Tag Archive | 2009

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So, it goes like this . . .

Check this out …

xoxo,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author  Bookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com
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It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To… (Pics)

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So, it goes like this . . .

There we were getting ready for our annual holiday ornament party. Friends had up from orange County and from various parts of southern California. My parents were here helping along with a couple that come up from Long Beach to help us run the bar and make our celebration terrific. My husband has known them for many years, and they are from the same parts of Pennsylvania.

So I climb in the shower, and I’m doing all my normal things. Which one of my friends would call the PTA.

What is the PTA?

Well somebody might think that PTA means Parent Teacher Association. And, they might be right if there were from Alabama, and NOT in the shower.

Hmmm… The PTA.

And, like I said I was in the shower doing my normal things, which included the PTA…

Puss, Tits and Ass.

Well, let’s be real… everything does need to be cleaned, right?

I have to look, smell and feel absolutely divine for my guests that are coming for the annual Christmas party… so everything gets washed including the PTA.

So, I climb out of the shower and I’m towelling off…

I am calm, because downstairs I know that everything is in place.

The Bar.

The Buffet.

The vegetable crudite display and the candles in the chandeliers were lit.

24 Christmas Trees dangling beautiful ornaments from around the globe …

Yes, now the number had grown to 24 trees. I can’t help it. They just look so beautiful… I can’t stop buying them.

It looked like a gigantic Winter Wonderland inside my house…

Sans the snow…

And, of course, no mittens or galoshes…

79 degree California weather with palm trees outside.

A giant California Winter wonderland, okay?

We Californians have got to do it our own way… I just throw a little “Alabama” in on the side from time to time — with a Y’all here, and a Y’all there! But, you understand that I do have some of the California affectations absorbed by now, and so… well, I don’t really do anything “small.”

So, yeah, I’ve got 24 Christmas trees running up my electricity bill. It’s beautiful, dang it. So get over it.

Yes, now there I am. Unusally calm with the impending knowledge that very shortly my home was going to be alive with about 80 other minds… and the fact that I was going to have to be witty, charming, and beautiful… Well, hell… I should have been freaking out.

Don’t worry…

My calm didn’t last for long.

The help was busy prepping the hot food and everything was on schedule.

So, there I was… still damp, with my PTA’s still tingling.

I had just begun to shimmy into my beaded dress because I wanted to do all my makeup and hair after I finally got my dress on.

It’s a fabulous dress, but I don’t know why I always buy such complicated clothing. Once again, not a “step in” dress… an “over the head” dress with straps going this way and that.

Just a fricking pain in the butt to get this dress on.

Holy crap, what a mess.

I am standing there contemplating just wearing the stinking thing as a partial top since it was strangulating to get the dress on over my head and wet showered hair. One arm in, one breast out.

No problem. Throw on a skirt and my left tit will be the hit of the party.

Right.

So, I finally get the frigging thing on.

Slide it down over my hips.

Thank God it still fits.

I’ve been eating my weight in turkey, brownies, fudge and cheesecake for the past two weeks. So, my ass is about the size of Oklahoma right now.

Thank God for the proverbial black dress…

… that stretches….

A silent “yay” for  the creation of Spandex.

Bless this inventor, this Sultan of Elasticity. I will always display their label of honor on my expanding derriere…  

So, I finally get this beautiful, god-forsaken, beaded strappy dress over my head with final authority, and slick it down the side of me.

Finally.

I need a frigging drink just to get this dress on.

Relax. Relax.

“Honey, can you get my a green apple martini from the bar?”

Yes, relax.

Help is on the way…

No sooner to I get the dress on… zipped up… looking in the mirror I turn left, and turn right… and of course, curse the size of my butt…

When all hell breaks loose. The fire alarm starts to go off at my house. It’s a loud blaring bell that is completely destructive to all your senses.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

WTF?

Aaaaaaaah! I am running down the stairs with a trail of obscenities still stabbing the air behind me. Shoeless, and bra-less. Boobs bouncing, and wet hair flopping.

80-some people are coming to laugh and schmooze in less than an hour. WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO? TELL THEM THE NOISE IS SANTA COMING…

AND COMING…

I NEED THAT ALARM OFF. PRONTO.

“What the hell is going on?” I scream.

I then begin pounding the number buttons on the alarm pad.

Pressing. Jabbing. Cursing. Screaming. But, the alarm keeps screeching.

7 minutes of this was enough to drive me out of my f-ing mind. “We’ve gone to all this trouble for this party, I need for you (the alarm) to shut the hell up! (:?sdt% qvio4$ — More obscenities) “

I was screaming so many bad words, that I ran out of them and had to make some new ones up.

I finally pressed a series of numbers that seem to work…

Aaaaah. Sigh of relief…

Well, it worked for 10 ten seconds, and then:

BANG, BANG, BANG.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

HOLY CRAP!

I have this vision of all these firetrucks pulling up elbowing my guests, “Excuse me Ma’am, but we’ve got a fire in this house to attend to.”

“A FIRE?” And, then of course my guests run screaming for their lives.

Nice.

Yeah, that’s the type of celebration I wanted to have that night. Right.

Fun. Fun. Fun.

Right.

Another 6 minutes of ear-piercing stressing-inducing mind-numbing noise enveloped my house. What the heck am I going to do?

Where is my alarm company?

“Ding-dong.” 

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. Pounding on the door right next to where I was standing cursing and banging the alarm codes. I could feel the vibrations of the knocking.

I’m thinking, holy crap, the firetrucks are here and I am going to get a humongous bill from the City for a false fire alarm.

Shit.

I open the door, “Is everything alright here, ma’am? We got a signal at the station.”

It was a man from the alarm company dressed in a Kevlar vest and carrying a “piece.”

My eyes widen.

Double holy crap.

“Well, this alarm thing won’t go off, and in a matter of minutes I am going to be hosting a holiday party. I can’t have this thing going off! We’re supposed to be singing god-damn christmas carols! Help! I need help, man! I need this thing to stop to improve my stinking mood. I’m supposed to having fun, and I am NOT having any fun here, Sunshine.”

We finally got it to stop. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t start-up again,” he said.

Holy guaca-crapping-christmas-colored-mole.

“Well, that is the point when I will rip the freaking alarm out of the wall, sir.”

He looks at my husband. A knowing nod passes between them.

This must be male code for “and you have to live with this, huh?”

“Smile for the camera. You’re now part of this night,” I said.

So, I in barefeet and he in his kevlar, had just settled down the long alarm for a nap.

And, what to my wandering eyes should appear, but 80 familiar faces carrying ornamental reindeer.

Where up in the past the alarm rose such a clatter, and now it all behind us, it didn’t seem to matter.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and stopped all the ringing and turned with a jerk.

Laying his hand upon the side of his Glock, I thought for a moment he was going to whip out his …

Identification.

You guys are so naughty… I just love it!

And, giving a nod, out the door he did flee, this house of freakouts and terminal glee.

He sprang to his patrol car, gave a loud call, “Have a great party, my dear! Oh, Belle of the Ball!”

But, I heard him exclaim as he drove away faster, “If is goes off again, I know a man that’s good in repairing wall plaster!”

The party was a great success… and, the alarm did NOT go off again.

Thank you, jeeze Louise.

We drank, and we schmoozed, and some carols we did sing.

But, the alarm stayed silent, not nearly a ring!

Here are some pics from the party!

The vegetable crudite buffet and us!

Me giggling

Me and the chicks

4 of the 24 trees

Before the party

More holiday cheer

Beginning the Ham Session

Belt it, baby!

Lou and my book

Me and my man

More cheer

My daughter and her friend

Open your eyes, man!

Our Saviour

Smile for the camera!

The Boy

What the hell am I doing?

Yay! Sing it!

Yeah Baby!

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
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OMG…What was I thinking?

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So, it goes like this . . .

Well, I just don’t know how this happened…

I don’t know what I was thinking really…

It seems tonight that I have about 80 people coming over for a parent meeting for my son’s wrestling team.

AND, I have my Annual Holiday Ornament Party Saturday as well… but which I do not know how many people are coming… quite a few.

How could I have possibly booked two large events at my home in the same week?

Am I a glutton for punishment?

Do I like stress and tranquilizers?

How many times do I really want artichoke dip?

These are the questions that I ask myself.

Well, as always, when the coach was looking for somebody to step up to the plate to offer their home for a parent meeting… nobody raised their hands.

So, it’s sort of like I was standing still and the team stepped backwards.

I get to do this by default.

Although, I have to admit that the house looks stunning in preparation for the annual ornament party.

How I can call my annual ornament party and “annual party” is beyond me, since last year I didn’t even put up one single tree… and as I go through the house, I count a mere 18 (not a typo) decorated trees in our home from 10-feet tall on down.

Not to mention all of the doo-dah on the banister and the along stairwell…

or the decorations in the den…

or the decorations in each bathroom…

or… or… or…

That’s a lot of tinsel, baby…

Well, I don’t know what I was thinking but now my brownies are burning and I have to get back to them.

Holy crap… I’ve got a lot of partying to do!

I’ll check in with you after tonight’s devastation… I mean meeting.  ;-)

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
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Pumpkin Goo… and The Essence of Thanksgiving! (Pics)

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So, it goes like this . . .

So people want to know what my pumpkin goo is…

Well…

Pumpkin Goo is my interpretation of pumpkin pie without the crust. I bake it for 5 hours until the moisture is almost completely gone, and then I force my family to eat it with Cool Whip and tell them it’s actually pumpkin pie.

I think they bought it…

Can you believe that I got compliments?

I am a horrible cook.

I really don’t even know why I try sometimes, but my husband… my husband is incredible!

Super yum.

I would love for him to cook every single day, not only for the fact that he is an excellent cook but also for the fact that then I wouldn’t have to be in the kitchen.

Boooo-ring.

I can’t help it that I am not a Martha Stewart kind of girl.

Have you ever seen one of Martha Stewart’s television shows?

Like I would want to party with her.

It would be much like sleeping, but only awake… and on a bountiful table of sun-toasted greens and mixed hay on a a bed of sea salted crusties.

Snooze-ville.

So, yeah… my family is used to my own interpretations of many holidays.

I am not bound by tradition.

I draw outside the lines, baby.

Always have, always will.

It is not a mistake that my family loves my Pumpkin Goo since they have been raised on cripy black hot dogs, blue-box mac-and-cheese, and Albertson’s Monday Chicken Meal deals from the market.

Frankly, they crave my Pumpkin Goo since it is the closest thing to home-made food… once a year…  ;-) 

… that is not burnt.

I’m a really great person for love, though.

Got tons of love.

Never out of love.

I am the Queen of Love.

But… cooking… how you say… not so much.

I do believe that Thanksgiving is about Food AND Love.

So… One out of two isn’t bad. A 50% success rate is not too shabby on a day that has some serious cooking in it, right?

That is the essence of Thanksgiving to me… my Pumpkin Goo, and someone else making all the rest of the great food, and lots of love.

Yeah, like ample amounts of love.

Like my mom crying when she says how much she loves us…

And, then at that vulnerable moment I throw some more Pumpkin Goo on her plate…

Just kidding.

I also sneak on some more Cool Whip.

It’s all good… including the Pumpkin Goo.

And, the love.

And, the yelling that the rolls are getting burned.

Yelling is a big part of Thanksgiving.

Loud love.

Lots of loud love.

Lots of love…

Hope your day was over flowing!

xoxo

Me and The Turkey Cooker...

Me and the parental units...

The Mammasan and I

Dad and the kids

The two turkeys

Okay... this is the real turkey

Digging in!

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
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BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

Death is such an odd thing…

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So, it goes like this . . .

Death.

Such an odd thing.

Especially when you know that some one is going to die… in a matter of moments.

Eminent death.

Nothing can be done.

You wait there… until the decision is made.

Until the decision is made.

. . . __________________________________

The  pulsing beep stops.

Just one loud long blare of announcement… that the heart… well, no longer feeling… beating… living…

BEEP…______________________________

Until silence.

Another decisive switch is turned.

The time noted.

Heads hung low.

Silent tears of the unstoppable, unescapable moment.

Pause the reality.

Yes… it is the end…

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in! Add to Technorati Favorites
BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

Farmville — A Picture is 1000 Words… or a Couple… (Part 3)

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So, it goes like this . . .

TO GET THINGS STARTED AGAIN, we’ll back track a little or you can get the whole prior parts of the story by ******* CLICKING HERE *******

So in need of FA… (Farmville Anonymous).

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…”

“Go ahead honey, you can say it… you’re in a safe and accepting place…”

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…FARMVILLE!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying).

There is a rumble in the audience. People twisting in their chairs. FA is a tough crowd, man… they have all survived… FARMVILLE! WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying again — can you hear the addiction in that cry?).

Sad, huh?

Sad. Sad. Saaa-aaad.

“It’s okay, Belle. How many times did you go on ‘the game that shall not be named?’”

And, I mutter through my sobs… I turned on my computer… and I never… I never got off!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying still more).

My husband and my parents are sitting next to me for moral support… they are shaking their heads…

“We lost her. She’s our only daughter… And, she’s… well, you heard her… gone… to Farmville.”

My dad pulls out a hanky and blows his nose. My mom… suffers in silence. Slight whimpering, her only evidence that she hasn’t fainted… My husband twists his wedding band around his finger… questioning his 2-year old, “I do.”

The tragedy.

Belle…. Lost to Farmville…

So my life has now hit a new level…

I would like to say it hit a new low, but that may be aiming too high.

It wasn’t that long ago that I scoffed those that posted their Farmville Photos on Facebook.

Ha!

Ridiculous!

Like, whoooo would ever want to do that? Right?

Well…

Hmmm…

Maybe I was a little too judgmental.

Yes, my husband reminds me that a mere month ago, I giggled at the thought of people taking pictures of their cartoon farm.

So, in response to that, I am here to show you pictures of my farm keeping skills…

Enjoy!

Please note the sense of "order" here...

Here… You can appreciate the sense of order that I have here on the farm.

All my animals shoved to nicely into a row.

As you can see, I have the ultimate “brown-nosing” farming techniques DOWN.

Things are a'blooming!

Yes… things are a’blooming!

Life is grand now that I have invested in fencing, yes?

It is that I have two types of fencing here. I have regular white fencing, and I have my new “scary” fencing that is termed as dreadful, that I dropped $48,000 of precious Farmville coins on.

Somehow no one appreciates the beauty of my “goth” gatekeeping skills. My only concern is that I might not have bought enough of these overpriced limited edition funky fake cartoon fencing pieces at $1000 a clip.

Me, being an 18-year veteran of real estate commercial development (no lie), it is imperative that I get this set up just right.

Frankly… I have big plans, but in the beginning, if you would have checked my farm you might have noticed that even my cows have a house.

Five of them.

Yes, my cows had a house, but I was sleeping in the tool shed.

And, not even the big tool shed.

The little one.

That I got for free… from Farmville… because I was so damn fricking cheap to buy it myself.

Well…

I DID have plans, and I was working real hard… saving up my Farmville dough… hoarding my money so that I could make a cool million and invest the beautiful Villa mansion on level 34.

What can I say, baby? Real estate is in my blood.

….

Please, pity me at this moment.

I am now developing cartoon real estate.

So, like I said, I’m working hard on saving up my “experience” credits for the big digs.

Yep, holding out for the Villa.

Million-dollar price tag…

Until I noticed that level 34, the people at that level had about 80,000+ Experience credits compared to my 27,000 Experience credits at level 25. 

Well, I don’t need to be a brainiac (or maybe I do) to understand that to get to level 25, took an average of 1000 credits a level.

And, THAT was a pain in the ass.

Now, facing a difference of 53,000 experience credits to be made up in 9 levels — well, that makes my new average of needing to accomplish approximately 6000 experience credits PER LEVEL from now on.

Well… crap.

Uh… Holy crap.

Can you tell that I was a Math Minor in college?

Well, let just say that I easily can breakdown costs to benefits… and basically I would have about a billion “Farmville” coins before I would even be allowed to buy the freaking villa.

Yeah… like that’s gonna happen.

I’ve got a life, man!

I can’t sit here nursing a cartoon farm up the wa-wa!

I ‘ve got things to do…

People to see…

Places to go…

Oh, yeah…

And, crops to turn. Hold on… My blueberries are withering….

….

…. … .. .

Okay, I’m back.

The blueberries are fine. I am sure that you were concerned, so don’t be.

Well, like I was saying…

I can’t wait for dang villa and level 34!

I can’t sleep in the tool shed… the little tool shed until the end of time.

It’s time to spend some freaking Farmville cash!

So, yeah… I bought the Dreadful fencing pieces… And, the whitewash gates… and a house…

Here's where I sleep now...

And, a barn… and a silo… whatever that is.

Bridal arches. Maybe for my daughter’s wedding there… ;-)

I’ve got a bird house, and a lawnmower, three lakes, a harvesting machine, a tractor, and a seeder.

I have spent a whole bunch on money on arches and entries and mail boxes… and…

Oh, wait…

Look here… a little greeting…

There seems to be a greeting appearing...

Maybe a Hello… How thoughtful!

Uh... Oh my...

Uh… Oh My…

HELP ME NOW!

Oh Goodness… “HELP ME NOW!”

"Or the Cow is... ?"

“Or the Cow is… ?”

My heavens.

Hmmm…

This is worse than even I thought.

Worse than you even thought, I am sure…

Or the cow is…

What?

Or the cow is… toast?

Or the cow is… finished?

Or the cow is…

What?

Steak?

This is serious.

Now you all saw it, right?

That poor cow…

But, wait… another…

Farmville back to normal... Where did the message go?

Farmville back to normal… Where did the message go?

It’s as if it were never there… the plea… the hope… the warning…

Gone.

….

TO BE CONTINUED…!

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in! Add to Technorati Favorites
BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

Farmville… Keep It Coming! (Part 2)

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So, it goes like this . . .

TO GET THINGS STARTED AGAIN, we’ll back track a little or you can get the whole prior part of the story by ******* CLICKING HERE *******

But… Then all my peeps and buds on Facebook started sending me all these gifty things for Farmville…

Who knew?

A Pig here.

A Goat.

Two people even sent me some elephants.

Elephants?

Yeah… like those belong on a farm.

Right.

Guess what they make?

Circus Peanuts.

They make circus peanuts.

Hmmm… I hate to break it to you… but those are awfully large “circus peanuts” that come out of a cute little elephant, if you know what I mean.

And… I wouldn’t recommend eating any of those so-called peanuts, okay?

Eeeeeeuuuw.

It’s just wrong.

Well… I had 82 (eighty-two) gifts sitting on my Home Page of Facebook.

Go figure.

82.

That’s quite a bit, right?

But… remember, I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I have got no time.

Right.

My son nearly died when I told him that I had DELETED THEM ALL.

Yes, I deleted all 82 gifts.

I mean, what hell am I going to do with a pig that finds truffles, right?

I don’t even freaking like truffles.

Gag.

So, needless the say, “am-scray on the ig-pay.”

Until… my son showed me the Farmville light…

I never deleted any gifts again.

Yes, until my son “showed me the light” of Farmville.

I can here the angels sing like the old Star Trek theme song when I think of the word Farmville, now.

How even sadder is that?

Yeah… not good.

You better call the paramedics now.

But, you better make sure that they bring with them a pig that finds those stinking truffles that I can’t stomach (and now I found out that I don’t have to actually eat the truffles), a duck whose down feathers I can sell, or a horse with a “hair problem” or… I am not letting them through the front door.

Come bearing gifts, baby, or the deadbolt stays locked!

So… my dear son made me RE-announce to my FB friends that he was going to suck it up, and help his lame mother with the starting of her farm, and to please start sending gifts again.

Yeah… please forgive the old bag that she deleted all those fabulous gifts… she didn’t know the value of them then. Please forgive that she wasn’t a FV convert, and start sending us some goods so that we can get our farm thing started…

Please…

Little did I know that I was inviting my first “crack” addiction…

Yeah.

Stupid, I was… please send me stuff… and keep it coming… I need to fill my veins with the stuff.

It looked so innocent, right?

So “neighborly”…

And, in the gifts came.

I got so excited!

My son and I were actually able to communicate with the same glazed monitor-ial stare I used to only attibute to him when he played “Martian Rangers Kill Texas Hold-Em.”

I feel so proud.

So honored.

So in need of FA… (Farmville Anonymous).

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…”

“Go ahead honey, you can say it… you’re in a safe and accepting place…”

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…FARMVILLE!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying).

There is a rumble in the audience. People twisting in their chairs. FA is a tough crowd, man… they have all survived… FARMVILLE! WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying again — can you hear the addiction in that cry?).

Sad, huh?

Sad. Sad. Saaa-aaad.

“It’s okay, Belle. How many times did you go on ‘the game that shall not be named?'”

And, I mutter through my sobs… I turned on my computer… and I never… I never got off!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying still more).

My husband and my parents are sitting next to me for moral support… they are shaking their heads…

“We lost her. She’s our only daughter… And, she’s… well, you heard her… gone… to Farmville.”

My dad pulls out a hanky and blows his nose. My mom… suffers in silence. Slight whimpering, her only evidence that she hasn’t fainted… My husband twists his wedding band around his finger… questioning his 2-year old, “I do.”

The tragedy.

Belle…. Lost to Farmville…

….

TO BE CONTINUED…!                  

TO PROCEED TO THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY ******* CLICK HERE *******

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
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