I just spent the last hour with a Cookie Monster puppet on my hand. My hand is hot and sweaty. I have finger cramps. But having Cookie Monster pretend to pet the kitties and eat Junior’s match box cars was the only way to get Junior to stop yowling, because Junior is sick with an ear infection and he is inconsolable.
And me? I spent last night hunched over the porcelain bowl with food poisoning. And now I am drinking sangria. Lots and lots of sangria.
Without fail, when Chuck goes away, things fall apart.
Chuck called late last night to give me an update on the filming. In between barfing bouts, I learned that he’s getting a lot of screen time. He and the crew (fellow ghostbusters and producers) have been driving to various haunted venues and since Chuck is the only one who can manage to stay awake to drive, they’ve been filming him behind the wheel.
Yes, tune in this fall to see Chuck driving a minivan of sleeping passengers along the I-10. You don't want to miss the part where he changes lanes...
I thought maybe I could answer some of your questions about the Chuck-is-a-ghostbuster thing, and then we could put all this paranormal stuff behind us.
Way, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay behind us. So, here goes:
Where in California is old Chuckie? What show is this for? All I know is that he flew into Los Angeles. The locations of the investigations are top secret. The show doesn’t have an official title. I suggested “Thanks for leaving your wife alone for the week, dickhead” but I haven’t heard back.
A ghost-buster? Seriously? Maybe you should let him guest-post to tell the scariest thing that has ever happened to him. Yes, seriously, though I’ve been corrected: The proper term is paranormal research investigator. I have a feeling if I let him guest-post the scariest thing that has ever happened to him, I’d lose 75% of my readers.
Seriously your husband is a ghost buster? How cool is that? He really is. I guess it’s kind of cool, but I try not to think about it. Otherwise I can't sleep at night.
How does one BECOME a ghostbuster? Does he wear a jumpsuit? He’s been doing it for years. He got into it because he grew up in a haunted house. He doesn’t wear a jumpsuit—not even when I ask him to. I mean geesh, isn’t it every woman’s fantasy to have Dan Aykroyd ghostbust the bad ghosts in the bedroom?
Hmmm, can he do side work as a goatbuster? Maybe. But it’ll cost you.
Does he have the beeping tools and everything? Oh...and the green light? He has tools, none of which I ever see because he's not allowed to bring them into the house.
So there you have it. We can all move on now and talk about my exciting life. I mean, come on, a Cookie Monster hand puppet and projectile vomit far outshine an impending television show, right?
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.