Our Faces Are Trying to Kill Us

This is going to be a fast and dirty post so hang on to your panties/gaunch.

In the middle of last week, one of my teeth decided to be an asshole and host an infection party that probably included hookers and pimps and dope dealers.  The music was terrible and my TMJ started complaining bitterly.  Long story short, there was a trip to emergency where they pumped me full of antibiotics and ordered me to their HPTP clinic the following morning to be installed with a pump and bags of antibiotics.  I would have an extra appendage for the next four days.

I was positive that I deserved some pampering.  It’s not every day that I have the excuse of a massive infection to just loaf around the house being waited on hand and foot by The Viking.

Unfortunately, The Viking had other plans.  On the way home from Emergency he says:

“My neck hurts.”

Me:  Oh no you don’t!!  It’s my turn!  You always take over my illnesses.  I get a cold, you get a cold too, only worse so I have to take care of you even though I’m sick too.  Why do I always have to be the one that has to ‘soldier on’?  I want pampering!

Him:  I didn’t plan it, you know!

And he didn’t plan it, but it happened anyway.  The following morning his neck was swelling up quickly.  So, while I was getting my pump installed, he went to Emergency.  Once I was finished, I found him and we waited for the results.

Which said exactly nothing.  They sent him home with a preventative course of antibiotics but they didn’t think it was an issue.  In fact, the Doctor was sort of condescending.  Fast forward to Friday afternoon and we were back in Emergency and the Doctors were impressed at the size of the lump on the left side of The Viking’s neck. And it kept growing!  I think it was starting to develop its own brain.  They pumped him full of morphine and antibiotics and sent him for tests.

FYI……those people who ferry the ill back and forth to radiology are antelope.  They aren’t people at all.  They look like people but just try keeping up with them as you juggle your IV bags, 2 coats, a purse, a water bottle and 2 tablets.

I started to judge them on the length of their legs.  One Flamingo showed up and, I swear to Gawd, her legs were 8 feet long.

Holy Shit!  You look like a ‘fast walker’ if I’ve ever seen one!”

She looked down on me.  “What?”

I mumbled “Nothing.  Please don’t lose me or I may starve to death in the maze that is this hospital.”

They laugh like I’m making a joke, but I’m not trying to be funny.  By the time we reach radiology, I’m bent over and sucking in air like a jet engine, my legs are shaking and I’m gasping out curses at fucking Olympic athletes loping around the gawd-damned hospital killing the innocent relatives of the fucking ill.  And then an orderly comes out and sees me about to pass out.  “Are you okay, Ma’am?”

“Do I fucking look okay?  I’ve just run a bloody marathon with Usain fucking Bolt and I’ve got my own IV nightmare going on if you don’t mind (I wave my IV’d left arm under his nose)!  Get me some water already!”

The rest of the time is spent in crushing boredom.  Fighting off my own infection, I was finding it difficult to cope with the length of time this was all taking.  I assumed they would fill him up with antibiotics and install a pump like they did with me.

That didn’t happen though.  They admitted him right into the hospital because they thought they could drain some of the infection and because they were starting to get alarmed at how quickly his head was building another entire person.  And then there were more trips down to radiology and more cursing.

The cats are pissed off.  Well, Teddy is just concerned but Izzie wants answers and someone to slap!  What the fuck is going on here?!  Where’s The Viking?  He always holds the spoon for me to lick.  You stink like Hospital – don’t touch me, that’s gross!  I chewed the container of chicken broth and made a mess.  That’s how pissed I am.

I gave them treats and tried to spoil them a bit.

The following morning there was a single paper towel on the kitchen floor with two small corner bits torn off.  As a communication it was brilliant.  They are still pissed but only this amount of pissed and not an entire roll of toilet paper pissed.  I thanked them both for their understanding and promised to be more attentive when I could.

Back at the hospital, The Viking was scheduled for yet another ultrasound.  The ferry person turned out to be a penguin and I dared to think that I might be able to keep up with herHA!  Her little legs were pumping like pistons as she careened around corners.  The Viking’s gown was riding up around his belly and IV lines were streaming behind like ribbons.  I was running to keep up, the Tic Tacs in my purse shaking like Maracas.  Finally, I had to yell at her….

“Wait a fucking minute….gasp….I have nerve damage….gasp….in my fucking leg….gasp….and I….gasp….can’t keep up!”  Gasp, gasp, gasp.

I heard a faint apology drifting back to me but she didn’t slow down at all.  Thank gawd she had to wait for an elevator.  When we arrived at our destination, The Viking smiles into my sweating face and says….

“You’re getting a little bit of exercise, Babe.”

….as he reclines comfortably, pushing his dressing gown to cover his sex area.

And that, my friends, is pure bravery coming from a man laying on a stretcher in a dressing gown that leaves his ass exposed.

 

 

A Conspiracy of Dicks

There’s a conspiracy against me.  I don’t know who it is or why they are doing it, but someone is definitely being a dick.

I could understand it if I lived in a small town or in the country, but I don’t.  I live in a big-ass city so the chances should be good that I would be privileged.  I give money to charities and help those who need a hand sometimes.  I’ve been building up good karma for decades!

Sure, every once in a while I flip a bad driver the bird – who doesn’t?  And I regularly hang up on those people, calling from a third world country, who tell me there is a problem with my Microsoft programs.  Religious groups ringing my front door bell are usually given less than polite conversation but I don’t call them names or anything like that.  I just tell them I’m not interested, wish them a good day then close the door.  That’s not horrible.

True, I did call a couple of guys ‘Fucking Idiots’ but they had that coming!  The Viking left the front door open for the air conditioner overnight and these two assholes start ringing the doorbell at 6:00 in the AM!  Why?  They wanted to share their fucking Jagermeister with me AT SIX O’CLOCK IN THE DAMNED MORNING!  On a Saturday!  This shouldn’t cost me negative Karma at all because even the Lord Almighty would have called them ‘Fucking Idiots’ after spending 10 minutes trying to get his door out of their drunken grip (why are drunks so freakishly strong?  It doesn’t make sense!).

My Member of Parliament sends out these sheets of propaganda and I admit that I decorate them with colored markers, citing every grievance I have against their Neo-Liberal bullshit, and then mail it back ‘postage paid’.  I’m fairly confident that it gets delivered because I make block letter complaints about their efforts to privatize Canada Post so it’s in their best interest to deliver it, right?  So, I suppose, if my MP gets hurt feelings, there might be a ding of bad karma, but not so much it should make a difference.

So, I’m mystified at the seemingly deliberate plan not to do Flash Mobs anywhere around me.  I’m sure the jerks know that I would LOVE Flash Mobs to happen at the grocery store or in my front yard and yet there hasn’t been a single incident of Flash Mobbing in the entire community!  What’s up with that?!

Like this:

How do teenagers deserve a Flash Mob and I don’t?  Teenagers can be total dicks like no one else can be total dicks and they haven’t had nearly as many years accruing karma, yet here they are enjoying a Flash Mob.

That one showed up on my Face Book feed and it led me down a YouTube rabbit hole of Flash Mobs that have never happened near me.  Some of them were wonderful and some were lame but I’d even take a lame Flash Mob.  After an hour lost in the depths, I found one that was my favorite.

Oh…those Russians, right?

I’m guessing that some of you, too, have never been privileged enough to deserve your own Flash Mob but maybe you have seen videos of enough to have a favorite.  Put a link in the comments so I can live vicariously through you.

And, for the Powers That Be who are not letting Flash Mobs happen on my front lawn during the hours of 9:00am to 6pm……you’re dicks.

 

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I Don’t Want to Alarm You But…

I was once accused, by a boss, of being aggressive.  Once I got over the shock I asked around and found out that I’m not really aggressive*, I’m assertive; which was a description I could live with.  That was years ago though.  Nowadays, I’m not so much assertive as prone to bouts of slight aggressiveness.  If I were Freud, I would say I become aggressive on occasion because I’m not being assertive enough to avoid the necessity of aggressiveness.

I bring this up because I am being stalked by my Gel Nail Technician – Nancy.  She’s really, really terrible at doing Gel Nails but I’ve been going to her because I haven’t had any alternative within a reasonable distance from my house.  But my former Gel Nail Technician is back and she’s amazing, she’s closer and I want good quality work again instead of horrible, terrible work.  But now, Nancy is calling my cell phone and leaving messages.  And since I’ve been dodging her calls from the shop she’s become shifty and crafty and called from her personal cell phone and I answered it because I thought it was someone else.

“Hello Lori!  It’s Nancy!  When do you want appointment?”

Well SHIT!  It should be easy to not go to one place anymore because you would rather go to some other place instead.  But Nancy isn’t playing by the rules and because I’m not assertive enough to explain that I found someone better, it will probably need an aggressive response to get her to stop calling me.  Sigh.

And I bring this up because I went to the salon where my former Technician is to get my nails done.

There was a man at the front desk and three other women puttering around the shop.  When Anne looked at my nails, she muttered something in an Asian dialect and those 3 women rushed over to look at my nails too.  There was a flurry of words and tut-tuts and lots of shaking heads.  One said “Who did that to your hands?!”  I waved in the vague direction of the street.  “Some other place out there.” I mumbled.

Long story short – I have beautiful nails on my Man Hands!**  Woop!  Woop!  I’m pretty sure Nancy isn’t done yet though.

AND….the reason I’m telling you this is because later that day, The Viking said:

“You have Sex Hair!  Why do you have Sex Hair when we haven’t had sex?!”

Of course I went directly to the closest mirror and he was right.  I definitely had Sex Hair!  I’m as mystified as he is.  Before I left the house to get my nails done, I made sure my hair was presentable and the only guy I saw the whole time was the guy at the front desk in the salon.

Me:  “Okay.  I don’t want to alarm you but I may have experienced a Missing Time event.”

The Viking:  What the fuck is that?

Me:  “Well, it’s when you can’t remember what happened in a certain stretch of time.  Like people who are abducted by UFOs.

The Viking:  “You were abducted by aliens?  Is that what you’re saying?

Me:  “No.  Well maybe.  I don’t know!  How do aliens have sex?”

The Viking:  “I don’t know!”

Me:  “Maybe that’s why aliens don’t have hair.  Maybe their sex is so wild it was easier to just evolve into hairlessness.”

The Viking:  “So you think you had wild sex with a hairless alien?”

Me:  “It would explain my Sex Hair.”

The Viking:  “Or maybe you were just playing around in the bedroom today when I was working.”

Me (shocked and insulted):  “I wouldn’t do that!  And if I did I think I would remember it.  Unless I was experiencing a Missing Time event.  Geez!  I wonder if I do that every afternoon?”

The Viking:  “I think I’d better check on you more often in the afternoons.”

Me:  “I have noticed that my right hand aches quite a bit lately.  I thought I was just getting The Arthritis!

The Viking:  “I want to go with you when you try to explain that to your doctor?”

Me:  You know what?  I may not remember doing it but I’m still a little proud of myself.

It occurs to me that I am right in the glory years of menopause, when my body is producing less Estrogen and more Testosterone and we all know that Testosterone can make people a little aggressive, more hairy and a lot horny.  With the plethora of other wonderful things Menopause has introduced to me I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Missing Time events and sore hands might be in the mix.

But now that I’m thinking about it, it occurs to me that of all the other crap that comes with Menopause, missing time and the possibility that I might be hanging out in the bedroom in the afternoons isn’t so bad.  So, there is that.

*I’m not really aggressive….except when I flush the toilet.  Apparently I am an extremely aggressive Flusher because I broke the handle right off the toilet which set off an entire bathroom renovation because The Viking doesn’t trust me with conventional flushing handles anymore.  Instead, he bought a Push Button Toilet with a flushing apparatus developed at NASA.  If it’s good enough for Aliens it’s good enough for us.  I guess.

**Despite our best efforts and an iPhone 4S (yes, I know it’s an antique but it works for me), we couldn’t get a decent picture of my beautiful nails.

 

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Where the Hell is My Machete?!

The mad scramble for Holidays has begun.  I’m sweating buckets as I run around gathering all the things on my list.  Half way through one task though, I think of another thing that didn’t make the list so I change directions and then forget what the hell I was looking for.

I’m doing a lot of starting and stopping and swearing, if I’m honest.  Sure, I could have done most of the packing ahead of time but that just means I’m lugging suitcases from one flat surface to another because I need that surface in the meantime.  Houses really should be built with a “Packing Room” that has long flat surfaces for the luggage and shelves for organizing.  That would be helpful.

Also, cats; they get into everything and that blouse you just packed will be covered in fur when you need it.  It’s safer in the closet on hangers until the last minute.

And I can’t find my Night Vision Goggles.  Or my machete.  I probably won’t have to slash my way through a steamy jungle on our way to Arizona but you just can’t be too careful.  The Night Vision Goggles are handy to have though.  I probably put both of them in the same spot so I wouldn’t lose them but I can’t remember where that spot could be.  I hate it when that happens.

So, I don’t have much time to write a post but I wanted everyone to know that I’m not dead.  I’m on holidays.  I might not have time to write much for the next 2 weeks and it seemed like the polite thing to do to explain why.

Unless I actually die while on vacation.  That would seriously suck and no one would be worrying because I just told you I’m on vacation.

Maybe I should stop and buy a couple epi-pens in case of Killer Bees and I really need to find that fucking machete and the Night Vision Goggles.

 

 

Come Out Of The Shadows Jesus

I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions.  One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.

“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”

I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows.  Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows?  Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care?  Do they have Garbage Disposal?  Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.

If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups?  Are they fake Christians?  Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?

Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place?  Who are they hiding from?  We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.

Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean?  They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake?  How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones?  If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket?  If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are?  Are they dangerous?  This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me.  Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?

Are there nice Hiding Christians?  Should we be working on Safe Houses for them?  I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all.  The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows.  And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat?  You know…..like Hell?  I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.

There are so many unknowns now.  I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank.  I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right?  Or maybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.

So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians.  And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.

That sounds totally plausible to me.

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Just Listen Already!!

People don’t listen to me.  I talk and they nod like they are listening and then they go and do as they damn well please!  Like I hadn’t spoken at all!  I believe in doing your own thing and being your own person but when I’m paying for something I’d like them to LISTEN!

I just got home from the grocery store and I’m still a little annoyed.  Safeway sells wonderful collapsible square bags that are actually boxes that stand on their own, can handle a lot of weight and are easy to carry – I have many of them.  So when I got to the cashier, I placed the box in front of my groceries and moved down to the other side where she was packing the box.  She put in a six pack of canned flavoured water and I said….

“Just leave both six packs and the jugs of Cranberry Juice out of the bag.  I won’t be able to lift it if there’s too much weight.”

Her:  I was going to put all the light items in a plastic bag and the heavy stuff in the box.”

Me:  I don’t want a plastic bag.  Just leave the heavy items unbagged and I’ll hand-bomb them into the car.”

She put a six pack of the flavoured water in the box.  I reached in and took it out and put it loose in the cart.  She scans in the second six pack and puts it in the box!  I take it out and put it beside the other six pack in the cart and said….

“Don’t put the Cranberry Juice in the box.  I would like it loose and unbagged, please.”

She scans in some cereal and the fresh produce and deposits them in the box.  Then she scans the Cranberry Juice and puts it in the box!!!  What. The. Fuck?!  She pretends I’m not even there!

I just gave up at that point. I paid for my damned groceries, muttered all the way out to the car and came home.  If that was the only example I wouldn’t have much to complain about, but it’s not the only one.

About 6 weeks ago I went to the dentist and it was a total shit show and the ultimate end product was an incredibly painful TMJ issue.  I went back to the dentist, he took an x-ray and said my TMJ was just fine.  So I went to a physiotherapy clinic and they recommended I see Anne, the Traditional Chinese Massage Expert.  I told her what the issue was:  the entire right side of my face is killing me and the pain shoots up from my neck, through my jaw, up through my temple and across my forehead.  I explained that the dentist said it wasn’t TMD so it must be from the huge lump on the back of my neck.

Her:  Your face hurting but problem isn’t face.  Your face like computer screen that not working.  You think the problem is screen but it not screen.  It hard drive or software.

Me:  Oookay.

Her:  Lay down face up.  Show me where the pain is.

Me (laying down, face up, waving my hand all around the right side of my head):  Everywhere but mostly in my jaw and temple.

Her (poking my jaw):  Here?

Me:  OMG!!!  Yes!  That fucking hurts!

Her:  Ah!  You see?  Like radio.  You hear radio but radio not here.  Is over there.  You have to follow wiring.

She carried on talking about computers and radios and cars and other shit I wasn’t listening too.  I wasn’t listening to her because 1). She’s using her hands to point at the invisible computers/radios/cars, and 2).  I can hear the ticking of the clock and every tick is another minute I’m paying for while Vanna White is NOT fixing my problem!

The next appointment I said my face was feeling well enough for me to feel the lump on the back of my neck stabbing into my brain.  She shook her head at me and said….”Not neck.  You feel pain in neck but neck is not problem.  Your neck like computer screen that not working.  Not screen problem.  Software problem.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.”

And she tortured my face some more.

Next appointment – my face is still hurting and now I can’t even touch it because she’s bruised every muscle on my entire head!  AND my neck is really hurting from the big lump.  I take her hand and push her finger on the lump.  Right there!

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Neck not problem.  Like radio.  You hear radio here…….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah BLAH!  And she tortured my face in between her Vanna White impressions.  I go for 4 appointments with her not listening to me.  She would torture my face for a little bit, but then she decided to torture my left leg because I have nerve damage and walk with a limp!  What. The. Fuck?!  That’s the furthest place from my neck that she could possibly be and I’m almost certain my damned leg isn’t making my face/head/neck hurt!!

Two can play at this game, you know!!

The next appointment I said my face feels wonderful!  No pain.  It’s very good now.  She showed me a demonstration of how my jaw joint works.  She asked where the pain is and I said….”I have a terrible headache.  It is the back of my head all the way over my skull to my forehead.

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Forehead not the problem.  Forehead like computer screen.  You think forehead is problem but it not the problem.  No.  You have hardware or software problem.”

And she finally worked on my neck like I wanted in the first place!!  Gawd!!

And then there’s The Damned Viking!  He only listens to the first 3 words in my sentence, decides what I’m about to say and then starts hollering, like he’s a fucking Clairvoyant!  I stop talking and make the universal sign of WTF by turning my palms face up in front of me with a confused face.

Me:  So, I was thinking that I should get……

The Viking:  WE CAN’T AFFORD ANYTHING RIGHT NOW!!  DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE NEED TO SAVE A LITTLE MONEY?

Me:  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the…..

The Viking:  DON’T YOU HAVE ENOUGH THINGS TO DO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TIME FOR WITHOUT DOING MORE THINGS?!

Me (sighing heavily):  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the laundry.  Your dirty clothes corner is almost touching the ceiling.

The Viking:  I’m almost out of underwear.

And then there are the cats.  They don’t fucking listen either, unless I’m shaking the treat container and then they are listening so hard I’m tripping on them.

I don’t think I’m asking too much for people to fucking listen when I’m talking!  I’m becoming more and more convinced all the time that cranky old people are only cranky because no one would fucking listen to them and they’ve had enough!

I don’t need my cane to walk anymore but I’m thinking of taking it with me anyway, just so I can poke those non-listening fuckers!  And maybe I’ll sharpen the end into a point.  A nice sharp point.

 

Geocaching – Friday Fictioneers

A couple of my friends post in Friday Fictioneers once a week and I thought maybe I should give it a try.  I have to come up with a short story – no more than 100 words – about the above featured picture.

So, here goes:

They stood side by side, surprised and confused.  His jacket still had the price tag dangling from the left sleeve.   

“This can’t be right!”  Steve said, frowning at the GPS in his hand.

“Are you sure you put in the correct coordinates?” 

“I’m perfectly capable of putting coordinates into a GPS, Cheryl!” he snapped.

He compared the numbers to the ones in a notebook.

“Yes! This is exactly the right place.”

“Well, Steve, since Geocaching was your idea, you dig it up!  I’ll be waiting in the car.”  Cheryl stated sarcastically.  “Hand over the keys.”

The lovely photo prompt for this week is provided by Liz Young.  Thanks Liz.  If you would like to see more stories, click the button below.

Special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her weekly photo challenge Friday Fictioneer.

Why Aren’t You Electrocuted?!

Over the weekend, The Viking and I – mostly The Viking – had to replace our Garage Door Opener because it inconveniently and selfishly died.

We took down the dead and useless Door Opener and then began assembling the new unit.  It was all very straight forward, no big surprises, until The Viking went rogue.  He threw the instruction manual into the corner and began fiddling with electrical wires.

Me:  Why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  What?  There’s no power to these lines.

Me:  The wires are coming right out of the ceiling, the breaker hasn’t been flipped, so why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  These wires get their power from the garage door opener brains, not from the building’s power supply.

Me:  Stop talking in Sorcery!  The brains are plugged in!  I can see the power cord plugged into the power plug!

The Viking:  Relax!  Take it easy.  I know what I’m doing.

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  I will never understand electricity.  It’s terrifying.

He carried on with his Warlockery and I watched him.

Me:  I can’t believe I’ve lived for this long without understanding electricity.  I stuck a knife in an electrical socket once because my mother told me to never do that.  Ever.

The Viking:  And so you did.

Me:  Of course I did.  You can’t just tell me not to do something without telling me why.

The Viking:  Well, you obviously didn’t die.

Me:  Exactly.  It hurt, but I didn’t die, and my curiosity was gone.  My parents could have spared me that.

Me:  I also stuck my head in a plastic Drycleaning bag because there was a warning on it that said to never do that.  Again, they never said why.

The Viking:  Seriously?

Me:  Yes.  And I didn’t suffocate.  Now that I think about it though, I think the warning did mention ‘Suffocation’ but I was like 6 years old and didn’t have a clue what that meant.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  My best friend found a box of wooden matches once.  They looked harmless but apparently they were ‘extremely dangerous’ and children should never play with them.

The Viking:  Let me guess….

Me:  See?!  You know already what needed to be done!  We tried to light the wooden fence on fire but it wouldn’t burn.  We tried to set the grass on fire too, but that wouldn’t work either.  The only thing that actually did work was burning our fingers.  And then I got a spanking, like having burned fingers weren’t punishment enough, because Darcy apparently didn’t know how to lie.  I couldn’t be friends with him after that.

The Viking:  Hahaha!

Me:  And pull cords on blinds.

The Viking:  You didn’t!

Me:  Actually, yes.  I did.

The Viking stopped what he was fiddling with and looked at me with an odd expression on his face.  “You sound like your daughter.”

Me:  That’s impossible because I made certain that I explained things to her.  Don’t put a knife in an electrical outlet because electricity, through sorcery, will enter the knife, travel through your arm and straight upward because of gravity or something and blow your head completely off your body.  And guess what?  She never stuck a knife in an electrical outlet.

The Viking:  That’s not how electricity works.

Me:  Does it really matter?  The point is that she never electrocuted herself because she listened to me.  Unlike you who will die at some point this afternoon because you keep touching electrical wires.

The Viking:  I’m not going to die today.

Me:  I feel like a kid when my Dad took me to work with him and I had to sit around doing absolutely nothing for hours because there might be bears around.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were only so many times I could be interested in what was in the glove compartment.  And without the truck running fiddling with the radio buttons was less than satisfying.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  I did find a magazine full of naked women behind the seat.  Dad took it away from me and then made another worker take me home.  He said he had an emergency to deal with but I didn’t buy it.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  He did explain the perils of playing with the gear shifter when the truck was running but he never left it running.  He must not have trusted my judgement.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were old pallets at Dad’s job and he wanted to take them apart and use them for something else.  He gave me a hammer and told me to get all the nails out but I accidentally stepped on a nail as I was pulling a nail from another piece of wood.  I didn’t even get a tetanus shot.  Oh!  And one time I had a really, really sore throat so he painted my tonsils with MercuroChrome.  It’s toxic to the environment but not tonsils I guess.  I’m lucky to even be alive!

The Viking:  …..

Me:  Hey!  Did I ever tell you that I know how to pick a lock on an interior door?  So if you were to lock the bathroom door and then accidentally faint I would be able to pick the lock and save you.

The Viking:  I never lock the bathroom door.

Me:  I’ve just noticed that when I get bored my mind has a tendency to wander a bit.

The Viking:  You think?

Me:  I’m seriously bored.  I didn’t think it would take this amount of time to replace a door opener.  I would have brought booze and a book if I had known.  Maybe a pillow for a nap.  And a fuzzy blanket.  Or binoculars.  That might have amused me for a little while.

You’re not even listening to me anymore.

Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

No Good Lousy Day!

I slept badly last night, dreaming the whole night about asshole guys running into my car, stealing my groceries and throwing random things at me.  It looks like I’ve been hit between the eyes with a hatchet! And my head is throbbing! And my neck is stiff and sore! Gawd!!  Why am I even out of bed?

And what in the hell is up with the fucking cat?! Teddy has taken over my office chair! He was eating his breakfast and then before I could hit the power button on the coffee maker he was in my chair!

When I got up to get a cup of coffee…..

When I went to open the family room curtains….

When I went to take a pee……

When I went to get another cup of coffee…..

He says he’s just keeping it warm for me but if that were the case he would be easier to dislodge; he wouldn’t be digging his claws into the fabric which necessitates a damned wrestling match every single time! As soon as I get his front claws unlatched, his back claws catch the edge of the seat. And he’s had the worst farts ever lately so every time I squeeze him in the middle he emits a noxious cloud of poo gas. It’s so bad I have to check to make sure it isn’t actual poo, and then more poo gas seeps around my face while I’m checking.

And he leaves gobs of his hair on the seat! And he and Izzie were playing with the stupid hair remover brush thingy and broke it! And now I’m going to have a hairy ass everywhere I go today!

Izzie isn’t any help either! While Teddy is rubbing his hairy body all over my chair, she’s taken residence on my keyboard. Or on my mouse. Or standing in front of the monitor.

I’ve loved you both up already! Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood? Stop looking at me like that! Why aren’t you harassing The Viking?! He’s not in a bad mood!  As a matter of fact, he seems to think my bad mood is fucking hilarious!

via GIPHY

And now I’m out of coffee and it’s only 11:40 in the morning. Fuck!  I suppose I may as well run some damned errands with my hairy ass. I’ll go get more of the good cat food so Teddy doesn’t smell so bad. And I’ll get groceries – and I swear to Gawd if even one guy tries to steal them in the parking lot I’m going to lose my shit!

And then I think I’ll get myself a Caramel Apple Cider at Starbucks. With whipped cream. And a piece of Banana Bread.

Because I deserve it.