As if it's not bad enough that The Blogging Muse, that bitch, has packed up and left me this summer, now I'm getting berated in my comments for not posting this week. Well, if you lived the thrill-a-friggin-minute life I lead, you'd be slacking, too, pal. Por ejemplo:
Last weekend's trip didn't pan out exactly as I'd planned, seeing as one of my in-laws' best friends died unexpectedly on Friday morning, and Peach was right there in the thick of things when T-Bone's mom got the call. We lit out of here as quick as we could and arrived to find Peach handling everything very well. She had had a "ladies' lunch" with T-Bone's mom and several of her friends, including the dear woman who died, just the day before, so she was understandably shocked (as we all were) and sad (ditto), but the poor baby was hanging in there like a champ. I was SO glad to see her.
The whirlwind trip was just enough to distract me from the fact that I was late, like, you know, LATE. Very late. Because you asked, I'm a 23 day cycle girl, so, yes, I get the pleasure of being a complete bitch every three weeks, instead of four. So you can imagine when Day 35(!) rolled around, I was ready to explode. The best part was when I called my doc and talked to the nurse:
LT: Hi, (nurse). I'm 12 days late, and I thought if I called, it would inevitably get things moving. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Well, are you pregnant?
LT: Again, I'm not pregnant. Just REALLY late. And cranky.
Nurse: Have you taken a test?
LT: Five since Day 26. All negative. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Because we could do bloodwork. Because the tests might be wrong.
LT: They're not. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Well, hmmm. Are you sure you counted right?
LT: Yes. Usually I'm somewhere around 23 days so ...
Nurse: 23! Oh my god! Are you sure you're counting right?
LT: (ok, so this part was only in my head) Well, let's see. I've been menstruating for 25 years now, I've berfed two children, and I'm technically a doctor, so, yeah, I think I'm counting right.
After more dumb questions and munching sounds since I think she called me back on her lunch break, we decided to take a "wait and see" approach. So I waited, and five hours later, I saw my long lost Aunt Flo. And now the old hag refuses to leave ...
Other beings who refuse to leave are the GD scorpions who have taken up residence in about a 3' x 3' area at the top of my stairs. Seriously, W.T.everlovin.F.?! I have killed four of them in the last month, all in that same spot, which leads me to believe that there is obviously a nest or a kingdom or a coven or whatever somewhere around there. And guess what color my carpet is? Scorpion color! The other day, one of them somehow made it into Peach and Olive's bathroom, and when I picked up the trashcan to sweep, there he was. I really didn't want to freak them out, so I quickly tried to squish it with the trashcan. No luck. (And before you say, "catch and release" or "it's one of God's creatures" or some such bullshit, I say, if they breach my borders, all bets are off. They will be killed. Period.). Next, I grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be Windex, and while I think I stunned him a little, it just wasn't toxic enough. Finally, I ran to the utility room and grabbed the spray starch. Of course. I got to spraying, and the second I saw him start to struggle, I poured it on, quietly chanting "Die you motherfucker" through my very clenched teeth. I hate 'em, y'all! SO much. I stepped on one during a fifth grade slumber party beauty pageant, and I've never forgiven the whole species. At 1o years old, I thought scorpion=poison=instant death, so I totally lost my shit, along with the rest of the contestants, the judges, and the emcee. It was not pretty. I did end up winning the crown, but I think it was just because they felt sorry for me.
And now I feel sorry for you for having to read this crap. I'd write more, but my mutilated wrist is throbbing, so I must go ice it down. Or cut my arm off and be done with it. Whichever.
2 comments:
Oh my god. Those effing scorpions are one of the reasons we no longer live in Tucson. Well, that and the whole job/career thing, coupled with the fact that is, like, 112 degrees there for half the year. But, the scorpions. [violent shudder]. You just go right ahead and kill them. I hope you smoke out their coven and commit a little arthropod mass murder...
So far, no scorpions here. Knock wood.
(Doubtless I will find a nest of them in Her Majesty's closet now that I've written that).
As far as the whole cycle thing goes? I am SO READY for the "change."
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