Once Upon A Time…

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Did I believe in Santa as a kid?

Nope.

My family wasn’t big on Santa- and it might not be for the reasons you think.

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My Dad’s family and my Mom’s family had one thing in common- they were great storytellers. They’d tell stories about ghosts and people being buried alive at Baby Showers, Birthdays and Thanksgiving.

Christmas and New Years? Even better- there were stories galore about devils, demons and weird things that they found in attics, graveyards and basements.

When it came to Santa they drew a big fat goose egg.

I never heard stories about Santa and the North Pole. As far as I knew he was someone you took your picture with at Christmas ,you could tell him what you wanted for Christmas and then  he gave you a candy cane.

I had heard if you were extra good, he’d bring you the present you asked for.

I asked for a dog.

A real dog- with wings.

I was just testing.

I figure if I got the dog with wings Santa was real.

If not, the entire thing was baloney.

Turned out to be baloney.

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Personally I think Santa wasn’t the most interesting story to tell- so my family really didn’t go into that part of the Christmas experience.

On the other hand, none of us went out of our way to wreck anyone else’s Christmas fun. Like I said they loved to tell stories and if the story you loved was one about Santa, that was ok. We could go along with that. Christmas fun is Christmas fun.

My Christmas fun involved a story Ghost Train that went up and down the streets on Christmas Eve- the Ghost Train and The Ghost People on board would take you away if they caught you outside alone.

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So it was best to stay inside with your family on Christmas Eve.

The terrible part was year after year  your family would leave a stocking for you by the fireplace and some presents- all of which would be gone on Christmas morning.

In its place?

A single bone.

Eventually they’d have enough bones to put together a skeleton and one day you’d get a grave.

But at least your bones would be on that Ghost Train anymore.

Yeah.

That’s the kind of Christmas story I heard.

Poor old Santa.

He was a good story, but had he been riding on a ghost train full of human bones in search of a grave?

He would have been a great story,

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amm

The Romantic Adventure Of A Dog Faced Girl

Third Rate Romance

Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.

When I was in high school my friend and her husband set me up on a blind date with her brother in law.

We were going to meet at a street fair in Everett- and I agreed to go because why not? He was a musician they said just like me.

So we get up there and meet him by one of the rides and he stops and looks at the three of us- and he goes off like a Roman Candle:

” You set me up with that ugly dog?” He roared into my face. I thought you said she was a guitarist. Bullshit. No way in Hell is THAT  guitarist in a band.

Percilla The Monkey Girl

Percilla The Monkey Girl

He looked around as if we were all blind- couldn’t we see what was happing here? How could he lower himself to be seen with someone resembling  Percilla The Monkey Girl or worse- a Dog Faced Girl?

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I won’t mess around , I was embarrassed. I mean he was yelling like someone had walked up to him, taken their hands and messed up his Barry Gibb hairstyle.

But all in all he pretty much summed up how thought of my looks. In fact I agreed with him. I was an ugly mess. I’m still an ugly mess. You want to look good? Come stand next to me.

So what he said about my looks didn’t exactly hurt or surprise me.

What did make me mad was the comment, ” No way is she a guitar player.”

 I was a guitar player, I was actually good and I was in a band where I played lead.

I wasn’t there because I had a boyfriend in the band. I wasn’t there because I was a ‘girl’

I was there because I was a musician.

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My friend and her husband were embarrassed too and they both started to apologize with him standing there with his back to us.

All of the sudden he dramatically whirled around and as he stomped off I looked down at his feet.

 He was wearing (hey it was the fashion in those days) these ginormous platform shoes.

 Even with those giant elevator shoes on his feet  I was taller then him by an inch or so- and I’m only five-foot five inches tall.

He caught me looking down at his feet and we both looked up at each other.

I don’t think I smiled.

I didn’t want to smile.

But I probably did.

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“Hate to Love”

This is what being at peace with yourself and relaxing looks like in words.
I really enjoyed this post and wanted to share it.
Anita

Expedition Overlanding Nomadic Adventures

Tell us about a guilty pleasure that you hate to love.

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I love and enjoy being outside every day either at the beach or in the mountains enjoying the beauty of mother-nature.

I’m in love with the sounds of leaves shaking from a gentle wind, morning song birds chirping, and the occasional sounds of deer, or other animals walking through a forest.

My mind and soul soften with the sounds of waves upon waves colliding against the shoreline while shore birds walk along searching for food. These moments provides a calm, peaceful, and relaxed feeling.

However, two or three times during the year while enjoying these moments of bliss, I enjoy my guilty pleasure of smoking a fine cigar, preferably a dark colored Connecticut wrapper surrounding a beautiful, robust flavored leaf.
Now, I know it is bad for my health, it leaves my breath smelling bad, and the cigar aroma…

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