"I vish I vere a vitch vith wiolet, welvet, vings!"

Tonight I laughed harder than I have in a long time. I convinced my parents to play a game because they were being more civil to each other than usual. They agreed. It's always a good night when they're not arguing. We played Clue and it was epic.

Dad's awful at Clue, he always has been. He banishes his logical mind and frequently guesses weapons and suspects that he already knows about, which leads him to explain, "Ah yes...I was just confirming my knowledge." and chortle whole-heartily in an I'm-a-chimney-sweep-from-Mary-Poppins accent.

Mom is slightly better, but since I know how she plays she's not much of a threat unless she rolls really high numbers. Mom does, however, like to poke fun at dad for sucking horribly at Clue in her posh English accent.

For some reason we always revert to dialects and speech patterns foreign to America such as Russian, Chinese, African, etc. It's one of the highlights of living in a Wilson or Appleton residence.

{Quick side notes deserve the cool looking brackets. My immediate family all have different last names. Mama Wilson, Daddy Appleton, my sis Jessie Thompson, Jessie's dad Ted Orzech, grammy Alice Clunie, and then the whole rest of the family we never see: the Fairfields. How weird is that?}

Halfway through the game mom speculates out-loud, "The violet-hued Professor Plum in the dining room with the wrench." Upon hearing this color dad blurts out, "I vish I vere a vitch vith wiolet, welvet, vings!" in a voice resembling Count Dracula. Mom and I were baffled as to what he was saying. "Are you saying witch? -or bitch? Wait dad wouldn't want to be that..." "No, I vish I vere a VITCH vith wiolet, welvet, vings!" Seeing the two of us stare at him in utter confusion, he leaps up, clasps his hands together in from of himself and parades around the living room. "Sumo wrestler?" "Buddha!" "No, a VITCH a VITCH!" he exclaims. This vague manner of confrontation wasn't succeeding, so he picked up a guitar and began to ride around. "Oh, a vitch!" "Wait, so what's he saying?"

Dad was running around while perched on the guitar, cackling like the wicked witch of the west from The Wizard of Oz. Mom was muttering incoherent nonsense about dad's clever joke, purple vs. violet, and the Schuyler White song. (She had this stuck in her head all day and asked me on numerous occasions to serenade her with something non-Schuyler and/or the color white related.)

The entire scene was hysterical. That's when I said "I'm going to have a blogging extravaganza tonight!" Good thing I chose to exploit some of cyber-communication's many drawbacks. You can't hear the tones, the accents, the joke, and you can't see dad looking completely ridiculous. Plus mom's laughter is funnier than the new season of Paris Hilton's my new bff. (at least the first one was good, but this one actually has straight men. What the hell's up with that?)

For all of those who don't yet understand what dad was saying, if you replace the v's with w's and vice versa it states "I wish I were a witch with violet, velvet, wings!" Dad ended up hearing this hilarious phrase from his brother during their childhood and it stuck with him all these years. Good thing, too, otherwise we would've missed out on life. Spontaneously-planned family game nights are always worth talking about.

Being girly and music oriented at the same time

William Beckett. One of the several musicians who make my hormones happy.

The reason this glorious figure is the center of today's post is because he did two extraordinary things that only a true man could do (on his blog).

1) He posted Regina Spektor's video Laughing With and proceeded to tell how he has been a fan of hers for a few years and is "particularly blown away with her unique lyric and vocal phrasing/delivery." He also stated how this song inspired him and his amigo to write some new music. (Regina Spektor as an influence on The Academy Is...= hit of the year on Sara's ipod)

2) "Saturday Night Music Club" is a weekly feature where he broadcasts the great music of other talented artists. Last night was Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap.

How freaking awesome is that?! I knew I had good taste in girly men. Plus he's wearing an Obama shirt. It doesn't get much better than that. He's one of the only celebrities I've ever met. I met George Bush (Senior) once when I was like 7... in a fishing boat. :/ William's a lot cuter. And his hand is softer. kwefiywew I got to hold Bilvy's hand for five whole seconds!

Temporary moment of spontaneous combustion. Sorry, I got a little excited...

http://thewilliambeckettblog.com/

I put the link there in case you wanted to get some good tunage and stalk celebs and the same time. Happy Father's Day everyone. I still need to get my dad a card....crapsicles.

P.S. Even though he was in the hospital yesterday he's perfectly fine today (sorta) and shall hopefully enjoy a lovely day of celebration ambulance-free. He thanks you guys for all the concern. A kidney stone is probably the worst father's day gift he could have gotten. This'll make whatever I do look like he's the king of England. (I spelled king wrong three times trying to type that haha)

I remember when (part 1)

I remember when Sophie saved my life.

I was at my mom's house in the middle of a Maine winter. Mom was asleep on the couch (go figure), and besides her, I was home alone at the age of 6. Seeing as it was snowing and looked lovely outside, I decided to enjoy the weather. Dede was off doing her own thing but Sophie was there for me. I told an unconscious mom I'd be outside (I left a note for good measure), got my snow gear on, and headed down the snow covered hill in the backyard. Sophie raced me down the hill and despite my best efforts she would always win. I traveled to the boardwalk to look at the ice. I tested the slippery surface by putting a foot on. It seemed fine, so I gradually put more weight on it.

It didn't break. Sophie decided to stay on the boardwalk while I pretended I was pretty and could dance like a fairy. I heard a peculiar noise from a nearby animal and in my surprise I jumped, accidentally sliding over into uncharted territory. Sophie perked her head up as if she knew what was coming.

I fell right through the ice. The water was so cold I couldn't move my legs, and the water had soaked me so thoroughly that I couldn't propel my tiny self out. I started to panic, and as my breathing became unstable I actually started to inhale water, which made me freak out even more. Sophie knew what was going on and carefully but swiftly made her way towards me. She grabbed my coat with her teeth and managed to pull me out of the water and onto the boardwalk without harming me.

I was chilled to the bone and shivering all over. Sophie let go of me, thinking I would get up to run inside, but I couldn't. I couldn't move. She stared at me for a second, then maneuvered herself so that she was beneath me. She hoisted me onto her back and carried me up the hill. A few minutes later we were back in the house and the warmth allowed me to move again. When she saw me get up and hug her in immense appreciation she wore the happiest of grins I've ever seen in my life.

If there's one thing I can remember about my childhood, it's her smile. She will always be one of the most lovable, caring creatures I've had the honor of knowing. I never told my parents about this little event because I didn't want them to ever think they were irresponsible, because they're not. It was completely my 6-year-old fault.

But that was more than a decade ago. When Sophie got the tumor I started beating her in our runs down the hill, and soon those became slow walks. I have no doubt in my mind that she is one of my biggest influences. To be nice, to be selfless. To love others the way I wish I was loved.

One day on the way home from school dad turned right down Storer street. I immediately thought "What's going on?", this never happened. Knowing we must be heading to mom's house, we turned down our beloved Grasshopper Lane and drove to the last house. There was a foreign vehicle there and a small gathering outside our house.

Dread filled my system. I had been thinking this would happen for a while, but I still wasn't ready for it. The man I didn't recognize standing next to my mother was here to put Sophie to sleep.

All the hurried, rushed goodbyes didn't prepare me to see her smiling figure be buried beneath the shoveled mounds of dirt. Wave after wave of rich earth pounded against her golden, furry body. It didn't even sink in until much later that I would never see her again, that she was physically gone forever. She'd never scratch her paw on the sliding door again.

That was one of the saddest days I have ever experienced. I wrote for catharsis, not for enjoyment. I cry. I mourn. Tears stream down my face and I can't do anything about it, especially not when it's 2 o'clock in the morning with no one to hold me. I still remember how she would wait patiently at the door wishing to come in. She'd only bark once because she didn't want to bother anyone. Gratitude would stretch across her face every time she got to walk through that sliding door. Every time she got to brighten someone's day. Every time she got to make life a little easier for the rest of us.

Out of all the good hearted souls that enter this world, I was blessed with the best dog I could've asked for. I never truly got over her passing away. If she hadn't been so sick towards the end I would've felt better, but we all knew she was in so much pain and agony. She still tried to live on, for our sakes.

The closest I ever come to believing in God is when I think of her. I want her to be safe, to be happy so badly that I sometimes quickly mutter words of hope, a "prayer" if you will. I'd like to think it pays off, but who knows. No one really knows.

I miss you so much. I hope whatever is after life is treating you well, because you deserve it. You deserved so much more, Sophie. I love you, I always will.

I support love

I finally came out on facebook. :)