh, wishing I could transfer some of that extra butt cleavage to my shrinking breasts. All that work and I still feel myself frown at my reflection. The dress fits. It’s just not quite perfect.

When I turn around, I see the Captain watching me examine my figure. He takes me in his arms and squeezes me tight. His hands skim over the red dress, caressing every curve beneath - even the “soft” spots. With happy sighs he massages my back and my shoulders. He feels my tiny waist and slimming hips. He is completely pleased with everything he touches. That brings me comfort.

I wish I could see me the way you see me.

There goes my number one choice.

Most nights she lies awake in her bed listening to the peaceful breathing of her sister and wondering how anyone can slip so easily into unconsciousness at just the time that person becomes most vulnerable. She is certain that vile, treacherous things are lurking in the blackness waiting to attack. One must stay on guard at all times. She pulls the covers up to her ears and carefully tucks them around her, making sure no part of her body below the neck is exposed. Once she is satisfied that her sheets are properly arranged for maximum protective powers, she catalogs her fears.

The dark, of course.
The monster under the bed.
The ghosty thing in the mirror.
The dolls with creepy, vacant gazes.
The bogeyman in the closet.

The closet!

She’d forgotten to triple-check that the bifold door was absolutely completely closed. With trepidation, she glances at it. The door is slightly ajar. Through the slit, evil inky darkness seeps towards her bed. Even the nightlight can’t hold it back.

Her pulse quickens. Is the bogeyman already in the room? Chills wash over her. Goose bumps cover her arms and legs. Yes, she thinks. He’s hiding in the shadows. I can feel it. Panic grips her.

She begins to pray silently. Hail Marys become intertwined with hysterical pleas though she remains completely still beneath the blankets. Something brushes against her foot. She instinctively recoils and immediately regrets it. If the bogeyman didn’t notice her before, he must certainly be aware she’s there now.

She is too terrified to look towards the foot of her bed. Then she feels something heavy slowly crawling up the mattress. The springs bow under the weight, creaking and moaning. She squeezes her eyes closed, grips the cross around her neck, and prays furiously.

The thing stops moving.

And then . . . she feels its breath on her face.

Omigod. Omigod. Omigod!

The bogeyman is right there, inches away from her. Toying with her. In her head she screams and screams until she can’t breathe. She struggles to push a real scream out through her lips, but nothing comes.

The breath on her face is hot and moist and foul. The bogeyman is so close, they’re practically touching. Her stomach feels like it’s been turned inside out. If she weren’t paralyzed with fear, she might cry. Or vomit.

She senses her attacker’s excitement, the tensing before he strikes. Though utterly terrified, she quickly opens her eyes to face her fate.

Stillness. Nothing.

When her heart stops pounding in her ears, she reaches over and shuts the closet door. She settles back into her bed and curls into a little ball. Then she pants in ragged, uneven breaths as she waits for the comfort of dawn.