The time I almost died

The time I almost died was tonight.  I realize I have a tendency to exaggerate and over dramatize situations, but this potential death experience was real (in my head anyway).

I have this little closet under my stairs that houses the water heater, two artificial Christmas trees, my tool collection, every color of paint used in this home (and that is a lot), a ladder, a vacuum, more wrapping paper than any sane person should own, as well as a pile of wreaths for the front door.  Last week this smell started emanating from the closet, but sometimes it gets a weird smell, so I ignored it.  Today when I went downstairs, I noticed the smell had transformed itself into a full fledged stench and I was sure that some poor little critter had curled up in there to die.

I slowly opened the door, expecting whatever was in there to attack.  Then I remembered that I was looking for a dead something.  Dead somethings usually don't attack.  Unless it is a zombie...  My fear of finding something dead morphed into finding a little zombie mouse hiding out behind the water heater.  I figured that wearing flip flops while searching for zombie mice was not the best idea, they could pull my toes right off (and I just got a pedicure today!).  I briefly consider running upstairs to put on my wellies but rational thought wins out (and because I was already hot; rubber boots would not help). 

As I am searching for either dead or undead mice, a spider lunges forward in attack mode.  He lodges himself in the corner with his tremendous fangs ready to bite.  Luckily, I keep Raid spider killer on hand and I spray him.  It has no effect.  He just wipes it right off.  I spray him again; longer this time.  He starts to scurry a little but still doesn't die.  Isn't this stuff supposed to kill on contact?  I spray him four more times and he is soon sitting in a white, thick, oozing puddle of Raid.  I thought I would die from the fumes at this point but he still managed to wave a little leg in defiance before he succumbed.

I ran to identify him, and decided he was a brown recluse.  If he had bitten me I could have lost my leg! (well, according to google images anyway).

I am now sitting on my sofa paralyzed in fear.  I don't dare put my feet down for fear of zombie mice and brown recluse spiders.  Oh, and there are still some residual Raid fumes wafting about.  We are lucky I am still alive.......

PS - never found any dead critters

Full of big ideas

One of the best things about living with ADHD is that I am full of wonderful, big ideas.  One of the worst things about living with ADHD is the complete lack of follow through on any wonderful, big ideas.
There was the time I thought quilting would be fun.  Did I start with a small wall hanging like any other normal beginner?  Nope.  I started out with a tremendous bed sized quilt.  I loved buying my fabrics, going to quilt stores looking for inspiration, and I loved planning my quilts.  I just hated quilting.  I managed to finish two quilts, start on three different quilts, and buy enough fabric that I could open my own quilt shop out of my spare bedroom. 

Then I decided to paint floor cloths and sell those at the downtown market.  I painted 1.5 of those.  I currently have a trunk full of paint propping up the boxes of quilting fabric in the closet.

Now I am facing a summer without employment and decided I needed something to entertain myself.  I love to paint, but unfortunately I don't think I am very creative.  I can copy any one's work, but I can't come up with my own.  So I briefly thought about making millions through art forgery...but I would end up posting my own version of the Mona Lisa on here and then being arrested. 

So what is the big idea?  Pin cushions!!!!  I love to sew, but only small things because if the project is too big I get bored.  I love to match fabrics, but not enough to want to do another quilt.  I need something quick and easy that I won't wander off from halfway through.  But what should I do with many, many pin cushions?  Why sell them of course! 

I have bought all my little fabrics and embellishments and have managed to finish one pin cushion.  I also bought a book on how to set up my own business on etsy.com.  According to the book, I need a business plan, a way to do accounting, a business license, someone to file my taxes for me (I don't think TurboTax could get me through this one), a branding idea, apply for a state tax ID so I could pay my sales taxes in Virginia, a high quality camera for taking shots of my whisicle pin cushions on barn wood (a little homage to my fellow Regretsy readers), and then doing some difficult mathematical formula to determine a price.  I had already picked $10 out of thin air.  Apparently thin air isn't mathematical enough.  I also need to start a Facebook fan page (who will be a fan of pin cushions....really?) and start a crafting blog (not a blog full of nonsense like I already have). 

I thought I could just make some pin cushions and take pictures of them with my crappy break-up consolation prize camera and stick them up on Etsy and hoped they sold.  Apparently there is a little more to it than that.  I have already lost interest in my pin cushion idea. 

Now what?

Short post about nothing

So my sister invited me to an event next weekend.  Do you want to hear more?

Bingo-A-Gaga!

And what is Bingo-A-Gaga you ask?

It is a bingo night hosted by drag queens.  And how do you top that fabulousness?  You throw in the theme of Lady Gaga.  It should be a night filled with big hair, inch thick make up, and outrageous clothing (and men who look better in a slinky dress than I do).  And don't forget the bingo...it should be a night like no other.   

Rock lobster

You woul think someone who lives in constant fear of any form of cancer would take precautions to prevent it.  I believe dark chocolate is cancer, brownie bits are cancer, and I definitely can't forget the zit I thought was cancer.  In order to alleviate these fears, you would think that I would use SPF 150 religiously.

Nope.

That would make way too much sense.  I went to an outdoor festival yesterday and I probably should have put on some sort of sun screen before heading out.  For someone with skin whose natural color would rival Casper the Friendly Ghost, I should be using something.  Instead my legs look like I oiled them up with PAM for their day in the sun.  The rest of me is fine.  I did have sunscreen on my face and it maintained it's natural pasty white. 

My legs look like glowing red apendages.  It hurts to touch them.  It hurts to walk because that bends the skin.  It hurts to wear anything that hits below the knee.  It hurts to shower in anything besides ice water.  I walk around singing "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s to my legs: 

It wasn't a rock...it was a rock lobster!

Now to go take some more Tylenol and slather my legs with aloe....

Crazy trains and chocolate

A glimpse into the inner-workings of my mind (whether you want it or not)....

The other day I was sitting my office at work and a friend comes in to discuss some students.  At the same time I look down at my forearm...

As she is telling me what could have been very important news, I am now horrified by what I see on my arm.  There, unbeknownst to me, has formed a very large and scary mole.  I mentally run through the A, B, C, D's of skin cancer.  Asymmetrical?  Check.  Border all wiggly? Check. Color uneven?  Check.  Diameter larger than 6 millimeters?  Dunno, but I am sure it is close! 

I interrupt my friend with this terrifying news, "Look at this.  No, I mean LOOK at it! I have to call the doctor RIGHT. NOW."  I even run my finger over it to illustrate the fact that it is raised also. 

She looks at me, looks at my arm, looks back at me, and leaves.  She knows better than to derail the crazy train sometimes.  As I am googling my doctor's number I hit my arm against the desk.  My mole of death fell right off.  It also smeared a little bit...kinda like chocolate...kinda like the Hershey's Dark Chocolate that I had been nibbling on earlier. 

Oh.  Crisis averted.  For now. 

At least I didn't go to the doctor and pay the $20 copay for chocolate.

Automobile diagnosis routines

My car is about to roll over to the 100,000 mile mark.  I watch the odometer incessantly in case I miss the historic moment.  I plan on photographing it as well, even if I am speeding down the interstate.  That should go over well.

Along with its 100,000 miles of road underneath it, my car is starting to show its age.  I have whined already about the high cost of car maintenance (tires, timing belt, thingy that makes heat in the winter, etc.).  But things keep breaking on it.

My first car was a 1987 Ford Mustang (jealous?  Hmmm, neither was anyone else at the time).  Each time this fabulous machine developed a new noise, I would just turn up the radio.  If I couldn’t hear it, it wasn’t there.  The only way I would get something fixed was if it quit running (unfortunately this was not an uncommon occurrence).  I have grown a smidgen wiser and now whenever a new noise develops, I panic and diagnose my car with same fervor I diagnose myself with cancer on a daily basis.

The other day I was driving down the interstate and I changed lanes.  My right turn signal went “tikka-tikka-tikka.”  I know you are thinking “who cares?” but I cared because it usually makes more of a “doinka-doinka-doinka” noise.  I immediately swerved back into the other lane as an excuse to use my left turn signal to see if it went doinka or tikka.  I heard doinka, so now I had to swerve back into the right lane so I could listen to the other signal again for comparison.  Envision this...a car speeding down the road weaving in and out of traffic and tailgating everyone with chrome bumpers (so I could see my turn signal before each lane swerve to make sure they were both blinking at the same intervals).   I could imagine how this conversation would go with the police officer:

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Nope.”  I always answer this way.

“You were speeding at well over the speed limit and driving erratically.  Have you been drinking?”

“(uncomfortable laughter) Oh, no officer.  My right turn signal was making a tikka-tikka-tikka sound and it usually goes doinka-doinka-doinka.  I was listening to my turn signals and I would look stupid if I was just driving in one lane with my turn signals going on and off.”

“Ma’am, I need you to step out of the car and take this breathalyzer test.”

Thankfully, I determined at the end of my highly safe experiment that my signals are both making doinka sounds.

Next the airbag sensor light wouldn’t turn off.  I frantically texted one of my friends (at a stoplight!  I was being safe!) to see what he thought of this newest car development.  He asks me if the horn is working.  So now I am driving down the road randomly testing the horn.  Drivers were swerving to avoid me as I honked my way down the street.  At the next stoplight (because I don’t text while driving) I texted him back to let him know the horn was working and that I only caused one car to leave the road.  His response?  “Good, because without an airbag you will need your horn.”  Too bad hand signals don’t convey through text messages. 

Luckily my airbag light magically went off and I am considering it a miracle healing. 

I wonder what I will have to diagnose next?

For the birds...

I have had an absolutely horrendous week at work with no end in sight.  Therefore I was in a lovely frame of mind while driving home this evening. 

As I was hurtling up I-81, I noticed a little bird just sitting in the median. He was just hanging out, watching the traffic go by, just as someone might from their front porch.  I thought "he looks happy; I want to be a bird."  If I were a bird, I wouldn't care about deadlines and such, I would only worry about where my next worm was coming from. 

This led me to thinking about what type of bird I would want to be...not a bird that eats worms, that's gross.  A flamingo might be fun because they are bright pink, eat shrimp, and live in tropical locales. 

As I am thinking about how much better life would be as a flamingo, another bird comes swooping towards the car.  He hits the side of my car with a loud THWUMP.  The car actually vibrates a little from the impact and feathers explode into the air.

Hmmm, maybe I don't want to be a bird after all.....