Tag Archives: pranks

Hidden Meaning #Friday Fictioners

Hikers come from all over New England to explore our western Massachusetts rocky mountain trails. On a clear day, the summit exposes a 360 degree view of four states. Most visitors are from area towns or southern New England, those not invested in driving all the way to the White Mountains or upper Vermont. Our beautiful vistas don’t sustain overnight guests; merely classic Yankee day trippers.

For we remote locals, the little rocky mountain is our greatest point of pride, the only source of consumerism and for innocent punks like me, the best place to play pranks.

The rangers have three rules: find the trailhead, stay on the trail and come down before sunset. In other words, hiking is easy but serious business.

My buddy and I also have three rules: be creative, be harmless and see how many people you can get to turn back. In other words, our antics are simple-minded but threaten the tourism that sustains us.

We post signs, hang Blair Witch symbols and once even created an animal feces scenario. Melvin and I watch from a turn or an overlook and wait for the hiker’s reactions. We camp out but not for the night; it’s a trippy way to spend the day.

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[I started this entry for the Friday Fictioners photo challenge but once my idea developed, I just kept going. I since don’t want to strip it down to 100 words. I suppose I turned back!]

My exercise before getting out of bed was navigating this trail with you. Have a great day!

Alexa – Fail: Part IV

Richie has been very clever with his Amazon dot. He uses it as a timer, to check the weather, to set reminders and to bate me. All things he was able to do before she came along.

I tried once more to give him a taste of his own medicine. I decided to set a reminder to go off when we’d both be hanging out in the family room. He’d be done getting wood and making the fire and I’d be finished the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. The reminder needed to be juvenile but classic.

When I saw him coming in from the garage, I quickly asked her my basic favor:

“Alexa. Reminder me that Richie smells in one hour.”

She was repeating my command as he reached the back deck and I took off down the hall like a criminal.

I changed out of my work clothes and took a quick call from a friend before we sat down to eat leftovers for dinner. I easily cleaned up the dishes and then decided to bathe myself in some hot water too.

I went back into the kitchen in my bathrobe as I combed out my hair.

“Were you going to clean out the fridge today?” Richie asked.

“What? No why? Do you think it needs it?”

“Alexa does, she sent a reminder to “Review smells”.

Unbelievable. Clearly I know whose side she is on. I want Alexa out of my house. I don’t favor her at all. We can miscommunicate just fine without her…

Alexa – Revenge

In response to my husband’s sense of humor, I started a new tradition in our house. The event occurs every time I find him and the other woman alone in the same room. Before I enter, I don’t tiptoe, clear my throat or announce myself. I just raise my voice to her accommodating ear:

Alexa: drumroll!

That’s when the real woman enters the room. I walk tall with my shoulders back and my strut oozes confidence. Then I wait for a reaction to my fun and spirited entrance.

The first time Richie stared until the snaring stopped. The second time, Richie just shook his head. The third time he rolled his eyes.

He met his match a long time ago. Take a little of that, Mr Alexa App. Although, I think he is getting tired of my antics. Now he’s talking about something called ‘voice recognition software’. My new tradition may be short-lived.

Alexa – Part II

My husband enjoys a traditional late breakfast with his mother and brother on Sunday mornings. Before he leaves, he watches an oil painting show upstairs while I putter around with writing or light housekeeping downstairs.

I usually like a quiet house but I decided to reconcile with the other woman.

“Alexa, play Adam Lambert.”

I can’t find music by Adam Lambert in your library but it is available on Amazon music unlimited.

Yeah, I love Adam as much as the first guy but I wasn’t dishing out any cash unless I was at his concert, so I tried again:

“Alexa, play Cher.”

I can’t find music by Cher in your library but it is available on Amazon music unlimited.

“Alexa, play Bette Midler.”

It was like a broken echo Dot. Skipping and repeating…dot, dot, dot

Okay, okay, I got it. The bitch wanted money and a playlist before she’d grace me with any of my favorite tunes.

Making the requests was easy enough though, so I didn’t stop there. I tried to generalize:

“Alexa, play good music.”

I don’t have any good music to play.

Really? Great Marketing you Amazon chickiepoo.

“Alexa, play classical.”

Turns out Alexa didn’t have any Concertos or Royal Parade music, so she honed in on the root word “classic” and started playing classic rock.

…from Richie’s playlist. He and Alexa are quite the pair now. I was trying to listen to something different for a change.

Richie came down the stairs with a chuckle as I gave in and said, “Alexa, play Allman Brothers.”

Richie seemed pleased with my working selection as he headed out the door to meet his family. He thinks it’s funny that he has the app and I’m ready to kick Alexa’s ass.

I listened to the classics that are so well known in this house and started to make myself a nice breakfast. As I cracked the eggs for my French toast, Alexa interrupted with a bulletin.

Reminder: Donna is a dumbass.

Alexa was mean-spirited and enjoyed saying it. Richie, on the other hand, was humorously telling me to catch up with the technological times. I knew he was laughing in his Jeep.

I begrudgingly grinned from ear-to-ear and cracked up with my egg shells. I was charmed to know he still thinks of me so creatively when he’s gone. After all these years he certainly knows how to push my buttons. I soaked my French toast, set the table for one and hit Alexa’s off button. I had some writing to do in my quiet house.

Alexa my ass

With only two of us left in the house, the dynamics are split 50-50 between doing whatever we want after dinner and not listening to each other when we are in the same room. The way I feel about this flip-flops between marital bliss and frustrating madness. Tonight was worse than the latter because there was another woman.

I’ve been in denial about it since Christmas but tonight she inserted herself into every conversation:

Hubby and I were talking about our daughter that flew out of town this weekend.

“If she’s in Houston, what time zone is that?” my husband thought out loud.

“Texas is Central; she’s only one hour behind us”, I responded confidently based on my business travel days.

“Alexa. What time zone is Texas?”

The lady in the corner confirmed my response in her matter-of-fact tone.

That aside, we sat down to the nice chicken I had baked. On the counter was my clever attempt at, not apple pie, but little apple empanadas. Both dinner and dessert were kind of a big deal because my husband does most of the cooking.

“Why didn’t you look up an apple pie recipe?”

“Seriously, do you know how many fall apple pies I’ve made at this house down the street from an apple orchard?” A little hurt, I added, “The contents are the same. It just looks different. I wanted to try to make some individual ones.”

“Well, Alexa could have helped you with a recipe.”

The problem with that chick was she was just too easy.

I still had some of the little tarts left to bake now that we’d eaten dinner. I put them on a tray and popped them into the oven. My husband watched, I thought in anticipation of a vanilla ice cream pairing.

Rather, “Alexa. Timer. Ten minutes.”

That bitch in my house let my man know she’d do exactly what he asked.

I seethed until my reliable oven timer went off. Alexa could step off. I’ve managed this household just fine for over 25 years. We do not need her technological, electricity sucking, unnecessary two cents every time we do something. “Now that the pies are done, I am going to just go read a book and listen to some music.”

“Alexa. Play KISS.”

They could both kiss my ass. The marital interplay was maddening. I thought it best that we split up. With a grin on my face, I went into our unplugged living room to read – and it wasn’t a recipe book from Amazon.