She Crossed It...Work in progress. Some more of this book.

There comes a time in every young mother’s life, when you wonder if you are indeed raising a serial killer. No? Just this mother? Come on. I couldn’t be the only one. They say that there is a serial killer born everyday. What makes your child so safe? Some serial killers were brought up on beans and rice and Sunday morning church. A seemingly normal life. So what made them turn against the goodwill? When I was pregnant with my first child I often thought about this. Does it skip a generation, like cancer? Did I have any questionable people in my family tree? I don’t have a ton of family history on the serial killer tree, but there are a few cousins that fit the descriptions on the Wanted list. But is it enough to catapult my child into becoming a destructive force in this world? I don’t know but I have lost many nights sleep in wonder.

I decided that I would fight against her genealogy and just watch for the signs. Man. I wish I hadn’t gone to that web site that gives you hints and clues to watch for in serial killers. Grant it that the site was for adult serial killers. But still my kid fit the profile.

One night while I was sleeping I felt eyes on me. I awake to find my daughter standing over me at the ripe age of one. Staring with black eyes. (partially because it was dark) She just stood there. Asleep. Eyes open. Holy shit. I had to shake her awake. It was terrifying. Has this happened to you? I bet it has.

Another serial killer moment came when she was around three. I was on the phone with my mother and she was playing in the yard. It was night fall, but I had plenty of light on the porch so I allowed her presence on the porch. She stood in front of me while I carried on a conversation with my mother. All the sudden she stands very still, staring behind me and pointing her finger to the side of the house. I gasp. “Ann what do you see?”

“There’s a monster behind you.” She says calmly.

I jump up and throw the phone. She stands still eyes still not blinking. I grab her she goes limp in my arms.

Looking back frantic I see nothing. I carry her in the house and lay her on the couch. She sets up and says.

“Can I have a Popsicle?”

WHAT THE FUCK. Yep. That was my exact thought. I give her a Popsicle like nothing ever happened.

That was the first time I really had a solid thought that my kid might be shady. Until I had my second daughter. In my time line of life. I have her birth labeled with the caption:

When all hell broke loose.

Just when I thought I had a second chance to produce a priest or at the very least a police officer to help me battle the fight against the evil of my first born. I was wrong. My second daughter first off tried to kill me while she was in utero. Not a good sign. When she finally made it safely into this world. She didn’t stop screaming. Not crying per say. But screaming. She liked it, the sound she made. The way it bothered everyone around her. She wasn’t old enough you kill you with her hands. So vocally she was going to murder you. One time I remember we went to visit grandma for the first time and she lived in this really old house. My youngest decided that her acoustics were great in the living room. So she made the best out of it and sat in her walker and screamed for like eight hours straight. While her older sister paced the floors at night talking to her friends with brown skin.

What the fuck?

Turns out the place is haunted by the slaves and former owners. Holy crap. I found this out almost ten years later. So lets recap. The big one. Nuts. The little one. Nuts. I am in no way pointing the finger at my kids future mistakes. I could be wrong. But the signs are all there and it keeps me on my toes most days. So now I get the task of deciding whether or not to commit them or play this thing out. I have decided to give it a few years. Because after all I did birth the little demons. I feel like that makes me head psycho. And if I have to I will fight crazy with crazy. Old crazy beats New crazy any day. Alas now that the little one has reached five I have often wonder if she will one day rule the world with her cute little smile and slowly become the anti Christ. After all I have seen World War II documentaries that are less freighting than waking her in the morning for school.

All kidding aside. My kids may not be serial killers when they grow up. But I know plenty of you are trying to find that website right now. Trust me it’s best you don’t know. Save your self the paranoia.

Please.

Given my background it is a wonder I have made it through to adult hood. My childhood was plagued by bulling and the all to unpleasant taste of being the middle child. I was forgotten at a rest area outside of Pensacola Florida by my parents one year on spring break. If that gives you a little taste of the neglect I endured. Only they thought they left me at the station I was really hidden by blankets and got to hear there cover up story the whole way back to the truck stop. And my little brother coming to grips with losing his sister. He was eating his rise crispy treat with a strange sense of relief on his face. When they finally made it back to the place they thought they left me I poked my head through the blankets and said while shaking my head. “What happened if you didn’t find me?” my mother turns around. “Oh wait, I know. I heard the whole story.” The look on my brother and sisters face was priceless. The ass busting I got the whole way home. Not so much. Like I said. You can’t make this shit up.

Recap thus far:

Fairy Tales Suck

Being pretty will ultimately get you killed.

I have the mother in law from hell.

My children may or may not murder me in my sleep tonight.

Moving on...

I can offend just about anyone.(It's a gift) But these days I seem to be offending most. I have recently offended two Mormons, a homeless person and a horse. Your probably wondering about that last one. Let me say this: That horse was an asshole. And got everything that was coming to it. Smug bastard. Back to the two human insolence’s. Okay let me be clear. To offend in the dictionary reads as follows: To irritate, annoy, or anger; cause resentful displeasure in. Doesn't that like literally describe everyone in my life's opinion of me? So random nobody's I shouldn't bother right? Wrong.

I like to think of myself as a go getter. And recently I was perusing a project idea with a writer of these really funny blogs. I'm not gonna give him a shout out because I wish him no more success. Anyways we had developed a friendship via email and blog stuff. One day I asked him to review some of my work to see if he would be interested in a co- writing deal. He agreed and I sent my work in to him. I never heard from him again. The stories I sent to him where from this very book. I find out later on that he is Mormon! What the hell! Okay, breathe. I think that if you are indeed Mormon you should disclose that in the first conversation. So that I know not to send you stuff full of sinful nonsense. And what gives him the right to be a normal person and who ever heard of a clever Mormon? I was thrown aback and fully ashamed of myself. I am traumatized. I will never be the same.

Thank you Joseph Smith.

Maybe it didn't help that during one of our last conversations. I referred to Joseph Smith as a knockoff Isaiah. But whatever, that’s neither here nor there. I should be the one that's offended. That's all I'm saying. And the religious talk will come later. Hold on to your nickers it's gonna get deep.

On to the homeless person that had the nerve to roll her eyes at me! At me! Like I was the one holding the shovel and two year old newspaper asking for and I quote a “Dollar and twenty nine cents.” The exact amount of a malt liqueur. Let me say this. Homeless people are the worst. First you gotta think how did they get that way? No family? Not even a great aunt Rose with a tree house? It seems a bit ridiculous that nobody will help them? So they turn to complete strangers that not only judge them harshly but truly don’t give a shit. I feel like if they were stand up Americans they could get one relative to give them a porch swing. So when this lady didn't get what she wanted from me. She began to shout about how I was not a Christian and will undoubtedly go to hell for the way I was treating her. This stops me dead in my tracks. I turn to this poor excuse for white trash and ask her.

“What did you do for god today? What did you do for me today? You wanna mow my lawn or get the leaves out of my gutters? Without running the risk of you robbing me or murdering me? No you don’t. You wanna stand outside of Walmart where poor people shop and ask for money. Get the hell outta my face before you and “Your God” have a impromptu meeting you old whore.”

Now before you judge me for judging her. Let me give you a little insight. When I walked back out that old bitch had an Ipod blaring in her ears and a malt liqueur in her hands. Happy as a clam. I give the homeless credit though. Man they are crafty. I used to know this old man that when it would rain, snow or was to hot. He would act out and get arrested just to go to jail and escape the weather. Genius. Everybody gave this guy a hard time. I applaud his determination. And that one time he pissed all over himself while passed out in front of a Chuckie Cheese was priceless! R.I.P “Street Joe” he got hit by a bus on the way to peddle a half eaten foot long for some crack. Poor guy all he wanted was some crack. Maybe he is smoking crack in heaven. We can only hope.