Visit to the Farm

I drove out to my Dad's today.  Wait, first of all, I got behind the wheel of my mother's old car (it's an '89 Honda) and promptly panicked about my ability to drive a stick.  Never mind that I drove stick exclusively until I got Sandy a year ago.  I just suddenly couldn't remember what to do.  I got used to it again pretty quickly, but my starts are still a little choppy.  I drove up the street, got onto Interstate 80 and then said, "Now what?"  I had a brain lapse and couldn't remember how to get to my Dad's place. Never mind that I lived down the way from him on Princess Valley Road, or that I actually lived with him for the last few months before moving to LA. I just couldn't remember which exit to take and whether it was a straight shot or if there was a turn first.  What's wrong with me?

In the end, I remembered.  I got off I-80 and took old 209 all the way out to Kunkletown, along the same route I took when I outran the state trooper that one time in my Mercury station wagon.  Then I took Kunkletown Road to the old covered bridge, turned up Trachsville Road, then Spruce Lane and onto Lonesome Lane, where my Daddy lives. (I include street names not for the locals, but for Denise, who loves to hear the names of these country roads).  It was touch and go for a minute on Kunkletown Road because things have changed a bit and I didn't recognize where I was.  Then I saw the old barn and the country store and knew I was going in the right direction.  

Dad and I took a drive into town to pick up lunch from the nicest Subway sandwich shop ladies ever.  I mean, super nice.  That's Palmerton.  In the window of the store was a crocheted American flag.  I asked about it thinking one of the co-workers there made it.  Nope, one of the local women crocheted a whole bunch of them for the shops along downtown Palmerton.  As we were leaving I noticed one in every shop window.  It touched my in that soft spot that I thought didn't exist anymore. 

Then John Mellencamp songs started playing in my head.  As we drove along, I remarked for the second time in as many days, "I forgot how pretty it all is."  I apologize, Pennsylvania, for not recognizing how beautiful you are while I was living here.  I'm sure by Saturday I'll be dying of LA, but for now, I am filled with nostalgia and warm fuzzies.

I think I'll MEME while I wait for the swelling to go down

My Sinuses are still killing me. My face is still puffy and my eyes hurt. I can't think and I have nothing interesting to impart. Anne-Marie tagged me for this meme, so here it goes.

Rules:

The rules of the game get posted at the beginning. Each player answers the questions about themselves. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5-6 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.

1. Ten years ago
I was working at Tower Records on Sunset (the store) and Laemmle Sunset 5 theatres (also on Sunset). I was also attending Santa Monica College studying Journalism and living with my friend Tami.

2. Five things on today's "to do" list (in no particular order)
Move my car 'cause it's street cleaning day, finish sweater for Jaclyn's baby, start birthday gift for my Cancerian friend, sleep, curse fate for making me sick on my day off.

3. Snacks I enjoy
Pretzels, fruit, Twizzlers, those Asian crunchy things that I don't have a name for, anything gummy.

4. Things I would do if I was a millionaire
Pay off my debt, give my family money, help Tami pay her medical bills....wait, do I only have one million? Oh, sure it sounds like a lot until you start adding things up.

5. Places I have lived
East Stroudsburg, PA
Stroudsburg, PA (I'm stretching it, but still two different towns)
Kunkletown, PA
Los Angeles, CA

Who will I tag?
Monkeygurrrrl (if only to get her to blog again)
Annika
Oh, and anyone else who feels like sharing.

I have found my soulmate

Unfortunately, he's back home.

I read the following article on my hometown newspaper's website:

A horse is dead after it was hit by a car in Eldred Township on Thursday afternoon. According to witnesses, a horse got loose from a property on Kunkletown Road just west of Country View Lane around 3 p.m.

A woman — who may have been speeding, according to witnesses — driving east on the road hit the horse when it wandered out onto the road, knocking it back 30 feet. The unidentified horse owner was following the horse in a golf cart, and was hit by the horse in the cart when it was thrown from the road.

Okay, it's kind of sad, but kind of hilarious at the same time.

Then I read the commentary and this one just killed me.

Farmboy3, will you marry me?

Scare D. Kat

This post is for Deb over at San Diego Momma for Prompt Tuesday, but also because it's October and I recently talked to a friend about me being a scaredy cat.  

Regular blog readers know that I live in an apartment equipped with strange little doors, which I like to call Gnome Doors, because "Doors to some unforeseen evil" is just too scary.  They are kind of creepy, those doors, but this story is not about them.  This story takes place a long, long time ago (cue wavy flashback lines)....

I lived in an old farmhouse in Kunkletown, Pennsylvania, with my friend Bruce, one of the funniest guys I knew and an aspiring filmmaker.  Bruce was adapting a Goosebumps-type book onto film, starring our landlord's daughter and several of our co-workers.  The plot, in brief:  Girl cheats on boyfriend, boyfriend drowns while the two are out on a lake late at night, girl is consumed with guilt and haunted by dead boyfriend.  I won't tell you the surprise ending as it doesn't come into play here.  Because the girl feels her dead boyfriend (played by our friend Matt) is haunting her, she consults her aunt, who happens to be a psychic.  I was the aunt. We were going to try to connect with the dead boy's spirit and tell him to move on.  

Okay, so we'd been filming all night long trying to get as many night shots in as possible.  We'd filmed the drowning scene on the pond next to our house using every one's car headlights to light the scene Ala Ed Wood.  We filmed a crucial climactic scene, and now at midnight/1ish, we were in the dining room of our old farmhouse filming the scene where the aunt tries to connect with the spirit. Everyone was tired.  John was asleep on a window bench.  Matt was heating up spaghetti in the kitchen.  Aaron was doing something to help  Bruce (microphone maybe) and Robin and I sat across from one another with a candle between us and a copy of the Necronomicon.  Not the real one, of course, since it doesn't exist, but a book of spells purported to be the Necronomicon.  

Bruce started filming and I started reading, in Latin, with surprisingly good inflection.  We were going for one take, two if necessary.  I continued to read; the house was deadly quiet, except for the sound of my voice in a rhythmic cadence and a slight hum from the microwave in the kitchen which we hoped wouldn't be picked up on the microphone ("we'll fix it in post").  Every one's breath was held as they listened.  Suddenly, as I was about to read the very last line of some random spell Bruce had chosen because it sounded good, all of the following happened at the exact same moment:

• Bruce shouted "Noooooo" while slamming his hand on the book to stop me from reading.
• the candle blew out
• John violently fell off the window bench
• The plate in the microwave exploded
• the electricity went out
• a loud crash came from the basement

Ah, the basement. Dank dens of no good--I hate basements.  This one--did I mention it was an old farmhouse?--had several rooms, including an old coal room from back in the day.  The lights didn't reach all the corners. And quite frankly, after we re-lit the candle and our heartbeats returned to normal, no one wanted to go down there to check the breaker.  We were sure that I had somehow conjured a demon while reading the spell, which is why Bruce stopped me from completely it.  So, we ALL went down to check the breaker, creeping down the stairs with every available flashlight and candle we could find like the Scooby gang.  And of course, we reset the breaker and everything was fine.  But the rest of the shoot was plagued with mishaps and for years we talked about "the day Laurie Ann conjured that demon."

More recently, like last night, I painted my nails with glow-in-the-dark polish and scared myself when I woke to pee and saw my hand on the pillow.

Innocuous in the daylight

Remember: I'm the WHITE sheep in my family.

Makin' their way

The only way they know how

That's just a little bit more

Than the law will allow.

Okay, let me give you a little background information. I've had bad luck with cars. (not Jamie Jetta, though. She's a beauty) And I was making dick at ye ol' Alliteration Cinema, barely enough to pay the rent and keep the car gassed up. I had, in the period of five years, a Chevy Sprint (the KKK took my baby away), a Pontiac Phoenix (three-on-the-tree, baby) and a Mercury Lynx wagon. I also bought a Vista 4-wheel drive, in which I was going to see the USA on my way to LA, but the oil leaked out and fried the engine leaving her a very expensive shell of a car and leaving me to move here via aeroplane with two suitcases and a carry-on that was left in the back of a taxi never to be seen again. But I digress. This story is about the Lynx.

The Lynx, purchased for $800 from a person of the same last name, was a tough car. She smelled like pizza from the previous owner's job as a Pizza Hut delivery man. She was stick. I loved her. She drove back and forth to the Jersey Shore. She drove to Philly for shows. She drove the back roads, with all their dips and sharps turns, all without a fuss. She hit a deer and lived to tell about it. If I had thought for a second she would have made it 3,000 miles cross country, I'd have done it.

Now, the Lynx had a muffler issue. She sounded like the Hell's Angels came to town. My roommate used to tell me he could hear me coming home from a mile away. What can I say, I like to make an entrance. Unfortunately, in Pennsyltucky, what with the yearly inspection and all, muffler issues were unacceptable. In fact, the roommate drove her to his dad's to change the oil and got a ticket for the loudness. Who knew? So, she wouldn't pass inspection without a new muffler. No inspection, no registration. This became a recurring theme with me and The Lynx.

Remember how I bought it from someone with the same last name? The first time I got nailed for the past due inspection, the system still had it registered to their address but with the name Laura. I guess they somehow squished Laurie Ann. I smiled sweetly and told Mr. Officer that I was driving my aunt's car and I surely will tell her to get her car inspected ASAP if he let me go with a warning because my aunt, she has a bad temper and I can't come home with a ticket, no sirree. Shut up, it worked.

The next time I got nailed for the loud muffler AND past due inspection, the police officer was a guy I knew and had partied with in high school. I was very upset already because my lying cheating boyfriend had lied (and I caught it) and was most likely cheating and I was on my way to the skanky ho's house to rip her stringy hair out. I saw it was Rick and I started crying and told him all about the lying cheating bastard and the skanky, VD-ridden whore. Rick gave me a tissue, patted my hair (yeah, kids. It's a small town. Cops care.) and told me it would be best if I just went home and confronted LCB when I was calmer. He wouldn't give me a ticket if I promised to go straight home. Poor Rick. He didn't know that straight home would include a swing past McGurk's Tavern to see if the bastards crappy Dodge Daytona was parked outside.

Then, Lynx and I got put to the test. I was driving out old Route 209 (as opposed to the new route) which on the maps these days is called Hamilton Road. Here's a map if you want to follow along. I was along that long patch of nothing right before Neola Road, when a State Trooper passed me heading in the other direction. Just as I rounded a curve, I saw him pull a U-Turn and I knew the game was on. I took the first right I could find. Then a left. Then a right. Oh, who am I kidding, I have no idea which way I was turning, I just kept turning every time I saw a street. And always, way back in the rear view mirror, the Trooper was on my tail. SHIT!! Every time I turned I prayed it wasn't a dead end. Those roads near Saylors Lake are filled with dead ends. I turned right one last time and came out on Route 115 (aka Wilkes Barre Turnpike)--Damn! A main street with traffic. I'm screwed now!

But wait...here's where the map comes in handy...I came out just down the road from the street that led to my home, Kunkletown Road. I darted out into traffic (without a turn signal, because I'm a rebel, Dottie), floored it and made the right onto K-town Rd without so much as a "by your leave." Super Trooper? He had to wait for a big rig to pass. He didn't stop though. As I was turning onto Weir Lake Road (seriously, if you ever questioned the validity of my small town claims, these names must convince you), I saw him coming over the hill. With speeds of at least 60 (on these roads?) I whipped quickly onto Turkey Hill, then to Beagle Run, to Meixell Valley Road (where I lived) and instead of pulling into our driveway, pulled into the landlord's, hid behind the old barn and watched as the Trooper sailed past. Then I went home.

Alas, a week or so later, after having just been fired from one of my jobs, I got pulled over coming off the Wind Gap exit on Route 33 and this Trooper (maybe the same one with a grudge) pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and scraped the old inspection sticker off the window, then pulled out a screwdriver and removed my license plate. I had to call my roommate and have my car towed. It was a bad, bad day.

I managed to rather shadily acquire a new registration, plates and inspection (and fix the muffler), only to have the brakes and some rust fail me on the next inspection. When I left PA... well, let's just say it cost me a lot of money and an absentee court plea to get a license in California.