So I think the start of this blog may have been ill-thought.  I started it and now I have to spend all my time getting my house in order and packing.  Sorry about that.  I will try to post as I can, but please bear with me if over the next couple weeks my posts are few and far between.  I have some stories I have been working on and one of them I'm sure I will add on to after my travels.  Hopefully I will have enough fight to post something after Witche's Ball (hopefully, including pics).

Thank you for being understanding!!!
So todays adventure...  I was sitting in my living room and felt a migraine coming on.  Yesterday I had gone to my girlfriends house and put the meds in my car "just in case" as I always do.  Only I forgot to bring them back in the house.  So remembering they were in the car I got up to go get them.  Due to a past history, I have a habit of locking my door whenever I pass it.  Today was no exception.  For some reason (another habit?) I pulled the door shut behind me.  GREAT!!! I just locked myself out of the house.  (For those of you who don't know, I went through a period of time where I would constantly lock myself out of my house or car on about a twice weekly basis.)  Because I was just going to the car, and I had hit the unlock button from inside the house, I did not have anything on me.  No phone, no keys, not even shoes.

So I go next door to the neighbors house and use their phone.  I call my mom who has a spare key and lives around the corner from me.  And who is nowhere near our home.  She tells me she is on her way home, but my mom has her own time that we call Mom Time.  This is to say, what ever time she tells you, add 2-4 hours to it.  So if she says, "I'll be home in a few," she really means she will be home in 2 hours.  So then I call the girlfriend whose house I had been at the day before, who also has a key, to find out she is in the middle of walking in a parade.  Wonderful!  I would like to take this time to say, the girlfriend had her phone shut off.  A neighbor gave her a prepaid cell phone to use, but since I left my phone in my locked house I didn't have the number.  I did, however, write it down and thankfully left it laying face-up in the front of my car.  When I hit the unlock button inside the house it did NOT unlock the car, so I had no way to get into that either, but I could see the phone number through the window.  Unfortunatly I had to memorize it quickly so I could call it.  I did in fact remember by the time I got to the neighbors, but it turned out to be pointless since she was in a parade.  Damn Boy Scouts!  Screwing up my rescue.

Anyway, with what was turning out to be a long wait ahead of me, I decided to turn into a cat burgler and break into my house.  I always come up with the best ideas, don't I?

So here was my idea:

Pull the broken air conditioner out of my daughters window, climb through, and unlock my door.  Sounds easy enough.

Here's what ACTUALLY happened:

  Since my daughter's window is about 8 feet off the ground, and I'm only 5'5", I got one of my lawn chairs and placed it next to/under the window.  I then tried for about 10 minutes to wriggle the air conditioner out.  Once I had it where it was balancing between the window ledge and my hands it occured to me that I myself was balance on a friggin lawn chair.  Did I mention the air conditioner is about 30 years old and ways a kagillion pounds?!?  Yeah.  So my only chance of survival at this point was to let the air conditioner fall (it was broken anyway) and jump back off the chair at the same time.  Somehow I lived (I never thought this would put my life in danger) but not without ripping the brackets, that hold the air conditioner up, off the house to where they decided to swing at my head.  Bob and weave!  (At this point I hear giggling coming from somewhere and have no doubt they are aimed at me.) 

So I once again climb onto my lawn chair (since the air conditioner is safely on the ground) and realize...I'm still too short.  I'm gonna have to jump.  Jumping in the past has not always gone well for me.  This time was no exception.  So I grab the window ledge and jump up, pulling myself into the window at the same time.  About half-way through the window it occurs to me that the window is about 4 feet off the ground on the inside.  My momentume would not allow for slowing down or stopping.  Needless to say I cut my finger, bashed my already bad knee, scraped both of my calfs, put knots into the muscles of my calfs from the bump-bump-bump thing they did going over the ledge, hit my ankle, and damaged my pride.  I think it was the last one that hurt the most.

Needless to say, I got in my house.  But I couldn't help think, "I bet cat-burglers don't have these problems.  I need to know more cat-burglers.  Or become one."  Sounds like another plan unfolding.  What could go wrong?
Ok so I'm gonna write this out and post it in both places (*Here and my friend on Facebook.)cause I'm just to lazy to rewrite it.

Years ago, when I was married, I used to play an online game that you had to have a screen name for, but also had live chat.  I had a really hard time coming up with a screen name so my husband made one for me.  There is a series of books about a dampyr (half-human, half-vampire) named Sonja Blue. (J-Dub got me hooked on them.)  My hubby read them and thought that Sonja was just like me, so....he made my screen name Sonja Blue.  I got so used to the ppl on the game calling me that I just went with it.

Fast forward, I started working at Sam's Club and so many ppl had trouble pronouncing my real name that I made a name-badge that had Sonja on it.  Seeing how I have always HATED my real name cause most ppl don't say it right, it didn't bother me that ppl started calling me by it and I actually started introducing myself as Sonja. 

Now I can tell who knows me from where by what they call me.  Tit= school or friends from school, real-name= family, and Sonja=everywhere else.  :)

So yesterday I got (no kidding) a total of 19 phone calls and 7 voicemails from different moving companies telling me they all recieved my email and wanted to give me quotes on how much it would cost to move.  Um...I didn't send out any email.  This is weird.  I didn't answer any of these calls because I got a total of 3 hours of sleep (which was broken up by the incesant phone calls).  Today I did answer one of the phone calls.  This is how it went.

Moving Company: Am I speaking to Sonja.

Me:  Yes, but I didn't send out an email so I don't know why you're calling me.

M.C.:  Well, I'm calling to give you a quote on your upcoming move.

Me:  That's what I'm trying to tell you.  I don't have an upcoming move.  That's probably why I didn't send out an email.  I think I've been hacked.

M.C.:  Well, are you going to be moving at any time.

Me: Maybe SOMEDAY.  In the future.  But no time soon.  But not right now.  right now I just want to make moving companies stop calling me.

M.C.:  Ok well then, I'll put you down for a call back for sometime after the holidays.

Me:  How about WHEn I decide to move I will call YOU?  Oh wait...How much would it cost to move all my stuff to Pluto.  I think if we repopulate it it might have a chance of being a planet again.

She hung up on me.

WTF?!?!  Did you not get the part where I said I don't want to get anymore calls?  And when did I say I was moving after the holidays?  And I'm totally seriouse about this Pluto idea.  It's small enough that only a select few could live there, but I really think if we populated it the other planets would let it back into the cool kids circle and it would be reinstated.  Pluto could sit back and tell 'em, "Fuck you!  You all kicked me out cause I was too small and now that I got PPL you want me back?  Kiss it you jealous, peopleless a-holes!"  (Cause that's how Pluto talks.)  Except Earth, Mars and Pluto would get along cause Earth and Pluto would both have ppl and Mars has aliens.  That's just cool.

And that's why no one should hack me.  Cause other PPL have to deal with me then.

So the other day my girlfriend sent me a link about a 5 ft. metal chicken and the pranks the owner has pulled with it.  I could not stop laughing my ass off.  Not just because the story was hilarious, but because the writer talks about putting the chicken up to her door-step and ringing the bell for her husband to find.  What had me beside myself was the memory it stirred up.

Years ago (I believe I was in middle school), I woke up and got ready for school.  As I opened to door to leave for the day I came face to face with 2 chickens on our enclosed front porch.  Seeing as how I knew a house not too far away that had chickens (even though we lived in the city and this was strange to begin with) I pretty much knew where they had come from.  The question was, what were they doing there?

I stepped back and closed the door and let the fact sink in that there were chickens in our front porch.  I mean, of all things to leave the house to, CHICKENS?!?! WTF?!?  Anyway, so now I had a choice to make.  Do I go out the door and brave the chickens to go to school?  Or, do I stay in the house, skip school and avoid the chickens that have camped outside the door?  Seeing as how I had no previous experience with chickens, I was stumped.  The thought of my parents killing me for not going to school though made me try for going to school.

So once again I approached the door.  As I got one foot outside the chickens decided to violently flap around, scarring me back into the house.  Ok, no school for me.  I wondered if the school would consider that an acceptable excuse.  “Yes, hi.  I can’t come to school today.  Why?  Well, I’m being held hostage by chickens.”

For the rest of the day I stayed inside and lounged around the house.  Later in the afternoon I heard a commotion on the front porch and looked out the window to see the chickens doing their crazy, wing flappy thing again.  (I would call it a chicken dance, but that's just rediculous.  Everyone knows what a chicken dance looks like.  Although, it's just as scarry.)  I jumped up and ran out the back door to find my dad standing on the outside of the porch staring into it.  (At this time it occurred to me that had I thought of the back door earlier I could have gone to school, but really who thinks of things like that while being held hostage by chicken?)

Me:  Good. You’re home.  Make sure they don’t go anywhere and I’ll go get their owners.

Dad:  You know where these belong?

Me:  I think so.

Dad:  Of course YOU would know where chickens live in the city.

So I got on my bike and rode over to the house and sure enough they were missing their chickens.  From time to time, after that, the chickens would come and visit (and I would use the back door) and the owners would just come get their chickens because they now knew where to find them.

About a year later, I woke up to go to school and opened the front door to find it full of a big, black pig.  Once again I stepped back, closed the door, shook my head and went back to bed.  No school for me.  When I woke up again, I found my mom sitting in the living room watching T.V.   (Something she almost never did.)

Me:  I think I dreamt there was a pig on the porch.

Mom:  That wasn’t a dream.  It’s still there.

Me:  You’re kidding me?

Mom:  Nope. A big, black one?

Me: Yep.

Mom: Nope, you weren’t dreaming.

Apparently the neighbor a few houses down decided that instead of getting a dog or cat (or chicken) for a pet she wanted a Vietnamese Pot Belly Pig.  What she didn’t do is make sure the pig couldn’t dig its way out of the pen.  So once again I went out the back door, down to the neighbor’s house and she followed me back with a leash to take her pig back home.  After that the pig would get out often and the neighbor always found it on our porch. We never saw the chickens again.

What I learned from this was that, sometime during the night, while I was sleeping, my front porch would somehow magically produce livestock that liked to keep me in my own house.  I never really knew what to expect when I stepped outside in the mornings, but I never was shocked either.  Now I live more out in the country-ish where horses and cows are not so odd and think, “I have not once been visited by a chicken or pig.  I think my childhood home just had a magic front porch.”

So as I stated in my previous blog, a bunch of my friends have suggested (for a while now) that I need to start blogging the stuff that happens to me and conversations I have with people. Apparently I’m funny.  For a long time I didn’t see it and just thought that my friends all participated in some sort of mass drug use while reading my posts on Facebook.  I’m not gonna say that my friends don’t smoke funny stuff, but when the sober ones start saying the same thing, it’s usually time to look into things.  I never really thought of myself as funny, I’m just me, but we all live inside our own heads and view ourselves a certain way.

Anyway, while thinking about this, and talking to a few people, I found myself recounting the day when I figured out where my particular sense of humor comes from.  The simple answer…my dad.

When I was younger I used to tell my dad that I wasn’t “normal” because I was an alien.  (I didn’t really believe I was an alien, but I’ve been proven wrong on a number of things over the years so it might be possible I’m wrong about this too.) I used to tell him that I was loony. The reason being that I was a Loonalien from the planet Loonaliea.  Whenever I would come home late I would come up with stories about how my REAL parents abducted me for a visit and that aliens tell time differently from humans and that was why I was late.  Anything I did wrong I would somehow spin into a story about aliens and blame them. My dad would just look at me with that dad look that said he wasn’t buying it, but then would let me off the hook because…well, how can you argue with aliens?

Anyway, years later while I was at work, my dad caught up with the times and got himself a phone that was capable of text messaging.  (This was HUGE for my dad.  The man still doesn’t have cable and I think he never will.)  Out of the blue, in the middle of my shift I received a text that was along the lines of the following:

“The aliens showed up today looking for you.  They were very disappointed that you do not live here anymore.  Can you please forward your address to them so they will stop shining that light in my window while I am trying to sleep? Love-Dad.”

I was stumped.  My co-worker asked what was wrong and, after I showed her the text, responded with, “So you’re just like your

It was then that it hit me.  Especially since me responding text to my father was, “Buy some blinds.”

Yep, that’s where my sense of humor comes from.

So basically after much debate I have decided to start blogging the stuff that happens to me and conversations I have with ppl.  So I guess the first thing I need to do is introduce myself.  My name is Sonja and I live near detroit, MI.  (When I say near I mean within minutes.)  I would tell you how old I am, but I forgot.  No, seriously.  I forgot.  That's the kind of person I am.  That and I have a closed head injury that effects both my hormones and my memory.  Hence the blogging because chances are good if something happens I won't remember a week from now.  I am a mother of one.  I'm sure I will be refering to her often in here.  For the sake of her safty (in case of alien invation) I only refert o her as Lil Miss.  I am in a long-term long-distance relationship with my other half, DJ.  It actually works for us.  I'm not sure how.  Maybe because I'm easier to deal with from afar. 

I have a number of ailments that include (but are not limited to) arthritis, said closed-head injury, OCD, endomitriosis, Rhynaud's Syndrome, and some other stuff I can't think of at the moment.  I'm sure you will hear about it all if you continue to read and follow my posts.

I am very interested in vampires, werewolves, witches, faries, zombies, ghosts, weird shit (use your imagination).  Pretty much anything preternatural, but just stuff that is odd and different.  I have a very morbid, sarcastic, odd sense of humor.  Most people just think I'm insane and don't get it.  I have a tendancy to offend people without meaning to because of it.  Not my intention, but if you can't see the humor in something, fuck off.  Oh, yeah, and most people who meet me tell me later, "When I first met you I thought you were a bitch.  Then I got to know you and figured out that's just your sense of humor and how you are."  I would be offended, but I see how people think this.  I'm not mean per-se.  I am just VERY sarcastic and I don't put up with peoples bull.  Life is too short to worry about what people think of me for speaking my mind or telling it like it is.

Um..I don't really know what else to say here so I'm gonna leave it here and hopefully we will take a journey together and you'll get to know me (and love or hate me) as we go.