Name This Crime Scene

I consider myself pretty fortunate to live close by the museum where the original of this photo is on display. In fact, I was there Friday.

I have always been more than mildly obessessed with this crime. I've read so many different books on the subject.

Bottom line? I think she was innocent.

The Card Reader

Several months ago, mom asked me to accompany her to see a card reader. I had nothing better to do, so I went.

The woman was an elderly French lady who did readings from her home. Her equally elderly husband and little granddaughter were snuggled up on the sofa watching Matlock in the living room, while we sat in a small den listening to our future.

The woman read from a standard playing card deck (I was expecting a Tarot card reading, but ... whatever, I was game.)

Anyway, she went through her mojo, and proceeded to interpret the cards I had chosen. She began by hitting some rather sensitive secrets right on the head. Needless to say, she had my attention. She also had mom's attention... but that's another story. I asked mom to leave the room!

The point of this post is, about half way through the reading, she began to focus on my romantic life. She nailed the (at that time) very fresh drama with Dickhead, and then went on to assure me that Dickhead would become an unpleasant memory, and that I would eventually fall in love with, and be loved in return by an engineer.

I thought to myself, "Yeah right. Where on earth am I going to meet an engineer?"

So, months and months have elapsed. My romantic life has been virtually non-existant. There's been Match.com, which has been, for the most part a joke.

Then I met Dude. (See photo below)

Of all the gazillion first dates from Match, Dude has been the most promising. He was the only man I would consider keeping around for further investigation, so-to-speak.

Dude & I had our second date Thursday night. It went famously. There will be a third date.

Oh... by the way..........

Dude is an engineer.

Babe

Right after my father died in 1993, I bought my stepmother a cute little dog to keep her company. She named the dog Babe.

Good Lord, she doted on that little dog.

If the truth be told, I wasn't overly fond of Babe. She was a one person dog, and not overly friendly to anyone but my mom. Be that as it may, mom loved that dog beyond words.

In recent years, the dog's health began to fail. She developed diabetes, requiring insulin, she went blind too. Still though, the dog owned the house, and acted that way.

Yesterday, my mom called me very upset. Babe was sick, and needed a vet. I got in my car and ran down to mom's house. As soon as I walked in, taking one look at the dog, I knew this dog was a short time away from doggy heaven. I told my mom, "Ma, the dog is dying. You can't let her suffer this way." To which she immediately replied, "I will not put her down."

Anyway, we found a mobile vet who said he could be at the house in 2 hours. Sure enough, 2 hours later he pulled up in this enormous motor home (a mobile office, really)

My stepmom & I brought the dog out to the "office," and as she carried the dog up inside the thing, the vet said quietly to me, "This dog is very very sick."

The vet did the prerequisite tests; blood, temperature, etc. The exam and blood tests took about 30 minutes. As he began reading the test results, it went like this: The vet says, "Her blood sugar is off the charts, her white blood cell count is so high, I can actually see the white cells, her kidneys aren't working, she has no muscle control in her legs. She is deathly ill."

At this point, mom is sobbing. I'm holding Babe in my arms, and her little tongue is hanging out of her mouth.

The vet says to mom, "I never tell people what to do with their pets, but in this case I think you should think about saying goodbye to Babe. She is so sick, I don't think anything will save her, and she is suffering tremendously. If she were my dog, I'd do what's kindest for her and that is to euthanize her."

My mom started sobbing harder.

She asked all kinds of "What If" questions; What if antibiotics work, what if we do nothing - how long will she last, what if she just needs insulin? And on, and on.

Meanwhile, I'm still hold the dog in my arms, and she's struggling for each breath.

Finally, FINALLY my mom decides to sign the euthanize form. So, she signs the paper, and proceeds to say goodbye to the dog. This takes forever. She doesn't want to let go of the dog.

At this point, I have to get firm and insist she go inside the house. After what seemed like forever, she turned and left the mobile office and went in the house.

Now I'm still cradling the dog in my arms, and the vet is getting the paperwork done. Then he proceeds to prepare the fatal needle. As he's doing this, I realize that Babe has stopped breathing.

I said, "Um... I don't think you're going to need that needle. She's stopped breathing."

He says, "Put her up on the edam table, let me listen."

I put her on the table, he listens through the stethoscope, and as I already knew, proceeds to tell me that yes, Babe had died.

I tell the vet that he'd better go in the house and tell mom that the dog died on her own, because I knew she'd never believe me.

So, after all the wailing and weeping, I pay the vet and he goes on his way.

Now I have this dead little dog to worry about. My mom wanted her buried in the back yard. So I go in the house and find an old blanket. I lovingly wrap Babe real well in the blanket, and place the bundle out of site of the house. Then I get in my car and go to the local hardware store to buy a box and a shovel.

When I get back to mom's house, she's searching all over the place for the dog; convinced that she's still breathing, and worried that I'm going to bury her alive.

I acquiese, and show her that indeed, Babe is not breathing, and already stiff.

Now I have to go about the previously unrealized UNBEARABLY MISERABLE task of digging a grave. Let me tell you... I never realized how difficult a task it is to dig a hole 3 feet long, by 2 feet wide, by 3 feet deep.

I dug, and dug, and dug until I thought I was going to keel over from a heart attack.

Finally, I had a perfectly shaped grave dug.

I placed the wrapped dog in the box tenderly, and covered it. I asked her if she wanted to say any prayers before I put the box in the hole. She did.

Then I proceeded to lower the coffin into the hole.

At this point, I told her she probably wouldn't want to watch me fill in the hole. But she did.

And as I was breaking my back and pouring sweat, filling this hole back in, she said; "You killed my dog."

I said nothing, but continued with my job until it was finished. Then without a word, I got in my car and drove home.

I'm sure I will forgive her, but not today.

Horrifying Incident

There have been uncountable incidents throughout my life which defy explanation. Things like, knowing that the phone will ring, and who will be on the other end before it happens. Or, sensing a happening, and going on the record with it; for instance, I often would predict happenings to the Dickhead only to see them come to fruition soon after. He, to this day, still calls me a witch because of it.

One incident which totally freaked me out was what happened to me when my dad died. To understand the whole scenario, you have to understand that my dad was NOT a nice person. In fact, he was a BAD person. I won't go into the laundry list here,(well... not in this post at least) but suffice to say, he created some badass karma in this here life of his.

Anyway, he was diagnosed with lung cancer on January 1, 1993. They determined that he was terminal, and sent him home. My stepmother and I proceeded to man the "deathwatch." We were there with him around the clock which was no small feat because he was also dealing with active Tuberculosis, which he had apparently be exposed to sometime during his life, but it had remained inactive ... the cancer activated it ... or so they told us. Anyway, it was an awful, AWFUL thing he went through. He lasted 13 days at home. January 13, 1993.

I had just finished shaving him, and was going about putting the shaving stuff away when he started with the Stoker's breathing. He had been non-responsive for the past day and a half and we were just doing our best to make him comfortable.

When I noticed his breathing, I knew that his time was very, very short so I just stood by his bed talking to him so he'd know he wasn't alone. He'd take one hacking breath, and then nothing, and then another hacking breath, and then nothing. Each time I thought that breath was his last, and then suddenly he'd take another. This went on for about an hour.

Well, he took one of those breaths, and as he did his eyes suddenly flew open WIDE. He look right past me; almost through me, and there was this hideous look of recognition on his face. I could see that he was completely cognizant, his eyes told me so. The look of pure fear on his face is something I will never EVER forget as long as I live. As I was waiting for his exhale, I turned around to try to see what he was looking at. I swear to you, I saw the most horrifying sight. To this day, I swear to God in heaven, that I saw Satan... and if it wasn't Satan, it was one of his minions. My father saw his fate, and he realized it too.

Finally, the last exhale came. The best way I can explain what I saw and felt is this: As his last breath was exhaled, a gush of putrid smelling blackness whirred past me INTO his mouth. It was palpable, it was smellable, it was utterly evil.

He died with that look of bone-chilling fear upon his face, his eyes as big as saucers, his mouth open in the shape of an "O." His body convulsed once, and then it was over.

When the undertaker came to get him, he tried to get his eyes and mouth closed, but could not. There hadn't been enough time lapsed for rigor mortis to have set in, but his face was locked that way.

I had nightmares about that for years, and in fact, sometimes I still do.

Supernatural ~ The First Incident

I mentioned in my "100 Things" post that I have supernatural abilities. Jos has been patiently waiting for me to elaborate on that statement, soooo without further adieu, here are some accounts of incidents which have happened to me over the years.

The first memory I have of something strange happening goes all the way back to when i was 7 years old. It has to do with my mother (not to be confused with my Stepmother; who is thankfully still alive and well.)

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 2. She lingered a painful 5 years, dwindling down to less than 70 pounds, before she finally died a horrible death in 1967, when I was 7 years old.

Two days before she died, I was outside in our backyard. There was about a foot of snow on the ground. As I was tramping around in the snow, as 7 year olds do, I focused on a lump there and decided to go investigate. As I dug around in the snow, I found my mother's blue cat-eye glasses (I can still see them in my mind's eye like it was yesterday.) This was odd because even though she was deathly ill, she never EVER took her glasses off. She couldn't see without them. Yet there they were, buried in the snow. How they got there, to this day, nobody knows. Anyway, I put them in my coat pocket, and proceeded to bring them to her in her sickbed.

When I walked into her bedroom, she looked at me, and I was a little wigged out to see that she had her blue cat-eye glasses on her face. She asked what I wanted, so I reached into my pocket to give her the glasses, but they weren't there.

I guess the look on my face must have said much because she asked me what the matter was, and I told her that I found her glasses outside buried in the snow, and I had them in my pocket to give her, but now they were gone. She got very upset, and started to cry... at which point my dad came and shoo'd me out of the room.

Two days later, she died. December 4, 1967.

The night of her death, I was asleep in my mom & dad's bed. Sound asleep. My dad was sitting up at the kitchen table with all my mom's brother's & sisters (presumably planning her funeral.) Suddenly, I felt ... something .... an unexplainable something that woke me from my sound sleep. I opened my eyes, and there, sitting on the bed beside me, was my mother. She was just sort of looking at me. She wasn't sick looking at all, and it's really strange because I had no memory of what she looked like before she got sick. But there she was, looking healthy and robust. She smiled at me, and told me she loved me, and would always watch over me. And before I could say anything, she simply faded away.

I got up out of bed, and went to the kitchen where everybody was gathered and proceed to tell them all, "Mommy just left. She told me she loves me." Well, naturally, they all wigged out and pretty much shook their heads in that "oh you poor little thing" kinda way. I wasn't the least bit scared, upset, or anything other than peaceful and very calm. They, however, were not.

One month after her funeral, there was a memorial mass at her church. This church had a prayer rail at the very front, just below the altar, where the nuns usually took residence for their daily prayers. We (the family) were seated about 4 rows back from that prayer rail.

So, I'm sitting there between my dad, and my grandmother, and I say to my dad... "Dad, why is that lady kneeling at the rail between the nuns?"
He says, "What lady?"
I say, "That lady there. She has short brown hair and a suede coat."
My grandmother pipes up and says, "You see a lady there at the alter with short brown hair, and a suede coat?"
I said, "Yes. Don't you?"
My dad says, "What does the suede coat look like?"
So I describe the coat.
NOW... they both turn milk white, and my dad says, "That's your mom."

To me, it made perfect sense, because I had already seen her after her death, so I waws not at all upset by it. The lady at the altar never turned around, and she never moved while I was in the church. She just knelt there perfectly still.

Later that day, at the kitchen table, my dad & grandmother were telling my aunts & uncles (who were sitting behind us in church) what had happened.

My dad said, "She described the suede coat I gave Eileen when were dating. That coat has been long gone for years... Sybil never saw that coat."

To be continued

Dupree

..... is not doing well with his driving lessons!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !!!!!!!

Fifty First Dates

So you guys know I belong to an online dating site.

I'm telling you, it generates ALOT of activity.

Anyway, on to my point. If I haven't had 50 first dates, I haven't had one. I'm here to tell you, first dates are hard work. You have to partake of all that witty conversation, the "tell me about you" bullshit. You have to make sure the conversation doesn't falter... Heaven forbid there's dead air during a first date. You have to avoid certain foods, because Jesus on a stripper's pole... if you eat broccoli, you just know it's going to end up right there between your two front teeth! And at the end of said first date, there's that awkward moment when neither of you knows whether the other one would like to go out again.

So why do I keep going on first dates?

Because I have the "But What If?" syndrome. It goes like this: I'm thinking on my way home from first date, "Yes he was nice. Um... he was ok. Er, he wasn't THAT great. What if there's somebody out there better suited to me? What if I stop searching now, and my soulmate is the very next one? What if this one turns out to be (and here you can fill in any number of lame excuses not to go out on the second date) boring, crazy, baggage laden, a stalker... and on, and on.

Having access to SO many single men who all are advertising for company, is like giving a kid a hundred dollars and sending them into a penny candy store. They're going to be in there all week, and have a helluva hard time making decisions!

In order to quell some of this madness, I've decided to have a second date with Dude, whose picture you see below... because he's very sweet (as I already mentioned) and because he's persistent. In other words, he keeps calling. He can't be all bad right? I mean, he's persistent enough to try to rope the wind - namely, me!

You've GOT To Be Kidding Me !

Yesterday I was catching up on some blog reading. Among the many 9/11 posts, there was a very poignant first-hand account of 9/11/2001, written by a very talented blogger from NYC.

As I read the post, (which was filled with this blogger's photos of the actual mayhem)I felt as though I were actually there... in the chaos, in a state of confusion and fear. It was an amazing post.

Then I opened the comments... of which there were 48 (as of yesterday.) Among the comments, this one was posted:

"No, no one should ever forget the horror of 3,000 people dieing in the US during the attacks on 911. Nor should Americans forget that they killed 80,000 civilians in Hiroshima during the largest terrorist attack of all time. We should learn from both tragedies."

I read this comment and thought to myself, "Are you fucking kidding? Who in their right mind can compare ending World War II, to Bin Laden's unprovoked attack on the U.S."

I'm no history major, but if I recall my high school sophmore year, I'm pretty sure I read that Japan attacked Pearl Harbor which brought our fighting beyond Hitler & the Nazi's and fighting to save all of Europe from genocide, into Japan for well deserved retalliation.

And maybe I'm crazy but, if Truman hadn't had the cajones to drop that bomb, who's to say how much longer the U.S. would have been embroiled in battle on two continents? Americans dying in Europe and Asia to save the world from two evil madmen?

How can Hiroshima and 9/11 EVER be compared?

What I want to know is, what the fuck was that commentor thinking???

I Almost Forgot !

Geez... how could I forget to tell you all this one?!

On Friday of last week, I received in the mail a very official looking letter, on Harvard letterhead.

It says;

"Dear Ms Sybil, we are pleased to inform you that you have been named as this year's recipient of the prestigious "Who's Who Among American Business Women" award.

It then goes on to describe what an honor this award is, and in whose company I will be, and when the gala award ball will be.... blah, blah, blah.

I wrote back and said basically... 'Thanks for the honor. Just send me the plaque and the money.' I'm not much for balls, you see, they require gowns and what not.

Well, my brother (you know... my Dupree?) he thought that was simply unacceptable, and how could I possibly not want to take my "15 minutes of fame."

He doesn't get it.

I don't do it for the glory,
I do it FOR THE MONEY!!!!

Something Different

Ok, so I met him yesterday. He's from that dating site I joined.

I had cooled it on that site for a while, figuring that I needed to give it a break to change my luck.

So this guy... he's 2 years older than me, but he looks 10 years older. He rides this big, obnoxiously noisy (but pretty) bike... and he is as sweet as the day is long.

When I first saw him in person, I felt a little let down; I mean, he's no Mel Gibson, but as I started talking to him, and spending a little time, he sort of grew on me.

Anyway, we met for coffee, which turned into having dinner together, which turned into catching an outdoor concert on the waterfront, which turned into taking a ride on his big noisy bike, which turned into going back to his house (on the water) to watch the fireworks. A bunch of his friends rode up on their bikes for the fireworks, and we all sat around "Ooo'ing, and ahhh'ing" and laughing... lots of laughing. All in all, it was a really nice (and long) date.

***
On a different subject, Sunday night I went out to karaoke with my ex husband. It wasn't a date, we just both wanted to go, so we rode there together. Well, an hour or so into it, the little place really filled up (being a holiday weekend and all) and there were many young, attractive girls there.

LOL....

So, my dear ex husband says to me, "Sybil, do you have to sit beside me?"
I said, "No. Why?"
He said, "Are you kidding? Look at all these beautiful girls. I don't want them to think we're together."
I laughed. I said, "No problem. You're on your own." Then I went to the bar and the hottest guy in the place moved right in on me, and we had a grand old time. Meanwhile, dear old Ex scored ZERO for the night.

I call that POETIC JUSTICE!

LOL

Ok... Now I'm Pissed!

Ya know... I always said this blog wouldn't be about His Royal Assholiness, the big fucking bully that he is.

I never wanted this place to be about the fuckwad, or his fire-breathing eyesore wife, or their immensely obnoxious, spoiled rotten spawn.

HOWEVER...

Now I'm pissed!

What I don't write about here is that since last Christmas Eve (count 'em... that's 8 fucking months now) he's been just enough of a pain in my ass that I can't seem to get a new life started. Just when things start going well for me, he surfaces, and causes all kinds of grief for me, or whomever I'm with. So far, none of the men I've dated have wanted to deal with a 250 pound lunatic (and I shit you not about the 250 lbs, nor the lunatic part!) and why should they?

This past Friday night, was the frosting on the cake.

I would not take his phone calls. I refused to speak with him when he showed up live at my show. When I got home from working early Saturday morning (like... 3am) I turned on my televsion and got nothing. So I called the cable company and they told me there was a problem in the area and things would be fixed by Sat @ 6am.

Saturday 10am came, and I still had no cable tv, nor internet service, nor telephone service (I had called from my cell phone initially)

Still not thinking anything about it, I agreed to have them send over a technician. And by the fucking way... I had to go all day and night Saturday with no tv, and no computer. The tech guy showed up today at around 11 am.

He came in the house, saw there was no signal coming in, and went outside. He was out there 1 minute when he called me to come outside.

He said, "Do you have an enemy?"
I said, "Why?"
He said, "All the wires have been cut."

I was like...... DUMBFOUNDED.

Now this technician was someone I've never met before. And he says to me,

"Listen, this is not my business, and you don't know me but; you look as if you know exactly who did this. This is the kind of shit that qualifies as stalking, and whoever did this is not normal. Normal people don't do this sort of thing. You really should report this to the police, and take measures to stay safe."

NOW....... when a total stranger tells you shit like that, you tend to listen.

I made a trip to the local police station. I did not mention that I was being stalked because I had other plans. I requested an application for a License To Carry. I got all the necessary information and guidance on how to go about the process. Then I came home and enrolled in the prerequisite safety/training course which takes place the 27, 28 of September. Once I complete the safety training, I will then pay my $100.00, hand in my application which states I have never been convicted of a felony, blah, blah, etc... meet with the Firearms Safety Officer, and then GO BUY ME A FUCKING HANDGUN AND HOLSTER.

To FUCK with him.

I will NOT live in terror.
He will NOT terrorize me!