hot coffee girl

As any good child of the 80's slasher films knows...basements are bad news.

I am not talking about those nice, refinished, place where the kids can play rooms. No, I am talking about the basements that involve a wooden set of stairs, more often than not rickety ones...leading to bare concrete or rock walls that are somehow always damp. In these dank sub-terrainian spaces there is evil lurking in the shadows. Bad Things hiding among the long-forgotten boxes. Portals to Hell behind the tool-benches. The remains of Norman's mom, beasts with two legs (or more) and sharp teeth, and The Cask of Amontillado are all there. Poe knew it, Mr. King did too. And to be sure, I knew it.

When I was growing up, our house was such that there were two full bathrooms. The upstairs one had a gorgeous old claw-foot bathtub. The one in the basement had a shower.  Needless to say, I took baths. (And Edgar and Stephen would have too, if they came for an overnight visit, I am fuck-all sure.) Make no mistake, the basement with the shower is a nice one...in the front. It had couches, and some orange shag carpeting left by the previous owners. Innocent enough, you might say. Sure, you would...and you'd be as wrong as two cousins fucking in the backseat. Because just off the area with the tacky floor covering and cast-off couches was another room...a very Bad One. The aforementioned Portal to Hell kind. We also had a dog who was paper-trained, so the door to The Bad Place had to remain open, at least a crack, to let Pepper go to where she had to, well, go. Try as I might to get over the fear and loathing that lurked within me over what was without...I just could not. So, I resigned myself to baths and missed out on what could have been a cool hangout for years.

Until one night, my fear really pissed me off. I can't remember what it was, exactly that spurred it. But all of a sudden, I was furious at myself for having such an overwhelming anxiety. I could taste the metallic anger in the back of my throat and I shook from it. I picked myself up...walked down to the basement- straight to the back scary room, and sat myself down. No lights-no flashlight. Everyone else in the house had gone to bed. And I sat. Shaking now not with anger but with absolute terror-I sat there all night. I heard every sound that old house made. I smelled every drop that ran down the walls. I swear I heard whispers of the Evil Things just waiting to feast on my teenage flesh and vomit me out for the dog to lap up in the morning. I know I cried pretty hard at a couple of points. But I didn't get up.

I stayed until I saw the sunlight peaking through the tiny windows at the top of the walls and the slithering serpents shrunk away from the day. I was bone-tired, tear-stained, a little dirty from the floor and ... relieved. But I was also a little smug with self-righteous pleasure that I had made it out alive.

I am still afraid of basements... but I also know that I can beat them if I am determined enough. Even the Portal to Hell variety.

It's Wednesday, and I am not in Chicago. What's that all about?

As much as I enjoyed my recent mid-week adventures lately, I have to say that I am finding my couch to be more comfortable than schlepping through O'Hare this morning.  (Man, that's one big-ass airport.) So, while I liked the diversion(s)...I am only a little sad. Maybe I will put some cucumbers on my hot dog for lunch and dream. I'll go back soon enough, I'm sure....although rest assured, I still plan on keeping Cleveland as my home base for a time despite the allure of the friendly skies.

You asked. I answered. And we're all less for it. Or will be by the end of the post.

From Avitable:

• What did you mean by "Which came first?"
  
• I left it open for interpretation. But you did answer it. And send my apologies to your wife.
  
• What's your favorite coffee drink?
• Espresso Con Pana...I like my coffee like I like my men. Hot, strong, and covered in whipped cream.
  

From Joe Fish:

• You have a five gallon jug, a four gallon jug and a three gallon jug. Using only these three jugs, how can you get exactly two gallons of water?
• Fill the 5 gallon and pour it into the 3 gallon one. 2 are left....and apparently, the 4 gallon one is a communist.
  

(and since Adam stole this one already...Joe gave me another)

• You arrive at a hotel and have 3 sets of golden rings. The first set of rings has 4 rings, the second set has 2 rings and the third only has one ring. You cannot take these sets of rings apart, exchange them for a different form of currency, and the hotel clerk has no change. You want to stay at the hotel for 7 nights, and you have to pay one gold ring for each night that you stay. You cannot pay in advance, or all at once at the end of your stay. How do you pay for your 7 nights at the hotel?
  
• Pay the first night with one ring. Ask for change every night after.
  

Part-Time Buddha asks:

• Are you comfortable with the new covering for that knifed wall?
• You like the tough ones, eh Bo? The answer is yes and no. I liked the covering, but I realized it was just that-a covering. I decided instead to take a sledgehammer to the whole fucking thing and build a new one. I am still picking out the wallpaper. I'm thinking stripes.
  
• Is the left one really decaf?
  
• No, the right one is. But they are both quite perc-y.
  

From SomeGuy:

• What religion are you?
• I am not entirely sure. Definitely not Christian. The Jews seem to have some excellent points. But like this question, I tend to follow the Buddha.
  

Joe the Mason:

• Movie quote: George Clooney from "Ocean's Eleven"......?
  
• You rock, Mason.
  

Adam wants to know:

• Who would win in this fight and why? Aunt Jemima v Mrs. Butterworth
  
• I think Auntie Jem...I heard a rumor that Butter was shacking up with DJ Screw and his Purple Drank until his death, and it's been all downhill from there. Plus, she's all bark and no bite. I'm a sap, I know.
  

Timmy's wondering:

• I live in medina, and I can't figure out what the locals keep talking about. Something about why sheep fear shepherds? 
  
• Ah, Medina. Where men are men and sheep are scared. (Actually, this was our school motto at Hiram. But what you you expect from a college where the mascot is a fucking yappy little dog who humps your leg and most senior thesis topics are related to cow-tipping?) Good times.
  

Al asks:

• What was your most embarrassing moment?
• As one who regularly embarrass herself (often involving a bare ass), this is a tough one. One that deserves its own post, perhaps. (So, I skate away shamelessly for the time being...)
  
• (Are you really going to answer these?)
• No. Umm. Wait. Yes.
  
• Is that two questions?
• Not if you use new math.
  

NDM is curious:

• What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
• Faster than a turtle fucking molasses, but slower than the speed of light. About 40 or 50 mph, me thinks.
  
• Whatcha got on behind the decaf pot o' coffee?
• "They're real, and they're spectacular."
  

Steph says:

• Why did you get more questions than I did?
  
• My readers are stupidly curious.
  
• Does this mean you're so much cooler than me?
  
• Not by a freakin' longshot. You are by far cooler than me. As evidenced above.
  

I stole this from Avitable, who stole it from Annie.

Now that I have admitted that I am a thief, you can expect me to be a liar, too. ("I only lied about being a thief" ... name the movie.) But you would be wrong. 

In the comments, ask me a question. Or a few. I will answer them all. Avi promised his readers a prize. I have little of value to offer...but I promise to at least be entertaining. We'll see about the prize.

The Presidents of the United States said it best, "Cleveland Rocks."

Yeah...it kinda does.

There are two reasons for this post today. One, I got an e-mail from a reader yesterday that compelled me to think that the blog gods had delivered to me someone in need. Lakeside Ling is (relatively) new in town...in from the West Coast, no less. She has started a new blog in hopes of finding a Cleveland that is more than what she sees right now. Even though in her first post, she is less than kind in her description of some parts of C-Town...I feel that it is borne of a sadness and wanting rather than a contempt for the city in general. She said in her e-mail to me,  "Your blog makes me want to stay in this scary new city."

Yeah? Oh, sweet Ling! You ain't seen nothin' yet.

Having done some traveling, though definitely not the world over, I can say that while this may not be the greatest city on the planet...it does have a certain charm. Plus, it's the place that we both call home for the moment, so let's make the best of it, shall we? And since one or two of my readers are Clevelanders as well, I expect you to hop on the bandwagon like they're giving away free mojitos and tell us why this town is a good one. (And no burning River jokes, or I will sic Avitable on you. He's not a Clevelander, but he's mean as hell and will fuck you up without blinking an eye-I know he's got my back.) If you're not from here but have something nice to say...then feel free. (I'm counting on you, too, Part Time...with your girlish giggle at the Skyline and penchant for all things Cleveland.)

The second part of this is because my good buddy SnogAsh decided to post a "Best Of" list inspired by Scene Magazine. I decided to tag myself on this one, and make it a meme. You'll find it right over there in Wasting Time. Let it be known that I took it upon myself to customize it just a bit to fit my own needs...but then, I often alter reality to fit my desires, so this should come as no surprise to my regulars.