Maxine Has Left The Building

Remember last summer when we had to put my cat, Boo Boo, to sleep and I was super sad face about it and it totally sucked? Yeah, I had to do it again in November.

After Boo died, my other cat went downhill fast. My Maxine. She was my baby. I adopted her when she was a kitten. I was fresh out of college and had just gotten my first grown up job and rented my first apartment. She was the runt of a litter of farm cats and I could not resist her. She saw me through a lot of difficult times: A broken engagement one month before the wedding, a move to another state where I knew no one, the death of grandparents, the adjustment to married life and a ready-made family.

She was special, is what I'm trying to say.

She was also extremely awful. She peed on the carpet. A lot. So much that the Captain and I had to have it ripped out and replaced with hardwood. She was grumpy. She hated most everyone but me, but insisted on sitting right in their faces in order to fool them into thinking she liked them so she could bite them when they tried to pet her. She chewed up all the ribbons on Christmas presents and then pooped them out for months afterwards. She puked EVERYWHERE.

But I loved her so much.

So when Boo died and she began wandering around the house crying pitifully for hours and then began to eat less, the Captain knew what was coming. I kept myself in denial. Sure, she was 15 years old and was obviously in mourning for Boo. But she would come out of it. I just knew it.

Still, when no one was looking, I would whisper in her ear "Please don't die on me. Not now. Please. I need another year first. I can't take it right now." And Max would look right at my face and it seemed like she understood.

And maybe she did, but she just couldn't do it. Soon it became obvious to even me that she was sick. She was drinking large amounts of water and urinating constantly. Exactly what Boo did at the end. So we took her to the vet and got the same diagnosis when we took Boo. Diabetes.

That was on a Monday. We told the vet we were taking the week to decide if we wanted to treat her or put her down. By Friday, Max had made the decision for me. She could barely walk. She spent hours sitting in front of her water bowl with her head hanging in it. She had lost so much weight in a 5 day period that you could see her hip bones jutting out.

I took the weekend to say goodbye. I held her on my shoulder the way she always loved. She would purr and sleep while I walked around the house talking softly to her for hours. I cried a lot. I had moments when I thought maybe she'd get better, but by Sunday morning I knew it was time.

Max and me in healthier times

So on Monday, almost exactly four months from when Boo died, we took her to the vet. I couldn't bring myself to do it with Boo, but I knew I had to be there for Max. I was her person, her favorite. I couldn't leave her alone at the end.

It was hard. It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do so far in my life. Even now, months later, I still think about those last few minutes. I hate that she was terrified and hurting and I could do nothing but talk to her and tell her I loved her until she was gone.

But it was fast. Just like everyone says, it was over in seconds. One second she was there, staring at my face, and the next she was gone. I was somehow able to not cry until she died, because I didn't want her to see me upset. So at the very end of her life, I was the last face Max saw and my voice was the last she heard. And that brings me comfort every time I think about her.

I got to spend awhile with her afterwards, but it was so hard to walk out without her. The Captain, who had been there with me the whole time, held my hand and took me home. I went straight to bed for the rest of the day.

And I miss her still. I know some people will read this and roll their eyes and say "It was just a cat, not a person". And that is okay, I don't expect everyone to understand. I know it's not the same thing. I've lost family members, I know that pain. This is a different kind of pain, but still just as real. Max was my buddy for 15 years, my entire adult life up until this point, and I will always miss her.

Love you, old lady.

Mother F’ing Ravioli Night

Since I haven’t been in much of a festive mood this year, I decided to force myself into holiday joviality by drinking. A lot. A real lot. Basically, I’ve been bombed two weekends in a row, with plans to make it a trifecta of drunkenness this weekend.

Two weekends ago, Captain Carl decided to have a ravioli dinner party at the house. His cool aunt was here along with her son, his girlfriend, my brother-in-law, Mailman Mike, and his girlfriend. If you knew this family, then you would know this was a recipe for insane amounts of alcoholic beverages and amazing food.

The Captain began preparations Saturday morning by MAKING HIS OWN RAVIOLI DOUGH. Oh yes…homemade pasta. It is as fantastic as it sounds, but let me tell you the downside of homemade pasta. The mess. Ohmygod the mess. See the Captain doesn’t just cook. He explodes. The kitchen is torn apart for even a simple meal for just the two of us. It puts me on edge to watch him. He says I’m too obsessive about things being neat and tidy. He is probably right. But still…gah.

Imagine the kind of mess making your own dough creates. Now multiple that by 50 and you’ll get the state of my kitchen that Saturday. Luckily for everyone involved, I had an appointment to get my hair cut that morning. So the Captain made his dough while I was gone. His aunt tried to keep up with the clean up so that I wouldn’t have a coronary when I got home. Have I mentioned how much I love her? So it wasn’t too bad when I got back. A little messy, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Since I know my husband, I knew the mess was going to get worse before it got better. I decided to start drinking. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

Best. Idea. Ever.

His aunt made us pomegranate martinis. Have I mentioned how much I love her? By this time, Mailman Mike and his girlfriend had arrived and they joined in on the drinking.

I forgot to mention that I had agreed to judge Christmas lights in our neighborhood for our HOA contest that night. For some reason, the Captain decided he should not drink because something something the only sober person in the house blah blah blah a bunch of drunk asses.

Flash forward to 5:30 and I’ve had six martinis, aka 9.5 shots of vodka, and I’m completed smashed. Mailman Mike has drank who the hell knows how many glasses of wine/rum/whiskey. The Captain's aunt and Mike's girlfriend look to be quite tipsy. It was a loud, obnoxious get-together. Every 10 minutes, one of us would get mad at someone for whatever drunk people get mad about and I would yell “Mother fucking ravioli night!!” for some reason. I have no idea why.

But because I was so sloshed, I had not been paying any attention to what was going on in the kitchen. The Captain had been busy working in there all afternoon making sauce, rolling out the little ravioli’s, etc. By about 6:00, I wandered into the kitchen and saw through my drunken haze what appeared to be every single mixing bowl, pot and pan strewn around the counters. This would normally give me a mild panic attack and I would have to get in there and start cleaning. But instead I just yelled “OMG I have to take a picture of this! Mother fucking ravioli night!”.

So we ate and it was amazing and totally worth the mess. Then we cleaned up the kitchen and headed out to judge Christmas lights. All 7 of us in one SUV. This meant the Captain's cousin and his girlfriend had to half sit, half lay down in the back cargo area of the vehicle. I sat in the backseat with Mailman Mike and his girlfriend. Mailman Mike and I were still completely drunk.

So. Imagine how awesome the Christmas light judging went. Especially for everyone else in the car who had to listen to the two drunk asses yelling out their windows “Not good enough!” and “Seriously, a giant snow globe? How unoriginal!” and “It’s like you’re not even TRYING!” at the houses that were lit up.

I had a fucking great time. The Captain, however, did not. He was tired from cooking all day and completely sober. So I guess he didn’t find it as funny as I did when Mailman Mike started singing Carol of the Bells in a falsetto with his own lyrics.

Here come the bells
Gay silver bells
See all the bells
Gay silver bells

And I guess he especially didn’t find it funny when Mailman Mike suggested that he could play the baby Jesus in the nativity scene on one person’s lawn and I yelled “Do it! Get out! Take off your clothes!”. Captain Carl was all “Knock it off, Marcy” and I was all “What? We’re having fun.” and he was all “Just STOP.”

Party pooper.

I found out later that he drove around the rest of the neighborhood with his finger on the door lock button.

Needless to say, I had a hangover the next morning. But hot damn did I have a good time.

Mother fucking ravioli night!

p.s. Merry Christmas, y'all. I won't be writing again before the 25th on account of celebrating with the Captain's family and most likely getting drunk again. A lot. A whole lot.

Is Laundry Coma A Real Thing? Quick, Somebody Google It Before I Blackout.

The Kiddo came home from college for the summer last week. At first I was all jumpy and clappy because I have missed that boy so much during the last nine months. Then right in the middle of all that excitement, I was all “oh shit, the boy is coming home.” Because I’ve kind of enjoyed him not being there.

I know. Great mother’s of the world unite and beat me with a stick! How dare I enjoy my baby leaving the nest.

Meh.

I met Captain Carl when the Kiddo was 8 years old. It took him a long time to warm up to me. He was convinced I would try to replace his mother and he felt guilty for liking me. He was an adorable little boy, all buck teeth and freckles. He insisted that his hair be cut in Pee Wee Herman fashion, so obviously I fell in love with him immediately. Oh man, just thinking about him at that age makes me want to squeeze his little face off.

It might have taken him awhile to warm up to me, but we had (and continue to have) a great relationship once he did. He called me his “buffer”…the voice of reason between his dad and himself when things got heated. He would climb into my lap for no reason at all, except to grind his bony butt into my thigh and laugh when I tickled his back. He still does that, actually.

He never called me mom. Right before I married his dad, he asked me what he was supposed to call me.

Me: What do you want to call me?
Kiddo: Not mom. That would be weird, since I already have one.
Me: Okay.
Kiddo: Can I just keep calling you Marcy?
Me: Absolutely.

And so, I’m just Marcy to him. I took it as a compliment that he felt comfortable enough to tell me he didn’t want to call me mom. Although he has called me that when introducing me to people. To keep things simple, probably. But I still get a little thrill when he does it. Because as far as I’m concerned, he is my son. Not my stepson. I’ve raised him as my own. He has lived in my care for almost double the amount of time he lived in his mother’s.

Anyway, my point was going to be that even though I was all sad face about him going away to college and I did miss him a lot, I actually enjoyed the time the Captain and I have had alone. We’ve never been just “us”. He came with a ready-made family, so we didn’t get a honeymoon period. Since the Kiddo has been away at school, we’ve had more date nights and we actually socialize with grown ups sometimes. Listening to the Kiddo practice his trumpet was replaced with listening to, well, nothing. I found that I didn’t worry as much about what the boy was up to all the time. My evenings were freed up from obsessing over where he might be and the illegal/dangerous/stupid things he could be doing right at that moment. I still worried, but it was in a more abstract way. My mind had more room for other thoughts.

But still, I could not wait for the Kiddo to come home. So now he is and immediately my mind went back to that place where I worried more. Would he be able to find a summer job? He really needs a haircut, I wonder if I could get him in for one today? I hope he doesn’t go out tonight with that kid I hate…he’s nothing but trouble. He better not try to hook up with Bunny while he’s home.

Etc, etc, etc.

And of course, I wondered if he had any clean underwear. I don’t why it’s this way with mothers, but we seem to be in a constant state of underwear concern for our children. When I asked the Kiddo if he needed any laundry done, he laughed. And then he brought me all of this.



Hells bells.

For those of you with untrained laundry eyes, that right there? That’s seven loads of laundry on my floor. SEVEN. For one person.

Me: Son, when was the last time you did your laundry?
Kiddo: Not that long ago. I was going to do it before I came home but I was out of detergent.
Me: What is that? Is that mud?
Kiddo: Yep.
Me: On all of your jeans?
Kiddo: I went fishing a lot.
Me: Where were you fishing?
Kiddo: In the river.
Me: I think we’ll just throw all these socks away and get you new ones.
Kiddo: Why?
Me: Because they’re black and they should be white. And most of them have holes.
Kiddo: Hey, did I tell you that I killed a water moccasin when I went fishing?
Me: *look of horror face* No.
Kiddo: Yeah!
Me: Why?
Kiddo: Because it tried to take my lure, but it got caught on it.
Me: So you killed it?
Kiddo: I had to. I cut it’s head off.
Me: Ohmygod. Aren’t water moccasins poisonous?
Kiddo: *laughs* Yeah. It was awesome.
Me: Ummmm…you still have your health insurance card in your wallet, right?
Kiddo: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, just…making sure.

*sigh*

Worry worry worry.

Purging Until It Hurts

A little over a month ago, I was watching an episode of “Hoarders” with Captain Carl and I started to get all itchy. It made me think about how cluttered my house was. Those of you that have ever watched this show probably know what I’m talking about. That little pile of mail on the kitchen counter? Suddenly I envisioned it morphing into a huge pile of mail. And then I added newspapers and magazines to the pile in my mind. Then, because this is how my mind works, I threw an old banana peel and a couple pairs of underwear into the pile. And then my mind slapped myself in the face and was all “calm the fuck down!”. And I did.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the closets in my house, filled to the brim with…stuff. And the spare bedroom jammed full of all the projects we were going to get to “someday”. And our three car garage that we can only get one car into.

Me: I have an idea.
Captain: Uh oh.
Me: No! It’s a good idea.
Captain: *eyeing me warily* Oh-kay…
Me: Let’s do a whole house purge.
Captain: *stare*
Me: Seriously. We just have too much, you know? Let’s go room by room and clear out what we don’t need or have an attachment to and then have a garage sale.

And to my amazement, he agreed.

I decided May 14 would be our garage sale day. We started in the garage, because that was where we would need to put all the purged items from inside the house. It took us two days to sort and clean it, but by the end of the 2nd day we had a huge pile of garage sale items and enough garbage on the curb that I had to call for a special bulk pick up. We could now also park two cars in the garage. We were shocked by how much crap there was out there. It felt great to get rid of it all. Freeing.

The next weekend, we tackled the kitchen. I found a mouse pad stuck behind the crock pot. Address labels inside a vase that was behind a giant container of protein powder. When we finished, we knew where every pot and pan was located. Mixing bowls were easily accessible. The mouse pad, along with a huge amount of other things, went into the garage sale pile in the garage. And on it went from there…

Fast forward to 6am on May 14. Every single closet in my home is organized and tidy. The spare bedrooms are clean and ready for guests. I know where all the extra sheets and comforters are located. The old treadmill we used as a coat hanger is now sitting in the driveway, ready to be sold along with hundreds of other items. And by 11am that same day? Every single item was gone. Every. Single. One. And we were $257 richer.

I’m sharing this story with y’all not because it was particularly funny or entertaining. I know that is the type of stuff I usually write about here. I’m sharing it because this process has really made an impact on my life. I was really surprised at how amazing the experience has been.

Because it was hard. It was sooooo hard. I had made up my mind at the beginning that I would let go of anything we had not used in the last year or did not hold significant sentimental value or worth in some way. I knew this would be a tough rule to stick to, but I was determined. And I did it. It helped that Captain Carl jumped on my bandwagon. I watched him purge things that I knew were hard for him to see go. He had so many old computer parts that he had been hanging on to “just in case”. I found a place we could recycle them and he let everything go. Everything. How could I not do the same?

So I got rid of the cute little baskets that my sister had bought me years ago and I never used for anything. And the eight flower pots that were filled with geraniums at our wedding but were currently collecting dust in the garage. And the old piano lamp my parents bought with my piano when I was 12 years old but is really ugly so I bought a new one and stuck it in the closet.

We priced it all to sell, and boy did it. We were swarmed with buyers before we could even get everything out on the driveway. You meet interesting people when you have a garage sale. I met the grandson of the man who used to farm the land our home is now sitting on. He told me that their house used to sit in the big field behind us. I chatted with a lady who bought all three boxes of my Christmas decorations and found out she gives them to her kids, who can’t afford to buy their own. Captain Carl gave a little girl one of my beanie babies for free and I watched him smile as she hugged it. An old lady bought my Uncle Sam yard sign and told me she was going to put it on her husband’s grave. Then she asked me how much a stripper pole would cost because she wanted to buy one for her daughter. For reals. And the guy who came at the end and took whatever we had left? We gave it all to him for free because he told us he was “just trying to make ends meet” and if anyone knows how that feels, it would be us.

So now we’re purged and both the Captain and I agree that the house feels lighter and the energy is just…well, more positive. Which is something we’ve needed badly. The last two years have been rough, what with all the renters in and out and the financial struggles and stress that goes along with those things. And some of that is still there. We’re still broke as hell and we may have to take in yet another renter this summer. But now when I go into my bedroom closet, I feel like twirling because look how pretty and organized!

I don’t even miss that piano lamp. Much.

Plus, I found this during our purge.



One of four gnomes my mom painted in her ceramics class in the late 70’s. I kept them, even though they creep Captain Carl out. Because they were my mom’s and she wanted me to have them and they should be displayed in a nice place and not stuck in a box in the garage. And also I really want to creep out the Captain since he keeps hiding his lizard fishing lures in my bathroom towels. The asshole.

I'm So Deep Undercover, Even I Didn't Know I Was An Agent.

I'm in my office with my partner, DZ. We're doing paperwork. Just another boring day as an FBI agent. So boring, in fact, that I can't help but stare blindly out my window at the lovely field of trees and what is that, wheat maybe? waving softly in the breeze. No, wait. It's sweet corn. Apparently the FBI headquarters are in the middle of rural Minnesota. Weird.

Anyway, so there I am, staring out the window, when I see a little child running up the dirt path to the building's front door. I guess budget cuts have hit so hard, the FBI can't afford concrete these days. The boy is holding a paper airplane over his head and pretending to fly it. He is smiling and laughing.

"Hey, look at that kid", I say to DZ.

"How did he get way out here?", she asks.

Suddenly, I see a dark shadow pass quickly over the field and the little boy. He stops running and freezes in place, staring at the sky. And then he disappears. Just disappears into thin air.

"What the hell?", I yell.

"Where did he go?", DZ asks.

"Did you see that shadow?", I reply.

"What shadow?", DZ asks.

Damn that girl asks a lot of questions.

And so begins another FBI: Fringe Division case. Children are disappearing all over the country. First three, then five, then dozens are missing.

And every time one disappears, I see a shadow fly across the sky. Huge and dark.

No one else can see it. So I am put in charge of the case.

"We are connecting you to this brain reading machine thingy", says my boss.

"Every time you see that shadow, you tell me. Our computer program thingy will read your brain waves or whatever and pinpoint the location of the next disappearance before it happens."

"Wow, that's pretty fucking cool. I love technology", I reply. "Also, you're kind of hot in a weirdly intense and bald way."

And so we begin. And then something something I forget some of the details but the trail leads to some big mansion for some reason and then we're all inside it and I'm all talking to my partner, DZ, and then the shadow goes by and DZ disappears and I'm all "DZ!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!" all dramatically.

And then this shit gets really intense, y'all. I look up at the ceiling and all the children that disappeared are floating down from the sky and into the house. But it's only their bodies...I can see that their minds are gone. And then I hear a noise behind me and I turn around and standing there is an alien!

"ALIENS!! IT WAS ALIENS!!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!"

And then I'm sitting on an air mattress. It is dark, but I can tell I'm in my parent's family room in Arizona. Captain Carl is sleeping next to me. I look around wildingly and see a red light flashing through the window in the door leading into the hallway.

I run through the door and into the hallway, where my dad is just coming out of the bathroom dressed only in his boxers.

Dad: What's wrong?

Me: What?

Dad: What?

Me: Huh?

Dad: What?

Me: Do you have your hearing aid in, Dad?

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling* Did you see the alien?

Dad: Alien?

Me: Yes, did you see it?

Dad: *blink*

Me: Where is that flashing red light coming from?

Dad: Flashing light?

Me: *grabbing his shoulder* Dad! There is a flashing red light in here!

Dad: Are you sleep walking?

Me: What? No! I saw a flashing red light!

Dad: Oh, it's probably the smoke detector. It does that sometimes.

Me: Smoke detector? I feel dizzy. Maybe it's carbon dioxide!

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling into his good ear* Carbon! Dioxide!

Dad: You mean carbon monoxide poisoning?

Me: No! Yes! Whatever! We have to get Mom and The Captain out!

Dad: *laughing* That must have been some dream.

Me: What? Dream? *looking around* Right. I was dreaming. Okay, that explains it.

Dad: Go back to bed.

Me: Damn. I was such a kick ass FBI agent too.

And that is exactly why you should never drink margaritas 5 days in a row on vacation.

French Toast Wishes & Honey Bunches Of Oats Dreams

Today is my birthday. I turned 37 years old. And I am broke. And have a job I don't really like. And there is a man who is currently dating a psychic that is renting one of my bedrooms. Also I'm fat.

Hooray! My life is awesome!

*sings theme from Mary Tyler Moore Show*

*throws hat in the air*

*does armpit fart*

I really am in a good mood today though, despite all that shit I listed up there. You know why? Because it is only 12:30pm and I've already got like 28 happy birthday messages on facebook. Yes! Thank you facebook for validating my birth!

I'm also in a good mood because I planned a surprise birthday party for Captain Carl last Saturday night and I totally pulled it off. And it totally made him all happy faced, so now I can hold that over his head the rest of the year every time he doesn't do what I want.

Captain Carl asked me where I wanted him to take me for my birthday dinner tonight. I told him I didn't want to go out.

Him: Are you sure? I'll take you wherever you want.

Me: Nah, I'd rather just come home from work and be at home in my pj's.

Him: Okay well, what do you want me to cook for you then?

Me: Hmmmm....

Him: Whatever you want.

Me: I want french toast.

Him: French toast?

Me: Yes.

Him: You want french toast for your birthday dinner?

Me: Yes.

Him: Are you being serious?

Me: Yes. Ohmygod I looooovvvveee french toast. So hard.

Him: Okay, french toast it is.

Me: And bacon!

Him: Okay, so breakfast for dinner.

Ohmygod, I love breakfast for dinner, y'all. The only thing I eat when Captain Carl is out of town for work is cereal and peanut butter toast. Case in point, this conversation literally just took place over the phone.

Him: Hey birthday girl.

Me: Hi! It is sooo totally my birthday today.

Him: So I'm on my way to the store to get the stuff for your french toast. Do you need me to pick up anything for the rest of the week since I will be out of town?

Me: Oh yeah, hmmm let me think...

Him: What do you want to cook while I'm gone?

Me: Just get me some cereal and milk.

Him: *brief silence* What?

Me: That's all I eat when you are gone.

Him: Are you a college student or something?

Me: I can't cook, I love breakfast for dinner. Done deal.

Him: Okay, what kind of cereal?

Me: Honey Bunches of Oats.

Him: At least you didn't say Fruit Loops or Cookie Crisp.

Me: Oooh, Cookie Crisp!

Him: You are a college student.

Me: Your mom's a college student. So the girls at work took me out for a birthday lunch.

Him: That's nice.

Me: Yeah. I was a little worried that you were going to show up while I was gone to surprise me for lunch.

Him: I thought about it but wasn't sure what your plans were.

Me: And then I thought you'd probably just send me surprise flowers instead. Right??

Him: I was going to, but then I didn't because I knew you'd understand.

Me: Understand what?

Him: That I'm not gonna.

I'm trying really hard to be mad at him, but I keep thinking about that french toast he's making later and I just can't do it.

My birthday portrait. Only my bangs and glasses wanted to be in it.

Why Can’t My Office Ever Get A Dead Body?

Today a friend of mine posted this status on her Facebook wall:

OMG, there is a car that has been parked outside my office for 3 days and today the police came because there is a dead body in the trunk!

So I got all clappy and jumpy and quickly fired off a comment:

Oh man, I wish something exciting like that would happen at my office. We NEVER get dead bodies!

Then I read all the other comments people had left. And they were all “OMG I’m so sorry!” and “That is terrible!” and “Are you okay?”. And my friend had responded back with “Yes, it was very scary. I started crying when the cops told us it was a woman. I feel so bad for whoever she is.”

And then there was my comment right below her last one.

Yeah.

I really wish I had read the other comments before I posted mine.

But that was really what popped into my head when I read her status. I admit it, I love drama. As long as it isn’t my own drama. I hate my drama. But other people’s drama? Awesome. Fascinating. Especially if it is a complete stranger’s drama.

Now don’t misunderstand me here…it is a terrible thing that happened to that dead-in-a-trunk woman, whoever she is. No one should have that happen to them. Unless they are a pedophile. Or a mass murderer. Or a creepy clown because eeww. So please don’t send me hate emails or leave comments here about what a terrible person I am. I already know that I’m a terrible person. That’s not news, people. That's why I never win the lottery. I just get so excited when something out of the ordinary happens during a typical day. It’s like all sense of reason and propriety fly out the window and I become a raging mob of one. I can’t look away, even if it might put me in danger.

One day at my old job, I was staring out the window avoiding my work when a bunch of police cars pulled up at the far end of the parking lot. And right behind them were two fire trucks.

My mouth fell open and my heart began to beat faster.

One of the police officers jumped out of his car and ran to the trunk, where he pulled out some kind of full-body protective suit.

I stood up. Something awesomely bad was about to go down.

The police officer hurriedly dressed himself in the suit while two others began putting together what looked to be a remote control car, only bigger. More like a remote control tank with a long reachy thingy on it. I looked out past the emergency vehicles and noticed a small cooler sitting in the grass on the median between the lanes going in and out of the parking lot.

Oh. My. God. That’s one of those things that they use to find bombs. That cop is putting on a bomb suit. THERE IS A BOMB IN THAT COOLER!

At this point I am jumping up and down and yelling out fragmented sentences like “Bomb!” and “Hey, outside!” and “Guys, seriously!”.

Finally other people begin to notice what was happening and slowly my window and the others around me filled up with gawkers. Everyone was just as excited as me. For a couple minutes.

And then they all started to panic.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving the building?”
“Why haven’t they told us to evacuate?”
“Do you think it’s really a bomb in there?”
“What if it explodes? Will it blow us up?”
“I need to call my husband!”
“Wait! We can get a better look from Ted’s office!”

That last one came from my mouth. Because I'm all about getting a good view when I'm about to get blown to pieces.

I ran down to Ted’s office and threw myself up against the glass so I wouldn’t miss a moment.

I was all “Can you believe this, Ted? I mean, this is amazing, right?? Who do you think put the bomb there? A disgruntled employee? A lover scorned? A creepy clown?” and Ted was all “Ummm, I’m gonna go, ahhh, to the other side of the building.” and then he disappeared.

I barely heard him. The remote control bomb tank had reached the cooler and was poking around it. Then the police officer in the bomb suit walked over, carefully picked the cooler up and carried it to the back of a white van that had pulled up a few minutes earlier. The cooler was placed inside, the doors were closed and the van drove off. The police officer took off his suit, stood around chatting with the other cops for a few minutes and then they all left as well.

That was it. Nothing. No explosion. No dramatic conclusion. They just drove off. And then I realized there weren’t even any reporters around. There was no bomb after all, apparently.

Well, shit.

I walked dejectedly back to my cubicle. It was all over and everyone else had already sat back down in front of their computers. I was really disappointed that I didn’t get to run screaming from the back of the building. I tried to keep the excitement up by saying things like "Can you believe that just happened?" and "Sooo scary, right?" and "Bombs. Crazy stuff, huh?" as I walked by my co-workers. None of them took the bait, they were totally over it. I went back to work a little more frowny than I had been before the fake bomb incident.

Fifteen minutes later, I noticed a shadow falling over my desk. I looked up. It was Ted.

“Could you please come clean off the hand prints and what appears to be a forehead mark from my office window?”

My life is so boring. If only there was a mass murdering, pedophilic creepy clown dead in a trunk outside my office. A girl can dream, right?

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P.S. Are you member of Studio30+ yet? If not, then get your ass over there and sign up already. Right now they're taking nominations for the 2011 Boomerang Awards. Don't ask what that is, just go over there and nominate me. Or, you know, another S30+ blogger that you like better. Whatever. I don't even care. *sniff*

I’m Either The Best Sister Ever Or Really Stupid. Probably Both.

I’m going home for Thanksgiving. Home to Minnesota to my parents house. I haven’t been home for the holidays (Yes, I really just typed that. I'll just go ahead and punch myself in the face now.) in 11 years. That was my first Christmas after moving to Texas and no way was I staying down here where it was 75 degrees and sunny when I could be back home where there was snow. I mean, what’s Christmas without the snow? And as it turned out, the temperatures never got above zero degrees. Yeah, I was really happy to come back to the warm weather after that last visit.

But the last couple of years I’ve been longing to be up north for Christmas again. Last year, the Dallas area got a huge (by southern standards) winter storm on Christmas Eve. It would have been perfect, except that we went to New Orleans for Christmas and missed it. Not that I’m complaining. I was drinking hurricanes and eating gumbo, who the hell cares about snow? But still, my northern roots are calling to me.

My parents are usually in Arizona by this time of year. They are retired snowbirds and can hardly wait to get to Mesa by the end of October. But my dad has been sick this year. He has leukemia and needed to stay close to his doctor in MN for chemo, so they aren’t heading to AZ until after Thanksgiving (he's doing great, by the way. This post isn't about that, but I didn't want to leave you hanging). So I was all “This year is my chance! I should totally go home for Thanksgiving so my parents won’t be alone on the holiday! I’m booking a flight right now!” to Captain Carl. And all three of my sisters agreed with me and booked tickets too.

So I’m flying up on Thursday morning. Because we are poor white trash, we could only afford one ticket so the Captain is staying home to host his side of the family’s Thanksgiving at our house. Which is weird, but whatever because there is already snow on the ground up there! Hooray! It’ll be almost like Christmas! I’m totally building a snowman and making snow angels!

And then I checked the weather channel. The high temp on Thursday up there is going to be 15 degrees. 15 DEGREES. My sister that still lives up there emailed to tell me it’s going to be the coldest Thanksgiving in 20 years.

Awesome.

I mean, I want snow. Snow. Not freezing nostrils. Not temps too cold for my wimpy southern version of a winter jacket to handle. And certainly not so cold that, holy hell, my whole family has to stay inside for 4 days straight. My whole two parent, four sisters and two nieces in a 3 bedroom house family. We’ll kill each other. You may think I’m exaggerating. Rest assured, I am not. Not even a little bit. This is how it will go down:

Me: Hey, let’s go outside!
Sister #1: It’s too cold.
Me: Oh come on! It’ll be fun! We can build a snow fort!
Sister #2: No way.
Sister #3: Let’s play a game.
Sisters #1 and #2: Yeah, let’s!
Me: Oh shit.

Because that is how the murders always start in my family. With a game.

Pictionary?
A massacre.
Trivial Pursuit?
Crime scene.
Dominoes?
Total slaughter.

It always starts out with optimism. This time will be different. This time we’ll have fun. This time we’ll all get along. This time no one will accuse anyone else of cheating. This time no one will overturn the table in a fit of rage over coming in second place. But the conclusion is almost always the same. Everyone not talking to everyone. At least one sister crying. At least one other sister calling their husband/boyfriend to tell them she is coming home early. My mom shutting herself up in her room for the rest of the day. And my dad reading the paper, pretending he can’t hear what is happening.

But I’ve decided to be optimistic. This will be a good visit. Only 3.5 days. Just long enough for everyone to stop missing each other and just short enough to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.

Unfortunately, I’ve been recruited by one of my sisters. To go Black Friday shopping. At 4am. In 15 degree weather. I mean, I just….I don’t even……

The thing is, I could have just said no, as the Captain pointed out last night. I could have said no and slept until 10am on my air mattress on the living room floor and pretended not to notice my sister's hurt feelings. But I said yes. Because I know how much it will mean to her. And I’ll play every game anyone wants to play. Because it’s family. And it’s going to be awesome and it’s going to be a blood bath and it’s going to be exhausting and I’m going to love every minute of it.

Because there’s no place like home.

The Most Painfully Relaxing Massage Ever

Captain Carl has been trying to convince me to get a massage for a few years now. I am what some people might call "high strung" and what my mom calls "a little bit stressed out" and what my husband calls "fucking whacked out of your mind". I have no idea why I'm stressing. I mean, my husband is starting his own business, I have two jobs, my son is going to college this month, my electric bill is heading steadily towards $500, and I have a cat molester in superman boxers living upstairs.

For some reason, I'm afraid of getting a massage. I'm nervous about being naked on a table in front of a stranger. I'm worried that I'll get super relaxed and let a fart squeak out. I don't know...I just feel weird about it. I've been trying to ease into the whole massage thing this year. I got a chair massage and that was pretty awesome. Then I had a reflexology massage, which required me to lay on the table but not take any clothes off. But that was it. There's even a massage place right across the parking lot where I work. I could walk over and get rubbed on my lunch hour (twss). But I have never done it.

Then a couple weeks ago I met a lady through my photography business. She's a massage therapist who wanted family portraits taken. I needed a massage. Bada boom, a deal was struck. And I spent every day up until Thursday freaking out about my upcoming massage.

Thursday arrived and I drove to my appointment. I was getting a 90 minute deep tissue massage. Full body. Full on nude. Full on freaking out. So she puts me in the room and there's the big table...

Oh great, I'm sweating. Now I'm gonna be "the fat lady who sweat through 90 minutes of massage". Awesome.

Okay, getting undressed quickly...get on the table before she comes back in!! Hurry! OMG, why is my bra not coming off!! Gah!

Okay, made it to the table. Here she is...quick, stick the sheet under your armpits but be sneaky about it. Need to wipe off the sweat!

Hmmmm, so they really do play Enya during massages. I always wondered about that...

This isn't so bad. Massaging my head first...feels really good.

Okay, this kind of hurts. Is she pushing on my shoulders with her fists? Ow ow ow!

Phew, glad that part is over. Now the arms. Nice...feels good....ahhhh.

Holy shit!!! What the fuck, man?? What is she doing to my arms???? That can't be good for me!

Don't tense up don't tense up don't tense up. Pretend it feels good.

Massage Therapist: How's the pressure? Enough?
Me: Yep! Perfect!

Seriously, lady? How's the pressure? You are literally pushing me off the other side of the table!

Thank God, done with the arms. Oooh, the hand massage is nice. Now that's what I'm talkin' about!

When did my mind start talking in a New York accent?

Gosh, this is great. I can put up with a little pain on my arms for this hand massage.

I never realized how much I love Enya. Hmmmm, la laa laaaaa. Sail away....blah blah yaaaa.

Okay, on to the legs. Not too bad...I can handle this. Wait...oh shit, here come the fists again. Motherfucka!!!!!!!! Ow ow ow owwwwwww....

Keep a straight face...don't let her see how much this hurts. She'll think you're a huge massage pussy.

OMG, this isn't a massage, this is torture. Save me, Obama!

Deep breaths....think of something nice. Like puppies frolicking. Or the ocean! You love the ocean!

Holy mother of all that is good and holy...make her stop!!! Say something! Tell her it's too much pressure!!!

Massage Therapist: Still good on the pressure?
Me: Oh yes, it's wonderful!

I think I'm about to pass out...

Is it normal to see spots during a massage? Enya sounds like she's singing in a tunnel. Weird.

Feet! Ohhhh, this is awesome! Okay, I will forget about the legs. The foot massage is where it's at, baby!

Oh shit, I have to turn onto my stomach? Damn damn damn...I bet she can see my boobs. Thank God it's dark in here.

Ahhhh, shoulder massage...I wish she'd do this the whole time.

Ummmm...my nipples are getting pinched a little bit here. Should I move? Is that allowed?

Okay, major nipple pinching. Maybe if I just slowly reach my hand under there and move them around, she won't notice....

Crap, I wasn't fast enough...she's massaging my arm again. Oh great, more fisting.

Butt massage? This is kind of weird, but okay. Feels pretty good...oh man, now I have to fart. I KNEW IT! Hold it hold it hold it....

Massage Therapist: Okay, we're all done...I'll just step outside and you can get dressed and come out when you're ready.

Thank God, I thought she'd never leave. *pphhhhttttttt*

Me: Well thank you so much, it was wonderful!
Massage Therapist: I'm glad you liked it! And don't worry, it's normal to pass gas after an intense massage.
Me: Oh ummm...I didn't...I mean...not until after...ummm...
Massage Therapist: Was there enough pressure? I gave you the beginner pressure.
Me: That was beginner pressure?
Massage Therapist: Oh yes. It can get quite a bit more intense.
Me: Oh. Well, I mean there could have been a little bit more pressure...but this was fine.
Massage Therapist: We'll try a bit more next time.
Me: Oh ah....ha hahaa, okay.
Massage Therapist: Namaste
Me: Sure, ummm...right back at ya.

The Negotiation Ninja

At my sister's house:

Lizard: So I have some exciting news.
Me: You're buying me a puppy??
Lizard: Why do you always ask me that? No. I'm moving to Chicago to be with Golfy next year.

(Golfy is Lizard's boyfriend. I named him that because he likes to golf. I'm a genius with fake names)

Me: What?? How can you move away? I thought he was moving here next year?
Lizard: It makes more sense for me to move there. It'll be cheaper and he can keep his job and I can work from anywhere.
Me: This sucks!
Lizard: I know. It'll be hard to move away from you guys.
Me: I moved to Texas just because you were here. And now you're leaving???
Lizard: That was 11 years ago.
Me: And your point is?
Lizard: Things change.
Me: Your mom changes.
Lizard: Look, you moved here and you met Captain Carl. It's not like I'm leaving you here alone.
Me: Whatever.
Lizard: Don't be mad.
Me: Stop talking to me.
Lizard: *sigh*
Me: Oh look at me. I'm Lizard and I'm selfish and I'm moving away so now my sister has no blood relatives in the state of Texas and I don't even care if her house catches on fire and she has nowhere to live and no clothes except what she wore to bed which is nothing because she sleeps in the nude!

*Lizard's phone rings*

Lizard: Hi baby!
Me: Is that him?
Lizard: I just told my sister the news.
Me: You tell Golfy that I hate him!
Lizard: She says she hates you.
Me: I never want to see his face again!
Lizard: She never wants to see your face again.
Me: He is dead to me! *walks out to living room*
Lizard: I should have told her over the phone.
Me: *yelling* Hey, can I have your couch?
Lizard: What?
Me: Your living room couch. Can I have it when you move?
Lizard: No, I'm taking it with me.
Me: Why?
Lizard: Because I love it and it will go perfectly in Golfy's house.
Me: *whining* It would look so much better at my house though.
Lizard: You haven't even seen his house.
Me: Well I know it would anyway, so shut up.
Lizard: You can have the couch in the family room.
Me: Gross.
Lizard: Excuse me?
Me: I don't like that couch.
Lizard: Thanks for insulting my taste in couches.
Me: Just that couch. It's all green and...old.
Lizard: Well sorry, but that's the only couch I'm not taking.
Me: *walks into home office* What about your desk?
Lizard: You have a desk already.
Me: I do not! I have a dining room table that I'm using as a desk. Because I'm poor and can't afford a nice desk like this because mom and dad wouldn't pay for me to go through law school like someone I know.
Lizard: They didn't pay for me either. I paid for it myself.
Me: Blah blah blah. If you give me this desk, I could sell my dining room table and make some cash. It's a win-win.
Lizard: Hmmm. I could probably sell you the desk.
Me: You would make me buy it?
Lizard: It's solid wood, I could get a lot for it. I'll sell it to you for $300.
Me: That's extortion!
Lizard: Oh come on...
Me: I better die before you so I can keep you out of heaven. Oh man, I can't wait to get up there and tell Baby Jesus that my darling sister made me buy a desk she already owned for $300!
Lizard: Seriously, you are ridiculous.
Me: Fine. *hangs head* Go ahead and move away and forget all about me stuck down here in fucking hot as hell Texas. Enjoy your snow and windy city and the mob.
Lizard: Okay okay. I'll give you my flat screen tv.
Me: *jumping and clapping* Really????? OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!
Lizard: *staring*
Me: Score! *moon walks* *grabs crotch* *puts fist into air* *stomps right foot repeatedly* Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!
Lizard: *still staring*
Me: That was the only thing I really wanted anyway! Jokes on you, sucka! You never saw that coming, did ya? I rule at negotiation! I'm like a negotiation ninja!
Lizard: *more staring*
Me: What?
Lizard: *crosses arms over chest* *looks pissed*
Me: *smiles*
Lizard: *narrows eyes*
Me: I am going to miss you so much when you move.

It's Like Living In Middle Earth. Except Instead Of A Ring, There's A Plunger.

When Captain Carl and I contracted to build our house, we were pretty nervous about it. It was much bigger than the place we were renting at the time and it was in a suburb on the outskirts of the metro…which meant a much longer commute to work and more distance between ourselves and our family who lived here. The only restaurants near us were McDonald’s and a donut place. There was one gas station and no shopping. Not even a Wal Mart, y'all. I mean, I thought a Wal Mart was a prerequisite for a new suburb in the south?

So one day we drove out to see how construction was coming along. The walls were almost ready to go up and we stood out in the street in front of our new house and contemplated brick color and tree selection and ohmygodwhatarewedoing???? And then I heard someone yelling behind us “Are y’all our new neighbors?”. When we turned around, I saw two teeny tiny old people walking towards us. This couple barely came up to my chest, they were that short. And gosh they were sweet! They told us their names were Fanny and Reggie and how happy they were to have a young family moving in soon and how wonderful the neighborhood was and how it was lonely with only two other houses built so far on our street. Captain Carl and I left that day feeling wonderful about our home selection. I mean, everyone wants good neighbors right? It would be so great to have such a friendly and sweet couple across the street!

And then moving day arrived. We closed on our house in August. In Texas. Because we’re geniuses. We hired movers, who could only fit ¾ of our crap into their truck. And so we spent our first day as new homeowners hauling loads of the remaining stuff from the old place to the new. We did that about five times. And then, hot and sweating and exhausted, we began unpacking the essentials for our first night. I worked on the kitchen while the Captain worked out in the garage. Our front door was propped open to allow the movers easy access. And so I didn’t notice when our neighbor lady walked in and sat down on our kitchen window seat.

Fanny: Ya’ll are getting all moved in, huh?

Me: *jumping* Uh, yes. Ummm, when did you get here?

Fanny: Oh I just came in. I figured it was okay since y’all had your front door open.

Me: Oh. Well. Actually, we have it open for the movers.

Fanny: I see you’re cleaning the refrigerator.

Me: Uh, yes I am.

Fanny: Y’all brought your old fridge from your other place then?

Me: Yes.

Fanny: *swings legs back and forth* Y’alls fridge don’t match your stove.

Me: No, we’ll probably buy a new one soon that matches.

Fanny: *kicking heels against our newly painted wall* Huh.

Me: *staring* Is there something I can help you with?

Fanny: No. Just stopping by to say hi.

Me: Oh, well okay. I’m ahhh, a little busy right now.

Fanny: *laughing* I can see that!

Me: So ummm…maybe we could get together sometime after we’re all moved in.

Fanny: Sure! *walks around the kitchen touching things*

Me: So yeah…well….

Reggie: *yelling from outside* Fanny! Where are you, woman???

Fanny: *yelling from inside* I’m in here, for goodness sake!!

Reggie: *walks into house* Well hey there! Cleaning your fridge, huh?

Me: Well, I’m trying to.

Reggie: Well, I ‘spose we ought to let her get back to it, Fanny.

Fanny: Oh you go on. We’re having girl talk.

Me: Ahhh, ha haa….well actually….

Reggie: Come on now…leave her alone. The poor girl is sweating right through her shirt. *stares at my chest*

Fanny: Fine then. I’ll come back later to visit.

Me: Ummm, okay. Well…bye.

Reggie: It’s so nice to have y’all here. Now we’re not the only white folks on the street!

Me: What?

Fanny: *stage whisper* Everyone else is black. One of ‘em is from Nigeria or Africa or something!

Me: Oh, that’s nice.

Fanny: Well sure it is. But you know, it’s nicer when you have some of your own kind around you.

Me: *open mouth stare*


And it pretty much continued from there:

____________________________________________

Reggie: *after walking across the street to watch me trim the front hedges* Doin’ yard work, huh?

Me: Yep.

Reggie: Fanny was watching you out the front window and told me she can’t believe you’re out here doing man’s work.

Me: Excuse me?

Reggie: She says yard work is a man’s job and Captain Carl should be out here.

Me: Well, I don’t mind.

Reggie: Well, you’re doing a good enough job I guess.

Me: Gee, thanks.

Reggie: Pretty hot out here, huh? *stares at my chest*

______________________________________________

Reggie: *stopping us while we are out for a walk * Hey ya’ll!

Captain: Hey Reggie….gotta keep moving, we’ll talk later!

Reggie: Yep yep, I can see y’all are exercising. Good idea, ya’ll probably need it!

Me: What?

Reggie: Well, I tell y’all what. We sure do like our neighbors here on our left side but *stage whisper* them blacks sure do things differently.

Captain: Ohmygod. Let's go. *starts walking away*

Me: Wait, what does that mean?

Reggie: Oh, I don't mean nothing by that. They just seem to do a lot of things backwards. It must be their culture or something to do things wrong.

Captain: *grabs my arm* Ha, well we really gotta go!


______________________________________________

*Doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

Captain: Oh come on, I answered last time!

Me: I’m not talking to them!

Captain: How do you know it’s them?

Me: It’s always them!

Captain: Fine. *opens door* Hey Reggie.

Reggie: Hey there, Captain. Listen, I don’t suppose y’all have a plunger I could borrow?

Captain: Ummm, what for?

Reggie: Well see, my grandson’s over this week and I tell you what, that boy has some intestinal problems.

Captain: *horrified face* Uh huh….

Reggie: Well, he left the biggest load I’ve ever seen in our toilet and it’s all backed up. You would never believe that it came out of an 8 year old.

Captain: Well…ummm..

Me: *yelling from my hiding place* We don’t have one!

Reggie: What’s that?

Captain: Yeah, believe it or not we don’t have a plunger.

Reggie: You don’t say? Well, alright then.

Captain: This is just a thought, but maybe you could drive over to the hardware store and pick one up.

Reggie: Well I guess I might do that. Y’all need me to get you one too?

____________________________________________

*doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

*silence*

Me: Well shit, I’m the only one home. *answers door* Hi Fanny.

Fanny: I got my grandson with me today.

Me: I see that.

Grandson: *stares at my chest*

Fanny: *walks into my house* Come on Davy.

Me: Ummm, is there something you need? Why does he have that big stick?

Fanny: Oh who knows. He just picks things up outside. One time he came home with a dead snake and a pair of ladies underpants.

Me: *stare*

Fanny: I wondered if I could have some sugar.

Me: Okay, how much?

Fanny: You got a bag I could take?

Me: A whole bag?

Grandson: *swinging giant tree limb around my kitchen*

Me: Be carefully with that please!

Fanny: Oh he’s alright. Yeah, I need a whole bag.

Me: Well, I can give you a couple cups.

Fanny: Oh nevermind, that’s not enough.

Grandson: *banging giant tree limb against my wall*

Me: Hey, stop it!

Fanny: Not to worry. That’ll touch up with a little paint.

____________________________________________

And this is why we never answer our door or walk around outside in the daylight anymore. On account of our redneck racist hobbit neighbors.

Clearly We’re Dealing With Some Kind Of Highly Intelligent Imaginary Insects

A couple weeks ago my husband went crazy. True story. We decided to pull a bunch of overgrown and ugly bushes out of our landscaping one Saturday. They were junipers and there were five of them and they were ugly and half dead. Captain Carl is allergic to something in junipers and we knew this from all the previous times he’s brushed up against them and had an itchy rash break out for a couple days. Kind of like the ones your mom gets, except on the leg instead of the vagina. So he dug with the shovel and I pulled the shrubs out on account of my skin being super awesome and non-allergic. But his legs did manage to touch the junipers a bit and he did have to reach in there and help me pull a few times. So he ended up with a few rashes on his arms and legs afterwards.

Three days went by and the rashes got worse. Four days went by and the rashes got more worse. Five days went by and the rashes were oozing and bright red and swollen and the Captain was in agony from all the itchy and burning. A week goes by and he’s still in pain and the rashes are huge and ugly and spreading over his chest and I’m starting to think maybe this isn’t a reaction to junipers. I suggested he go to the doctor, but our new insurance had not kicked in yet so he said no. And then he went insane.

Day 8 – calling me at work

Captain: Hey, I think I might have fleas.
Me: What?
Captain: These rashes won’t go away. I’m pretty sure they are bites and not rashes.
Me: Baby, there are no bites on your body.
Captain: Yeah, but the rashes keep spreading and they start out really small like bites.
Me: So you think fleas are biting you and giving you rashes?
Captain: Maybe. I looked flea bites up on WebMD and it kind of looks like some of the spots I have.
Me: You don’t have fleas.

Day 10 – calling me at work

Captain: Hey, I’m pretty sure I have scabies.
Me: Come on, seriously?
Captain: The symptoms are the same!
Me: How do you get scabies?
Captain: I don’t know, hang on. *type type type*
Me: Are you on WebMD again?
Captain: Yes.
Me: Get off that website!
Captain: I have to figure out what this is! The itching is awful!
Me: You don’t have scabies!

Day 11 – calling me at work

Captain: I think I figured it out. We’ve got bed bugs.
Me: Ohmygod, why do you think that??
Captain: Because I looked them up…
Me: On WebMD?
Captain: Yeah and you can get rashes just like mine from bed bugs.
Me: We do not have bed bugs.
Captain: We might. You don’t know.
Me: I do know because nothing is wrong with my skin.
Captain: Maybe you just aren’t reacting yet.
Me: I don’t think so.
Captain: I found this stuff on the back of the curtain in the bedroom and it kind of looks like bug casings. It could be bed bugs!
Me: Did you look under the mattress?
Captain: Well, yes but…
Me: Did you see any bugs or anything?
Captain: Well, no but…
Me: *sigh* I think you need to see a doctor.
Captain: All she’ll give me is some cream or something for the rash and it’ll cost too much without insurance.
Me: Not that kind of doctor.
Captain: What are you saying? That I need a shrink?
Me: Baby, we don’t have bed bugs.
Captain: It’s either bed bugs, scabies or fleas. One of those three.
Me: Or not.

Day 12 - getting ready for bed

Captain: I called the pest control guy. He’s coming tomorrow.
Me: For what?
Captain: To check for bed bugs.
Me: Holy shit, we don’t have bed bugs! I think you have poison ivy.
Captain: I don’t think so. I’ve had that before and it doesn’t keep spreading all over your body.
Me: I saw some in the front of the house today. I bet you touched it.
Captain: I doubt that’s what it is.
Me: Wait a minute. Are you still using a loofa in the shower?
Captain: Yes. You better not blog about that either! It doesn’t make me girly. Neither does taking bubble baths.
Me: Listen…if you have poison ivy and you are rubbing that loofa all over yourself, you are probably spreading it which is why you have it all over your chest now.
Captain: I guess that’s possible.
Me: More possible than bed bugs that are only biting you.
Captain: Maybe they are only on my side of the bed. Maybe they are right side only bed bugs!
Me: Right side only bed bugs.
Captain: Yes.
Me: How do they know to stay on the right side of the bed?
Captain: Maybe they only have legs on the left side of their body and they are curved in and so they just go round and round in circles on the right side of the bed.
Me: And what if they turn and face the head of the bed? Then their right side would be my side.
Captain: Well, maybe they have some kind of internal GPS that tells them my side is the right side.
Me: This is a totally logically conversation. For an insane person.
Captain: Talk to me when the right side only bed bugs get to you.
Me: You. Have. Poison. Ivy.
Captain: Easy for you to say. You don’t have bed bug bites.
Me: Neither do you.

Day 13 - calling me at work

Captain: So the pest guy came.
Me: And?
Captain: No bed bugs.
Me: Shocking.
Captain: And he agrees with your loofa diagnosis.
Me: You told the pest guy about your loofa??
Captain: What? I’m desperate!
Me: You know what this means, right?
Captain: That you need to buy me a new loofa on your way home?

Luckily about a week later the rashes finally cleared up and my usual, non-crazy husband came back to me and he is now denying the whole right side only bed bugs conversation ever happened. And that he takes bubble baths. With lavender bubbles. Because they are calming to the senses. No I am not making this up.

This Post Is Kind Of Serious. I Threw In Some Swears To Make It Up To You.

I’ve got anxiety issues. I’m a bit high-strung. I tend to worry a great deal. I have trouble turning my brain off. I suffer from frequent heartburn. I often have a difficult time falling asleep at night. Sometimes I have small panic attacks.

Okay fine. I lose my shit on a daily basis, people. Fine, I said it. Are you happy? Yeah, of course you are. Assholes.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You aren’t assholes. You are nice people, who will probably leave me encouraging comments like “Hang in there!” and “Maybe you should visit your doctor?” and “Your mom” (Kurt).

It’s just that, well, I feel like I might be reaching my breaking point emotionally. What’s funny is that people who don’t know me really well would never know I’m stressed out because I’m always pleasant and laughing. But the people who do know me really well? They see how fakey my smile is and that when I think no one is looking, I’m all frowny and crazy eyed. They can tell I’m not sleeping well because of the dark circles under said crazy eyes and how I mumble to myself and sigh a lot and generally look unwell.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding it from everyone besides Captain Carl. He has special insight into my soul and lady parts, so I can’t get anything past him. I gave up on that a few years ago. But I was pretty sure that most everyone else thought I was my old sunny self. Until graduation weekend, when all of my family and the Captain’s family descended on our house. I think I heard “Are you doing okay?” and “Are you feeling well?” and “You must be tired” about 50 times that day. Then my sister pulled me aside and was all “I went on antidepressants last month and I’ve never felt better.” and I was all “That’s awesome!” and she was all *pointed stare* and I was all “What?” and she was all “Never. Better.” and I was all “Oh, ummm…great?” and she was all “Seriously.” and I was all "...the fuck?" and she was all "You need meds, bish". And my parents were especially concerned. I picked up on that after my Dad gave me the “Try to find happiness in every day” speech twice in as many hours. And on their way out, my Mom slipped some money into my hand and whispered “Get yourself a pedi-mani or whatever they call it and feel better, honey.”

Well, shit.

They are all right. I AM tired. I’m NOT feeling well. And some days, I’m definitely NOT okay. (not every day though…I really do have a lot of good days. But this post isn’t about that. It’s about me whining and feeling sorry for myself, so shut up.)

The thing is, I’m afraid to go to the doctor. It’s overwhelming to even think about schedule an appointment to ask what I should do about my totally whacked out anxiety and inability to just chill the fuck out. And yes, I know that overwhelmed feeling is reason enough to do it. Gah, I’m a mess.

But here’s the good thing. My husband, bless his squishy sweet heart, never tires of trying to help me. He hates that I'm always stressed out. He hates that I have nightmares much too often. He hates that I come home from work and immediately start cleaning the house. I don’t even change out of my work clothes some days because my anxiety level is so high that I don’t want to stop moving moving moving, even though I’m exhausted. I’m in the kitchen, wiping counters and throwing out junk mail and cleaning out the vegetable drawer in my heels. Sometimes I even forget to take my purse of my shoulder before I start. For reals. Crazy, right? And yet, the Captain sticks with it and every day tells me to “Sit your ass down and relax, damn it”. Some days it works, some days not so much.

I think he could sense after graduation that I was making a beeline towards crazytown. So last weekend, he piled me and my camera and my 5 pairs of yoga pants and my 12 pairs of flip flops into the car, drove me 4 hours away and plopped me down at a resort in the middle of nowhere. Our room was on the second floor of a building in the woods. We had to be transported to it via golf cart on gravel trails lit only by solar lights. Our view was leaves and tree trunks. There were rocking chairs on our deck and bug spray next to the cushy robes in our closet. There were no sounds except the wind and the birds. They left wine and chocolates on our bedside table. It was heaven.

This trip was technically a business venture for the Captain. He had meetings all day Saturday in the resort’s conference room, so I was left to my own devices. It was awesome. I spent the morning walking through the meadows on nature trails. I was the only person out there and I felt a million miles away from my life. I took pictures of butterflies and flowers. A deer popped up out of the tall grass no farther than 10 feet away from me, followed by her fawn. Fucking Bambi, ya’ll. The path eventually led me to a pond where dozens of dragonflies were swarming. I began to feel the anxiety and stress slowly loosen it’s grip on me and I began to relax. I sat down under a tree and cried for awhile, just because I wanted to. I even sang out loud. “Oh what a beautiful morning”. Best solo sung in a field by a crazy woman ever. I wish I had brought the wine with me. Then I went back to my room, showered, ate lunch and got a massage (hells to the yeah). Then I joined Captain Carl for drinks and dinner. I slept like a baby and had morning sex on Sunday.

I need to move to this place. Meds and therapy would not be necessary. All I need is a treehouse and a meadow filled with Disney animals and I’m all good. But alas, I had to come home last night. Back to a world filled with jobs and bills and dirty litter boxes and renters and teenage boys. You know…real life. I’m easing back in slowly today. I downloaded the entire soundtrack to Oklahoma and am currently humming along with “Surrey with a fringe on top” and envisioning Captain Carl as Curly. I do love a man in a cowboy hat.

Promalicious

Last weekend was prom in our town. Those of you with sons already know this, but prom? Not a big deal to teenage boys. Besides increasing the likelihood that they’ll get drunk and laid, there really isn’t much about prom night to excite them. Last year, the Kiddo had no plans to attend until the last minute when a girl he thought was hot turned up dateless and, being a man of opportunity, he kindly offered to take her…aka boink her in the backseat of his car.

This year he has a steady girlfriend of 9 ohmygodwearesoinlove! months and therefore had absolutely no choice in the matter of prom. Bunny started talking about prom dresses back before Christmas while shooting pointed looks in my son’s general direction, which he acknowledged with much eye rolling. Captain Carl, being the sweet and sensitive man that he is, wisely advised the boy that he had better break up with Bunny by no later than March if he wanted to get out of going to prom. But apparently Bunny’s, ummmm….personality kept the Kiddo interested well past March and prom plans were made.

Prom Plan #1:
Kiddo: Hey, can you guys get me a hotel room for prom night?
The Captain: The hell we will!
Me: Now now, let’s talk about this before we make a decision.
The Captain: Seriously?
Me: Yes. Now son, why do you want a hotel room?
The Captain: *snort* Oh come on.
Kiddo: Well, I thought it would be fun.
Me: Hmmm, yes I’m sure it would be fun.
The Captain: *eye roll*
Me: What kind of fun, exactly?
Kiddo: Just, you know, like hanging out with my dudes.
The Captain: Your dudes?
Me: Not with Bunny?
Kiddo: Well yeah, with Bunny. But she can’t stay out all night, so I figured I’d chill with her until midnight and then my dudes can come over.
The Captain: And trash the hotel room on our credit card.
Kiddo: That won’t happen!
The Captain: Right. A bunch of 18 year old boys out all night in a hotel with booze and probably pot. Yeah, no way could that end badly.
Kiddo: Why can’t you trust me! *angsty sigh*
Me: Hmmm, this is probably not a good plan.
Kiddo: *throws hands in the air* Oh man!
The Captain: You actually thought we’d rent a hotel room for you?
Kiddo: Well, I am 18 years old. I’m a legal adult.
The Captain: Tell you what, legal adult. Get a job, rent an apartment and then go ahead and get that hotel room for the night.

Prom Plan #2
Kiddo: What if I borrowed J-Whiz’s apartment for the night?
The Captain: Where will J-Whiz be?
Kiddo: With his parents in San Antonio for the weekend.
The Captain: Yeah, no.

Prom Plan #3
Kiddo: Okay, so Bunny and I are gonna chill with Twat and his date at his house after prom.
Me: Will Twat’s parents be there?
Kiddo: His mom will be.
The Captain: Isn’t this the same kid that you lit on fire last summer?
Kiddo: I didn’t light him on fire. We were lighting nail polish remover in the driveway and he stomped on it to put it out and his foot caught on fire. Totally not my fault.
Me: Are you SURE his mom will be there?
Kiddo: Yes.
Me: Well, that’s a better plan than the hotel room.

So we agreed to the third plan. And then without telling me, Captain Carl got the real story out of the Kiddo. He didn’t tell me about it until after he’d left for the prom with Bunny on Saturday.

The Captain: So did you notice he didn’t get Bunny a corsage?
Me: Yes I did. I reminded him about 10 times to get one.
The Captain: Oh he got flowers. But they aren’t in a corsage.
Me: Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like the rest of this story?
The Captain: He bought roses and he’s going to spread them around the bed at Twat’s house.
Me: What?? Wait. I thought Twat’s mom was going to be home?
The Captain: She is, but not until after 11pm.
Me: How do you know that?
The Captain: I got it out of him. I knew he wasn’t telling us the whole story.
Me: So he told you he’s going to Twat’s house to get laid after the prom and you’re okay with this?
The Captain: Meh, it’s prom night. The girl deserves to do it somewhere besides the back of his car.
Me: Please tell me you’re joking about the roses thing.
The Captain: Nope. And he’s going to play his guitar for her.
Me: Holy shit.
The Captain: Nothing Else Matters by Metallica.
Me: No. Way.
The Captain: I wish I was kidding.
Me: Heh.
The Captain: What?
Me: *singing* I wanna layyyy you down in a bed of roses…for tonight I sleep on a bedddd of nails!!
The Captain: Aw man, he should do that one!
Me: Nah. He’s not awesome enough to pull off Bon Jovi.

The next day I asked the Kiddo how his night went and he was all "It was cool" and I was all "That's it?" and he was all "Yeah" and then I got on facebook and saw that Bunny had updated her status to say "I lurrrvvvv my boyfriend soooooo much!!!" so I guess Metallica got the job done. Just imagine how happy she would have been if he'd played Bon Jovi.

Someone Almost Got Murdered With A Squeegee This Weekend

Isn’t squeegee like the best word ever? Almost as good as the word cake. Squeegee. Awesome.

*ahem*

Anyway.

So our house is turning 7 years old this summer. I didn’t think that was very old for a house. The house I grew up in was almost 100 years old when my parents sold it and the only problem I remember about it was the ghost that hung out there. I’ll tell you that story later. Maybe.

But now I’m thinking that maybe my selfish child/teenage brain didn’t pay much attention back when I was living there, because my 7 year old house is falling apart. Okay, maybe only parts of it are falling apart. Okay fine, none if it is falling apart. It’s just breaking down a little bit. Maybe houses are like dogs and 7 years is more like 49 years? Because we’ve had to replace parts in both of our air conditioners (yes, we have two because we’re fancy rednecks, thankyouverymuch). And our kitchen tiles are cracking and buckling spontaneously and 5 of our windows have broken seals so they have that foggy, wet look about them. Our landscaping that looked so cute and neat when we moved in is now overgrown and jungle-like. Our sprinkler system only works on manual mode and sometimes it comes on even when it’s turned completely off. You get the picture. Lots of little projects to be tackled.

Because we have no money to pay professionals for all these projects, Captain Carl and I have been learning a lot about home improvement. And hiding the kitchen knives from each other. Yeah. We do not work well together. Things could get real stabby around our place real quick if either of us had easy access to pointy things.

See, the problem is that both of us are experts at everything. Curtain rod installation? Experts. Air filter replacement? Experts. Hedge clipping? Total experts. So with all this expertise floating around, it’s hard to do any projects without the words “fuck” and “you” being thrown about. You’d think after 7 years of wedded bliss and home ownership we would have learned by now to stagger the home improvement jobs far apart to give our marriage a chance to recover. After all, we almost got divorced over a vicious furniture moving incident two years ago. It was ugly, y’all. Pillows were flung, temper tantrums occurred.

Nope, haven’t learned a thing. For some reason this weekend, we decided to tackle not one but two projects. Landscaping on Friday and solar window film application on Sunday. It was like the MMA of matrimony. I have no idea what we were thinking. Well, I know what I was thinking...

Okay, this time just keep your mouth shut when he wants to do it the wrong way. Let him be all manly and shit and then when he does it wrong, you can fix it and smile serenely. It’ll kill him. It’ll be awesome.

I should totally win an award for being such a great wife.

So the landscaping went pretty well actually. We had already pulled out the old shrubs a few days before. He dug and I pulled and we only called each other jerks and assholes a couple of times. So all we had to do Friday was put in the new plants, which we did with no problems. I asked the Captain afterwards how we managed to get through it still speaking to each other and he was all “Probably because I don’t care about stupid plants.” and I was all “They aren’t stupid, they’re important!” and he was all “meh.” and I was all “Screw you then!” and he was all “Don’t take it personally, it’s no big deal.” and I was all “Your mom’s no big deal. Ha! I win!” *dancing pelvic thrusts*.

Like I said before: Me. Great Wife. Award. Right here. This lady.

So we got through the landscaping relatively unscathed and were feeling confident about our Sunday project of applying solar film to our bedroom windows. The Captain watched the instructional video on the laptop while I clipped coupons in the kitchen and yelled “Turned it up, I can’t hear it!” and “Wait, which side do we peel off?” and “We get to use razor blades? Sweet!”. That was pretty much the high point of the project. Then the Captain brought the ladder in and banged it into the wall and I asked him sweetly to please be careful and he irrationally screamed at me to shut my pie hole or something like that. I don’t know, the details are a little fuzzy and not important and no I did not start it. Shut up.

Then things got and stayed ugly. I won’t go into the sordid details, but let’s just say there was a lot of cursing and window film sticking to itself. It was a good thing the razor blades we used were dull. Also? There may or may not have been an incident involving a flying squeegee and Captain Carl’s head. Oh calm down, people. How was I supposed to know a rubber window cleaning device could rupture an eardrum? Geesh. It was totally accidental-ish.

I Will Totally Cut A Bitch, Even If She's Imaginary

Captain Carl had a job interview in Houston this week. Houston, y'all. Houston is four hours away from here. We have no interest in living in Houston. Under normal circumstances, the Captain wouldn't have even bothered with the phone interview. But we are not living under normal circumstances, people. It has now been a full year since he was laid off. A full year since we decided to take in renters and live with roommates...something we never thought could happen after buying our own home. A full year since our emotions and psyche and checkbook and egos took a huge hit right in the nards. A full year and still we are struggling.

So when one of few opportunities for an in-person interview comes along, you take it. Even if it means that one of you would have to live four hours away, five days a week for six months if you were actually offered the job. Because a six month contract job is better than no job at all.

So Captain Carl made arrangements to drive to Houston and I spent the night before he left laying in bed worrying. See, I like to create these elaborate and far-fetched stories in my head when I'm stressed out. This particular story involved the Captain getting this job and moving to Houston and becoming increasingly distant from me and the Kiddo back home and then he starts talking a lot about some lady named Shelly that he works with and he's all "Shelly is so funny" and "Shelly loves Indian food just as much as me" and "Shelly told the funniest joke the other day" and then I'm all "Ummm, what does Shelly look like exactly?" and he's all "Why?" and I'm all "I mean, is she ugly?" and he's all "Why are you giving me the 3rd degree? What's the big deal? Don't you trust me?" and then I decide to make a spontaneous trip to Houston to surprise him and blam! guess who's at his apartment when I show up? That bitch Shelly, that's who.

Then I finally fell asleep and the next day I had forgotten completely about my story because I was now too busy worrying about the Captain getting in a car accident on the way to Houston and maybe getting mugged or shanked once he got there. Because I'm a mental patient.

And here's why my crazy story is ridiculous. Captain Carl and I cannot stand being away from each other. I was all "Call me before you leave" and he was all "Okay" and I was all "And call me when you check into your hotel" and he was all "I will" and I was all "And promise to call me after your interview" and he was all "Damn Gina, I promise!". Did I mention that I'm a mental patient? And then it turned out that he forgot his phone charger, so he called quickly after arrival to tell me he wouldn't call me that night. Sob! A whole night without talking. Suck.

But he couldn't do it. He called twice and texted me and then I finally told him I would call his hotel room and we talked for two hours. We're like teenager. Really super awesome and sexy non-awkward teenagers.

This is gonna suck if he gets that job. Shelly better keep her distance. I'm not afraid to cut a bitch.