Wednesday, September 15, 2010

OMG Chicken, Not Another Ghost Story.....,

Hi World,

You may or may not know, depending on how long you have been reading about the Chicken, that I have a ghost in my house.  It is a relatively benign ghost, mostly showing itself by entering the door on the side of the house, shaking some keys around, and convincing anyone in the house that someone has just entered.  Upon inspection, sometimes, no one has.  Everyone in the Chicken family has experienced it at one time or another. 

Well.  This past summer when we went on vacation, we had a wonderful time.  When we got back home, we found another curious "episode" had occurred.  I haven't written about it because we needed time to research and gather details, but you are reading it now.  Live.  From New York. 

Just kidding.  Or maybe you are reading it in NY. 

Anyway, after vacationing with my family in Maine, we arrived home in the early evening.  BigB set about unloading the car while I went inside to check out the damage and rearrange the evidence, if necessary, before BigB came in the house and blew a gasket (in Jetsons talk).  This would be because R had been in charge of the house during our absence.  R is 21.  I'm sure I do not have to explain any further. 

Everything looked just as we left it, down to the one leftover dirty glass in the sink, and the dust on the coffee table.  There was no evidence that R had invited all her crazy friends for a midsummer night dream party anywhere.  Chicken was pleased.  She's finally growing up, is what Chicken thought.

Then Chicken went upstairs.  I went upstairs to unload a suitcase in our bedroom.  Our bedroom has an eye and hook lock on the inside of the door, used to keep littleb in our room during his younger days when he slept with us most nights and we were afraid he would wake up, wander out to the landing, and fall to his death down the stairs. Yes, we are THAT dramatic. Yes, littleb is totally capable.  littleb is one of those kids you read about in the newspaper who take their parents' car out for a drive on Sunday morning because they figure Dad and Mom do it, how hard can it be?  And if you were the one to question him after the inevitable crash, he would have politely explained that he was getting coffee for Daddy.

You've probably already guessed, but the lock. was. engaged.  Since no one could possibly engage the lock from outside of the room (I had to slide in a very thin metal ruler to pop the hook), someone either had to be inside the room (dead?  Gulp).  Or someone had to have locked the door and gone out through the window.

(Cue Silence of the Lambs music)

Well, friends, I'm relieved to report that no one was inside the room, either alive or dead.  The kicker is that the windows were locked.  There is no way to lock the window from outside the room.  Also, the bedroom is on the second floor on the corner of a house that faces two well-traveled streets, so someone would have needed a 20 foot ladder and some chutzpah to pull that off.

But.  Because we are cynics-well, mostly BigB is a cynic, I was already flying the ghost flag-we needed to check with all possible witnesses.

D the handyman:  Had a ladder.  Could have thought he was protecting our bedroom from nefarious thieves and post-teenage lovers.  Also highly intelligent in a not-so-handyman way, and totally capable of screwing with us.  Nope, he didn't see nuthin'.

J the nephew:  Had access to the house due to being the handyman's assistant and also unofficial house watchdog.  Also playful, though.  Could have played trick?  Somehow?  "What r u talkin' about? That's crazy, man." Not so highly intelligent.

R, the main suspect, gregarious, hipster party girl.  Had party in the house?  Invited tricksters?  Is trickster?  Denies everything.  I believe her, World, because R is the world's worst housekeeper.  If she were trying to cover up a party, she would either miss something very telling, like a six foot pile of wine cooler bottles, or she would clean too well including the lone glass in the sink, and the dust on the coffee table, which would have immediately outed her, because, again, R is not known for her mad domestic skillz.   Like the Egyptians, I leave sneaky little traps behind to trip up my kids.  My traps are not attached to crushing boulders, however.  That would be going too far.

So there you have it.  Door locked from the inside, windows locked from the inside.  Who did it? 

Of course, I am disqualifying James Bond level thieves, with rappleing and robotic capabilities.  Even I am not that dramatic.  Give me a hope diamond type treasure and I might be, but not even my change disappeared. 

I think our ghost was displaying his anxiety at our absence.  Or saying good riddance.  Either/Or.  We are kind of loud. 

I love a good ghost story, so if you have one please share.  Don't make me crawl through your window.

Chicken out

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Bad Haircut

Hi World,

See?  This is what happens when you read too many magazines and decide to give yourself a new do.

Never, Never, EVER, cut your own bangs.  Or mess with your blog.

I've been reading articles on blog design for a work project and decided to play with mine a bit.  Not only can I not get it back to the way it was-apparently that design no longer exists on blogger-I can't even get the new template to display my title the right way.

And I have no one to blame but myself.


On the bright side, Empress and BabyE said that I won their giveaway by being lucky contestant number Eight.  They sure knows how to cheer a Chicken up.  I'll be by, E&BE, and thank you so much!  Chicksters, if you haven't been on their blog, Good Day, Regular People, you must visit.  Please.  You'll be happy you did. 

In closing.  It bears repeating.  Don't cut your own bangs. And don't bite your friends.  Just throwing that one in there.

Chicken out

Monday, September 13, 2010

An Apple, a Thief, and Two Writers

Hi World:

I had a dream last night.  More of a nightmare, really.  Let's play a game.  You in? 

I will bet that with just a few random clues you can guess what I dreamed about and who the villain was.  Ready?  Okay, here are your clues:


iGet it?

and then...

Dear Person Who STOLE My Baby Rubber Band Ball:

While this might not seem like a big deal to you, you should know that I worked hard to get that Baby Rubber Band Ball started, and I had great hopes for its future girth.  The BRBB and I were going to be featured in many publications including, but not limited to, the National Enquirer, Ripley's Believe It or Not, and that book about inane world records that nobody over the age of 12 would ever buy, but still, we wanted to be in there. 

Why do you want my BRBB, anyway?  Do you plan to disband it?  Did you need it for some industrial purpose, such as binding your mail or making a ponytail?  I would gladly have offered you an alternative, such as a very nice hair band , which is much healthier for your hair, or a binder clip for your mail, which would have been a more professional looking option.  Had you only asked.

I hope that you do not intend to profit from my BRBB in some manner.  Please tell me that you are not planning to sell it on E-Bay.  Please don't be so heinous a person as to steal another person's BRBB in order to pit it against other rubber band balls in a fight to the death.  It is just a baby and small for its age.

What would you say if I told you that there is a micro-chip implanted into that BRBB.  And that I am tracking you; that even now, I am watching you. Sadly, this is not true.  But what if it were?  You would not be so smug then, would you?

I will find you BRBB thief, and do not even think about crossing state lines.  I've already called in a Rubber Alert. 

Have you seen this Baby Rubber Band Ball?  Please call Chicken. 
Justice will be mine.

and then....

Do you know of Liz Smith?  The 'Grande Dame of the Dish'?  She is the famous gossip columnist who, for many decades, has provided the dirt on the rich and famous.  Her autobiography was published in 2000.  I'm reading it and enjoying it very much, although I haven't gotten to the really juicy parts yet-who slept with who, or who was nasty (or nice) behind closed doors.  I did learn that Kirk Douglas was originally named Issur Danielovitch.  This made me think that his children are probably very grateful that he became Kirk Douglas.  Can you imagine Catherine Zeta Jones married to Michael Danielovitch?  Then again.  Zeta?  But I digress.  What I meant to say is that I am reading a great book called "Natural Blonde" by Liz Smith, who is well into her 80's by now, and boy she has some great stories to tell. 

I wasn't even sure if she was still alive.  Naturally, I googled it.  I typed in "Is Liz Smith still alive" and learned that someone else had already googled, "Is Liz Smith dead".  I like to think of the glass as half full, unlike some other Debbie Downer Googlers.  Anyway.  Then I found out there was also an actress named Liz Smith, so I had to go back and google, "Is Liz Smith THE GOSSIP COLUMNIST still alive.  Like the capital letters would help.  I'm happy to report that it appears Liz Smith THE GOSSIP COLUMNIST is still alive and still working.  In fact, after seeing this photo of her, I'm pretty sure she is going to outlive me.

(respectfully borrowed from

This is very good news because I may want to write her a fan letter when I am finished with her book.  This time, it will not be after several glasses of wine like when I wrote Stephen King recently.  If his next book is about a famous author from Maine and involves a shady (but disarming) character who sends self-important emails to the main character about being from Maine, and knowing everything about the part of Maine, where "Under the Dome" took place, and congratulating him on getting the details right, and if words are spelled wrong, there are multiple exclamation points, and the salutation starts with Yo, Dude, I will know that Mr. King did indeed receive my letter!!!  I hope he also enjoyed the youtube link I sent of my favorite song.  It would have been nice if he had written back personally, but whatever.  If he wants to make it up to me, he can cast me in his next movie. I just do not want to have to break anyone's ankles with a sledgehammer.  I like to maintain that I am not crazy or violent, since I very much enjoy writing letters to people I do not really know and do not want things like restraining orders harshing my mellow.  Mr. King, Dude, if you are reading this and you like what you read, call me.  We can flesh out my character a bit more.  And I can give you some more tips about rural Maine.   People there do not wear house dresses as often as you think.

I have spent the better part of the evening writing this ridiculous post and googling stupid things.  Could this be what BigB means when infers that I am shallow?

I prefer disarming.

I'll bet nobody calls Liz Smith shallow.  If you would like to join me in writing (sober) emails to Liz Smith, you can read her column here

Chicken out