Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Screaming. The other white meat.

It's Tuesday. And that is pretty much the most interesting thing I can think of to say at the moment. And that? Is sad. My brain is kind of overwhelmed lately. I have had trouble sleeping at night. Granted, I haven't had any trouble at all sleeping in the morning. Right through my alarm. Until 10:00.

My problem is I can't seem to shut my mind off. I lay down and my brain just starts going a million miles an hour. I have spent many a night trying to stave off a panic attack because suddenly? We're all gonna die. Everyone. Is. Going. To. Die. Painfully and probably due to some kind of plague spread via home foreclosure paperwork.

I lie in bed and think about work and my mortgage and my son starting school and tuition for said school and my dog driving Eric the last half mile to total insanity and my inability to stick to an exercise plan and the birds building a nest in our attic and why my car is making a funny noise and...well, the list of crazy goes on.

The newest psychosis inducing activity in our house is related to Mazie. She has this heavy rubber ball that we throw for her outside. It was a purchase necessitated by the fact that she would eat the tennis balls we bought for her. Yes. That's right. EAT THEM. She would start by peeling off the fluffy, presumably lemon-flavored - possibly lime - outer coating. Daintily grabbing the fluff with her front teeth and pulling chunks off. Most chunks were quickly consumed, but occassionaly she would leave a wet pile of tennis ball fur on the floor for one of us to step on and; thus, share her culinary delite with us. She's a giver that one.

After consuming the outer layer of the tennis ball she would vigorously chew on the ball itself until it split in half. That would allow her to better eat the harder shell portion of the ball. This portion of the ball eating process would take anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours. Crunching, cracking, snorting, slobbering, growling...for up to 2 hours. SO...we bought the red ball. It's rubber. And indestructible.

Mazie loves her ball. She wants us to throw it for her. All. The. Time. Mazie loves her heavy red ball so much she picks it up and stands right next to your chair and drops it at your feet. Repeatedly. Until you either take her outside and throw it for her or pick it up and hide it from her. You wouldn't think the dog dropping her ball at your feet would be irritating. But it is. Our house has a crawl space under it so when something heavy hits the floor it isn't hitting carpet over a concrete slab. It is hitting carpet over wood over a big hole in the ground. Things tend to reverberate. Through my chair. Through my butt. Straight to my irritation gland. That's when the screaming starts.

I'll let you know when it stops.

BTW - I have to share this text message exchange between me and Lexy. We love each other and it shows!

Me: Don't you have dance class tonight?
Lexy: No. I'm running away with my new husband Leroy.
Me: Does he have gas money?
Lexy: No. He's investing in a clinical trial to help cure his HIV. Things are finally looking good for him.
Me: That is great! That improves the odds that your illegitimate love child, Bubba, will be born with only one club foot.
Lexy: No. we decided to name the twins Gomar and Jebidiah.
Me: I am so excited! Once the twins finish detoxing from the Meth addiction will I get to be Godmother?
Lexy: Well, I already promised the social worker she could be. But, when their father gets out of Intermountain Hospital, and she can't pay for their separation surgery I will give you a call.
Me: Great! I have always wanted to be financially responsible for once conjoined, illegitimate, Meth-addicted twins! Where will you and Leroy be while I change diapers? I hear Mexico is nice and you could get there on one convenience store robbery.
Lexy: Well, his probation officer has a nice two person bike that we can pick up in Cali, but we have to find a way to get it over the fence. But, until then we are using his scooter. One Rite-Aid and a 7/11 ought to do it.

Ahhhh...it's fun to have a little sister.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Attack of the Frankenhand

I was supposed to have surgery on my hand a few weeks ago to remove a cyst. A couple of days before I was set to have it cut out the damn thing disappeared. I called to cancel and the nurse said I should come in as scheduled because it was probably just hiding. Hiding? Like - a sneaky crawl back into my joint so we would be lulled into a false sense of security while it hatched an evil plan to take over the world hiding? Or - comfortable in it's little home and scared of being evicted hiding? The nurse wasn't sure so I said ok and kept my appointment. I showed up, got dressed in my tent-sized hospital gown (could they possibly make those things any uglier?), got my IV and a brilliant concoction of drugs and was all ready to get hacked on. Then the doctor decided not to go through with it because he said I probably burst it. Burst? Ack. And ewww.

Fast forward two weeks and the stupid cyst comes back. Clearly not burst, but seriously pissed and, based on the pain level, implementing stage one of it's take over the world plan. This last Tuesday I went through the whole gown, IV, drug scenario again. The upside is the doctor actually removed it this time.

Did I mention that Tuesday was my birthday? One of my brilliant, though slightly twisted friends, imformed me that it was the best present EVER because I got legal drugs. Now it is a full week later and I am finally able to type. I am also off my pain meds and have replaced that fun, floaty, druggy feeling with really uncomfortable stitches. Whee. And - because I love you all - I will share with you a picture of my Frankenhand...

It has been slow on the blogging front because of the dreaded Frankenhand. Not only is it the ugliest freakin' thing you've ever seen, but it made typing virtually impossible and more than a little painful any time I tried. Basically, I spent a week half asleep on the couch watching lots and lots of Ice Road Truckers and Axe Men. At one point I had a drug induced hallucination that I was hauling cut down trees down the ice road to a diamond mine to be processed in to 2x4s. I KNOW! Trippy! --- Fun....but trippy. --- Thank you History Channel. I have now pledged my undying devotion to you and your programming.

We also had a little plumbing issue in the last few days. The sink must have been sneaking some of my drugs because it suddenly decided that water? Should spray up rather than down. I think that if the sink had a voice it would have been shouting something along the lines of, "Fly be free! Shed those binds and spray in ALL directions because you can! You can! Believe in yourself and you can spray the ceiling! Just believe you little droplets!" And, oddly, the sink sounds surprisingly like Richard Simmons from his Sweatin' to the Oldies days.

That led to father/son sink fixing. Seriously? The two cutest plumbers on. the. planet. See?

They were so proud of themselves I had to pause Tougher in Alaska(damn you History Channel and your freakishly absorbing reality television with lots and lots of burly manly men!) to bake them brownies. You couldn't resist these faces either.

I must say for the record - it never ceases to amaze me what Eric is able to accomplish. We had been together for over two years and we were standing in the kitchen talking about something that I totally forgot by now and he calmly picked up three oranges and started juggling. JUGGLING! Blew my freakin' mind. Add to that the fact that he is a freakin' electronics genius and can fix anything in the house that has electronic stuff in it and NOW I find out he can fix plumbing? Stand back ladies...he's mine and I won't go down without a fight.

He is for rent, however.

I could really use the extra cash.

Monday, June 2, 2008

If a bear shits in the woods can I shoot somebody?

What a crazy few weeks. The whole house has been in chaos and I am in serious need of a long vacation. I am thinking someplace warm, but not too warm where everyone is deaf and mute so that it is quiet. I can just make a few flashcards that say things like, "Another martini please," and "Sunscreen on my back please," and "Move the umbrella two inches to the left," and maybe a couple of others like, "Honey, you should really cover that up," just so I can give my inner bitch an outlet.

Last weekend the bulb went out on the tv downstairs so we have been without tv in the living room for over a week. You would think it would make for a quieter house.

You would be wrong.

It got louder here because Drew was no longer mesmerized for a while before dinner by cartoons and instead was running CIRCLES around the house with Mazie chasing him. Drew was screaming. Mazie was barking. The phone was ringing. Eric was shouting. Even the fish were loud. Little fish faces pressed against the glass, mouths open, crazed look in their eyes and scream bubbles just streaming towards the surface. I SWEAR I heard little squeaks each time one of those bubbles popped. Little bastards. Everyone's a freakin' comedian.

Today was better. I had my 2-year performance evaluation and it went well. I got a raise which was nice. We also got our tv fixed and Eric is getting to watch Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals and so he is happy. He is currently yelling at the players and thus ensuring peak performance by the Penguins. They are playing pretty good so maybe it's actually working. If they win we may be onto something.

My master plan is to go to bed. Soon. Very soon. Right after I finish another glass of wine. I took tomorrow off and therefore I don't feel so bad about having another glass. Well, I never feel bad about having another glass regardless of the day, but not having to be coherent in the morning is a good thing. Instead of going to work I get to stay home and dig a hole.

Not the "doesn't know when to shut up" kind of hole I normally dig, but an actual hole. Outside. In the yard. For a tree. It is a big tree and it was a beautiful and leafy at the nursery and I was all filled with glee when I picked it and then I was informed of the size of the hole we have to dig. I suppose it could be a good thing because it will be just the right size to bury me in when I die from having to dig it.

We also have 3 yards of dirt to move from the driveway to the side of the house because we are building a new planting area in place of the flooded, mossy grass we currently have there. The displaced mosquitos will be pissed. I have to give a quick shout out to POWER ENTERPRISES in BOISE, IDAHO ---- they are hands down the WORST landscaping company on the face of the planet. No matter how many times we called them and gave them irrefuteable proof of their incredibly dysfunctional work we could not get them to fix it. Now we very proudly tell everyone we meet what a terrible job they do while we repair it slowly and expensively. THANKS CRAPPY LANDSCAPING COMPANY!! We heart you! Bastards.

OH!!! I just remembered! Eric and I played paintball on Saturday with a bunch of friends. It. Was. Awesome. We came home sweaty and dirty and bruised and already plotting all the gear we need to buy. I have not had that much fun in ages. We were out in this old orchard crawling around under trees and through the dirt stalking each other. I got shot in the head, the back, the hand, the arms, the legs and I got to shoot other people and I FREAKING LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! Next time I'll take the camera and take pictures for you. I have some gnarly bruises!

Oh yeah - I think I may have a homicidal streak. I think I enjoyed shooting people too much. Hmmmm...that might mean something important, but I can't for the life of me think of what that might be...