Some weird, wacky shizzle
Day three of the stomach bug. I stayed home from work today and while at 6 a.m. I was convincing myself that it was because I could toss my cookies at any moment, by 11 a.m. I admitted to myself it was because I wanted to watch the tension between Rosie O'Donnell and Elisabeth Hasselback on The View.
During the middle of the second episode of "My Super Sweet 16" on MTV, the subject of which I truly hope gets what she deserves when she is alone and saggy at her 45th birthday party, I switched it over to the History Channel where they were showing a documentary about ghosts and psychic phenomena. It got me thinking.
While I was never opposed to it, I became much more open to the possibility of spirits and such when I was 19. My boyfriend at the time had a freaky little haunted house that he and his family lived in. A few odd things happened there and ever since when such incidents have occurred it hasn't fluffed my feathers a bit. After all, if we are here, why can't they be too?
At his house it was nothing for the vacuum cleaner to do it's own thing in the living room. Windows and doors opened and shut by themselves. A lazy susan liked to spin on it's own. Early in the morning you could always smell a strong odor of alcohol in the downstairs bathroom and no, it wasn't because we got shitfaced the night before. After a particularly disturbing evening with the Ouija board, it was decided that the damn thing just plain needed to go. It was taken far away, only to show up in the driveway a day or two later.
Years later, my then future sister-in-law moved into an apartment with her spouse and small son, who had meticulously packed his entire Star Wars collection in boxes and stacked them into his closet in his new bedroom. The next day, her spouse was pushed from behind while he was shaving in the bathroom. He smashed his head into the vanity over the sink. There was no one behind him. That same day her son opened his closet door only to find all of the boxes he had carefully put away completely flipped upside down and stacked in the exact opposite way that he had left them. A few weeks later, and uncoincidentally about a week before they ditched the place, my sister-in-law had a friend over for dinner, who bitched her out royally for not introducing her to the man in the black suit who had stood quietly in the kitchen the entire time she was there. For some reason the friend was the only one in the room who could see him. My sister-in-law had had enough at that point, packed her stuff, and got the hell out.
My husband and I moved into an apartment in 1996, we lived there for nine years before buying our house in 2005. At one time the house was a one-family home, that was converted into a duplex years later. The elderly woman who lived on the other side during our stay there was born in that house, and lived there with her mother for 40 years I believe. Her mother actually died in what was our spare bedroom, which later became the boy's bedroom upon arrival in 5/2004 until we moved. If you were downstairs in our living room you could often hear footsteps overhead, but no one was up there. Not in body anyway. But in spirit. My husband, not so much a skeptic as a scaredy cat, refused to admit that he too heard the footsteps, but I know he did. At the time we had two cats, who I believe are much more perceptive than humans in this instance. You can't deny when two felines in the middle of a dead sleep both snap their heads up to stare at what we can only describe as "nothing".
The last experience of this sort that I had was about two months after our son was born, in that apartment. It was early summer and I was washing dishes in the kitchen, looking out at our backyard through the window over the sink. For a split second I blinked and there, standing at the bottom of our stone patio steps, was a small boy, maybe four years old, with jet black hair and innocent red lips. He had a short-sleeved, button down shirt on and blue shorts, black patent leather shoes. I looked at him and wondered where he had come from. The husband then came up behind me with the baby and I looked over my shoulder at them. When I looked back, the boy was gone. Of course the husband will say it was post-partum pregnancy hormones, but I like to think that whoever he was, he trusted me to see him. And I did.
During the middle of the second episode of "My Super Sweet 16" on MTV, the subject of which I truly hope gets what she deserves when she is alone and saggy at her 45th birthday party, I switched it over to the History Channel where they were showing a documentary about ghosts and psychic phenomena. It got me thinking.
While I was never opposed to it, I became much more open to the possibility of spirits and such when I was 19. My boyfriend at the time had a freaky little haunted house that he and his family lived in. A few odd things happened there and ever since when such incidents have occurred it hasn't fluffed my feathers a bit. After all, if we are here, why can't they be too?
At his house it was nothing for the vacuum cleaner to do it's own thing in the living room. Windows and doors opened and shut by themselves. A lazy susan liked to spin on it's own. Early in the morning you could always smell a strong odor of alcohol in the downstairs bathroom and no, it wasn't because we got shitfaced the night before. After a particularly disturbing evening with the Ouija board, it was decided that the damn thing just plain needed to go. It was taken far away, only to show up in the driveway a day or two later.
Years later, my then future sister-in-law moved into an apartment with her spouse and small son, who had meticulously packed his entire Star Wars collection in boxes and stacked them into his closet in his new bedroom. The next day, her spouse was pushed from behind while he was shaving in the bathroom. He smashed his head into the vanity over the sink. There was no one behind him. That same day her son opened his closet door only to find all of the boxes he had carefully put away completely flipped upside down and stacked in the exact opposite way that he had left them. A few weeks later, and uncoincidentally about a week before they ditched the place, my sister-in-law had a friend over for dinner, who bitched her out royally for not introducing her to the man in the black suit who had stood quietly in the kitchen the entire time she was there. For some reason the friend was the only one in the room who could see him. My sister-in-law had had enough at that point, packed her stuff, and got the hell out.
My husband and I moved into an apartment in 1996, we lived there for nine years before buying our house in 2005. At one time the house was a one-family home, that was converted into a duplex years later. The elderly woman who lived on the other side during our stay there was born in that house, and lived there with her mother for 40 years I believe. Her mother actually died in what was our spare bedroom, which later became the boy's bedroom upon arrival in 5/2004 until we moved. If you were downstairs in our living room you could often hear footsteps overhead, but no one was up there. Not in body anyway. But in spirit. My husband, not so much a skeptic as a scaredy cat, refused to admit that he too heard the footsteps, but I know he did. At the time we had two cats, who I believe are much more perceptive than humans in this instance. You can't deny when two felines in the middle of a dead sleep both snap their heads up to stare at what we can only describe as "nothing".
The last experience of this sort that I had was about two months after our son was born, in that apartment. It was early summer and I was washing dishes in the kitchen, looking out at our backyard through the window over the sink. For a split second I blinked and there, standing at the bottom of our stone patio steps, was a small boy, maybe four years old, with jet black hair and innocent red lips. He had a short-sleeved, button down shirt on and blue shorts, black patent leather shoes. I looked at him and wondered where he had come from. The husband then came up behind me with the baby and I looked over my shoulder at them. When I looked back, the boy was gone. Of course the husband will say it was post-partum pregnancy hormones, but I like to think that whoever he was, he trusted me to see him. And I did.
posted by Lo at 10:29 AM
2 Comments:
Spooky!
I'm off on Mondays and I totally make it a priority to watch the hot topics now on The View before I leave the house. I seriously cannot get enough of those two.
Hope you feel better!
Thanks Swishy!
I thought Rosie looked like hell yesterday, really haggard.
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