Mother May I…

Mother May I…
Written by: Frank Cormier

His frail shivering body was tucked into a crevice along one of the side walls.  This was where his Mother instructed him to take shelter while she was away.  She had told him to stay hidden and that he was not to show his face above the edge of the wall when she was gone.  He had asked why, she just said, “because.”  They had been living in this spot for only a couple of weeks, and it looked no different than the last place to him (though his Mother thought it might be safer), he still didn’t fully understand why they had to move.  He wondered if his old friends would miss him?  The shivering continued, not that he was cold, he was hungry and afraid.  Usually he had eaten by now, something must be wrong he thought.  Maybe she got lost?

In defiance of his Mother’s orders, he poked his head just above the brim of the stick, dried mud, and grass shelter they called home in an effort to hopefully catch a peak of her returning.  A dark shadow passed overhead and momentarily blocked the glowing orb high above.  He didn’t know what this orb was called, just that it kept things bright and warm whenever it was in the sky.  Every so often it would just disappear and everything got dark and cool.  He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but was happy to have his Mother nearby because she always knew how to make it come back.  The shadow passed overhead again.  He couldn’t see that far so wasn’t sure what caused it.  An eerie sensation passed through his delicate body and he shook for a moment.  His Mother would know what had happened, if only she were here to ask.  It was getting dark.

While peering over the crude edge of his tottering habitat, the prevailing thought going through his mind was that it was a long way down.  How did he end up here in the first place?  Their other place was quasi-solid and lower to the earth.  What if the wind picked up?  He could be blown to the ground and not able to stop his descent.  What if a predator came along and snatched him?  He was too small to know how to defend himself.  And where were his brothers and sisters?  Did he even have brothers or sisters or was his mind playing tricks on him?  He vaguely recalled others being around him not that long ago but was unsure.  If only his Father hadn’t abandoned them, he felt that they would’ve been better off.  Why is life such a test?

The space was cramped and he started to pace as best he could in the tight quarters and looked nervously to the sky every other step.  The smell of wild flowers was floating around him as if to suggest that all was okay, but he knew better.  Springtime in New England can be a tricky time of year weather-wise as well.  First you could enjoy the aroma of the natural surroundings except that there were allergens in the air too.  He knew he wasn’t allergic to anything, at least so far at this point in his life.  The bigger concern was rain, or worse, a late spring snowstorm.  There was no good place to take shelter when either of these weather events happened.  And it was very difficult to stay warm.  He was so tiny and fragile.  His Mother always cuddled with him to keep him dry and provide warmth.  She had been gone for what seemed hours and he was now frightened.  Where was she?

Most of the leaves had not fully unfurled so the typical canopy that should shield them had yet to form.  Even though his small frame was ensconced by a wispy layer of pinnae that covered his flesh, he felt naked without the protection of the leaves.  His Mother told him that soon enough both the vegetation and his plumed tegument would fill in to obscure the unseemly sightlines that Nature had teased each with.  How proud and handsome he would look to his Mother once that occurred he couldn’t help thinking to himself.  She once told him that he looked like his Father and this upset him.  He wanted to look more like her.  She was his hero and relished the day that he could take care of her.  The shadow now circled overhead at a regular interval.  Was that her voice?

The sounds of Nature are distinct; however, when heard in a cacophony, reality became dissonance. The wind had picked up, clouds moved in and a slight rain was peppering the surrounding terrain.  Both added to the boisterous collection of noises that were created by buzzing insects, squawking birds of all ilk, rustling branches, thunder in the distance, and artificial mechanical sounds that had no place in nature.  Confused by all of the sounds, he once more peered over the edge of the nest.  Though it wasn’t fully dark, it certainly wasn’t as bright as it was before.  No longer could he see the shadow that loomed overhead just moments ago, thus he wasn’t able to perceive the impending danger.  Maybe I should call out to her?

Filling his miniature lungs with as much air as he could swallow, he let out the faintest of chirps barely audible over the sound of the swollen rain drops pelting the soft earth below.  However, it was heard by the shadow from above and it moved with solemnity and precision.  He breathed in deeply again and let out another heartfelt plea beckoning his Mother’s return.  For a moment all sounds ceased and he had trouble hearing himself breathe.  How odd he thought to himself.  His Mother never shared this experience with him?  In an instance he was airborne and unable to breathe.  How could I be in the air his mind screamed to himself?  I don’t even know how to fly!  Why can’t I breathe?  Where is the bright orb in the sky?  All was going dark.  “Mother, please make it bright again,” he pleaded.  “Please make it bright again.”

The End

Copyright (C) by Frank Cormier 2016.  All rights reserved.

Hero

Hero
Written by: Frank Cormier

I used to wonder how my day was going to turn out when first waking. Sometimes I imagined that the day held some type of epic journey and I would end up thousands of miles from where I began. It was always a better place than the original starting point, places like: Honolulu, Tokyo, Bangkok, Munich, Paris, Prague, Montreal, New York, Los Angeles, all hold some type of adventure waiting to be explored.

I haven’t dreamt of any of these places in quite some time. Life works that way, high on it one day, down on it the next. I’ve always been envious of the people that have their shit together, especially the ones that can do it day in and day out. I was one of those people in some distant life. Now I do my best to make it through a day, hell a week or month, avoiding those same likeminded persons.

“What’s the point in complaining?” I think these days. In a lot of ways it has become my new mantra. Let me explain: I live in Lower City, Connecticut at present in a small flat off of Route Sixty-Three; which is the main road in and out of this turn of the millennia town, and not this last one either. When one looks up information regarding the various types of “activities” that are here on Google, you will get a blank page in return. This is perfectly acceptable to me.

According to a census taken a few years before I began my sojourn, the population stood at one thousand and eighty-one; it’s now temporarily one thousand and eighty-two. And the median age is forty-two, which I fall close to that age as well. It’s a perfect place for me and one I could call home until recently. I am going to have move from here sooner than I anticipated. Unfortunately, I won’t be heading to any of the places I listed above.

As I mentioned, I am not one to complain, instead I take action. My latest action is the reason I need to move on. I should share some information about my past before explaining my present circumstance. Just how far back a person should go to get to the “root” of one’s problem has always been a mystery to me, and still is now. Everyone has tedious details about his or her life that have contributed to the person they are today. And the really catastrophic events are usually the ones we try to forget, especially if they were bad ones. I guess that’s why there are so many antidepressants available.

Too bad doctors haven’t yet come up with a “catastrophic memory erase pill.” I imagine it to work like this: You could tell the doctor what the specific event was, and he or she would consult this fancy computer looking device in their office, turn a few dials, enter in some typed written data (birth date, weight, sex, the event, etc), some lights would flash, then a whirring sound, and out would pop a magic bullet that was designed especially for you. You would be instructed to take the pill with food, a side effect being nausea if taken on an empty stomach, and an eight-ounce glass of water. No alcohol! This would only enhance the memory and reinforce it in your brain. Approximately thirty minutes later you would have a hot flash and presto!, the catastrophic event is gone! It would be as if the event never occurred. And no matter how many photos you saw or stories told to you by others, nothing.

So much for my idea… I am still left with the mystery of where I should start with my life changing event. Going back to when I was three or four years old is useless. I can barely remember what I ate for lunch yesterday let alone some event that happened forty some odd years ago that shaped part of who I am today. Even going back to my teen years is not useful either. I was just like any other teen, difficulty with puberty, acne, girl crazy, (all due to an imbalance in my testosterone levels), and smoking a little weed. At least the weed helped take the edge off of certain social situations that were forced upon me at the time, high school dances, proms and such.

After high school is probably the best place for me to start. I didn’t go to college right out of school, hell, I still haven’t gone! I went straight into the military. Where I grew up you either went to college or you learned a trade and worked for the rest of your life. At least being in the Army I would get to travel, or so I thought. I got stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, 24th Infantry Division, for three and a half years in the middle of nowhere. I guess in some ways it served as a precursor to where I am in my life today.

My military career was uneventful, outside of standing watch around some missile silos on the remotest part of the base near Clay Center. Otherwise I passed my time drinking beer at the enlisted bar and waiting around for tornados. The base was always lively when we got the tornado warnings. We actually felt like we had a purpose. The whole rush of adrenalin we got from ushering base folk to the different shelters quickly wore off when you realized that you were stuck in a room with nothing to do with all of these other bored people.

I still remember when my platoon officer Captain Harold Lewis III, approached me about reenlisting; I had such a perplexed look on my face. He was going over all of the reasons (which I believe them to be mostly his personal ones), of why I should stay in the Army. He said that I got free room and board, three square meals a day, free haircuts, and all of the pussy I wanted because I wore a uniform. His name suggests that he may become a flag officer one day. The military is fond of history, even if it is in the form of parents being so unoriginal in naming a child. I have no such luck. He was and still is a career man and is still single. Hoorah!

The military wasn’t for me. I knew it at the time but went in anyway because I couldn’t fathom growing up and dying in one place. Still don’t believe in it, which is why I move around. Well this is part of the reason I move around, the other reason I have yet to explain.

After the Army, I drifted around from town to town. I never quite got past my fear of traveling to any of the places I listed previously. I guess I have a fear of flying, but I’m guessing. I have only been on four airplanes so far in my life. The first one was to Fort Benning, GA for basic training, the second was when I got transferred to Kansas, the third was back to my home town of Cecil, PA after my enlistment, and the last one I took was to Hartford. I’ve moved from town to town in the greater Harford, CT – Springfield, MA area for the last twenty some odd years. Never felt a reason to fly again.

I don’t even know why I picked this area. Maybe because it reminds me somewhat of home without all of the people I know or who knew me. I must have thought that this was a place I could renew who I am; you know, re-invent myself in a familiar environment. I don’t truly recall my reasons, but if that was it, I failed miserably. I still have the same fears of success and failure, flying, making friends, and too many others to list. Then again, I do believe that I am getting better about making friends. I was dating a woman from Canaan, CT, which is the next town over from here. She was only the third women I had ever dated. I have never been married.

I met her about six months ago and we got along right away. We rushed headlong into a relationship and moved in together after two months. It could not have been better for me. I had this person in my life that enjoyed my company and liked to do things for me like have sex, cook meals, sex, laundry, sex, and smoke weed. I believed that I had met my perfect partner. As the saying goes, “the honeymoon was over” after six months. I wish it were something we could have worked on and tried to keep it going. The problem was that she died. There are ups and downs in everyone’s life.

It’s not as if she killed herself or something. She was a very happy person about most areas of her life. Not much seemed to get her down. I found this to be a very attractive quality. Any time I felt down, she was right there to pick me up. It was great while it lasted but her death is part of the reason I need to move.

You see, she died in a most unusual way… we were having sex when she died. She liked to be tied up and also liked a host of other kinky positions as well, real adventurous. However, it was none of these acts that led to her death. You see (this is so hard for me to talk about), she died after we had plain old missionary position sex. I don’t know if it was from the boredom associated with the method or her not being used to that position. I never had the chance to ask her. If one can tell what one is thinking by the look on one’s face, then my guess is she died bemused.

The coroner’s report states that she died from myocardial infarction, a.k.a.: a heart attack. I don’t believe the report. I believe she thought that we reached a point in the relationship that we were going to start being “routine” and this was too much for her to handle. I should never have suggested missionary position to her. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, but it doesn’t matter now. No amount of analyzing this event in my head will bring her back. I wish some doctor would hurry up and invent that pill.

As I had mentioned, there are roughly a thousand or so folks living in this town, and it felt like each one stared at me any time they saw me in public. It seemed that they all had read the Hartford Register newspaper story about her death and some of the sordid details the reporters like to add to make a mundane event appear like the event of the century. How many times does one get to be known as a “sex killer” in their life? I was being branded as a killer yet it couldn’t be further from the truth. No charges were pressed; heck no criminal investigation ever took place either.

Most of the details about our licentious sex life I told to the detective when he looked around our apartment for the slightest trace of foul play. I had to tell him something because he saw our “box of tricks” and asked to see inside. He hardly raised an eyebrow when he saw the amount of toys and costumes that we had in the ocean steamer trunk. Instead he quickly scanned the rest of the apartment from where he was standing, jotted a few notes, shook my hand and said that he was sorry about my loss. About two days later, the story in the newspaper appeared, details and all, and my life hasn’t been the same since. The reaction of the town folk was most strange… I became a celebrity of sorts.

The strangest reactions I received were from most of the women around my age, married or otherwise; they would approach me and ask if I would have sex with them. They said that was the way they wanted to go out. They said that their husbands were not up for the job and wanted a real man to take them to the other side of existence. A few of them even called me a hero! The men viewed me as something abnormal. One man in particular asked me why I wasn’t married at my age and had kids. He said that if I were, then I would be able to understand women better. I never said I was trying to understand them!

I guess I should share one other detail from my past since I have already divulged so much thus far. This is the sixth time that a woman has died while having sex with me, which was also in the story. Apparently I have a penchant for picking women with bad hearts and a low tolerance for plain sex. The first three women died the same way as the last one. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m a possessed Midas. This is the reason, just as in the past, that I have to move again. I’m now part of the pop culture here and do not welcome the notoriety that comes with all that has happened. Maybe now is the time that I face my fear of flying and move to Tibet, where there are no heroes, at least none that I know of…

The End

Copyright (C) by Frank Cormier 2016.  All rights reserved.

Heartfelt

Heartfelt

Written by: Frank Cormier

 

I had read in the paper recently about an unexplained death that occurred while the victim was allegedly surfing the Internet, or so the news article led the reader to believe.  The victim was a thirty-eight year old male, (the fourth male in his thirties, I might add, to be found dead at his computer in the past two months), a successful business man (he owned a gun and ammo store and was connected with two exotic dance clubs in the area), and was found face down in a pile of paper work on his desk, “… a typical messy desk with papers strewn about, a monitor and keyboard and mouse, and a set of stereo computer speakers.”  The news article went on to say that there were no apparent external wounds and that there were no signs of a struggle and suicide was ruled out immediately.  The alleged Internet surfing was offered because his email account was opened and some type of “community” Web page was also open on the browser at the time of the investigation.

 

A few days later in a follow up story, the reporter said the police were not labeling the death as “suspicious” so have closed their investigation for now.  The reason for the “for now” was according to the autopsy report, the death was labeled “inconclusive” because no poisons, alcohol, or illicit drugs were found in the blood stream (all though the police still hadn’t ruled out some type of payback because this latest victim had been busted for cocaine and morphine peddling in the past), however, there are several types of poison that leave no trace in the bloodstream or in tissue.  The article only went on to say that the victim “died of an apparent heart attack” even though the tell-tale signs like scarring of the myocardial tissue or clogged arteries were not evident.  The examining doctor concluded it appeared to him that for all practical purposes, “the victim’s heart just stopped.”

 

It seemed that no one was making any connection out of the deaths except me.  I reread the articles and researched the stories again on the Internet looking for more details surrounding each death.  Here is what I found:

 

The first death was a thirty six year old male who had been convicted of pedophilia.  He was placed under house arrest after serving eight months in the county jail while awaiting a retrial.  The jail was overcrowded so the judge decided to allow the prisoner to wait for the new trial at home as long he as he agreed to wear an ankle bracelet.  He also had to check in with a parole officer twice a week to ensure that he has truly at home.  The man readily agreed to the terms.

 

While at home he was allowed the usual liberties that most people take for granted such as watching television, surfing the Internet, smoke in his own home, and sleep in a regular bed.  The only restrictions he had were that he could not wander more than one hundred yards from his property because the police were monitoring his whereabouts and that he had to register any guests who came to visit.  He was okay with the restrictions.  He didn’t feel much like leaving his home anyway because he felt safest there.  And the only one that would visit him was his mother.  He didn’t have any friends.  His mother would visit five times a week and bring him groceries, wash his clothes, tidy up the house, and read to him select passages from the bible.

 

He would tolerate the bible readings in order to placate her so that she would continue to buy him cigarettes.  She didn’t like that he smoked but accepted that about him as long as he would allow the Lord into his life.  Sometimes he would fall asleep when she read to him.  He felt at peace, not for religious reasons, more that he didn’t feel he had to watch his back all of the time.

 

He had been locked up with dope pushers, drunk driving offenders, a few gang bangers, and petty thieves when he served his time in the county jail.  Sleep didn’t come easy there; he was always paranoid that he would have to fight for his life.  For now he was going to enjoy the comfort of his own home.  He knew that if he were to be convicted in the new trial he was going away to a maximum security state prison where the cliental is a much tougher group; the type that would stick a shiv in you without blinking any eye, especially a convicted pedophile.

 

Prisoners are an unusual mix of people, most never believed that they were totally in the wrong and would rationalize their crime.  Some of the guys were fathers and have an extreme dislike for people that commit crimes against children.  The problem was that he didn’t believe a crime had been committed.  He could rationalize his reasons if they would just listen, but that was creating a problem in his mind before there was one.  He was not in prison and all he had to do was convince a judge and jury that he was innocent.  “Piece of cake,” he would tell himself.  “I’ll search the Internet for possible defenses, legal proceedings, and anything else I can find to keep me out of that place.”

 

Ten days after he was under house arrest, his mother found him dead in front of the computer.  The article stated that, “… the victim was found slumped over the key board to his computer from an apparent heart attack.”  Again the scene was similar in that the victim was sitting in front of his computer surfing the Internet, and the only items on the desk were the monitor, keyboard and mouse, and speakers.  Nothing was offered regarding the content of the Internet surfing other than it mentioned, “… it looked as if he were checking his emails when he died.”

 

The second victim was a thirty four year old man described as a “family man.”  Upon further research, this “John Doe” was accused of rape but not convicted.  His rape victim committed suicide once the trial was over because he was allowed to walk away.  Walk away is an accurate description for describing his actions that day.  When the jury came back with the not guilty verdict, he sauntered out of the courtroom and winked at the young woman who had accused him of rape.  She broke down in tears and could not be consoled no matter how many times the judge hammered the gavel requesting “order in the court.”

 

John had three children, two teenage sons and a ten year old daughter.  His children were window dressing.  He spent more time at the country club or a local watering hole than he did at home.  He had always felt like he had been trapped by his wife into marrying her because she got pregnant the first time they had sex.  He had four different girlfriends at the time and didn’t want to give up the lifestyle.  Then he noticed something changed when he started wearing a wedding ring.

 

He was a handsome man that always had an easy time picking up woman.  But the ring gave him an out that he never expected: no commitment.  Most women that he met wouldn’t sleep with him unless they got to know him.  They all seemed to want a steady relationship that would lead to marriage.  It was only after he started wearing a wedding band that he encountered more women who were looking for a one night stand = NSA, (No Strings Attached).  And the Internet was loaded with these types of women.  That was how he met “Jane Doe.”

 

Jane was thirty five, a very attractive blonde with an athletic figure.  She had a bit of a self esteem problem and didn’t date much.  Most guys didn’t ask her out because they thought she was too pretty and shied away.  And of the men she met in bars, most were loud mouth drunks and/or married.  Her best friend convinced her to try Internet dating.  “Go on!  Give it a shot,” Lisa said to encourage her.  “You’re too beautiful to be alone.  I know the right guy is out there for you.”

 

She signed up on Mate.Com as her first attempt at meeting someone on the Internet and went through the typical protocol of filling out an online survey, completing a questionnaire, writing a profile, and finally posting her picture.  Within the first twenty four hours of posting her profile, she had over one hundred “hits.”  That night she took the time to go through each one and send back a “not interested” response to over ninety of the men who contacted her.  Only seven of the men who emailed her caught her attention, so she sent back a reply inviting further communication.  John was one of the seven.

 

They hit it off right away and she went out on her first date with him.  Jane met him at a local coffee shop on a weeknight.  He was charming and she found him more attractive the more they talked.  John told to her that he was not married and didn’t have children.  He had stopped wearing his wedding band after his daughter was born so there was no pronounced ring mark on his finger.  As things progressed he made his move and asked her to go back to her place.  She felt everything was going so well that she was blinded by his charm and went against everything Lisa told her not to do on a first date.  She decided she was an adult and could make her own decisions and invited him back.

 

He followed her to her condominium.  Once inside they made with some small talk, she poured some wine, and he made his move.  She pushed him away saying it was too soon.  John wasn’t having any of that and tore her dress off and forced her into her bedroom.  This is what she testified to in court.  He told a different story, more convincing, that made her sound like a prostitute.  The jury bought it and he was found innocent.  His wife even came to his defense believing that this “other woman seduced her husband.”

 

Two months after the court proceedings and the newspapers locked on to a different subject, he was found dead sitting in front of his computer by his wife.  This article stated that, “… the victim was found sitting in his underwear in front of his computer and had died from a heart attack.”  The scene was similar yet again, John was doing something on his computer, surfing the Internet, checking emails, etc., and the only items on the desk were some family photos, the monitor, keyboard and mouse, and speakers.

 

The third victim was a thirty nine year old male lawyer who’s cliental included known drug lords.  In town he was known to the police as the “Freedom Man.”  It was written in several newspapers and online news sites that he knew more ways to confound a court system and created legal quagmires that will take decades for the court to sort through to make a determination.  In the mean time, his cliental were free to continue with their lives.

 

He felt it was his responsibility to ensure that every “i” be dotted and every “t” be crossed in the legal system.  “Without law and order – chaos reigns supreme” was framed over his office desk.  He didn’t make the laws; he was just there to make certain that the law was followed to the letter.  Even if that meant a less than scrupulous person was allowed to freely walk the streets.  He watched their back and they watched his.

 

I am not here to judge,” he would say to ease any guilty conscience that attempted to infiltrate his morals after manipulating the system to allow his client a free pass.  “Search and seizure procedures are clearly spelled out by the letter of the law,” he admonished a rookie police officer on the witness stand.  “You are not at liberty to ‘adjust’ the rules by your own freewill to fit a particular situation to afford an arrest.”  The rookie was seething and was visibly shaking as he acknowledged the mistake he made through gritting teeth.  The judge declared a mistrial and Marcus “The Hi-Way King” Lachesis strutted out of the courtroom.

 

Marcus was a bad man in several ways.  Not only did he sell drugs to minor children, he was also connected to an underage prostitution ring.  The rumor was that he ran the entire drug and sex industry in the city.  “No one or nothing gets pimped or sold without my approval, you dig,” he told his lawyer when he first met him over twelve years ago.  He had never spent more than one night behind bars since that time.

 

The incentive was there for him as a young lawyer as it still was today; money.  And there was plenty of money, all cash.  He would receive a suitcase full of one hundred dollar bills each time he kept his clients out of jail.  All though for IRS purposes he would submit a legal looking invoice to a fence company with legitimate business dealings.  “Offshore bank accounts have become my Xanadu.  There is no reason to believe in a higher authority than cash,” he was fond of saying to whomever would listen to him at Kelley’s Tavern.  I listened to him that night and made a mental note.

 

According to the Ten O’clock News he was found lying on the floor with one hand clutched to his chest and the other to his head.  There was no mention of the items on his desk or whether or not he was surfing the Internet.  It was conjectured that he had died from either a brain embolism or massive heart attack since no autopsy report was available at the time of the newscast.

 

The coroner’s report will reveal that he in fact died of both maladies.  However, for statistical purposes it will be reported as a heart attack.  They are the number one killers in America.  No reason to buck a trend.  This is perfectly fine, because it has taken any suspicion away from me.  Let me explain…

 

About ten years ago my younger brother died in a horrible manner when he was caught in a drive by shooting.  Rival gangs were in the middle of a turf war and collateral damage meant nothing to them.  Once order was restored to the area, my thirteen year old brother was found dead.  He had been hit by several stray gunshots and succumbed to the wounds before help could reach him.

 

According to the newspaper account, the war was over drugs and prostitutes.  My brother chose the wrong day to ride his bike one block too close to the turf.  There are no warning signs that state a person is “entering hostile territory, proceed at your own risk.”  My parents had moved to a city close by that area so my father would be nearer to the hospital where he was receiving his cancer treatments.  They were all excited at the prospect he would recover and the cancer be driven into remission.  He gave up the fight for his own life when he learned that his youngest son had been murdered.

 

I use the term ‘murder’ because that’s what it was; the police defined it as ‘accidental loss of life.’  No charges were ever pressed because there were no eye witnesses.  The police made a half assed showing to my parents and the town by making a minimal effort to solve the crime.  They concluded that there were not enough clues or evidence to investigate further so moved the case to the cold file storage area.  It appeased the local politicians, but not me.

 

It is most likely that I will never find my brother’s killer or killers.  What I have committed myself to doing is searching out those types of people that violated the morals and values of a decent society.  I am highly suspicious of anyone who delves in the world of crime, drugs, sex offenders, or anything that promotes the use of violence.  Let me share how I carried out these societal enemas…

 

In particle physics there is a force known as the “Zero-Point Energy Field” which is believed to be responsible for the interconnectedness of our existence with all things.  It has been theorized that this is the main way cells and other subatomic particles communicate with each other.  I took it a step further and proved the theory by turning it into reality.

 

Several renowned scientists have conducted experiments with low frequency energy waves that directly affect the tissues and organs in our body.  For example, one particular scientist in France kept the heart of pig alive and beating once it was surgically removed from the body for several days.   By using this energy field, the scientist set up a pair of speakers and aimed it at the heart using a signal that mimicked the song of blood flow.  The heart was “tricked” into believing that it was still needed and flowing blood so continued to beat like normal.

 

I read the story in somewhat disbelief, but chose to open my mind at the possibility.  I postulated that if the signal generated fooled the heart into beating, could an out of phase signal be used for the opposite purpose?  I set out to try my own experiments with stray cats in the neighborhood.  I don’t have anything against cats, it’s just that they were readily available and would not arouse suspicion.  It only took three tries before I was successful.  The fourth cat expired almost immediately when I amplified the signal through a set of computer speakers.  Part one solved.

 

The next problem I had left to workout was how to get some criminal type in front of the speakers to test it on a human.  I went back and reread the study and picked up something I scanned over prior, “… when the signals were tape recorded or put onto floppy disks and played… the results were identical.”  If the signals could be recorded and still work this indicates that they could be emailed as a sound file attachment much like an MP3 download.  Part two solved.

 

All that was left now was to email the sound clip to an unsuspecting victim and figure out how to get him to face the speakers at the proper angle, and turn up the volume.  The file would auto-execute and then delete itself once it finished playing.  The marketing trick was to convince the person to be directly in front of the speakers.  Some type of catchy spam mail offering a free trip or gadget would do the trick.  The instructions I came up with ask the person to face his speakers at such an angle that both ears would be needed to identify the special sounds emitted from the left speaker then the right one.  If the person guessed correctly, they won!  Part three solved.

 

That was the reason each victim was found near his computer dead allegedly surfing the Internet; which was quite convenient that these people could multi-task.  I did not fear being caught nor do I now.  There are so many ways to cloak and hide the originating email address that even if the police did have a clue, it would be many years before I was found out.  As Peter Parker once mused as Spiderman, “with great power comes great responsibility.”  I now possess great power and I am committed to using it for good.

 

———————————————————————————————————-

From: Sounds of Silence

Sent: Mon 6/8/2009 6:18 PM

To: Marcus Lachesis

Subject: Prostitute Confessions

Attachment: Heartfelt.MP3

 

Place speakers so that confessions can be heard in each ear.  Identify which prostitute talked with the police before the recording runs out. Be sure to turn up the volume as their voices are really soft and difficult to hear on this copy, though a jury will hear them just fine.  See you in court!

———————————————————————————————————-

Ten O’clock News:

Earlier today Marcus “The Hi-Way King” Lachesis was found dead in his home from an apparent heart attack…

Winter’s Beauty

“Winter’s Beauty”

By: Frank Cormier

 

Ice chandeliers are most regal this time of year.

Tree branches encrusted in brilliant ice diamonds,

sparkle in the morning sun to create

a majestic realm encompassed by azure skies.

 

Tree branches encrusted in brilliant ice diamonds

is winter’s beauty on display as

a majestic realm encompassed by azure skies.

Cardinals accent the candles with a red flame

 

is winter’s beauty on display as

a natural canvas for serenity.

Cardinals accent the candles with a red flame,

hints at the promise of tranquility.

 

A natural canvas for serenity

envelopes one’s soul. Nature’s jeweled landscape

hints at the promise of tranquility.

A peaceful reminder of the season

 

envelopes one’s soul. Nature’s jeweled landscape

sparkles in the morning sun to create

a peaceful reminder of the season.

Ice chandeliers are most regal this time of year.

Copyright (C) 2016 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved.

How to ruin a day…

“Wow, I didn’t know you knew how to write?,” said a ghost from my past. “Well what did you really know about me?,” I countered.  I find it peculiar how some people want to label and pigeon hole another based on their past.  I suppose if you live in your past then it would make sense.  But if you truly are the person who you believe yourself to be, then the past is not even prelude to the future.

I think back when I was in high school and how I didn’t want to be there.  Too many “false” people then in my life.  There were those that thought they were already “grown-ups” and knew the mysteries of life and nothing new was left to be discovered.  They settled into boring lives (my opinion) and never ventured further than where we all grew up.  There were others still that moved away (though not far away) only to settle into the same routine that they were accustomed to from high school.

In some respects, I guess that is okay.  You would have “stability” in your life; the spouse would be home at a certain time, the children would be taken care of and your lifestyle reinforced upon them so that they could repeat the cycle when they got older.  I only have one word for that… BORING.  What is life but an adventure!  I have traveled to many parts of the globe and am always fascinated by what I learn each time I venture away from my home state and the US.  And it doesn’t matter where I’ve traveled to, I always see doppelgangers from my past…

The sports star who later becomes either an alcoholic (because they live in their glory days of the past), or they are successful in business because they applied some of the lessons that only being part of a team can teach you.  Then there are those that kept a relatively low profile in school who became even larger successes in the business world.  They knew their self worth and didn’t let the past stop them from becoming who they were all along.  And then there were others that no matter how they tried to fail, success found them anyway.  I personally like the ones that break the proverbial mold and try to succeed no matter the odds.  Those types of people have the power to change the world.

I can’t say that I’ve broken too many molds, but am happy to report that I broke the one that most tried to corner me into because of their belief in who they thought I was then.  “Your past is not future unless you decide to live there.”  Not sure when I first heard that expression, but I truly believe it.  And it is my belief.  No one else’s.  So it doesn’t’ matter to me what someone else “believes”.  It only matters what I believe.  To paraphrase Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one has permission to make you feel less of yourself, unless you give them permission to do so.”

I’ve written some things that others have identified with, and I’ve written some things that they haven’t.  Perhaps this will be an example of the former and not the latter.  In either case, the only one that can ruin your day is yourself.

“Be adventurous, be bold, be daring, be yourself.” 

In life, we’ll always find some one to put us down.  Seek out people that genuinely build you up and you genuinely build them up in return.  “Believe in yourself.  Someone has to make the first move.” – read from a Salada tea bag tag many years ago and still applies today.

Copyright (C) 2016 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved. 

What’s On Your Mind?

From time to time I find myself reflecting on an event that occurred in my past, such as leaving home for the military, the birth of my children, what I had for breakfast this morning. You know, important things.  And as I grow older some of those memories are not as sharp in focus as they had been, but they are still part of my journey.  It leaves me pondering, “Why?”

The brain is an amazing tool.  It can hold on to so much stuff that it truly affects how we look at the world and our place in it.  You know what I’m talking about if you have ever talked with someone that is so down that no matter what you say to them, they will always find something “wrong” about it.  Or conversely, some people will always find a “truth” in what was said.  In either case the person is “right” in his/her assertion of the “facts” and how they apply to themselves.  (My only caution is; be wary of anyone who seems to “always” be in a good or bad mood.  That’s extreme.  Life has its ups and downs.  And be especially wary of anyone that can turn on a dime from being in a good mood to a bad one – that’s bipolar!)

I’m not a big believer in “pre-determinism” and that our lives are already planned and we are following a set course that will not vary.  However, I can’t help but wonder at times if I truly had a choice to make different decisions and where my life would be at this moment.  The problem with this kind of thinking is that there is no way to prove it otherwise and to try would be futile.  I do know that when I’ve made a decision that I used whatever information available to me at the time to make a choice.  And that choice was the best possible outcome for me.  Unless of course the decision was based on fear, and that’s never good.

The biggest fear I have is fear of the unknown.  I’m not alone is this fear.  Casual conversations with friends and colleagues has revealed that they also suffer from the same fear.  What is interesting is how they (or myself) have used the fear to motivate them to move past it and do more.  “If your fear doesn’t serve you to do better or more, it’s time to change your fear into working for you.”  I once heard if you look at your life as unfolding before you like a road in the dark with only your headlights (beliefs) to reveal the way two hundred or so feet at a time, but can “trust” that you are on the right path, you will always be successful, and your fear of the unknown should diminish.

At two hundred or so feet, you still have time to react to things before they become major issues as long as you keep your eyes (and mind) on the road.  Let’s face it, we are all on a long dark winding road and yet we still move forward unknowing what is around the corner.  What’s more powerful (in my opinion) about this metaphor is that it has never failed anyone.  The most successful people in life (if you measure success in terms of money), have failed more often than ten other people combined.  And they are the first ones to admit that they had fears but moved past them or used them to become successful.

Success isn’t just about monetary gains either.  I measure success for myself in a slightly different way… When I get up in the morning and can place my two feet on the ground and have my health, I am completely successful that day.  The only thing that will interfere with my success that day will be me and my fear and my response to that fear.  I can’t honestly say I haven’t made bad decisions, but I can admit to learning from my mistakes.  I know I’ll make more mistakes, but also know they’ll be fewer and further between.  I have my health, two wonderful children, a loving home, and my career is going great.  This is my journey.

The path or road you are on is your own.  No one else is responsible for your destination except you.  Trust your instincts, be grateful and thankful for all that you have, be kind and helpful to others, and never give in to your fears; instead use them to motivate yourself to do more.  Don’t worry about if you can’t remember what you had for breakfast.  It doesn’t matter in the long term.

Copyright 2015 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved.

Turkey Day

Waking up this morning, a few days away from celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday, (you know that one “true” family holiday [in my opinion] that gets lost between Halloween and Christmas), I woke with a smile.  🙂

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays.  And not because it is the “official kick off” to the Christmas season as the main stream media would like us all to buy into (I would like to know who that “official” was or is so I can slap them upside his/her head), it’s because the day is about celebrating family.  No religious overtones, no giving gifts, no dressing up in costumes (though that is one of the more fun things as an adult we get to do on Halloween!), and no searching for eggs that some mysterious bunny leaves lying around.  (Really? Bunnies and eggs?)

I am looking forward to spending time and sharing a meal with my two children.  As they grow up and find their own way through life, I want them to know that they can always come home to share a meal as a family.  We also do that outside of this holiday, but there is a little more effort in getting together because this holiday is celebrated but once a year and they are running in two different directions.  My daughter is now a junior in college and my son is a junior in high school.  They are discovering the world on their own terms and I couldn’t be prouder.

One day, in the not so distant future, they will have families of their own (if they choose to), and start their own traditions and celebrate (or not) holidays as they choose.  For now though, I will cherish the limited time that I have with them as each of us travels down our own path of life.  Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because it is about family.  To those of you that continue to read my blog, you are part of my extended family, thank you for your support and encouragement.  I wish you a fun and safe holiday filled with family and laughter.

Happy Thanksgiving to All! And to All a good nap! (Gotta love the after effects of a good turkey meal!)  😉

Copyright (C) 2015 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved.

To Fly or Not To Fly… Southwest

One thing about traveling for work is that you fly on the cheap, well for my company anyway, so it becomes difficult to accumulate frequent flyer miles with one airline.  There is some latitude with my company in that I get to book my own flights which means that I don’t always have to leave in the dark of the early morning and arrive long after the sun sets.  I used to fly on United primarily until they merged with Continental several years ago.  The cost wasn’t bad and they had reasonable departure and arrival times.  And sometimes I would get “bumped up” to 1st class!

One of the fallouts from this merger was that the flights were not inexpensive anymore and they changed the routes and I lost my premium status.  No longer were the “one-stop” flights available when I traveled to the West coast.  I used to be able to leave my home on the East coast around 7:00 am and arrive in sunny California around 1pm local time.  The “one-stop” was typically in Chicago or Washington, D.C., neither of which are fun to travel through, especially Chicago in the summer, fall, winter, and spring, otherwise it’s okay to make a connection.  Their “new” best flight, and not necessarily the most economical one, from East to West left around 6am and arrived after 8pm! There were two or three stops on the journey that would connect in Orlando, then onto Denver, then finally arrive in California.  Are you ready to jump on a flight??

When you travel by air for a living, you kind of become a “travel snob.”  Meaning that you have minimal, if any, patience for the traveling public that can’t figure out how to get to their seat in a timely manner without disrupting the entire plane because they can’t count.  I can’t tell you how many times I would see passengers counting the seats using the number labeled just below the overhead compartments, only to walk past their own seat by several rows before realizing that they completely missed their seat.  And then try to swim up stream against the flow of the other passengers in an effort to make their way back and then get annoyed with those passengers, some of whom knew how to count, because they wouldn’t let them past.  A log jam would eventually occur and the flight attendant would need to sort it all out.  As you can imagine, several times the flight was delayed due to this stupidity.  Don’t I make business travel sound fun!?

One of the knocks against Southwest has been the “cattle car” mentality that passengers just rush the plane in an effort to find a seat.  Southwest has an “open seating” policy meaning that you can choose any available seat to sit in for the flight.  As I was so used to having an assigned seat and priority boarding, it felt like I took a step backwards when I first started to fly with them.  I thought there was no way this was an efficient way to board a plane.  Well over the past several years now, I have come to learn different…  Their use of the “A, B, C” boarding zones along with a sequential number for when it’s your turn to get on the plane is actually very effective and efficient. It makes me wonder why the other airlines haven’t adapted the same philosophy?

One of the best things (and it could also be one of the worst) about an “open seating” policy is that if you are lucky enough, you can sit next to someone who is fun! I can’t even count the number of times I met really interesting people and have exchanged phone numbers afterward to keep in touch. Admittedly, most of them were women and we went out for dinner or drinks or… (I’ll leave it to your imagination). 😉  When flying on the other airlines, you are going to get stuck next to that one person and that’s how the whole flight will be; you and a potentially boring or snobby person. That’s not to say you don’t meet them on Southwest, but I have developed a few strategies that have worked and I have met some fun people:

1. Try to get in the “A” boarding group! Even if you have to pay a few extra bucks, it’s worth it. By being in the “A” group, you get your choice of seat first, which is a huge advantage when wanting to meet someone.

First thing you need to do is look around and check out your fellow passengers. Identify a few that you “think” you wouldn’t mind sitting next to for a few hours (obviously it depends on where you are going for the flight to last a few hours), and those that you “hope” won’t sit next to you. I say hope, because if these folks are in the “C” group and you have an open center seat… they’re going to sit there and you can sense it!

I recommend sitting about seven to nine rows from the entrance and sit on the left side of the plane. This gives you the added advantage of spotting them get on the plane and you can start your process of “attracting” them to sit next to you. While I’m waiting for “Miss Right” to board, I’ll look past the other passengers as they board pretending to look as if I’m waiting for someone. Most passengers, not all, will take this as a clue and find a seat elsewhere. And when she is about to approach my row, I subtlety turn towards the aisle as if I were going to get something from the overhead and make certain to smile and make eye contact. Saying hello can also boost your chances too! This approach has worked numerous times and I have met some fun women!

2. If there is someone you feel you don’t want to sit next to you an easy way to ward them off is by placing some object(s) on the seat next to you. Again most passengers take it as a sign you are waiting for someone. And it is important that you don’t make eye contact with them as you scan the oncoming group. Not even for a split second! The human brain can process so much information in a millisecond that the person will “believe” you want them to sit next you because you “looked” at them, and then they do!

3. Another way to scare off a passenger while you wait for the one or two that you saw earlier in the queue, is to hold the flight sick bag (a.k.a.: barf bag), up to your face while resting your forehead on the seat in front of you. Most passengers don’t want to deal with someone who has potential to get sick, so they move on. But you have to sell it! A coworker of mine and I were flying to Vegas one time and we tried this… successfully!

The flight we were on was “sold out” or so they told us. Well there was one open seat on the flight and it was the center seat right between us! One of the flight attendants was watching our shenanigans and didn’t say anything to us. She wanted to see if it would work. And it did! She approached us after they closed the door and said that was the best decoy she’s ever seen in all of her years flying. We drank for free all the way to Vegas! Thank goodness a barf bag was close by… because after five hours of drinking, we felt like we needed one! lol

One of the best things about flying Southwest is that an extremely high percentage of their employees (obviously the ones I’ve dealt with over the years), are truly happy to work for the airline. I know most people are skeptical about that and the commercials they run on television, but I have to say that in my experience, I’ve met some really fun flight attendants, pilots, and ground crew. Having flown United, Delta, and sometimes American over the years, I’ve had the misfortune of dealing with disgruntled employees. I’m not making a blanket statement and indicting all of them, but it has been my experience that most of the ones I dealt with didn’t want to be there. Now that may have changed over the years that I used to fly those other airlines exclusively, but after a recent flight to and from Chicago… sadly it hasn’t.

If you haven’t tried flying Southwest, give it a shot. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed! Just remember to get an “A” boarding position, and if you are single… who knows!? You just might meet your future partner! 😉

Travel Humor – The Pickle Jar

I have traveled for work now the last fifteen years and a lot has changed since those first few flights so long ago.  As all “air” travelers know by now, security has gone from a quick wave and a hello to the airport security officers to basically stripping down to our undies via a scanning machine that bombards the body with low level radiation designed to “detect” any dense objects being carried on our person that shouldn’t be allowed on a plane.  Yes I said dense.  And yes my brain basket is still allowed through even though it is dense beyond measurable levels at times.  Anyone of my friends will attest to that fact!

TSA (Transportation Security Administration – for those of you who didn’t know what the letters stood for), has been tasked with keeping the traveling public safe when it comes to air travel as well as other forms of public transportation, but are most visible and known at all public airports.  They are highly trained individuals who go through extensive training to learn what to watch for at airports to prevent dangerous items from getting on board an aircraft.  I have witnessed them confiscate spoons, lighters, an Afro-pick, knitting needles (over six inches long), and various other items through the years; however, none was funnier than the pickle jar.

As I made my way through the security gauntlet at the Orlando airport, I witnessed these highly trained professionals in action when they stopped a passenger from getting on a plane with a jar of Kosher dill pickles.  The jar itself was clear and the pickles (spears) were visible along with the fluid surrounding the succulent treats.  Two TSA personnel were questioning the young man, who, not to label or stereotype, was a redneck.  He sported a “wife-beater” tank top (that’s what they’re called so stop getting all riled up and “politically correct” about your bad self because I used that term), tucked into a pair of denim cutoff shorts just above the knee, a brown leather belt with his name “Bud” emblazoned on the back (can’t make that shit up), a long dark brown leather wallet packed in his right back pocket and leashed to a chain, white athletic socks with double red stripes near the top which came to rest about mid-shin, surrounded by the over the ankle “shit kicker” boots with the laces wrapped around the ankles and double knotted in the front.  And if you need further proof he was a redneck – Yes he was sporting a mullet along with a thin mustache!

As the TSA officers were questioning Bud, each was rifling through, what looked to me to be a procedural book that apparently only covered issues up to the letter “O.”  As one officer flipped through the pages, the other was asking him questions like, “Why are you bringing a jar of pickles on the plane?”  To which he responded, “Because they don’t serve nothing on the planes no more and I can eat those when I get hungry.”  The questioning officer acknowledged his answer by nodding his head in approval.  (Round 1: Redneck)  The second officer then asked him, “Why don’t you just take along a bag of nuts or some other snack if you’re hungry?”  “Why should I eat stuff like that if I don’t like it?” he parried back.  Officer number two tilted his head back in thought, then leaned forward as if to say something, but instead nodded his head in approval.  (Round 2: Redneck)

As I watched the inquiry go on, a third TSA officer approached and joined the interrogation.  He, it seemed to me, was the senior officer in charge because the other two yielded their positions and cleared out of the way.  He was also carrying a large procedure book with him and my guess was that it was the continuation of the current manual in use and started at the letter “P.”  He set the book down, made a show of flipping through the pages while curling his lips up towards his nose and shaking his head as tried to make sense of the situation.  He would flip through several pages (I highly doubt even Evelyn Woods could have read the pages that fast!), pretending to have read what was written, snorting derisively here and there for effect.  After about two minutes of grandstanding he was ready to ask his first question.  However, in the mean time, Bud reached past all them and popped the jar open, and to everyone’s amazement, including my own, he drank the nearly two pints of pickle juice as if he were in a beer guzzling contest!  When finished draining the fluid into his gullet, he wiped his mouth on his bare arm, put the lid back on, plopped the jar back onto the table and declared, “Problem solved.”

The TSA officers were dumfounded and stood with their mouths open.  They slowly turned and looked at each other, then back at Bud without a word to say.  Each shrugged their shoulders, closed up the manuals, and waved him through.

Round 3: TKO – Redneck!

Copyright (C) 2015 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved.

Dating After Divorce – The Stalker

Another funny dating story popped into my head..

A couple of years ago, tired of being single, I decided to try online dating again.  I tried it off and on again over the years but never finding that perfect “match” for me, I decided to try once again.  If you believe the commercials you see on television, it seems all of the couples are so happy and eventually get married.  Too bad they never asked me for my input!  I would’ve suggested that they make a commercial with real people from this area.  Hell I would’ve let them follow me around and they would’ve gotten a great commercial… for the insane!  Oh wait, they don’t want the truth, they want revenue dollars!

So here’s what happened… I start in the old fashioned way of meeting someone new by writing an email to her that was composed of several sentences whose topic was based off of similar interests, and they apparently streamed together to form an articulate paragraph.  Enough so that she was impressed that I “knew how to write.”  I asked what that meant and she replied that most men just write one or two words or ask to “hook up.”  (Note to self: Why didn’t I think of that!  Oh wait, I stand upright.  It seems I was thwarted by evolution once again.)  And my email rose to the top of one hundred (or so) emails she claims to have received.

Most attractive women on a dating web site do receive a lot of emails.  This fact comes from my own research when I’ve asked a prospective date how her search was going and the reply most often heard was, “it’s like a second job.  I receive over a hundred emails a day!”  My daily email intake paled in comparison.  I think the most I ever received in one day was two.  And the women who wrote them asked if I wanted to “hook up.”  Not being shallow, I decided to read their profiles and low and behold… we had nothing in common!  Okay, let’s call a spade a spade… I looked at their pictures and immediately declined.  I’m not that refined that I won’t judge a book by its cover at times. 😉

Back to the lecture at hand: After a few more emails we decided to exchange phone numbers.  Now this goes against my better judgment because I’ve had the unfortunate experience of “having a great phone relationship” only to have no interest in each other when we met in person.  I shared with her that I would not talk for long and only to set up plans to meet.  She agreed as she had similar experiences as well.  The date was set and we met near where she lives so she wouldn’t have to drive too far.  (Who says chivalry is dead?)  We lived just about an hour from each other and there was definitely more to do over her way than the one horse town I live in.  Hindsight being 20/20… I should’ve talked more with her on the phone.

We met and were both pleasantly surprised that we found each other attractive in person and not just the photos on our profile page.  (Which by the way if you ever try online dating, ALWAYS ask how recent the photos are!  Some women [I don’t know about the men], have photos that are over ten years old or older as their profile pictures!  Because, and I quote, “that’s how I still see myself, I haven’t changed a bit.”  Time for some new mirrors in that house!)  She did look like her photos and was actually prettier in person.  I know some people don’t photograph that well but that is no excuse to have really old photos and try to pass them off as you now.

The first date went well enough for us to agree on a second date.  This date would take place half way between where we each lived.  Now mind you, we never told each other our actual address so as not to worry about an uninvited visit.  I was traveling the week before and came home for the weekend before I had to take off again the following week.  We met up on that Saturday night for pizza and the date was a success.  She was well educated, attractive, fit, funny, and looking for a long term commitment.  She was happy that I didn’t drag my knuckles on the ground.  You gotta start somewhere!

The following week I was in Texas exhibiting at a trade show for my industry.  I told her that during the day I will be tied up with customers, and I would call her after the show was over for the day.  I put my cell phone in my briefcase and don’t bother with it until the end of the day.  To my surprise, when I looked at my phone she had sent me over forty, that’s right FORTY text messages!  The first one started out funny, but the rest got progressively worse in content.  By the time I got to the last one she had called me an asshole at least ten times!  I wasn’t sure if she was just trying to get me wound up as a joke so I gave her the benefit of the doubt and wrote to her and asked if she was serious and if she truly thought I was an asshole?  Her reply came back almost instantaneously: “Yes! You are an asshole! Go fuck yourself!”

Well I don’t have to be told twice (about certain things – lord knows I’ve been told things more often than twice and I still didn’t get it!), so I politely wrote back to her to “take care and have a good life” and that we weren’t right for each other.  (Yes, I am a gentleman though at times I wish I were not.)  She continued to text me all sorts of vulgar terms and positions (which quite frankly I don’t know how a human body could have contorted into the positions she suggested without serious damage to ones spine let alone their ego), and I just deleted them without a response.  Day two of the trade show… I received over fifty text messages from her!

I shared my experience with a woman from my industry and she nicknamed the CrAzY woman “bunny boiler.”  (An obvious reference to the character from the movie “Fatal Attraction” just incase some of you don’t know where it came from.)  The rest of the show my coworkers kept asking me if I heard from the bunny boiler and would laugh.  I had to laugh as well because I didn’t think that it would amount to anything serious.  I had written to her and asked her to stop or I would show the texts to the police and have her arrested for harrassment.  Things got eerily quiet for the next two days…

I returned late Friday night and the following day attended a highschool football game with my son.  As I was watching the game I received a text from her that read, “You have a nice home.  I dropped off a gift for you on your front porch.  I’m sorry for my behavior.”  I started to panic!  What the hell is she doing at my house?  I never told her where I lived!  What did she leave for me?  Is it dangerous?  I’m not a paranoid person to begin with but my hackles were standing tall!  I headed home after the game and dropped my son off at his mother’s house because I had no idea what to expect at my home.

On the front stoop was a bag emblazoned with my favorite football team the Patriots, and inside were a candle, a card, a flowering plant, a picture of the Patriots cheerleaders, and muffins.  I immediately called the police and they sent a trooper over to my house.  The trooper examined the contents of the bag and asked if I was dating one of the cheerleaders?  “If I were, I wouldn’t have called you,” I joked.  “I would’ve told all my friends!”  He laughed and asked me if I had sex with her?  “I think I’m good, but not that good! We ate pizza,” I replied.  He called the woman and asked her to stop.

A whole two days went by before she started up and texted me non-stop.  I called the police again and showed them my phone.  The trooper called her again and expressed to her in no uncertain terms that if she contacted me again in any way shape or form he would come to her place of employment and arrest her in front of all of her colleagues.  I shared the stories with my coworkers who rode me incessantly about having my own stalker.  “I never had a stalker.  Did any of you ever have a stalker?  You are my hero!  I want to live my life vicariously through you!”  And various other comments.  Though flattering on the surface, it wasn’t in reality.  I can look back now and laugh about it. Hopefully you did too. 🙂

It just goes to show you that you don’t know what kind of people are out there in the world and dating web sites should really have a CrAzY button!

Crazy button

Copyright (C) 2015 by Frank Cormier.  All rights reserved.