I’m not quite sure when it happened or why for that matter. I know I never requested one. Who in their right mind would consciously request one? But I am thinking that at some juncture a buzzer was surgically implanted in my ass.
At one point, I thought perhaps there were cameras strategically placed in the room where I had dared chosen to take a break from working, cooking, cleaning or laundry. But since the dogs have gotten in on the fun and they don’t know how to work cameras I’m thinking the buzzer makes the most sense. It must emit a high-pitched sound that stirs the animals in the house and gets them in on the action.
For example . . . just the other night I’d had a long day filled to the brim with work, dinner, laundry and kids. I’d tidied up and did a walk about the house to ensure myself of an uninterrupted moment of sheer mindless television viewing. I made it to the family room hoping to indulge in one of the few small pleasures that I allow myself once a week.
Already well accustomed to the buzzer sounding as soon as my cotton-covered cheeks met chenille covered couch cushion, I remembered to grab BOTH cell and house phones.
I shimmied between the coffee table and loveseat began to lower myself just as Gordon Ramsay tore into one of his restaurant contestants. The promise of my bottom hitting the couch loomed and I sighed knowing that there was little that could foil my plans. I had been thorough; leaving nothing to chance.
I fell toward the cushion anticipating the feel of the smooth soothing fabric engulfing me. And then I landed.
That was when my Rottweiler peeled herself from her club chair and hurled all over the carpet.
Since I had barely hit the cushion I was able to rebound off the springs and back to standing. I walked over to my girl and patted her on the head, “Are you okay, Baby?” Of course she didn’t answer (I’m not so deluded that I actually thought that she would answer, just crazy enough to conceive the buzzer theory).
I went to get paper towels but found the roll empty. I reached for a new pack and tore into the hermetically sealed plastic that encased them. God forbid something should infiltrate a roll of paper towels!
Figuring some bizarre occurrence would happen on my way back to the vomit, I took two rolls back just in case. I grabbed some spray from the utility closet and went to clean the mess. As soon as I was done cleaning and scrubbing the carpet, I washed my hands at the sink and made my way back to the family room. Then I collapsed into the cushion for the second time, essentially setting off my ass buzzer: the phone started ringing.
I looked around the room before remembering I’d taken them with me to collect the paper towels. Without swearing (yeah, right!) I heaved myself up and retraced my steps towards them. Of course, the phone stopped ringing the moment I found it. I checked the caller ID.
I called my mother back and the phone rang and rang and rang. Where the heck was she? How far could she have gone? Just before the voicemail kicked in my mother answered the phone breathlessly. I asked if everything was okay because she sounded like she’d just climbed Mt Everest in record time. She told me not to be such a smartass that she was running around the house looking for her phone because she forgot where she had left it and she had just sat down to watch some TV.
Hmm. Maybe it was a two for one deal.
The Dream Weaver
Anda, like a lot of people, detests her job. She's been trying to get fired for as long as she could remember and goes out of her way to blow off every assignment that she is given. But when one of her "missions" ends badly, well more badly than usual, her boss who happens to be her mother "drops" her into the fray hoping she will learn her lesson. But the only lesson she is about to learn is how fast she can fall for a smokin' sexy aviation engineer.
Sam Miller is the oldest Miller brother. He is successful, handsome and wants for very little having reached many of his goals by the ripe old age of 25. But when he sets his gaze on Anda, his brother's new counselor he can't believe his eyes. For the first time in his life Sam is fearful that he might not get what he wants. He's also a Dream Weaver? Something he doesn't like to mention.
The Dream Weaver is an original, funny and meant for a mature reader. The language is a bit salty too. You'll laugh, whimper (not cry) and fan yourself all at the same time! Don't pass it up.
Amy Baker is the author of Finding Catalina, The Dream Weaver and her most recent creation, The Beginning of January.
Born and raised in NJ, she has always lived close enough to experience all that NYC has to offer (and then some.) She graduated from Villanova University and started her career in an advertising agency writing and creating sales material for TV/Movies (fun!) She tried her hand in the financial district for a few years (wonderful people but it didn't satisfy the creative side of her brain.)
Worked in a design center for about a year (fun in a different way and great people.) Became a mom (the most fun and very creative. Kids are awesome.) Now she has come full circle. She works as a freelance consultant and at night when the house is quiet has time to put all of life's craziness into stories writing fiction books (super fun!). She is married to her best friend, has two wonderful kids, and two big dogs.
Anda sat in the uncomfortable metal chair with her head cocked to one side. Tiffany, the Lord and Taylor sales professional, was wearing a bright blue top with a boat neck and no sleeves. It draped beautifully. Her tapered pants flared at the bottom and were a very nice shade of gray. Anda had come to appreciate clothes on Earth, everything on FairLorn, though it shimmered, lacked any color at all. Still, Anda was having a difficult time appreciating Tiffany’s outfit or how she would come to acquire it because she was simultaneously trying to block out Tiffany’s whiney voice at the same time. “That’s her.” She droned. “When I returned to the dressing room she was gone with all of the clothes. I didn’t think much of it. I figured she changed her mind. But then we heard the security system alerting us that someone was passing the exterior doors with merchandise. So I called Vinnie in security and he reviewed the surveillance video and we could see her on camera walking out wearing the clothes she had tried on in the dressing room and she was carrying a few other things. She didn’t pay for them, by the way. She was shoplifting. I would know, I was supposed to get the commission.” Her head turned to Anda. “Bitch.” She stated loudly. Anda heard little of what Tiffany said. She was more amazed by the salesgirl’s ability to yell and whine at the same time.
The security office that was situated in the bowels of the huge department store was kind of dreary. The walls were all cinderblock and painted the most awful shade of blue. All Anda could think about was poor Vinnie. He was stuck down here all the time. The police officer that had entered the room a few moments before had his head down and was taking Tiffany’s statement. He finally turned to look at Anda, the shoplifter. He froze. No breathing. No blinking. Anda tipped the corners of her lips up in an apologetic smile. Then she saw and heard the officer swallow slowly. “Is, ehem, is this true, Ms…Ms…what did you say your name was?” His head was cocked to the side in the same direction as Vinnie’s.
“Anda. And I didn’t intentionally take the clothes. I didn’t realize I was supposed to hand over the green paper before I left. That’s all. I have the green paper with me now.” Anda shifted in her seat and took a strand of her hair in her fingers and started to twirl. “You believe me don’t you?” She raised her eyebrows as the police officer’s jaw fell open about an inch. She thought she heard him say ‘holy shit’ under his breath, it would make sense- she got that a lot, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hmm?”
The police officer didn’t answer her but asked Vinnie instead if she had any previous offenses to which Vinnie closed his mouth, tore his eyes from Anda and shook his head slowly in the officers direction. Then his mouth fell open again.
“I’m sorry…” the officer was shaking his head in disbelief while Tiffany got excited that he was about to drop the hammer. There was no way that anyone would believe that bullshit. “…is that your real eye color?” He bizarrely queried.
Anda was pretty sure she saw Tiffany’s hair expand and contract when her head exploded. “Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you people? Haul her ass off to a cell for the night. That would teach her a lesson.
Shoplifting is illegal and I want my commission, bitch.” Tiffany asserted.
There it was again. Shoplifting. Apparently acquiring new clothes without the green paper was called shoplifting.
The officer scolded Tiffany on her foul language warning her that if she couldn’t calm down he would have to charge her with a disorderly. He then asked how much the clothes Anda ‘mistakenly’ walked out with cost. Tiffany whipped out a piece of paper that she had prepared in her hopes of railroading Anda and responded $216.99. Anda took her hundreds out of her pocket and handed Tiffany the money. Tiffany ripped the money out of Anda’s hand and turned to walk out of the office murmuring “Green paper, my ass.”
Vinnie still hadn’t blinked in the forty minutes that he stared at Anda. Maybe he was from another world too. “Can I go now?” She asked both men.
The officer turned to Vinnie and asked if they were planning on pressing charges. Vinnie finally blinked and responded verbally. “Nah.”
Anda smiled at the short, portly, balding Vinnie.
“You are free to go. And here, take my card in case you need anything.” The police officer held out his hand holding a card with his name and contact information.
“Thank you,” Anda looked on the card, “Officer Davis.” She nodded.
“Call me. If you need anything, anything at all.” He put his thumbs in the waistline of his pants and let the rest of his fingers hang. Anda just nodded quickly and excused herself from the office.