Blonde Again

Blonde Again

No. 1 - My marriage ended about 5 years ago. The first two years were hell, but my ex-husband, Jeff, and I found places we connect again.  In most cases this connection occurs with both cars and children. When a car or a child breaks down we are there to help each other pick up the pieces.

No.2 - I was diagnosed with Uterine Cancer.

No. 3 - I started online dating

I had an online date with a fellow in Richmond whose online name was ThinkPositive2.  His real name was Rolfe.  Over the course of a week we had spoken on the phone several times and had seen each others pictures, online.  We set a date, a Thursday in late January, for lunch.Thursday morning my car broke down, it needed a new head gasket and so I needed a new car.  

Luckily Jeff had a Toyota truck that I could borrow so that I could keep my date with Rolfe.  I headed off towards Richmond, as I rolled off I64 the clutch started slipping and by the time I had reached the first stop light on Broad Street the clutch was totally gone.  I put on my hazards and sat in the right lane of the rd, two men stopped and helped me push the car in to a Target parking lot.

I called Rolfe to explain the situation, during our phone conversation I suddenly remembered that I had cut and dyed my hair that week and that I no longer looked my profile picture on OK Cupid.  Rolfe was going to be looking for a woman with shoulder length blonde hair and I was now a woman with short brown hair. I simply told him to drive to Target and look for the woman with the broken down truck wearing biker boots.

Rolfe arrived in an old yellow volvo wearing a little cap to cover his bald spot.  He was about 5'10 and roundish with dark hair and glasses.  A total nerd.  It was love at first site. He had already called a mechanic and had the name of a tow company for me.  His mini van was in the same shop.  We connected in so many ways.  We went out for Chinese food.

I was calling friends and frantically looking for a place to stay in Richmond for the night.  Rolfe told me he would love to have my company at his place and that he had an extra room.  When we pulled up to his house he explained to me that his parents were visiting.  we just sat in the driveway of his house in the old yellow volvo not speaking.  Finally I told him that most peoples parents liked me and in we went.

Betsy and John were not the type of people who shook hands.  They hugged me and I felt like a cast member on Seseme street surrounded by their jovialness.Then they offered me wine, which was not like Seseme street and I drank heartily.Betsy and John were unitarians but active with the Quakers as well. They spent the year traveling between Richmond and New Hampshire visiting Rolfe and his brother.Rolfe, it turns out is a direct descendant of Pocohantus.  His parents and I talked about activism, family and theater.  I fell in love with them.  Betsy and John were exactly what a single parent with cancer needed.  I spent the night in the guest room.  The next morning which was Friday, Betsy and John made me coffee and breakfast.

The truck wasn't ready.  Rolfe suggested I stay again Fri night. 

Saturday, the truck still wasn't ready.I planned on staying the day, the truck needed a new fly wheel as well as a clutch, we were waiting on the parts.  Rolfe is in a band called  the Hullabaloos and he had band practice Saturday afternoon. Betsy asked me to go with her to the thrift store. I was hesitant, I didn't have much money, I had come prepared for a mere lunch date on Thurs., but I was too embarrassed to tell becky that and she was so excited about the idea of shopping together. I went.I acted like a very picky thrifted and came back to Rolfes with only a pair of black platform boots to show for my 4 hour excursion. I was on the phone with Jeff and the mechanic all day.  The parts never came in.I stayed Saturday night.  This time I didn't sleep in the guest room.

Sunday came, I needed to get back home.Rolfe and I had a game of Thrones marathon on Sunday and I met his kids.

As evening rolled around Jeff and the kids drove from Afton to retrieve me.  Jeff showed up at Rolfes with all three kids, Betsy and John invited them in. My oldest, Fiona, refused to get out of the car.  Jeff came in and he and Becky recognized each other from some peace activist work they had done together.  Jeff sat down at the kitchen table with her and drank coffee, John showed the boys around the house.  Rolfe and I sat in the kitchen next to each other.  I drank wine.

The truck was finally ready by the next Friday and Jeff drove me back to Rolfes to pick it up. I stayed with Rolfe and his parents again for the weekend.  It went like this for a few months.  I bought a new car, a little white honda civic.  Rolfes mini van was finally fixed. Betsy and John took care of me while I was very sick, I talked to Rolfe recently and he says he thinks of me at Valentines Day because I sat at his kitchen table with my craft supplies and made 100's of valentines.

Rolfe eventually broke up with me.  It bothered him that I spent so much time with Jeff.  By then my hair had grown out and I looked like my profile picture.  I was blonde again.

The Interstate Hwy 64 Devils Triangle (Draft 2)

On the outskirts of Charlottesville there is an area, a triangle (mile marker 113 going west, to mile marker 115 west again, then across to Mile marker 116 going EAST-covering a total of about 5 miles inside the triangle) which I believe is governed by forces of which we know not.I must point out that no cell service is available within this triangle. A rest stop is located around mile marker 114 going west. The first time I broke down in this triangle was returning home from a date.  This was before I gave it up, dating.  Dating is over rated and wasn't good for my self esteem.  I was returning from date, a date, which in my infinite wisdom, I believed would lead to a happy healthy monogamous relationship.I was innocent to the devilish ways  of the triangle as well as the devilish ways of dating men back then. My car at that time was a 1987 Honda Accord which didn't run very well(and remained filthy, to punish it for it's unreliability, I  littered it with trash so it would know exactly how I felt )  Smartly I borrowed my Friend Naomi's 1995 Toyota Sienna mini van, knowing full well it was in better shape then ye olde Honda.  I passed mile marker 113, THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump went the van.  I knew the rest stop was near, I kept driving, THUNK, bump, THUNK.  I pulled over and pulled out my cell phone.  CHECK CALL RESTRICTIONS popped up on my Government Cheese cell phone.Damn, Damn and Double Damn.  I got out of the drivers side and walked to the passengers side  and inspected the damage, a flat tire.  I am an expert at flat tires, having them and changing them.  It was around midnight, it was dark, cars were flying past me on the high way.  I didn't know where the spare was and I couldn't see and I was scared.
I got back in the drivers seat and made a decision, a decision to drive on the side of interstate with a flat tire; in my friends mini van to get to the rest stop where I could at least see,  perhaps my cell phone would work once I reached that area.  THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump for half a mile until I could see the lights of the rest stop up ahead, a sigh of relief passed through my lips. The rest stop was deserted except for an 18 wheeler in the dark section on the opposite side, it's driver napping from a long haul to and from somewhere, somewhere else. I pulled up towards the light of the snack machines. I got out of the van to search for the spare tire and jack towards the rear of the vehicle. I was wearing a low cut shirt (my standard dating uniform, another reason to give it up,it brings out my scandalous boobies and, they, with minds of their own want to show off)  Soon I was bending over and laying under the van in various and unseemly positions.  
"Flat tire" a  deep voice rings the obvious.
"Uh Huh" I answer crossing my arms over my chest look out from under the van to see a man in a tee shirt back lit like an angel.  The light from the cheetos machine flooding over him."Ain't got no spare" he says.
"I don't see one,"I agree, attempting to look like the kind of person that can handle such a situation. The reality is that I am that person who handles such situations often, though it involves a flood of tears.  Casually, I take the lug nut thingy out of the car and hold it menacingly in my right hand.
I imagine the cheeto lit trucker man grabbing me,chopping me up, and throwing me into the back of the van.  In the morning when the police come to give me a ticket for parking perpindicular to the parking spaces, the flies buzzing by the back door will alert them to my shredded body.  No one will miss me.  No one will miss me until it is my turn to take the kids.  I'm screwed.  I'm dead.
"you got road side assistance?"  The threatening trucker asked.
"Uh, yeah-"a feeling of warmth and relief pass over me- I have someone elses Triple AAA card in my wallet.  All I have to do is act like them!  And their whole family is blonde too, I'll fake it, for sure.  I'm not dead yet.
"My cell phone doesn't get service, here"  I offer, showing him my trashy, worthless piece of technology.  
"There is a pay phone"  he gestures towards the eerie yellow lights near the lavatories.
"Thanks" I say and hurry off, he goes around  the van inspecting the tire. The existence of an old, slimy, payphone which costs more than any of us have, in change, at a given time, remains, as a connection to eras gone by.   If you could afford to make a call, only God knows where or who it would connect you too.It was then that I realized that this space (mile marker 113 going west, to mile marker 115 west again, then across to Mile marker 116 going EAST-covering a total of about 5 miles inside the triangle) is governed by forces of which we know not. Paranormal perhaps, or the demons from the depths of hell, I can not tell who in fact governs the energies of this no mans land, all I can do is recount my experiences in this uneasy space. I contend that this rest stop is haunted and possibly manned by the undead or other fantastical creatures.  Instead of this back lit trucker talking to me, Large Marge the infamous ghost of all truckers could be awaiting in that 18 wheeler.

I walk over to the oddly lit payphone I read the words printed on blue stickers attached to this  device.If you could afford to make a call, only God knows where or who it would connect you too.
I have no money, I have no change, this is how I travel.  I hate it.  I do have a triple AAA card with someone else' s name.  Across from the pay phone is an office, brightly lit with florescent lights, behind a metal desk sits a troll.  I venture in to ask if I can use his phone, he grunts a no to me.  I back up slowly, wondering where I left the metal thing that looks like a crow bar.  It starts to happen, the transformation that comes  over me-my face begins flushing red, My lips quiver and the water begins to form in the corners of my eyes. No, I won't let this happen.  I buck up my courage, "My car is broken down"  I say, inching back towards the troll, "I don't have any money to make a phone call, I just needto call triple AAA".  I am closer to him, showing my strength, my resilience for life that a troll and ghost trucker will not take away from me. The troll growls and words come forth from his mouth.  I have no idea what language the words are spoken in, I am standing there, stupid, not moving, knowing he has spoken but not knowing what he has said.  He stares at me.  I can stare at him too, I've never won a staring contest but the stakes were never this high. He speaks again, "The pay phone will work, you got an 800 number?" .  Wow.  I completely understood.  "Yeah"  I answer, unsure of how this is come forth from his mouth. It is like I am on some strange acid trip, but I only had a few glasses of wine with dinner. "Thanks" I mutter, impolitely.  I go across the sidewalk to the payphone and convince the triple AAA folks that I am indeed Virginia Dawnsir.  "The driver of the tow truck will need to see your driver's license and registration, Ms. Dawnsir" the female voice at the end of the line says.
In my head the words, Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit keep dancing around my head.  My mouth says "Thank You"
I go back to the lopsided  van.The ghost trucker is walking away "you get triple AAA " he asked.  "Yeah, Thanks" I say, searching his hands for the thick metal bar that is my weapon.  He does not have it.
I get in the van and close the doors and change my shirt, I am lucky that I always have too much crap with me where ever I am, yes, it looks like pajama shirt but it comes up pretty high on my neck so I don't care.  I wait until the tow truck comes and pop out again.
The driver looks at sheet and says "I think I've had to pick you up before"  I have no idea.  Does he mean me, Rosemarie Harper, or does he mean Virginia Dawnsir?  It is possible he has picked me up before, I do spend a lot time in broken cars.
"Hmmmm," I say in an non-commital way.I realize that he has come from the real world.  The one that lies dimensions away from this rest stop.  I hop into the tow truck, in a bit of hurry, hoping he doesn't get caught in the spell.He puts the van on the lift and takes me 17 miles, in silence to the beginning of the mile long driveway that leads to my home. Off the lift goes Naomi's van.
"be safe Ms. Dawnsir" he calls out as I begin my trek.I turn and stare at him, unsure but safe at last.
Off I go into the woods, for a long, flashliteless walk in the dark, safe and sound because I am far from the rest stop and mile marker 115, Little did I know that this was  only my first encounter with the Devils Traingle of I 64. Central Va's own Twilight Zone.
.

The Devils Triangle of Interstate Hwy 64

Devils Triangle of Interstate 64

On the outskirts of Charlottesville there is an area, a triangle (mile marker 113 going west, to mile marker 115 west again, then across to Mile marker 116 going EAST-covering a total of about 5 miles inside the triangle) which I believe is governed by forces of which we know not. Paranormal perhaps, or the demons from the depths of hell, I can not tell who in fact governs the energies of this no mans land, all I can do is recount my experiences in this uneasy space.

I must point out that no cell service is available within this triangle. A rest stop is located around mile marker 114 going west.  I contend that this rest stop is haunted and possibly manned by the undead or other fantastical creatures.   Large Marge (Ghost truck driver from  Pee Wee's Big Adventure)is often napping in her  possessed 18 wheeler.  If anyone still doubts the veracity of my story,  the existence of an old, slimy, payphone which costs more than any of us have, in change, at a given time, remains, as a connection to eras gone by.   If you could afford to make a call, only God knows where or who it would connect you too.
The first time I broke down in this triangle was returning home from a date.  This was before I gave it up, dating.  Dating is over rated and wasn't good for my self esteem.  I was returning from date, a date, which in my infinite wisdom, I believed would lead to a happy healthy monogamous relationship.I was innocent to the devilish ways  of the triangle as well as the devilish ways of dating men back then. My car at that time was a 1987 Honda Accord which didn't run very well(and remained filthy, to punish it for it's unreliability, I littered it with trash so it would know exactly how I felt )  Smartly I borrowed my Friend Naomi's 1995 Toyota Sienna mini van, knowing full well it was in better shape then ye olde Honda.  I passed mile marker 113, THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump went the van.  I knew the rest stop was near, I kept driving, THUNK, bump, THUNK.  I pulled over and pulled out my cell phone.  CHECK CALL RESTRICTIONS popped up on my Government Cheese cell phone.Damn, Damn and Double Damn.  I got out of the drivers side and walked to the passengers side  and inspected the damage, a flat tire.  I am an expert at flat tires, having them and changing them.  It was around midnight, it was dark, cars were flying past me on the high way.  I didn't know where the spare was and I couldn't see and I was scared.
I got back in the drivers seat and made a decision, a decision to drive on the side of interstate with a flat tire; in my friends mini van to get to the rest stop where I could at least see,  perhaps my cell phone would work once I reached that area.  THUNK, bump, THUNK, bump for half a mile until I could see the lights of the rest stop up ahead, a sigh of relief passed through my lips. The rest stop was deserted except for an 18 wheeler in the dark section on the opposite side, it's driver napping from a long haul to and from somewhere, somewhere else. I pulled up towards the light of the snack machines. I got out of the van to search for the spare tire and jack towards the rear of the vehicle. I was wearing a low cut shirt (my standard dating uniform, another reason to give it up,it brings out my scandalous boobies and, they, with minds of their own want to show off)  Soon I was bending over and laying under the van in various and unseemly positions.  
"Flat tire" a  deep voice rings the obvious.
"Uh Huh" I answer crossing my arms over my chest
I look out from under the van to see a man in a tee shirt back lit like an angel.  The light from the cheetos flooding over him.
"Ain't got no spare" he says.
"I don't see one,"I agree, attempting to look like the kind of person that can handle such a situation. The reality is that I am that person who handles such situations often, though it involves a flood of tears.  Casually, I take the lug nut thingy out of the car and hold it menacingly in my right hand.
I imagine the cheeto lit trucker man grabbing me,chopping me up, and throwing me into the back of the van.  In the morning when the police come to give me a ticket for parking perpindicular to the parking spaces, the flies buzzing by the back door will alert them to my shredded body.  No one will miss me.  No one will miss me until it is my turn to take the kids.  I'm screwed.  I'm dead.
"you got road side assistance?"  The threatening trucker asked.
"Uh, yeah-"a feeling of warmth and relief pass over me- I have someone elses Triple AAA card in my wallet.  All I have to do is act like them!  And their whole family is blonde too, I'll fake it, for sure.  I'm not dead yet.
"My cell phone doesn't get service, here"  I offer, showing him my trashy, worthless piece of technology.  
"There is a pay phone"  he gestures towards the eerie yellow lights near the lavatories.
"Thanks" I say and hurry off, he goes around  the van inspecting the tire.
I have no money, I have no change, this is how I travel.  I hate it.  I do have a triple AAA card with someone else' s name.  Across from the pay phone is an office, brightly lit with florescent lights, behind a metal desk sits a troll.  I venture in to ask if I can use his phone, he grunts a no to me.  I back up slowly, wondering where I left the metal thing that looks like a crow bar.  It starts to happen, the transformation that comes  over me-my face begins flushing red, My lips quiver and the water begins to form in the corners of my eyes. No, I won't let this happen.  I buck up my courage, "My car is broken down"  I say, inching back towards the troll, "I don't have any money to make a phone call, I just need to call triple AAA".  I am closer to him, showing my strength, my resilience for life that a troll and ghost trucker will not take away from me. The troll growls and words come forth from his mouth.  I have no idea what language the words are spoken in, I am standing there, stupid, not moving, knowing he has spoken but not knowing what he has said.  He stares at me.  I can stare at him too, I've never won a staring contest but the stakes were never this high. He speaks again, "The pay phone will work, you got an 800 number?" .  Wow.  I completely understood.  "Yeah"  I answer, unsure of how this is happening.  It is like I am on some strange acid trip, but I only had a few glasses of wine with dinner. "Thanks" I mutter, impolitely.  I go across the sidewalk to the payphone and convince the triple AAA folks that I am indeed Virginia Dawnsir.  "The driver of the tow truck will need to see your driver's license and registration, Ms. Dawnsir" the female voice at the end of the line says.
In my head the words, Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit keep dancing around my head.  My mouth says "Thank You"
I go back to the lopsided  van.The ghost trucker is walking away "you get triple AAA " he asked.  "Yeah, Thanks" I say, searching his hands for the thick metal bar that is my weapon.  He does not have it.
I get in the van and close the doors and change my shirt, I am lucky that I always have too much crap with me where ever I am, yes, it looks like pajama shirt but it comes up pretty high on my neck so I don't care.  I wait until the tow truck comes and pop out again.
The driver looks at sheet and says "I think I've had to pick you up before"  I have no idea.  Does he mean me, Rosemarie Harper, or does he mean Virginia Dawnsir?  It is possible he has picked me up before, I do spend a lot time in broken cars.
"Hmmmm," I say in an non-commital way.
He puts the van on the lift and takes me to the beginning of the mile long driveway that leads to my home. Off the lift goes Naomi's van.
"be safe Ms. Dawnsir" he calls out as I begin my trek.
Off I go into the safety of the woods, for a long, flashliteless walk in the dark, safe and sound because I am far from the rest stop and mile marker 115, Little did I know that this was  only my first encounter with the Devils Traingle of I 64. 
.

Blessed with Melissa's

About a month ago I finally bought myself a very good old car.

It is a 1981 Mercedes Benz, SD 300 Turbo Diesel with only 113,000 miles 
on it.  It turns out that the man I bought it from is another friend of 
mines ex room mate.  But that is another story, this is a story that involves
three Melissa's.
A few days after I bought this fabulous car (which is a burnt orange color,
drives extremely fast and can run on Bio-diesel instead of gasoline) I noticed
a slow leak in the right front tire.  The tire would get droopy over night. 
Most people would go the service station and get the tire plugged, or a 
new valve put in.  I chose to put air in the tire daily, sometimes more than once.
I would wake up and drive to the local Wintergreen Grocer air compressor which
cost a quarter and put air in the tire.  Some days when I had not been quite on 
top of gathering air, my tire would be flat and I would have to come up with a 
different plan.  Sometimes that involved using my next door neighbors very nice air compressor.  My neighbor, Neal,  is a very thoughtful and careful car owner.  Using his compressor would include the shame I carried with me because I had not taken the time and money to just go and have my tire fixed. 

Luckily, I have some other friends named Stephanie and James who think my car maintenance problems are endearing in some way and I know they do not judge me for my ridiculous time and cost saving measures.  Stephanie and James also happened to have a very small portable air compressor that they said I could use any time.  When they said "anytime" I took them at their word, of course, knowing their generous nature.  For many days I simply would drive to their house (about 1/4 mile away) and take the compressor
from their van and use it on my tire.  One day I took the compressor with me, but a few days later they had a flat and needed it back.  And so the borrowing continued.  I have had the compressor for about one week. 


Today, my good friend and manager at the winery where I work (Her 
name is Melissa, I call her Sweet Melissa, because she has a business named that and I know many Melissa's) called me to come to work because the winery was unexpectedly busy.  My son and his pet lamb and my daughters dog and my older son's best friend all jumped
into my car-My youngest son, Ammon and his pet lamb Timothy needed to get

to  Herb's birthday party.  Herb is the son of my dear friend Melissa who I have known for 15 years.  My daughter, Fiona, has a dog which is a half pug and half chihuahua.  His name is Ducky and he usually goes to work with

me at the winery.  Jack, My eldest son Rourke's best friend, (no photo) just happened to be hanging around waiting for  Rourke to get off of work. He needed to get somewhere that simply wasn't my house.  So we all jumped into the new , old Mercedes and took off.  I commented that the tire was low and I needed to put air into it.  Jack, requested, in a an direct way that I put the air into the tire AFTER I dropped him off.  I agreed. After depositing Jack at a house which showed promise of other teenagers I drove to the barn so Ammon could pick up Timothy (the Lamb shown above, also given to him  by my friends Stephanie and James, whose air compressor I am still borrowing, without ever informing them that I was indeed, borrowing it) and feed Timothy his bottle before going to Herb's birthday party. This seemed like a timely moment to fill the tire up with air because both
tasks, feeding Timothy and airing up the tire, would take only a few minutes.  I hooked up the air compressor while Ammon fed his lamb.  When he and his beloved pet arrived in the car I jumped into the drivers seat ready to speed away and get to work quickly.
"Uh, there is a cord hanging out the car"  Ammon said.  I can only believe he was
talking to me because I can't imagine the baby sheep cared one god damn bit.
I remembered the air compressor hooked to the tire by way of a cord plugged into the cigarette lighter of my 1981 Mercedes Benz, 300 SD Turbo Diesel.  I jumped out to unhook it from the tire.  My tire was more deflated than I have ever seen it. I checked the valve.  The compressor seemed to be hooked up correctly. I turned it off and on, and it made plenty of noise. My friend Bev was at the barn to help another friend round up and move some cattle.  She looked at the tire and the compressor, she offered me her car jack and we discovered together that she did not have a lug nut thingy to fit my tires.  We discovered That I did not have one either.  Ducky jumped from the drivers seat to the
passengers seat disturbing both Timothy and Ammon. We again tried the compressor.  It dawned at me at some point that the compressor that belonged to Stephanie and James no longer worked. No doubt, this was because I had used it so many times to put 40lbs of air of air into my tire, daily, that it's little compressor motor fried itself beyond working 
order and therefore beyond use to to any of us anymore. Besides, they still didn't even know I was borrowing it.  Bev left to drive cattle.  I was walking round the car using explitives and ordering Timothy, Ducky and Ammon not to stray to far, because we were leaving any moment.
My friend and across the circle neighbor,  Melissa Luce (not yet mentioned thus far in this narrative) drove up. I am trying to set Melissa Luce up with my good friend Curtis.
Melissa Luce, seeing the flat tire, the lamb, the dog, the burned out compressor and me, offered to drive me to work.  So, she was also offering to drive a lamb, a dog and a 5'9" Twelve year old as well.  My other friend, Melissa Wender, Herb's mother, had been notified mysteriously of my dilema and come to my aid at the same time, Offering her car (for me to borrow) and taking my son and his lamb back to her house with her for her son's
12th birthday party.  I arrived at work 15 minutes late, Sweet Melissa was swamped
with costumers.  When she heard my story she offered for me to just come back to her house and spend the night.  I didn't take her up on that, I had to get Melissa Wender's car back and check in on the birthday party after work. 

While I was driving to the winery, with Ducky on my lap I realized how grateful I am for all the wonderful friends I have and how easy it was for me to get help when I needed it.  I have so many incredible and giving people in my life and three of them are named Melissa.

Overheating Betty overheats one last time; 11:47am,Thursday, at North Garden

Overheating Betty completed her life of resistance as a car yesterday at North Garden, near Dr. Ho's in Batesville VA.  Driving north on 29, Betty's interior lights magically came on , all of them simultaneously.  As she lit up for her final act of courage, the entire car lost power and rolled to a stop on a slight hill facing the Gulf station at North Garden.  I had my son, Rourke's cell phone which I used to call my daughter and my ex husband-Meanwhile a man who was well meaning, however didn't really have the time to help me offered to help me.  As I was pushing the car up into the parking lot he came towards me and alerted me that I would never be able to push Betty to a parking spot.  He was a man.  I am a woman.  I am woman pushing a car.  I stopped immediately remembering that he knew much more than I did about this situation.  This fellow then told me I must push Betty into the parking lot at the post office behind me.  Of course.  He and I started to push Betty backwards and she took off, racing down the hill at a much quicker speed.  The well meaning man then became annoyed with me shouting, "I thought you were going to steer, pull the break up".  I informed him I could not run as fast the car racing down the chill.  Then Betty smashed into a telephone pole.  The man kept telling me he thought I would jump in the car (like the Dukes of Hazzard -this is all I can imagine).  Then he says to leave my car where it is and not to forget my cell phone (Rourke's cell phone) which was on the roof of Betty throughout the entire incident.

I thanked the man as he left.

I then pushed Betty up the hill, although now about 100 yards farther than when I had originally began pushing her.  I parked Betty in a spot in the parking lot and rolled up her windows and got tangled in the electric seat belt one last time.

I waited for my daughter, Fiona to pick me up and take me to Charlottesville where I was meeting my ex husband for parent teacher conferences for my youngest son, Ammon.

When my children were little, instead playing "cars" they played broken down cars and the tow truck sometimes they played me screaming or crying. They built a liquor store out of legos. As well as playing mommy gets arrested and dragged of by the police at a protest-Through my parenting techniques I have provided much fodder for my children's stories, once they have become adults.

Random Acts of Stupidity

I   am continually  following my own blog on accident.  When you see my "followers" and then see me too many times please realize that this is indeed a Random Act of Stupidity. I have no idea how to fix.  No wonder my cars blow up.

I keep trying to follow my friend Scott Rollins movie trivia blog, however each time I believe that I am doing that I am actually following my own blog, yet again.  I am completely aware that, me following my own blog numerous times, impresses no one,  actually it is a bit embarrassing for me.

I will continue to try, in my Luddite inane way, to follow my friends blogs.  I can only hope that one day I will actually do so-but I am not giving up.  Even if I have followed my own blog 25 times I will continue to try (actually, that may be stretching it a bit, like saying I'm a 140 lbs, it is really not true). Thanks.
Rosie