Buckle Up, We're Heading to Crazytown

So sometimes I actually think that my guys are watching us and can see what is going on with the people they left behind.

Sometimes that REALLY creeps me out. Let's not explore that any further.

Like this morning, when Nat was in investigative mode and giving me the 3rd degree, I could picture Jon like a puppeteer, feeding her questions so he could watch me tripping over my words like a drunk with a stutter.

He would so do that. If such a thing was possible, he'd mess with me every chance he got. That would explain how things I put in place A end up in place B with my fellow Tobinville citizens swearing on stacks of bibles that they didn't touch anything. It would also explain the random noises I hear that sometimes sound like a mad killer scratching at the back door at night and other times sound like something in the walls.

I really don't want to explore those scenarios any further either.

Yeah, so this morning, I could just see him, resting on a cloud, still decked out in his Phillies gear after the win last night, laughing the special laugh he had for when he was being an ass and loving it. Nattie is just his type of girl and he'd LOVE to use her to get to me.

Then my Dad would fly up on his cloud and be all, "JON, you cannot do this to your sister. She's batshit crazy already and you are going to unglue her last mental cog. Plus it's not fair to use her children against her."

And Jon would roll his eyes, crack open a beer (it's always Happy Hour in heaven, right?) and say, "Yeah, whatever, Dad." at which point Dad's brows would furrow -- the look that would make me wet my pants before he even said a word -- and he'd say in his most serious tone, "Jonathan, I MEAN IT."

Then Jon would laugh his everyone-loves-me-and-nobody-can-resist-my-smile laugh and say, "Dude, I haven't been afraid of that tone since I was 4. I'm certainly not now. Now pull up a cloud. It's PBR time. She just stepped in it all on her own without me pushing her there. Let's see how she explains policeman and guns to the kid!"

My dad would laugh his snorting laugh, pull out his Camel Lights and say, "Jesus Christ, Christy, marshmallows?"

And then they would head back to the cloud with the plasma TV where they could watch footage of Eagles victories all day long.

Yeah, except that this isn't some dumb sitcom on Fox and they are actually dead and I don't even believe in heaven.

Still, wouldn't that be nice? Nicer still if they'd do something useful and drop off tomorrow's powerball numbers. Or paint my garage door. Or babysit once a month. But still...nice. Well, except for if they could see...yeah, never mind.