headsmacks

Marry me, Joel McHale

2008-03-02T10:07:00.000-05:00

The Soup.

If you've never heard of it, let me say this: It's the best thing on E! For 30 minutes each Friday, Joel keeps up rolling in tears as he points out the superb absurdities of weekly television. You know...the 'good' stuff, like Bad Girls and Rock of Love, America's Next Top Model, The Real World, and best of all...Tyra Banks. Is there a single minute of that woman's airing that you can't make fun of? He touches on the ridiculous lives of our least favorite celebrities and on occasion he even catches a snippet or blooper from news gone wrong.

If it were not for Joel, I'd never know these tv atrocities exist, and now that I do, I am so thankful for him. If not I'd have to burn my tv, shaking my head in the knowledge that I share a country with the people who actually think this stuff is worthy to be aired.

We LOVE you, Joel!

Conversations with Janice

2006-10-22T13:49:00.000-04:00

I've decided after many months that this little gem of a conversation has to be blogged. I was a little worried she might somehow stumble across it and get offended...but it's not like she can actually use a computer. I guess I'll take my chances.

----------------------------------------

The phone rings, I answer...it's Janice.

Janice: "Melissa, this is Mom"

Like I don't know it's her For one, I've heard her voice for 32 years, it tends to become recognizable, and two, She speaks more slowly than any other human I know, and finally, if all that fails to tip me off, my caller ID assures me that there is a 75% chance I will regret not letting this call go to voice mail, then calling back at a more convenient time...like when I have ten minutes of life left on my phone battery.

Me: "Hey Mom..."

Janice:"Hey. I just wanted to ask you a quick question. "

note: When Janice says "a quick question" this results in a conversation of a minimum: 15 minutes, average: 45 minutes, worst case scenario: 2 hours and she hangs up on me, mad and insulted, when I insist I have to go because Nate's bedtime was a hour ago

Me: "OK..."

HELP!

Janice: "You said you had free minutes after 7pm and on weekends, but I'm looking at my phone bill and we've got calls on here that we're being charged for, and the time of alot of these calls are after 7..."

OK, first of all: that's not even a question, but Holy freakin crap, are you kidding me? I can already see where this is going because I had a conversation with her two months ago that started the same way. I pray for a dropped or a low service area as I drive through the country. Please Cingular, if there was ever a time when you could fail me...PLEEEASE, PLEEEEEASE, let it be NOW!

Janice: "Why are we being charged for free minutes? That's just wrong!"

Oh good god, just fake a dropped call! You can do it!

Me: "Mom, No. What I said was I have unlimited/free minutes on my cingular plan after 7pm and on weekends, so if you guys are going to call me, to wait until then to do so unless it's an emergency, that way I won't go over and be charged for the calls."

Janice: "I know, but we're being charged for them. I've got the bill right here..."

Me: "There only free for my cell phone plan. You still get charged for the call if you make it from your home phone."

Janice: "I thought when you said free minutes, that they were free. I thought we weren't supposed to be paying for those calls if we waited to call you after 7. I mean, you said they were free. If we'd know we were being charged, we wouldn't have talked so long..."

Ok...this makes me laugh every time I think of it. See definition of 'quick question' above...yeah she wouldn't have talked long...riiiight.

Me: "Like I said before, these are 'free' only on my plan. If you call me from your home phone then you will be billed for the call because it's long distance. Now if you call from your cell phone and you have free nights and weekends on your plan you won't be charged. Or if I call you on your home phone, you aren't charged."

Janice: "Well, WE get charged ANYTIME on our cell plan. We have Verizon and it's just plain sorry."

Me: "Are you sure you don't have N&W on your plan? Most of them offer that. Maybe you should ask Dad...he would know since he set the plans up."

Janice: "He keeps talking about switching, because Verizon's service is just sorry"

Me: "You should still ask him."

Janice: "Do you have a bill for your calls that you could look at and tell me which time you called me. Our bill shows charges for all of these calls, and I know sometimes you called us after 7. So they're charging us for times when you called us. If you called, we shouldn't have to pay for it."

Oh...My...God

Me: "Mom, you're looking at a bill for your landline, right? It doesn't list incoming calls, so all of those charges are for calls you made to me."

Janice: "But you called us sometimes, I remember. We didn't always call you."

Holy Crap!

Me: "MOM! I know I called you too, but you won't see those calls at all on your bill. It only lists the calls you make. Those are the only ones you are getting charged for."

Janice: "But it doesn't say which ones are incomng or outgoing, it just lists a charge by each one. If they're charging us for all of them, that's wrong. We shouldn't have to pay for the ones we didn't make..."

This is what hell is like, isn't it? It must be...

Me: "MOM!!!!!! There is NOTHING WRONG on your bill!!! They are ALL OUTGOING CALLS!!!! They don't PRINT incoming calls on your bill."

Janice: "oh..."

Me: "I'm sorry you misunderstood what I said about the free minutes. I know you guys don't have alot of money, so if you ever need me to call you back at night, just say so. I don't always think about it, so just remind me and I'll call you right back..."

Janice: "Well, ok...I guess I'll let you go. I just wanted to ask you about that real quick...because when I talked to you before, you said they were free...and well, we thought they were free for us, too. I wish you had told us they weren't free for us"

My mom is on crack, I swear. She must be. I've had enough of this nonsense. Time to break out the reality check.

Me: "Well, Mom, I really don't understand why you would think that still, because we had this same conversation two months ago, because you got a phone bill and thought they were charging you then, too. I explained the whole situation to you before."

Janice: "You told ME about this?"

Me: "Yes, the same conversation. I told you the same thing two months ago. "

Janice: "Yeah, but when you told me, you said they were 'Free after 7pm, so we didn't think..."

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGH!!!

Me: "Free for ME, MEEEEEEE. OK? THAT is what I told you. I'm sorry you didn't understand that you would be charged. The only reason I asked you all to wait until after 7pm was because we had lowered our plan and I had les than 300 minutes for daytime use and if I went over I got charged. Seriously mom, 40 cents per minute for anything over. That's alot. I just needed to be careful."

Janice: "I know it's alot. You know, your brother gets charged alot too...it says right here, he gets charged 20 cents a minute...and 12 cents a minute...33 cents..."

At this point I'm scratching my head, not a freakin' clue WHAT she is talking about...because she's still looking at HER bill. I'm certain she has lost her damn mind and is trying to take mine with it.

and then she says: "Oh, wait...no, no. Those are the length of the calls..."

I really wish I could say the conversation ended there, but it didn't. I'll spare you the rest of the details as I'm sure your brain is as numb as mine at this point, right??

I think I'll be burning my undies now.

2006-10-22T13:43:00.000-04:00

Last week, I started painting and sealing our main bathroom. You've all read the drama we've dealt with with the gargantuan cucarachas getting into the house (I swear, Union must rival Florida in their bug size). Well, there are two known places where the nasty creatures can squeeze their little bodies through. One is under the sink, where the holes in the cabinets were drilled too large for the pipes, and behind the toilet, where a 2 inch piece of flooring is missing and the linoleum, well...'floats'...leaving a small gap between the floor and the red carpet entrance to our fantabulous bathroom from the dusty crawlspace that is the street corner to a variety of insect life. From their point of view...that entrance must look like a cucaracha nightclub.

Since we knew of those two, I had the holes closed off temporarily with tape until we could properly repair them. What I didn't know, was that the small corner cabinet, directly in front of the toilet, wasn't bug proof. Somewhere, somehow, they can get in. Wish I had discovered this little secret a better way...

You guys remember (from earlier posts) this is the bathroom where you basically have to shimmy your arse into the 20 inch space between the shower and wall, sorta behind the cabinet, to pee. Not a convenient space for anything...much less a quick getaway. And because of that fact, I had been using the guest bathroom. Then came a broken toilet, then came fleas in the bathtub...so the other bathroom was off-limits at the time.

Anyway...after playing hide and seek with Nate, I made a quick stop to pee...noticed the toilet paper roll was empty, opened the small cabinet (the safe cabinet...I thought) and grabbed a new roll. I always inspect everything I pick up, just in case, but this was from the bug-proof cabinet...so I gave it a once-over and hurried, as I heard Nate running through the house looking for me.

Well, I suppose it would have been wise to peer into the tube of the TP I'd picked up, because there was a FREAKIN HUGE cockroach inside it.

You know how you pick up a roll and put two fingers into the tube to hold it and use your other hand to unroll? Yeah...well, I did that only I felt something move, just for a split second, because with that he catapulted himself out of the TP tube and landed directly on my naughtybits!!!! And by 'naughtybits' I mean my hoo-haa!!! My giblets!!!! My girlparts!!! I swear to you, not even a full second had passed...my brain was still trying to process, I looked down to see the bug as it landed on me...hopped onto my undies and disappeared with lightning speed INTO MY PANTS LEG!!!

Toilet paper went flying, pee went everywhere (you can't really stop peeing in the grips of terror) and I believe the sound that came from my mouth was something like:

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

I don't know how I got out of that space, but I did. And I managed to get my pants and underwear off while still peeing on myself...kicking and swatting at myself the whole time.

*pantpantpantpant*

So there I was...hyperventilating, half naked in the bathroom, scanning every surface for this gigantic bug. Nothing. Keeping a close eye on my clothes, figuring he must still be in my pants...or *gag* my undies. And suddenly I realized I was unarmed. Unarmed against a creature that moves with cheetah-like speed, and the precision of a drunken squirrel...running right at their attacker. Dumb and fast is not a good combination in any creature...and I was trapped inside a 6x9 ft space with it. Defenseless and nude...baring my violated girl parts.

I grabbed a scrub brush from the cabinet and reached slowly from as far away as I could stand...and piched the undies, lifted them, poised in preparation for a bug-squishing...nothing. I shook them...nada. I put the brush down and looked into my undies...no bugs. I tossed them into the corner.

Next: the pants. Same routine...pinch, lift, look, shake, turn, shake, both hands, fluff and shake...nothing.

What the Hell?

Suddenly it dawned on me "What if he's ON me?"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"*swat-smack-pat-smack-whap-whap-whap-hairfluff-smack-smack-shudder*

OK...shirt off...hair checked...nothing.

What...The...HELL?

I peered into the hallway to see if he'd escaped under the door and was hugging the baseboard somewhere.

Nope.

Stood there, thinking...he has to be under my clothes. He must have fallen out of my pants and hidden beneath my undies while I was checking them. Brush in hand, poised for attack, I bent to reach out for my pants one more time...

...and felt a fluttering on my left butt-cheek.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII!!!!" *I think I did something that resembled a drunken ninja-kick and yelled...Get it off me!!!*

Nate had decided, in the spirit of hide and seek, that it was the appropriate moment to sneak up on me and touch my naked booty from the doorway...while I was leaning over reaching for my buggy undies on the floor.

Not. Cool.

That shaved a good 10 years off my life at least. And I NEVER found that damn bug! He must have scuttled away into the air vent, which I taped promptly. That's the only place I couldn't see into. I called the exterminator for a quarterly follow-up 10 minutes later.

So....I think I'll burn my undies outside, in a tiny bon-fire fashion...with a few dead cucarachas tied to little stakes around the firepit as a fiery warning to all the others.

As for the pesky crotchroach who nearly killed me, and left me with drywall burns on my elbows from trying to escape the tiny death-trap toilet cubby with arms flailing...wherever he escaped to, I know he's dead...and I hope before the little bastard died he had terrifying nightmares and visions of being eaten by a giant vagina!!

Karma wins again.

2006-10-22T13:29:00.000-04:00

Am I a magnet for chaos and catastrophe?

On August 9th, Dan was rear-ended while driving to work. The car sustained damages just $500 shy of being a total loss. $8500. We got the car back on Sept 25 (they kept it for six weeks) and it was almost perfectly repaired, aside from a couple cosmetic details. Dan was planning to take it to the dealer to have them correct it on Monday.

No point in doing that.

At a very dark and early 5am drive to work, my car got well aquainted with a deer on McConnells hwy...at 55mph.

It dashed out into the road, as deer typically do, about 20 feet ahead of me. I hit the brakes hard, but not too hard (lost control of a car and broke 7 bones in 1994 from braking too hard and swerving) and didn't swerve obviously, lest I get acquainted with some trees in a hurry. Anyway...this deer pulls a move I hadn't seen before. Bambi's got nothing on this girl, apparently she's been hangin' out with the squirrels...she turned for a sec, and almost ran back...then took one giant leap in an attempt to escape.

My passenger side headlight clipped her, caught her right in the hip area, spun her around like a top, and I heard a few taps and scrapes on the side of the car. It didn't sound very bad, but I knew there would be some damage. I drove back to see if she was on the ground and visible to me, but she had run off (or at least I think, I could see only as far as my headlights shone) Poor thing. I know she must be injured and hurting.

When I got to McConnells, I pulled into a Texaco parking lot and took a closer look at the car.

The hood is all wonky and dented. The very front of it is curled under like a crumpled soda can. The headlight housing is broken, the grille is hanging off (the impact broke one of the bolts off and cracked the grille plate) There is a small dent and a few scratches on the side of the car, but nothing really noticeable. No blood, but some hair embedded in the grille.

I have driven those roads for 15 years, and I always knew...I knew...at some point I'd nail one. But now? Come ON!!!!

I feel like somewhere, out there in the vast and infinite universe, the mischievous hand of karma has taken a shine to me, and every now and then...has to smoosh me...like those feet on Monty Python's Flying Circus.

And then it has a good laugh, gets distracted, loses interest for a few days, then...*SMOOSH!*

And, yes...I know things could be much worse, so don't misunderstand. I am so very thankful for the positive things in my life, the bright side, if you will...the blessings most people take for granted. For instance...at least there wasn't another deer behind that one to smack into my windsheild...at least it was a deer, not a bear...at least I had a change of underwear even though I didn't need it...at least the cucarachas aren't infesting in my house, they just happen to be outside bugs that know the way in...at least my kid wasn't in the bed when my cat peed on it...

So forget what I said about being cursed. I have been smitten by the pointy finger of Karma, and I am now her bitch

#1 reason to not forget to clean the litter box.

2006-09-09T14:11:00.000-04:00

I just had to strip all the bedding, foam, mattresses and rug from Nate's room because one of my cats peed on his bed. We had two crib matresses pushed together as his bed because he rolls so much. The little vermin peed right where they meet, so it soaked the bedding and both matresses (even though they have a plastic covering, the cat pee won) and soaked through the 9x12 chenille rug into the floor. I guess my only option for cleaning that rug is a HUGE washer at the laundr-o-mat. UGH!!! As for now it's perfuming my front porch.

So much for a morning out. Looks like I'm on cleaning and cat-beating duty today. Don't get me wrong...I love my cats, but sometimes they are exceptionally skilled at tempting me to boot their heineys out into the yard...for good!

Is there anything worse than the nauseating stench of cat pee? A friend suggested dog poo was worse. I have to disagree. I think the cat pee wins by means of persistence. I can scrub away dog poo. Cat pee lingers...and lingers...and sours...then you get stale cat pee. And if you don't find it while it's wet...it turns to ninja pee...impossible to find! Then you end up sniffing every surface of the room because you insist it's there...somewhere and no one in the house is going to relax until it's found so you can clean it.

Carlos the Cockroach

2006-09-09T08:55:00.000-04:00

Very few cockroaches in the house these days. I guess the insecticide forcefield is still working. Every now and then one finds a tiny crevice to squeeze it's greasy little body through, mainly in the trash cupboard, where it can make a quick escape through the cracks before we can move the trash bin and smoosh it.

For those of you who understand the cockroach plague of the South, I thought I'd share the newest development in my cucaracha wars. I'm sure everything I've written thus far, you have lived yourself, you know their behavior, the means to kill them, the horror of the realization of not being alone when you flip the light switch and see them scuttling across the floor, legs flailing in a mad attempt to survive. Or worse, the ones who don't run, have no fear and just stare at you.

*shudder*

Well, here's one thing you probably haven't encountered in your bug wars. Something you can be thankful for...

At least your husband doesn't name the cockroach in the trash cupboard 'Carlos'...and then tell you he's named it Carlos...which prompts you to ask him if he killed Carlos...to which he answers "Well, he wasn't really hurting anyone in there"...after which you go on a hunt to squish the life out of Carlos, only to find an empty cupboard for days.

On the fourth day, your husband walks into the den, looking saddened. And when you ask what's wrong...he tells you "I killed Carlos...it was an accident" and he continues "Well mostly...he's not really dead yet, but I cut off his head trying to trap him under a glass when he escaped...and I chopped his head off with the edge of the glass"

And you swear he's going to cry.

And then you replay it in your mind ...not really dead, yet?....but he chopped his head off?

Whaaaaaaaaat?

His bizarre behavior prompts you to ask "Who ARE you???? ...and why didn't you kill him?"

And perhaps like me you'll move the glass *and Carlos* outside...and marvel at the horror as he survives for two days...with NO HEAD!!!

Heh! I bet you thought that was just some silly rumor.

Frog Killer

2006-07-15T10:56:00.000-04:00

I am responsible for the death of a grey tree frog.

Yep.

Killed him in my car.

DEAD.

And why was he in my car, you ask? Well...I'll tell you. I'm not really sure. All I know is this: I was driving home from work at 1am on Sunday morning, 45 miles of country roads ahead of me...I'm blaring the stereo and wailing my heart out, windows down and enjoying the cool night air. About 10 miles out of Rock Hill, I reached for my lip balm from the passenger seat, but couldn't find it, so I flipped the interior light on. I grabbed my lip balm (I go NOWHERE without my lip balm, it's like blood. I'd die without it, I swear!!) and something from the back seat caught my eye as I flipped the light back off.

It was something living...alive...another LIFE in my vehicle when I thought I was alone.

NOT. GOOD.

I think, in that split second it took for me turn the interior light back on, I was the closest I've ever been to pooping my shorts. Seriously, next stop blowout...like a defense mechanism. It's probably written somewhere in the human care manual: 'Humans will poop on their attackers if provoked in a means to distract, giving them time to escape. However, this defense is only effective assuming the human hasn't passed out from sheer terror.'

I turned slowly and peered into the back seat...nothing...*sigh of relief*...and then my eyes refocused on the headrest of the passenger seat...where the pointiest, boniest frog butt I've ever seen... just a mere 8 inches away from my nose. (I drive a Ford Focus, so it may have been closer...all I know is almost shit my pants...AGAIN!)

Yes it was just a frog, but in that second all I knew is there in fact WAS another living creature in my car with me, and he did not belong! All my brain processed was a string of warnings 'INTRUDER! FOREIGN BEING! TWO MORE EYES THAN ACCOUNTED FOR IN THIS VEHICLE!!! AGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!' Rather than...'Be aware, there is a pointy frog butt in your facial vicinity', to which I could have responded to calmly. Instead...I nearly ran off the damn road as a result of heart-failure.

**Yes I was still driving You know...back roads, pitch black darkness, possible killer in the back seat...you just don't pull over in these situations unless you have to.

Once I regained control of the wheel, and the car was moving slowly and in a straight path as opposed to 'whirling dervish' style... I calmed myself (all the while keeping one eye firmly locked on the froggy butt who was ACK! turning his body to face me...*heart rate increasing* and tried to decide what to do.

Now, I am not afraid of frogs or toads in the least. What I am afraid of, is them jumping into my hair or on my face...or pretty much anywhere without warning. THAT, will most certainly cause me to kill myself. And as I'm driving, I'm imagining my own death by car crash...no one would see a frog...just a dead me. No signs of foul play....no evidence of cause of accident. They'd determine I'd fallen asleep, or been careless...either way I'd be dead and I'd have no chance to defend my awesome driving skills (*snort*) I'd be labeled a bad driver...forever...ALL BECAUSE OF A DAMN FROG BUTT.

That's it...he had to go.

Now the question was how do I get him out of the stupid car??? Great. No cars on the road...or at least no headlights (can't be too sure in the country...). No driveways visible...dammit! No where to pull over. He turned to face me. All I could think was 'That little f--ker is gonna jump on my FACE and I'll die...DIE!' No time to find the perfect spot, so I just stopped in the middle of the dang road and turned and stared him down...trying to figure out how to grab him. Knowing it would be an impossible task. And once he jumps, I may not be able to find him, and I'll be forced to drive the next 30 miles in terrifying anticipation of his slimy little butt leaping on me unaware.

I moved my hand swiftly toward him from the front...and MISSED him!!! Dammit! He landed on Nate's car seat.

*great, now I get to explain frog poo on the carseat!*

I grabbed at him again...and missed a SECOND time!

*what happened to me? I used to be so good at frog-catching...I SUCK at this*

GAH!!! Headlights over the hill...panic sets in...could be those howling lunatics from 'Wrong Turn' ( I always think that) and I decide froggy will have to share the ride home with me. I'm sure he wasn't as afraid as me for those 30 miles. Every little brush against my leg, or arm...took a few weeks off of my life span. The whole way I dreaded the arrival home, where I'd have to find him...or else he'd perish in the car and then I can only imagine the smell of 100 degree dead frog butt. I might die from that also.

Got home without incident, but couldn't find him. I left the windows down hoping he'd jump out, but apparently frogs are not very smart. What the hell was he doing in the car in the first place? I went out the next morning and he was hiding underneath the carseat strap, near death. I took him in and cooled him down, keeping him from drying out all afternoon, but he died anyway, and I was very sad that he'd suffered in the heat.

I'd looked forward to sharing my story of the bony-assed hitch-hiking little amphibian who nearly killed me, that I got to set free, but sadly the story is not all smiles and fun. I guess it's all fun and games till Mo kills a frog. Poor little fella.

Welcome to NOWHERE

2006-07-07T09:09:00.000-04:00

I've discovered the locals...or they've discovered me.

I rushed over to grab a few last minute food items on the 4th (since we'd determined late in the day that we'd be staying in for the evening) and of the 2 grocery stores in town, I determined that the Piggly Wiggly was closer than Bi-Lo. And, since it was 5 minutes til 6pm, I figured it to be my safer bet.

OK...this is the smallest grocery store I'd EVER seen. You know how you go into a primary school and all the furniture is teeny and you suddenly feel like a giant in who-ville? Yeah...it was like that. The store was tiny, and the fixtures were old...and if you've never noticed that store fixtures got larger over the years...I'm here to tell you. THEY DID. It felt like I stepped into the twilight zone. Oompa Loompas probably stock the shelves after dark.

When I finally get to the register...the cashier gives me the raised eyebrow, but a friendly smile. Clearly I don't appear to be 'from these parts' but she is welcoming.
And while I'm placing my items on the conveyor, she asks me "You got a pig card?"

Ummm...what?

"Excuse me?" I say, clearly puzzled, then it dawns on me that she must be talking about a savings or discount card. I am in the Piggly Wiggly after all...duh. But do they call it that, seriously? A PIG card? *sigh* Another board meeting I would have loved to have been present for...

Chairman PiggleWilly: OK guys...Any ideas on a name for our Piggly Wiggly discount card?

Guy #1: "How about 'Swine Savers?'"

Guy #2: "Oooh! How about 'Hog Hoppers?'"

Guy #3: "....Hmmmm. 'Pig Card?'"

Chairman PiggleWilly: *speaking over oohs and ahhs from Guys #1 and 2** "Yes! That's it! How CLEVER!!! You get a raise, Guy #3! Good work little piggie!"

Cashier: "DO you got a pig card?"

Me: "Ohh, sorry. No. I just moved to the area. I've never even been in a Piggly Wiggly before."

Cashier: "Would you like to get one? It only takes a minute to fill out..."

Me: "Sure, I guess. I'll probably be back from time to time, since the store is so close."

Cashier: *turns to far end of store and yells* "TOMMY!!!!! GET ME SOME PIG CARDS! I AIN'T GOT NO MORE!"

Me: "Ummm...that's ok, I can just get one next..."

Cashier: "TOMMMMMMMYYYYYYY!"

Tommy: "mumblemumblemumble" (from somewhere in store)

Cashier: "WELL, THERE AIN"T NONE UP HERE!" *looks at me and rolls her eyes*

Tommy: "OK!"

Cashier: "So...you moved to Union....on purpose?" *eyebrow raised*

Me: "Yes"

Cashier: "Uhhh...WHY?"

Me: "Well, my husband and I have a family now, and we wanted a larger house, for a cheap price, in a small, quiet town. And that lead us here."

Cashier: *raises eyebrow a little further...as if she's waiting for me to laugh and say "No silly...I'd never move HERE!" and laugh loudly*

Me: *both eyebrows raise, challenging the girl's state of mind, pondering if she's just young and ignorant, or a total wackjob...*

Cashier: *In a loud and eerily friendly, but deadpan voice* "WELL! Welcome to Union. You'll never have ANYTHING to do. EVER. AGAIN."

Then she raises her eyebrow and smiles...sort of.

Me: "Heheheh...ummm. Thanks."

*sigh*

Small town teens. Gotta love em.

At last...

2006-07-02T13:33:00.000-04:00

No cucarachas for a whole week now!!! Woo-hoo! I think I found their primary entrance, and for now, until I can fix it properly, it is duct taped. You know, I bet there are probably at least 50 of the creepy little f--kers stuck to the underside of that tape...heh! Or at least a bunch of cucarachaless legs. Ha...That means there are gimpy little cucarachas running around Union. I can get miles of enjoyment out of that thought.

BWAAHAAAHAAAA! Love me some duct tape!

This is going to take forever...

2006-07-02T13:23:00.000-04:00

Friday June 23rd

If anyone would like to put on their holsters and come down packin' silicone guns...you can help me seal 2700 square feet of old house. There are so many places where the outside bugs can get in. I've found about 7 or 8 since we got the place a month ago. Gah!

The bug guy has been out and sprayed. Now we just need to prevent them from entering. It's pretty much like leaving the door open and hoping they don't visit... The previous owners just sprayed and didn't properly seal the gaps around the pipes etc... I don't want to go that route. I want them outside where they belong. Not in my house, even if they are twitching and near-death.

In the meantime...pulling their antennae seems to piss them off quite a bit! (with a foreign object, NOT my hand!!) I'm not an idiot. I did get a good suggestion from a friend:

Jes said: "We used to spray them with neon spraypaint and watch them race around the shop back in San Diego They're much less creepy when they're day-glo"

And you know what? They are less creepy... See for yourself!

11:59 am

2006-07-02T13:21:00.000-04:00

That beast is still twitching. I think I heard him whimper when I lifted the plunger 10 minutes ago. I poked at his antennae a couple times just for laughs and then sent him to the dark place again.

The Battle of the Bugs continues

2006-07-02T13:19:00.000-04:00

Friday, July 23rd 9:47 am.

I found a gargantuan one belly-up on my bathroom floor....(I gotta seal around those damn pipes!) and it was all twitchy and trembling. I just hovered over it and looked at it...imagining it was trembling out of fear of the fierce and mighty Mo, CUCARACHA-KILLER. I thought about smooshing him, but I figured I'd let him suffer it out...so I grabbed the plunger and lowered it over him with a loud and booming "BWAAAHAAAAHAAAAHAAAA!" and walked away satisfied that he would tremble until his death in total icky plunger-y darkness.

The joys of an old house

2006-06-26T15:57:00.000-04:00

Not only do we have spiders...and LOTS of them...we have other more unwelcome friends.

A big fat cockroach greeted me at my new house over the weekend. BLARGH! staring at me through the glass on the counter in the bathroom first thing in the morning, magnified to about 500 times normal ize. I nearly peed myself.

Our house is almost 100 yrs old and there are so many places that need to be sealed to keep the 'outside' bugs where they belong. It's a slow process, so we called the local bug-man to spray yesterday.

It will be a happy happy day when I finish sealing off all the little nooks and crannies where they find their way in. Until then, I shall rejoice in the occaisional twitching of a bug about to meet its maker, as I hover over it, yelling...."Now, go tell your little buddies what happens when you dare come into this house, you evil beast!"

Spidey Poo

2006-06-26T15:52:00.000-04:00

If spider poo is toxic, I'm dead for sure...

I just finished taking down the wallpaper in our main bathroom.

It was quite possibly the ugliest wallpaper I've ever seen. Not because of the bamboo pattern that met its demise decades ago, or the fact that the texture made it appear to constructed of burlap (FYI: huge dust catcher), and not even that it was probably the worst wallpaper application in the history of man. Do people not realize moisture + wallpaper = ...well...no wallpaper. This house is about 100 yrs old, and while there is a ceiling fan in almost every room, and a garbage disposal, and an AC and a SHOWER of course...apparently no one ever though it wise to upgrade with an exhaust fan.

The stuff had started to roll itself down the walls and curl at every edge. I found evidence of repair jobs which must have been attempted with the use of super glue, because it pulled the cardboard off of the drywall behind it. Yes, bare drywall. They never. even. primed it!

The nastiest of the nasty factor: The wallpaper on either side of the toilet was so stained dark...um...yellow *gag* that it appeared brown (the rest was white and green with a slight yellow hue...as if nicotine stained. Maybe if they'd left a little more room for the toilet, they would have had room to clean. The space, if you can call it that, where the toilet sits...is crammed between two walls, no lie, 20 inches apart. That's LESS than two feet. And then the cabinet is in front of the 'doorway' to the toilet area. So you kinda have to turn yourself and shimmy your ass into the space in order to use it. My cats have more space in there covered cat box, seriously.

Obviously we are remodeling that bathroom (the other one is fine-someone else must have owned the house when that one was added...but still, no exhaust fan)

So...anyway. As I'm pulling all of this nastiness from the walls, I find myself 'showered' with what feels like sand...and figure it's just dirt or whatever gets trapped between the molding and the ceiling...and shrugged it off, smart enough to close my eyes with any further tugging.

About 3/4 of the way around, I'm talking to Nate at the doorway and forget to close my eyes. At that point I notice that all the little sandy debris falling on me is black...and pellet-shaped And I think to myself...eww that looks like poo...kinda like mouse poo, but way too small. And then I look up and start to ponder (Bad idea) what would make poo so small? So I remember seeing lots of spiders in the basement...but then think 'Nahhhh'...but in determination, I climb my ladder and inspect closely...more closely...and there they are...hundreds of teeny weeny turds suspended in spider webs around the walls where the wallpaper hung loosely.

BLAAARGH!!! All I could think was 'TAKE A DAMN SHOWER...NOW!' Yes, take a shower, but it was full of torn wallpaper!! ACK! So I washed my hands, my mouth, flicked my hair hoping to rid it of spidey turds, and brushed my teeth about twenty times...fretting the entire time that spider poop is toxic and I will probably die...or surely go blind. Afterwards I cleaned out the shower, vacuumed the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the toilets, the walls again, the counter...the molding a hundred times in hopes of sucking spidey out of his dark happy home. My revenge for being welcomed with a teeny poop-shower. And finally...FINALLY was able to take a REAL shower. I still feel dirty. And now every little speck on the floor or the wall is "OhMyGod MORE SPIDER POO!" It must have gotten to my brain already.

So...If no one hears from me...direct authorities to the bathroom for clues.

***One more FYI: 'Burlappy' wallpaper simply isn't a good decorating choice. It is also a huge trap for teeny weeny spider turds.

Still Alive....

2006-06-26T15:44:00.000-04:00

Not much posting since we found out we'd be moving...I'll have to see what I can dig up from my journaling archive to bridge the gap.

April Fools Day (Karma: 3,654 Mo: ZERO)

2006-04-09T10:16:00.000-04:00

As a favorite victim of that impish prankster known as Karma, I will warn you. Never, ever underestimate the probability that a mischevious prank of your own, will backfire horribly.

It was April Fools and we had just returned from a trip to Target. I brought our bags in and Dan was getting out of the car and reaching for the door to get Nate out of his car seat. I peeked out the door and clicked the lock button on my keychain just as he was pulling on the door handle. Frustrated he reaches into his pocket, retrieved his keys, and presses 'unlock'. He reaches again. I press 'lock' (heeheehee)...this time he squints his eyes and looks towards the house prepared to deliver the squinty look of evil hatred...as he unlocks the door again. I poke my head out one last time and press 'lock' as he sees me and I bust out laughing!

I hear: "You're freakin' HILARIOUS!"...in Dan's deadpan voice, complete with an eye-roll and glare of fiery doom to follow. I knew revenge would find me later...

And just as I duck my head back inside, I slip on the stupid rug and fall, face-first into the edge of the metal door. CRAAAAAACK!! Right into the bridge of my nose. Cracked the bone. The sound was nauseating. The pain, unbelievable. I cried like a big sissy. It swelled for a day and left a bruise, but didn't do enough damage to black my eye or make it bloody. I really thought I'd have a black eye!! It hurt so bad...and it still hurts.

And of course all Nate wants to do is poke it and say "nose" "nose" ... which Dan thinks is particularly hilarious, and laughs every time I wince.

Karma's kickin' my ass.

The purpose of a traffic cone.

2006-04-09T09:15:00.000-04:00

The Headsmack Award of the Week goes to: My employer.

From Wikipedia:

Traffic cones (also called road cones, safety cones, or pylons) are cone- shaped markers, generally made out of plastic, that are placed on roads to temporarily redirect automobile traffic in a safe manner. They are are easily movable and about 24 inches tall. Traffic cones come in many different colors, with orange, yellow and red being the most common colors due to their brightness. They may also have a reflective strip to further increase their visibility. They may be used to create merge lanes during road construction projects or automobile accidents

Now, if I'm not mistaken, the real point of a traffic/safety cone is to BE EASILY SEEN.

Apparently my employer doesn't know that. In order to prevent employees from parking in one area of the lot, maintenance was instructed to paint a single parking space with yellow X, leaving an area for employees to exit the parking area and proceed toward the building without having to walk between cars. First of all, the space is completely unnecessary, and second, hardly anyone actually uses the space anyhow. 95% of the employees exit the parking lot...yep, that's right...by walking between the other cars. So, naturally, when the parking lot becomes full, someone will disobey the 'rules' and park in the space.

So...in an attempt to prove their authority, it was decided that maintenance would partially bury a 3ft 1 inch solid metal rod in the asphalt of the far corners of parking space, then place a cone over each pipe, then secure them, by welding a steel cap over the top of each cone. Here's the problem: No one was told that there was a metal rod under the cones...How's that for...ummm, safety?

Well, I parked in the adjacent space one day, and noticed one of the cones had been hit and damaged. It was crumpled and leaning over. I thought nothing else of it. (Remember, at this point I had no idea there was a metal rod under the cone. I just thought it was damaged from being run over...) Later that day, as I was leaving for lunch, I got in my car, looked around, didn't see the cone and figured they'd taken it from the space to replace it with a new one. As I backed out of the space I crossed into the 'forbidden' space a bit and rolled over something huge and noisy. I swear the sound of it was worse than nails on a chalk board. I immediately realized I'd hit that stupid cone and figured I'd rolled it under the car and crumpled it even more. (I'm grumbling to myself as I get outta the car..."See? This is EXACTLY why they need to REPLACE the damn things when they're damaged and bent over...BECAUSE YOU CAN"T SEE THEM! I mean, isn't that the whole POINT of a freakin' SAFETY CONE?"

Well, I see the cone, and it's mangled, but the base is still sitting on the ground flat...so I reach down to straighten it and of course it doesn't even budge. In my attempt to move it however, I SLICED MY FREAKIN' FINGER OPEN on the mangled metal cap that they welded on top. So, I'm standing there, completely dumbfounded and bleeding as all of this falls into place...the bent cone, the horrible noise, the metal cap...I lift the bottom of the cone and see a piece of metal buried in the asphalt. OMG, I was just seething at this act of pure stupidity and carelessness. I mean, someone actually decided this was a GOOD IDEA!

I marched into the security office and demanded a bandage, then asked why no one had fixed or replaced the damaged cone, considering it put employees at risk of hitting it (ya think?) because it wasn't visible. Get this...they had NO IDEA there was a metal rod under the cones either. I went to the head of security. He didn't know either!! I was furious. So I insist that they need to correct the problem before someone gets hurt worse or damages their vehicle.

This weekend, I pull into the parking lot...same cone, mangled beyond recognition, completely bent over to the ground, metal rod visible now because it's been hit by someone else...and right beside it: a piece of someone's bumper.

I work for morons. Absolute morons.

Can a person really die of boredom? I may find out...

2006-04-02T14:38:00.000-04:00

With no internet access, I seriously started thinking I might not survive the day. It hit me the worst when I was suddenly overcome with the urge to go play in the forklift 'intersection'. Or perhaps that was just my brain in desperate need of escaping the torturous notes of Debbie Gibson's 'Only in My Dreeeeeeaaaams.' I heard it trying to decide whether to kill Debbie, or throw itself at the mercy of the cherry-pickers...and, well, we don't know where Debbie lives.

In my desperation, the only program I could find was Microsoft Word. So with nothing better to do, I started typing:
----------------------------------------------

It's 8:45 am. I've been sitting here for 2 hours that feel like an eternity, staring at a message that tells me over and over, no matter how many times I click that little refresh button, that the server is still down. This is the nightmare of a weekend IT worker, locked in the arctic tundra of the computer room, where the thermostat is set at a constant 72, but happens to be attached to a dyslexic air conditioner. I am hidden in the dungeon of solitude that is the IT office, wiping snotsicles from my frostbitten nose. And I just realized I forgot to put on deodorant this morning, which you'd think wouldn't be necessary. How is it possible for a person to sweat to much when they can see their own breath?? It makes no sense to me....none. Did I mention snotsicles? Seriously, how can you sweat while your body is making frozen boogers??

Meanwhile, I'm freezing my giblets off and I hear it supposed to be 81 degrees and sunny today,is it? I'd love to know, but I am banished. No windows to look out and view the frisky spring butterflies and the flirty little birds, all a twitter with the onset of a new season. The only view I have is the screen of my PC, mocking me as I resort to typing my lonely existence away on MSword, in hopes of not losing my mind. I could turn around, again, to look at the monitor behind me, which displays the server map, but it's too depressing to see the PC icon of the server in question, in all of its disabled glory. It has a large red explosion bubble around it, much like the one in the old Superman comics, but without the "Whammy-Kablammy!" sound blurb (OK...those were probably more like "POW!" or "BOOM!", but I like "Whammy-Kablammy" way better). To me, it appears the PC is exploding, has evolved into a strange electronic entity sporting a threatening peacock-like tail of red 'whammy-kablammy' feathers, or is mimicking our Lady of Liberty by donning a spikey red crown. Regardless, I shall not look at it, as I have a hundred times already, because I swear I hear it snicker and giggle each time I sigh with disappointment.

I do keep looking at the clock in the lower right corner of my screen, and I?m sure it hasn't changed in the last hour. I have begun to search the office's other stations for ways to entertain myself. So far I've read two high-society women's magazines, which I hate. Aside from a promising interview with Ellen Degeneres and an add for some kind of bedroom athletic equipment called 'The Liberator', those were a waste of ten whopping minutes each. All I am left with is the itchy scent of 'parfum' adds in my nostrils and the vision of some scantily clad woman sprawled across the Wedge (combined with Ramp) style Liberators. If I sprawled across the Liberator, you'd not be able to see said 'equipment' because my girth would be squishing the life out of it underneath, and that's just a scary thought.

In an attempt to alleviate my boredom, I have explored the desk drawers of the other office staff (not private drawers -those are locked and I'm no thief) and found a hoarding of sporks and salt packets, one mayo packet, about 60 bendy straws, a strange paperback war novel that looks like it's been around since the 50s and is desperate to be put to rest, and out of its musty, page-yellowing, misery. I also found a drawer that smells mysteriously like play-doh. What on earth would make an office desk drawer smell like play-doh?. That is some nasty-smelling stuff. I closed it quickly and gagged, but then held my breath to open it in search of what might be causing the smell. Hmmm...no play-doh, nothing there that I can find that would cause such a smell, but then pretty much all of the contents of that drawer now smell like play-doh, so I guess it's pointless to even look for the culprit anymore. Yuck! Closed the drawer and crossed the room, wearily, slumping back into my chair, reached for my snack bag and pulled out some applesauce, which I ate with the cheapest of sporks ever manufactured, and an 'Oatmeal to Go' square, which made me wish I was 'going' somewhere...anywhere. *sigh*

So, now I'm sitting here, looking around, studying the carefully chosen décor of the other IT office inhabitants, and in doing so, I've learned some very important lessons and have attached my thoughts on them in (parentheses) to share with my fellow bloggers...sometime soon...hopefully?

Anyway, here you go: Life's Valuable Lessons as observed by Mo:

Butt Jiggle is just another way of waving 'goodbye'. (and my back-up alarm is my way of saying 'LOOKOUT! Becoming pinned under this object can cause serious injury, death, or at least embarrassment. dooot-dooot-dooot')

Old people are good at multi-tasking. They can laugh, cough sneeze and pee all at the same time. (I must be getting old?I can already do most of that)

Life is All about Ass. You are either : covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, busting it, trying to get a piece of it, behaving like one, or living with one. (They left out 'cursing it' and 'trying to avoid eye contact with it' and oh yes, 'keeping it a minimum of 50 yards from full length mirrors and swimsuit racks')

Friendship is like pissing in your pants. Everyone can see it but only you can feel its true warmth. (And some friendships are like peeing in the shower. All warm for a second and then gone so quickly you could forget it was there, if only they hadn't left that funky smell in your bathroom)

Maxine doesn't carry a cell phone because she's too busy using her fingers to give the bird. (I **heart** Maxine.)

And apparently there is such a thing as the Happiness Fairy, who sprinkles you with happy dust then threatens bodily harm if you don't smile 'cause that shit is expensive'? (OK, where do people find this stuff? Seriously.)

And in another work station I found my personal favorite sign, which happens to be the only sign in that particular work station, not to be associated with the above work station, which was cluttered with about a hundred more of those little 'lessons' (only the rest were just stupid and annoying) anyway, here it is:

BULLETIN
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) has determined that the maximum safe load capacity on my butt is two persons at one time, unless I install hand rails and safety straps. As you have arrived sixth in line to ride my ass today, please take a number and wait your turn.

Thank you.

(I am fairly certain this was stolen from a porn set, where the woman sprawled on the Superliberumpalator or whatever it's called, has indeed installed a safety rail and is now accepting two additional ass riders)

Now...back to life in the tundra (Ha! as if any life besides a shivering, overclothed human could survive in this place) I did it again. I just looked over at the evil monitor, which assures me that the misery shall continue indefinitely. The server pc icon is still in full Lady Liberty/Whammy-kablammy garb, so my day continues to slither along at a drunken snail's pace. If I ever get back online...well, you'll know, because you'll be reading this conglomeration of absurdities. I know a few of you will actually read it through to the end. Thanks.

How does my brain come up with this nonsense?

2006-04-01T14:05:00.000-05:00

I woke up from the most bizarre dream this morning. And I've spent the last hour trying to figure out how in the world my brain came up with this scenario:

I was pregnant, and due any moment...then went into labor, snuck off to find a dark, quiet spot on the dirt floor (yep, that's right. dirt.)...and gave birth to (are you ready for this?)...42 Saint Bernard puppies.

42.

PUPPIES.

I think I'm definitely overdue for that padded room remodel.

Pondering the cause of my weirdness...

2006-03-25T09:10:00.000-05:00

I blame my mom.

I think she let me drink the Enoree creek water when I was a kid. There were weird tumor-headed fish in that creek. We called them 'knotty-heads'. At some point you'd think my parents would have gotten a clue and said "Hmmm...yew reckin thar's pollushun in that thar crick...?"

*sigh*

Well, Heck naw! I reckin' them's just rar En'ree catfeesh.

The Inobservant Man

2006-03-25T08:42:00.000-05:00

I finally had enough of my long-overdue-of-a-good-trim hairstyle...so I cut it.

Myself.

4 inches, chopped off, first thing this morning after my shower. And it looks good.

My husband is getting ready for work and walks by the doorway just after I've finished. He looks at me and mumbles something about Nate.

I wait.

He looks at me again and mumbles something else...still clueless. At this point, there is a giant pile of hair on the counter in plain view and I'm thinking 'Holy Crap!' It amazes me how long it takes him to notice things. I don't really get mad, I just enjoy messing with him. For example...yesterday, I wore my glasses crooked for 1/2 an hour before I finally had to tell him they were crooked (and I mean really crooked-like the bottom of the frame was blocking my view in one eye-crooked. When I pointed it out, he swore I was making it up to screw with his mind...*sigh*)

So I say with sarcasm and a smirk..."You are the most inobservant man...evarrrrr." Then I smile at him.

Him (annoyed): "What?"...and not in that genuinely curious tone, but that...tsk! I don't know what the hell you're talking about but why are you looking at me like that?' tone... you know the typical man tone.

Me: "Nevermind. (laughing) You'll figure it out eventually..."

This, of course, gets his full attention, because if there is one thing a man cannot stand, it is to know he has been accused of MISSING something.

Him: "WHAAAT?"

Me: "Nope...you'll figure it out eventually." (enjoying the moment with an over-abundance of giddiness)

Him: "FINE, Melissa."

HAR! I'm dying at this point trying not to laugh at him.

Me: *SIGH* "I'll give you a hint, Captain Observant." (and I point to the big pile o' hair two inches from me on the counter, STILL in plain view)

Him: (eyebrow raised) "What made you decide to do that?"

Me: "I got tired of the ends feeling so dry and I've been too sick to go get it cut."

Him: "Hmph..."

(men, right?)

So then...my husband decides to dangle his life like a flailing bunny on a rope in front of a starved alligator...and says...(get ready)... "Ummm, that did come off of your head, right?"

Holy Crap. 4 inches of hair on the sink in front of me. 4 inches!

Let me just say, I might have been sick for a month and be a little overdue for my trim 'down south' ...but I do not/have not/will never have THAT much hair on my...umm...hoo-haa. NEVER.

Me: *simple death stare, left eyebrow raised to emphasize threat...*

Ever wonder why men have a shorter life expectancy than women?

There's no denying it now...

2006-03-25T08:24:00.000-05:00

My parrot is behind me in his cage talking and laughing...and then says, in a menacing, creepy whisper... "You're soooo weird."

*sigh*

Perfect. Even my parrot thinks I'm a freak.

If the straightjacket fits...

2006-03-01T17:12:00.000-05:00

...you should probably buy the padded room to go with it.

The migraine-plagued sleep deprivation has fried my noodle. Crispy. Burnt. Nothing but a black crust clinging to pure senslessness up there.

How did I come to this conclusion? Some of you are wondering, some of you knew it was inevitable.

*sigh*

I have amazed myself with this gleaming gem of stupidity.

Seriously, I deserve a mammoth-sized headsmack for this one. Maybe it'll shake something loose and make me a fraction of a fraction smarter.

I cannot even believe I am about to share this, but, well...here it is:

Last night, I get Nate to sleep at 8:30, and crash on the sofa for about 12 minutes of tv before I pass out. I emerge from my coma sometime around midnight feeling like crap from sleeping in a position resembling a week-dead squished crab. I debate sleeping there until morning, because getting up and walking ten steps to pee, then ten steps to bed is just way more exausting...then I remember that Orson, my recovering amputee cat, needs his meds and stumble blindly into the kitchen to get a glass of water to cure the horrible thirst I've acquired from sleeping with my mouth hanging open. I am immediately surrounded by savage starving felines and crippled by the deafening "MREEEERMREOOOOOWRRMMMREEERREEEEEEEER" that translates into "we will claw your sunken eyes out while you sleep, bitch, if you don't feed us...now!"

But first things first: Orson's meds. If I don't get that damn pill out before I go to feed them, I'll forget. I fumble with the non-childproof bottle longer than it would take a monkey to do an algebra problem and finally get the damn pill out set it on the counter, and climb over the baby gate to the laundry room to feed the yowling vermin now biting my ankles. While I'm back there, I realize the litterbox is in dire need of scooping. I turn to leave, thinking I'll get it in the morning....then I stop and think of all the horrible places I could be cleaning pee from (and only after the desperate sniff-search for the mysterious pee odor leads too, if ever, the scene of the crime) and decide i will sleep better not having to worry about that kind of stress.

Scooping is done and i head to the sink to wash my hands, grab Orson's pill...ummm, grab Orson's pill...where the hell is that damn pill?

I imagines Angus the Wise (aka- the dumbest cat alive) swatting the pill off of the counter and under the cabinet/fridge/stove/insert inconvenient space here....and curse him under my breath. AGH!

I am NOT looking for a damn pill at midnight, so I fumble with that stupid bottle again an retrieve a second pill, head over to the counter to grab my glass of water so I can just go on to bed from dosing the cat. Now, where's my dang water glass??? What..the hell?

I find it on the counter...empty...empty... yep that's it, empty. I know it was full...

Holy Jesus, I swallowed the pill...the PILL!!! THE CAT'S PILL!! Holy CRAP! What the hell was that pill, anyway? Please be something normal....*I grab the bottle*... 'amoxicillin'...OH THANK YOU GOD! I won't die. I mean...I won't die will I? This is a cat drug...it's from the vet...is it the same as human drugs??? Holy freakin' crap, I took the cat meds!!!

WHAT...is wrong with my brain???

There can't possibly be a brain left up there. I need to call the white coats, and arrange a fitting for my very own jacket, else I will surely kill myself in some stupidly horrific way before the week is over...the cat's pill!!!

So, you see? Brain crust, that's all I have left... The burnt crispy residue of insanity...

I think I'll take my padded room in periwinkle, please.

There is a mysterious lump on the back of my thigh...

2006-02-26T09:52:00.000-05:00

...from the underwear I wore yesterday...that were still in the pants I wore yesterday...when I put them back on for work this morning. Oh, don't worry. It's not a medical condition, just one of those pesky sock/panty 'tumors' that one gets when they are too dang lazy or exhausted to open the closet door/drawer/dig through random piles of wrinkled-beyond-recognition laundry to find something clean to wear at 5 in the morning.

In my experience, as I get these often, it's usually a sock lump, and it's a good thing it wasn't a sock today, because I usually don't find those until hours later, as they are small enough to go unnoticed until someone points and says...'Hey...ummm...what is that?" and you realize in horror that you have either a new appendage growing from some part of your body, a small animal has decided to hitch a ride or, worse...nest in your trousers, or you have simply managed to carry your dirty unmentionables around with you all day without noticing. At least this time they weren't pointing to the part hanging out of your pants leg... you know... the one that matches the big glowing "L" hovering in front of your forehead? That's the deadliest of all...the clinging-skivvy ankle-tumor. It brings a quick and painful death by humiliation.

I am at the point of such extreme exhaustion lately, that I actually contemplate just how long I can go without a shower before I start to smell. So far I have made it just past 48 hours and that is my limit. At that point I feel too grungy to exist and have to give in. I manage to go without for more than a day if I can either find the energy to stick my head under the shower head to wash my hair, or find a hat to cram all of my hair under for the day. I cannot stand to feel like my hair needs washing. So...today i did the shove my head under the shower thing.

And so desperate for sleep have I been recently, that I've begun to consider sleeping in my clothes, so that I don't have to get up so early. I am so incredibly serious. I almost did that last week...and if my favorite super-soft jammies hadn't been sitting right next to the bed (upon the huge wrinkled pile of clean laundry) I really believe I would've done it.

There are days when my socks don't match (color, the style has to match or the feeling will drive me insane) and certainly days when my clothing really doesn't go together... Do I really care? No, because I'm sick, or tired, or too frazzled to even think about it. I guess I figure all my real friends would understand. And some of them probably look the same...so who cares what the rest of the world thinks.

And on the bright side...at least it wasn't the lumpy-sock-boob this time...

Whatever happened to phone etiquette?

2006-02-26T09:47:00.000-05:00

Dan's phone rings just after midnight on Thursday night/ Friday morning...and he doesn't recognize the number, but he answers it thinking maybe it's one of his relative's numbers, which he might not recognize (his Great Grandmother died last weekend) The caller hung up after he said Hello.

The next day at lunchtime, just to be sure everything is ok and it's not someone he knows, he calls the number back. An older woman answers and he's pretty sure she's AA so he figures it's not a relative, and because he's feeling so bad...he hung up. Normally he would say "Sorry, wrong number...blahblahblah..." but he felt like crap.

So anyway, 30 seconds later his phone rings again...same number. He doesn't answer. Right after that, his voicemail notification chimes. He plays the message and I swear, this is verbatim what the lady said...and for any Southpark fans, if you remember Chef's Mom's voice...she sounded exactly like her.

Angry woman "Don't you call my g*dd*mn phone in the middle uh the motherf**king mornin' and hang up in my motherf**king ear, g*dd*mmit!"

I swear I thought I was going to pee all over myself laughing.

Gotta love Karma...

2006-01-17T11:11:00.000-05:00

I'd have to say that the most disgusting thing I've ever found in my house was thankfully not on me, but my roommate (one of the many I kicked out for being stupid).

She decided to have a party one night at our house, and invited her friends and this guy from outta town that she had this huge crush on. Well, she got really drunk, like stinkin' nasty drunk...anyway, the guy stayed with her in her room.

The next morning I was getting ready for class, trying to ignore the trashed house, and she comes stumbling down the hall, all hungover and glazy-eyed. She stops at the mirror and touches her head and squints at her reflection with this puzzled look on her face...then turns to me and asks "Is there something in my hair?" I told her to turn her head so I could see and...Ewwwwww...

There was this dried matted chunky mass of vomit stuck to the back of her head, under and behind and inside her ear, and smeared on her cheek. It looked like chewed up spaghetti (what they'd eaten for dinner) and cat food.

My response: "BWAAAAAHAAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAA!!!! *deep breath* "BWAAAAHAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" (did I mention this was the roommate from hell??)

While I'm laughing so hard that I'm near hyperventilating, she's whining "What iiiiis it? What's in my haaaaaiiir?"

I said, whispering and giggling "I think you puked in yer bed, genius...hope it didn't get on your new boy-friend...snort!"

She gasps with this look of horror, then tiptoes back into the room where he's still sleeping (oh you KNOW I followed her!) It was on his face, in his mouth, al over the pillow...I almost puked, but I was too busy trying to stifle my laughter as not to wake the poor guy up. I really did feel bad for him. He had no idea she was such a loser. Anyway, she cried and had to wake him up and tell him what happened. And there's no way she could've blamed him because he didn't drink anything!!

BWAAAHAAHAAAAA!

That was one of the most disgusting things I've ever witnessed, and yet one of my favorite memories. Karma's a bitch, yo!

Can somebody please shut this thing off???

2006-01-15T08:36:00.000-05:00

Someone recently asked me if I was "Random." And by that she meant 'do I blurt out random thoughts at odd moments?' Well, I guess I would best describe myself as a neat freak trapped in a cluttered mind. Every time a closet door gets opened in my brain, a bunch of junk topples out.

Seriously ...come to think of it, the most common question my husband asks me: "What brought that up?" Perfect example of how my brain works: I'm getting ready for work, and I say to Dan "did you know some theaters make their popcorn ahead of time and keep it in big trash bags...and then dump the bags into the poppers at slow times of the day so that you see all this popcorn that you 'think' was just popped, but really it was made the night before? Man! I hate stale popcorn! I learned that little secret from my friend, Dru in college, when he worked at the Galleria theatre."

By the time he asks me "What the hell brought that up?", I realize I have to explain my thought process of how I got to whatever random blurb popped out of my mouth, which sort of sounds like this:

"Well, I looked out the window and saw a squirrel, digging in my flower bed, probably burying a nut, and I thought 'Man, some peanuts would be tasty right now.' but then I realized I don't have any peanuts, just peanut butter, not really in the mood for that...mmmm...peanut butter and honey, spun honey...how do bee-keepers not freak out? I mean, Really! I could not stand in a swarm of bees and not freak out and start flailing around...especially if I got stung...and they get stung...alot! I wonder if they have bee nightmares? I had a bee nightmare once, I dreamed a yellow jacket was hiding in my dad's t-shirt drawer and was gonna sting him when he went to get dressed in the morning. But that wasn't as bad as the dream I had about the wind-up chattering teeth biting me on the back!! Man, was that the worst! I know it was because my mom bit me to 'teach me a lesson'... just because I bit my brother when I was two years old. What the hell? Who bites their kid? She says 'well, you never did it again!" There's no telling what traumatic repressed emotions have festered due to that memory...Stupid mom...I wonder how she's doing...Man, I wish she'd quit smoking. They use smoke for bee-keeping...that's kinda cool...and those boxes they keep the bees in make good book shelves-minus the bees, of course...I wish I had more than two...I don't know any bee keepers in the area, probably wouldn't give up any of their boxes anyway...they do make good book shelves...I haven't read my book in days. Great! now I don't remember what was even happening. I'll have to start over...again. I'd like to read Good Omens again...except my friend still has it. I can't believe they didn't make that into a movie! I haven't been to the movies in a while...I don't even remember the last movie I saw. Has it been that long? man, I could go for some movie popcorn right now...mmmm. Except the stale-day-before popcorn. Whatever happened to Dru, anyway?? He always brought us fresh popcorn from the end of his shifts at the theatre..."

"Anyhow...that's why I was thinking about popcorn. You wanna go see a movie this weekend?"

Sometimes I wish my brain had a 'standby' switch...

Keepin' it real

2006-01-14T10:42:00.000-05:00

I was having a discussion with my best friend a few days ago, about the real me. Including things I just can't make sense of, and things that just truly annoy me. Things I obsess about changing, but have somehow come to accept as a part of my everyday life because it seems there simply is no solution to the problem. They are my problems, and they are 'me'

I said I was thankful I'm married, because I wonder how I'd ever find a date with all my weirdness...which led us to how funny it would be to create a personals ad based on the real truth. Which we almost posted, then decided it would be cruel, because what if there was one poor schmuck who decided to accept us despite all of our flawed weirdness? Then we'd have to break his heart. No way.

So this is what I realized-

I know we all have those little 'things', those little quirks or blemishes that we hide from everyone. Well what would happen if we just said hey, guess what..."I have a third nipple" (I really don't, but you don't know that do you? I totally could...but I don't...seriously...just two) What I do have is a bunch of weirdness that is, essentially, me...and I'm ready to just be me, the real me. Enough with the charade. Join me, if you like. Fess up to all your quirky flaws...or just get a good laugh reading about mine. I have nothing better to do. I'm at work for the next 9 hours...and this is my solution to boredom for the day.

I am 31 yrs old, well, for 3 more months at least. And I am starting to feel old. I never felt that before, but here it is. Old. I weigh far more than I'd like to, but I have finally accepted that I'll never fit into my 'skinny' clothes again. I have every intention of losing weight, but I realize squeezing into my Jr High school jeans is no longer a goal. It just isn't realistic. So I have thrown them all out (to GoodWill, of course) and settled into a more relaxed body image. I do need to lose weight, but not that much. Except in the boob region, boy those things get in the way, and they're travelling south for the winter...a very long winter.

Then there is the sweating thing. I'm puzzled by the fact that I can sweat when I'm freezing. And not only that, but I sweat more on my right side than my left. Can someone please explain to me why my right pit sweats, while the rest of my body acts normal? please? I just don't get it! And if someone has a magic antiperspirant that actually does what its name implies, please, please share your knowledge with me? It's hard to explain the embarrassment of having a sweat stain on your shirt...on one pit...constantly. It's just icky. And ANNOYING.

And then...there is the thing with my nose. My nose runs constantly...but only on one side. This time it happens to be the left side. OK, maybe I know why this happens, but it doesn't really matter, because no one else would, unless I tell them...and can you imagine? I'd just need a T-shirt that has this printed on it:

"FYI -If you see a tiny drop of water on the end of my nose, well it's not water...it is snot, clear snot, but still snot...anyway. If you see that, don't think 'Ewww! Gross!' Just be polite and hand me a tissue, because I don't know it's there. Seriously. I can't feel it. I had a car accident in 94 and crushed my nose on the rear view mirror. It's fixed, but I have nerve damage and loss of feeling in some spots. I even have a reversal of feeling in other spots - I can rub the side of my nose and not feel anything there, but somehow I feel rubbing on the tip of my nose...weird, I know, but true! Ahhh! I'm getting of topic...so my left nostril for some reason is always moist, to put it best. And I cannot feel it when it gets a little too moist, so be a dear and hand me a tissue if it happens to be one of the 1 out of 100 times i am not already armed with a tissue. I carry a box, but sometimes I forget. So, I usually blame it on allergies, but it isn't allergies. I'm just embarrassed. And I'm sick of being embarrassed. And please know that I wash my hands obsessively. I am a germaphobe with a leaky nose...so, as you can imagine, I don't have much idle time on my hands BTW...do you have a tissue to spare?"

-I suppose that would need to be a really, really big shirt. Maybe I could just hand out flyers with the above printed on it. That would be easier...a little weird, maybe. then again...I can't feel my left nostril and I have a perpetually sweaty right pit, so what's a little more weirdness??

And I guess I could mention my freak tongue (no, not like Gene Simmons-Yikes!) I have what is called Benign Migratory Glossitis, common name: Geographic Tongue. No my tongue doesn't travel, but my tastebuds do! It's totally harmless and you can't catch it (even though it's on the move-snort! ) but it is freaky! They call it geographic tongue because the patterns look like areas on a map. There are different types of taste buds, and most people have normal amounts of each, but people with GT have odd numbers of them, and they constantly change...like by the hour, no joke! So I might see London in the morning, at night I'd see France, I might might even see the shape of underpants...OK I'll stop! Seriously, there are always spots on my tongue where I have absolutely no tastebuds. Zero. Just big smooth spots. And for all of you normal people...let me just tell you this: be thankful for your tastebuds. They are one of those body parts that are taken for granted. For me, things often taste strange. And then there is spicy food. You never realize how much your tastebuds protect your mouth until you bite into a hot pepper with a 'naked' tongue... Owweee! I also get paranoid about laughing too hard, because I might open my mouth really wide allowing someone to see my tongue, causing them to wonder what frozen flag pole I got stuck to, or worse, what freaky disease I'm carrying around and could those little droplets of saliva emitted from my hysterical laughter infect the rest of them???

I could go on to tell you about all the other strange anomalies I possess, like having one nipple bigger than the other one, and the bigger one is on the smaller of the two boobs, thanks to the careless hands of the surgeon who did my reduction surgery back in 94...just three weeks before that car accident, which prompted me to threaten the life of the EMT who attempted to cut off my new teeny-weeny bra...

...but I'm guessing no one's still reading this post... I am officially monkey-leashed, and there's no escape.

Besides, I have to go shove a cork up my left nostril and put some deodorant on my right pit, while I hold my shoulders crooked so my boobs don't look lop-sided.