Do You Believe in Ghosts?

This is what 9 years of wedded bliss looks like ...

My husband and I celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary on September 22nd, 2011. We rotate years to surprise the other spouse with an anniversary evening. This year it was my turn to woo my husband with a celebratory anniversary surprise. After weeks of thinking, and many ridiculous ideas, I finally found the perfect getaway.

Wait for it …

I took him on a trip to Gettysburg, PA, the most haunted town in the United States of America. The mission: a ghost hunting adventure with a real live paranormal team. Wait what?! I know … not exactly the norm when it comes to anniversary woo'ing, but this is right up our alley. We have been married for 9 years, the normal "dinner and a movie" thing seemed somewhat predictable. I wanted something different. Something that we had never done. Ghost hunting was the perfect combination of adrenaline rushes and fear-driven embraces.

We set out on our adventure on Friday evening. It takes about an hour and a half to reach Gettysburg from our home. Per the norm, we left our house later than we had planned. Meaning that we would be arriving in the haunted little community after dark. This worked out perfectly. We were unable to see what we were driving into. Had it been daylight, we would have seen battlefields on either side of us, decorated with memorials for the 51,000 soldiers that died in the 3 day Battle of Gettysburg. Did you hear me?  51 THOUSAND soldiers took their final breath in this quaint little town. (God bless their brave souls.) That means that thousands of spirits are still lingering here. Eeep!

We pulled into our hotel and joked about it being haunted, too. Truth be told, I didn't really want a haunted hotel. I wanted to be able to escape the terror that was going to take place later in the night. We stayed at a sweet little hotel, the Quality Inn at General Robert E Lee's Headquarters. It was pretty AND affordable, a winning combination in this gal's book.  My husband and I had to meet our Ghost Hunting teammates at 11pm. We had a couple hours before our hunt began so, we sat in our hotel room and started reading up on the battle and our hotel. What did we find out?

OUR hotel IS haunted. 

Well, crap.

OH ALISON!! … What were you thinking? Why didn't you do your homework on your hotel accommodations?  Clearly, I should have paid more attention in high school history class because, as it turns out, General Robert E Lee was a pretty huge part of The Battle of Gettysburg.  The "Quality Inn" portion of the hotel name was just a ploy to get us non-history knowing folks into the lobby. The "General Robert E Lee" portion of the name was definitely a dead giveaway (pun totally intended) that the place is crawling with ghosts of the General and his friends.

After reading that our hotel was (gulp) haunted ... we decided to get a jump start on our hunting adventure. We whipped our smart phones out of their imaginary holsters (in a "put your hands up, or I'll shoot" manner) and began snapping dozens of photos of the room. If we could photograph a ghost before our hunt, we'd surely feel a little less like amateurs when we reached the Gettysburg Paranormal Association.

As I clumsily point and shoot my camera phone in several directions, I looked down and noticed that there was a cloudy looking smudge above Tom's head in one of my photos. I stared at the photo for a minute or so, it was just a smudgy looking oval floating above his head. It could've been anything, right? I decided to show him the image. At that point, I didn't believe that the General was in our room, I was just trying to get his paranormal interests flowing. I called him over to check out my "find". Before he could get a look at my picture, it was GONE!! Actually, all of the images on my phone were gone.


C o m p l e t e l y   g o n e. 

The phone had locked up and erased every photo in my phone. Including the pictures of my children. And to that I say "bad ghost". Those memories were important to me. Just because they're on a cellular device, and not in a frame on my mantel, doesn't mean that I cherished them any less.

After about 10 minutes and 2 phone restarts … the images were back. However, they were not on my phone, instead they were saved on my memory card. They are still gone from my phone at this very moment. Actually, the only images on my phone are several pictures of Nutella (that's a whole 'nother story …  you see, Nutella makes me gag and one of my dearest friends uses this as a form of amusement).

The clock hit 10:30pm. Time to make our trek into the great unknown. We gathered our cameras and our best "I ain't scared" attitudes and hit the road. We checked in and met with the GPA (Gettysburg Paranormal Association) and the other hunters. There were about 20 of us. We were taught how to use the ghost hunting equipment. Then they handed out the fancy devices and sent us to our cars.

We followed GPA to the haunted destination. It was called the Hoffman Mansion. Man o' man did this place look creepy!!! I did NOT want to enter that mansion. Ghost hunting equipment doesn't keep you safe. It just gives you a slight heads up that there might be a spirit invading your personal space. They gave us a brief rundown of the house, its history and past paranormal experiences that had happened there. At this point, I'm thinking that dinner and a movie, though predictable, would have been a more appropriate anniversary evening. What was I thinking? Ghost Hunting? Seriously? I'm a wuss. This is ridiculous.

Anyhoo … GPA wrapped up their speeches and sent us in. I said a little prayer as 19 slightly frightened individuals and one absolutely, completely, hook line and sinker, to the nth degree, petrified 31 year old girl (you guessed it ... me) filed into the spooky abandoned house.

Dear Lord,

Keep us safe from harm (and by "us" I just mean me and Tom. I don't care about the others … they signed up for this, too. They can say their own prayer. I WILL, without hesitation, trample a little old lady to get to the nearest exit if I sense danger (Hey, it's my prayer … I'll pray it how I wanna. It's all about self preservation, y'all).

Amen.

Click on the picture to enlarge.

To be continued ... 


Dun dun duuuun ...

From My Inbox to Yours.

I know, I haven't posted a blog in how long? Too long. I'm a busy gal. Psssshhht! Yaah, that's it.

Anyhoo, I realize that my future book deal hangs in the balance. Furthermore, I owe it to m'followers. Alison, you have to post something … ANYTHING!! To my delight, I received a totally shareable e-mail in my inbox this morning. When I finished reading it, I knew that this email HAD to be made available to all of you (since clearly, I am not). 

I'm sorry that it isn't in MY own words, but it definitely falls into the "something I might do" category.  Not to mention that it is the funniest thing that I've laid eyes on all week … well, aside from the faithfully hilarious 'Friends' reruns that have been on Nickelodeon lately (and dare I say, 'bout dang time they put some quality programs on that network … I consider 'Friends'  my evening reward for having to sit through 37 episodes of 'Spongebob' and 'iCarly' all day).  

Read on and giggle.

*Oh and let me go ahead and warn you … put the beverages down, people. It's highly likely to squirt out of your nostrils if you don't. 

**And to my boy followers … I'm sorry, this will probably be completely unenjoyable to you. :o/

Hair Removal...

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now…the wax. Read on......... 

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in

my mind for the next few hours:

'Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.' So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. 

It was one of those 'cold wax' kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. 

No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!) 

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each otherstuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. 

('Cold wax,' yeah..right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! 

OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire. 

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (it *was* a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! 

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!! 

Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...must stay conscious. 

Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. 

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip.There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? 

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip...it's not! I touch. I am touching wax. 

I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down 

Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut! 

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself 'Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!' What can I do to melt the wax? 

Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!* 

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. 

Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. 

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!! 

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter 'So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!' 

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, 'Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?' 

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. 

YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. 

While we go through various solutions. I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor . Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! 

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'mpretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. 

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace…. the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! 

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. 'IT WORKS!! It works!!'

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT! 

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point. 

Next week I'm going to try hair color...

He's Delicious. He's Misunderstood. He's Booger Fish.

A quick conversation between myself and my sweet 4 year old boy made me realize that I should think twice before coming up with silly names for Goldfish Colors in effort to get a giggle out of him.

The conversation went something like this …. 

Cameron - "Mom, I gotta poop!" 

Me - "Ok. Go to the bathroom." 

A few minutes pass. 

Cameron - "MoooOOOooom … I need help wiff my wiping!" 

Side note - He says this as he is waddling out of the bathroom with his (clearly out of season) Christmas jammies down around his ankles. 

Me - "I'm coming. Go back into the bathroom, please."

We both take a glance into the potty (I never thought that I'd ever glance into the toilet as if it were some sort of treasure box, until I had children. A mom has to make sure that every aspect of their child's health is covered, right?!) and notice that Cameron's poo is green (I'm fairly certain that this is normal. I refuse to WebMD "green poop" … if it's not healthy, please let me know). 

Me - "Cameron, what did you eat that was green?"

Cameron - "Uhh … just boogers, Mom."

Me - "Cameron, we don't eat boogers. Only tissues eat boogers."

Cameron - "I'm wasn't eating MY boogers. I was eating the green goldfish … that's it. They is called "Booger Fish", right Mom?"

Then it dawned on me … OH NO! 

One afternoon, we were enjoying a handful of those delicious Goldfish that happen to be multi-colored. He was in a crabby mood. So in efforts to get my little guy to cheer up (the word "booger" always gets a giggle) … we named the Goldfish.

Green - "Booger Fish"

Purple - "Jelly Fish" 

Orange - "Cheesy Fish"

Yellow - "Regular Fish" 

I know, I know … "Booger Fish" is the only funny one … but, I was in a pinch. I only needed one giggle. After all, they are contagious.

After the green poop, I asked Cameron if he had told anyone else that he eats "boogers". He said that he had, in fact, told his entire preschool class and teacher that he eats green boogers (not to be confused with any other shade of booger that may form in his tiny nose).

Fantastic!! Now, everyone thinks he eats his boogies. Eck. 

"The snack that smiles back" has turned into the snack that makes all of the kids point and laugh at you because you're the grossest kid on the block. 

In his defense, he does NOT eat boogers. I know that most preschoolers experiment with the never ending "snack" from their face. But, he never has. 

Perhaps, I should've named the green Goldfish "Broccoli Fish" … It is way more acceptable to eat that. However, I am certain that "Broccoli Fish" would not have cheered him up that regretful afternoon. 

Lesson learned. My little sponge actually listens. Who knew? ;o) 

Payback - 9 Year Old Style.

The 9 year old. Isn't she beautiful?! 

Nyla intruding on our photo shoot. 

And stealing Aubree's pretty hair accessory. 

Aubree asking Nyla for her flower back.

Nyla refused.

Wait for it ….. wait for it …..

Aubree made her wear this beautiful wig as payback. 

At first, Nyla embraced her new look. Notice the wink. 

But, she quickly became irritated with her new hairdo. 

See. 

Something had to give.
Aubree agreed to take the wig off … and Nyla agreed to return the slobbery flower.

The End. 

An Italian. A Dog. And the Practice Cake.

It all started with a Christmas present and a Labrador Retriever named Nyla Claire Nippington. 

My son, Cameron unwrapped a shiny new DSi game from Santa Clause this past Christmas. If I would've know then what I know now … I would've asked BEGGED Santa to reconsider. This child has become absolutely, utterly, uncontrollably, ridiculously OBSESSED with the little Italian brothers from Mario World. "Stupid Goomba!" shouldn't be in any 3 year old's vocabulary. None-the-less … it's a frequently visited phrase in Super Cameron's World. 

Now, hold that thought.

Said Christmas present … Super Mario Bros.

Shortly before Christmas we decided to get a new puppy and not just any puppy, a Labrador Retriever! Did you hear me? I said a Labrador Retriever, ya'll! 

#1. What in the name of sweet baby Jesus was I thinking? I'm fully aware of their reputation. I saw Marley and Me. 

#2. There really isn't a number 2. It all refers back to number one. 

Anyhoo, it was touch and go for a while but, we've grown to love her. Flaws and all. She chews up everything and pee's on everything else. Don't tell anyone that I said this but, honestly we couldn't have chosen a better pooch. Any other dog would have eaten Cameron's face off on day one. But, not Nyla. She allows him to pluck her whiskers, pull her tail and steal her chew toys on a regular basis. She takes all of his 'abuse' in stride. So, yay her! 

Now, hold that thought. 

Said Labrador Retriever … Nyla. 

Back to Mario Brothers … 

Cameron will be four on the 31st of March (I cannot believe he's almost a whole hand worth of fingers old … Don't worry, I'll refrain from any of the other motherly cliches like "Oh, how time flies" and "He'll be graduating college before we know it"). For his birthday, we're throwing him the party of his dreams … "Cameron's Super Mario 4Up Birthday Party"!

I decided that I would try to make a Mario Brothers cake for his birthday party this year. Brave soul, I am. I've never made a real cake. I leave all of the cake making to my grandparents. With cakes like theirs, it makes it hard for kitchen clumsy gals like myself to compete. That being said, I decided that I better make a practice cake. I spent most of the day measuring, mixing, filling icing bags, cutting cake dowels and taking any www.youtube.com advice I could get. I was finally finished (though the real cake will look almost nothing like the one I made today) and I was PROUD! I mean look at this cake. 

It's B-E-A-U-TIFUL (for a beginner) !!!

The Practice Cake. The real one will sport fancy Mario and Luigi figures upon it. 

Back to Nyla Claire Nippington … 

One hour after my practice cake was completed, I walk into the kitchen to find this …

The Practice Cake after Fur-Face ate the front off. 

At first, we weren't sure who had done this to the beautiful practice cake. It was kinda like our own personal game of Clue. 

Was it Cameron … in the kitchen … with a spatula? 

Was it Mommy … in the kitchen … with her face (this scenario was courtesy of Cameron)? 

Was it the cat … in the kitchen … with her paws? 

It couldn't have been Nyla. She was only unattended for 3 minutes. 

And then we spotted it. Blue icing on her right whisker and cake crumbs in her fur. 

NYLA CLAIRE NIPPINGTON!!!!! 

Shame on you, poochie! I'm pretty certain that it is only a matter of time before she's blowing blue chunks on my tan and black (mostly tan) kitchen rug. She's been in an icing induced coma since the 7 o'clock cake eating frenzy. 

Grrrrrrrrr …. Good thing it was only the practice cake!  

Wish me luck for next week, as I try to make a cake for family and friends. Hopefully, Nyla will keep her oversized dog tongue out of Cameron's REAL Birthday Cake. 

:o)

Please Let Me Know, I'm Curious.

1. There is a mosque (a place where Muslims go to worship) near my home. I drive past this mosque on a regular basis. Sometimes, ever so briefly, I find myself daydreaming about camels (yes, camels). I have a pretty unique (and perhaps, ridiculous) question. When a mosque has an event, such as Vacation Koran School (I assume this exists), do the directors bring camels at the end of the week?  You know, like a treat for the kiddies. If anyone has attended Vacation Koran School, please let me know. I'm curious. 

(I'm also curious where one finds a camel-for-hire. My son's 4th birthday is quickly approaching. Camel rides would surely put Cameron at the top of the "Best Aladdin Themed Birthday Party" list.) 

2.  Milk. It has a "Sell By" date tattooed on the container, right? No duh. We all know that it does. But, what good does that do us, the consumer? Seriously. Why doesn't the tattoo say "Drink By"?

Dear Cow-Aide Makers,


How long do we actually have before the calcium rich liquid turns into an undrinkable solid? Come on guys ... at least tattoo a description of what kind of a smell we can expect once it becomes undrinkable. 


Sincerely, 
A Curious Consumer

If anyone out there knows the translation for the "Sell By" date, please let me know. I'm curious.

3. While driving to one of our local Wal-Marts (I know, I know ... you might be a redneck if your town has more Wal-marts than it does Starbucks), we were behind a firetruck and an ambulance. Both emergency vehicles had their lights and sirens in full weee-ooooh-weee-oooooh force. I assumed that they were speeding to the same emergency. However, I couldn't help but wonder .... What if they were not heading to the same emergency? Who has to pull over? The firetruck ... or the ambulance. If any hometown heroes have ever been in this situation, please let me know. I'm curious. 

4. The microwave setting called "POPCORN". I don't like popcorn very much. I like the way that it tastes, it's those obnoxious kernels that I'm picking out of my bicuspids for the next 3 hours that I don't fancy. However, I have two children that rely on the buttery snack (well, actually just one … the other has a shiny set of braces on her teeth). My microwave has a convenient "POPCORN" button on the control panel. I put the popcorn in, press said button, wait until the microwave dings, remove the bag and open it, only to find that my popcorn (which I patiently waited 1 minute and 40 seconds for) is burnt. Why don't the manufacturers of microwaves just take 10 seconds off of this setting?

Sometimes, I cannot help but to feel as though the button is taunting me.

Button - "Push me! Go ahead. You know you want to!"

Me - "Ooooh … That's handy. Thank you, Button."

Button - "Good Luck!"

Microwave - "Beeeeep. Beeeeep."

Me - "Crap. Hold on Cameron, it's burnt. Let me try another bag."

Button - "Bahahahaaaaaa ….. Suckerrrrrrr!! You fell for it … AGAIN! You're so lazy. Is it that difficult to just stand beside me and wait 1 minute and 30 seconds? The bag warned you. When you hear 2 seconds between POPS … your food is done. Better luck next time, loser."

Me - "Shut up, Button."

So, if you are Mr. Maytag, Mr. Kenmore or Mr. GE … why don't you just take 10 wimpy seconds off of the "POPCORN" button setting, please let me know. I'm curious. 

I'm a Good Sharer.

First.

I'm sorry.

I've been on hiatus for far too long. I've actually lost one fan from my Facebook Fan Page (quitter). I'd like to extend a huge 'thank you' to those of you who decided to ride this thing out.

Anyhoo …

The problem is this … I'm lazy (shocking, I know).

The solution is this … Guest blogger! Why didn't I think of this sooner? (There are a couple other funny ladies that I'd also like to guest blog … as soon as I can find good blackmail material … they'll make their debut.)

Let me give you a little background history before you read my guest blogger's post (without the history … you might be left with a humongous HUH??).

A dear friend of mine (and one of the classiest, funniest and most entertaining gals that I've ever known) wrote a blog for me … errrm you. When questioned what she would blog about, a Facebook conversation ensued.

Read on.

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      J-Bro oooooooooooh!!! what topic can we discuss? love? bunny rabbits? sex? toothpics? drano? (drano, because i recently used it and i think it's amazing shit.)
      

      4 hours ago ·  ·  1 person
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      Nen You pick...I'll read!!
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      J-Bro ahahaa! okie dokie...let me put on my thinkin' cap.
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      Me I vote drano. I'd kinda like to see where that goes. No, wait … I'm fairly certain I already know where that goes.
      
      How about 2 bunnies … in love … doing "it" … while chewing on toothpicks … in front of a plumber. ANNNNND … GO!
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      Nen Ohhh good one Al!!! Love it :)
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      J-Bro you gals know that my wheels are already turning, right? i already have their names picked out. the bunnie's only. i'll work on the plumber's alias.
      

      4 hours ago · 

And there you have it … The beginning of a beautiful fable. Enjoy! 

**** Note ****

The Guest Blogger is not a bunny hater. She wishes no harm on innocent bunny rabbits. She is, by no means, trying to disrespect our bunny owning readers. And finally, she is a huge fan of all hopping things (she didn't say this … I'm just using my bosom buddy intuition)."Bah-dee, Bah-dee, Bah-dee … That's all Folks." 

So my dear friend, Alison, has offered was forced to allow me a spot on her blog since it had been some time since she’d had a chance to post and a few of the natives were getting restless.  Topics were thrown out there and though I have a plethora of true-life-make-fun-of-myself chronicles, I decided that I’d write a short fable instead (using the topics discussed – bunnies, sex, toothpicks and Drano.  I know Al knows all about my adventures (and has been there for many of them over the past 10 years), but I’m not sure you readers are ready for such vulgarity and adventure.  I’ll save those if I’m invited back again.  :)

2 bunnies in love  doing it while chewing on toothpicks in front of a plumber…A love story.

Once upon a time, Princess Wiggle Butt was hopping along in the forest (she’s a bunny, you see, though not an actual princess) when she came upon an old log cabin.  It’s lights were on and she could see inside.  There was an old lady inside.  She was stirring something on the stove.  Looking around through the window, PWB noticed there was a cage on a table.  Hopping to another window to get a better look, she saw that there was a bunny in the cage.  She was horrified.  She’d never have been able to be caged up like that.  She caught eyes with the bunny and at once, decided that she needed to help it escape.

PWB sniffed and wandered all around the cabin, every now and then peering in to see where the old lady was and what she was doing.  She found a spot she thought she could get through.  While she was searching, she decided that since it was getting dark, she’d wait until morning to try to get in.

She could barely sleep.  Excited for her mission.  Worried that maybe this bunny didn’t want to be rescued.  Pushing that thought aside (because who wants to be stuck in a cage), she was able to doze off for a bit until the sun coming through the trees woke her.  PWB hopped back to the spot she found to get into the old cabin.  Worming her way through, she popped through the logs and realized that she was safe from sight behind the old lady’s refrigerator. 

Listening, she realized that she might have gotten there before the old lady woke.  Perfect!  Peering around the fridge, she spotted the caged bunny.  Oh!  He’s very handsome, thought Princess.  Bunnies know just by looking at another bunny if they are a boy or a girl.  It’s a gift.  She hopped over to his cage and woke him.  “Psssssst, psssst.”  “Oh, hello.  How did you get in here?” the caged bunny asked.  Princess Wiggle Butt told him how she’d seen him through the window and found a way in to rescue him.  He thanked her over and over while she was opening the cage.  He hopped out and she asked him his name, figuring if she was going to help him get out of there, she should at least know his name.  He was hesitant, but after a few moments he replied “Bugs.”  Princess Wiggle Butt could not stop laughing.  What bunny rabbit is named Bugs?  I mean, really?  What about Zeus or Popeye or Diddy?  Bugs started back for the cage, head hanging down.  PWB hopped over apologizing for laughing.  He explained that his parents’ owners watched a lot of cartoons growing up and Bugs Bunny was the cartoon of choice.  Realizing that she’d hurt his feelings by laughing, PWB said she was sorry then realized they had to get out of there before the old lady woke up.  They scooted behind the refrigerator and out of the hole Princess had gotten in. 

Once outside, they found a spot behind the cottage and stopped to take a breather.  Princess Wiggle Butt and Bugs found that they had a lot in common.  Both liked carrots, had a million brothers and sisters and both enjoyed listening to old school R&B (New Edition preferably).  The two found some corn by the trash and shared a cob.  They found a few twigs and widdled them down to a point – making their very own toothpicks!  The corn they had just snacked on was stuck in their teeth.  PWB asked Bugs how he’d managed to get caught in a cage.  He explained that he and his old girlfriend, J-Lo, had been frolicking in the forest and both stumbled into the cages that the old lady had set up for bunnies.  The old lady enjoyed bunny stew.  Seeing the look in Bugs’ eyes, she knew that J-Lo had been in the pot that the old lady had been stirring when she was looking through the windows. 

Feeling awful for Bugs losing his love, she did what any girl bunny would have done.  She gazed into his eyes, gave him a peck on the cheek and scooted herself in front of him.  Looking back, she gave him a nod and a wink and he hopped on Princess Wiggle Butt’s back and did what bunnies do.  “It.”

In the heat of the moment, they didn’t notice the truck pull up.  Before they knew it, a man with a toolbox was standing over them.  He had on a hat that said Royal Flush Plumbing Service and a name badge on his shirt that said Woody.

The Princess Wiggle Butt and Bugs, obviously embarrassed, stopped what they were doing and asked Woody what he was doing there. 

J-Lo’s leftovers had broken the garbage disposal. :x

The End.

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