Monthly Archives: February 2012
From the Earth to a space station.
It takes a week to get there, even though this thing travels at approximately 125mph.
For me, it’s just scary.
The questions it raises..
Like, you expect me to hold *it* for a week? If not, where’s the bathroom for me and the 29 other people on board? What will that added weight, not to mention the *sanitary* issues do to passengers’ safety?
Look at that thing. That’s a mighty skinny umbilical from Earth to the station.
Suppose one of the *455,237 pieces of space junk orbiting the Earth at any given time slams into it?
What if someone develops claustrophobia? Or bubonic plague? Avian flu?
We are trapped people!
Which is why I won’t get on this particular elevator and am looking, carefully, at the control panel of every elevator I do get on – starting now, because you can’t be too careful – and if any of them list 10,000+ floors I am getting off.
I’m left wondering…why…no, really..why? Why, why, why?
*this may not be a real number, and may be based on my fear of space junk
On my forehead.
It must be.
Don’t you see it?
Waddayamean, “what sign”?
The one that reads – only batshit crazy need approach.
Then how do you explain my penchant for attracting batshit crazy?
Like the woman at the resale shop last week who told me all about her promiscous, f-bomb dropping, 27-yr. old crackhead niece and her equally f-bomb dropping 3-yr. old grand-niece?
And it took about five minutes for me to get a complete rundown of the situation.
All the while batshit was…well, twitchy…like she had ants crawling all over her.
Then, just when I’d given up all hope of leaving the store with my sanity intact, she walked me up to the register to check out.
Here’s how batshit does math.
“Okay, so that’s $5 for the toy, $4 for the backpack, and then $5 for the Nike t-shirt and $2 for the sweatpants, right?”
“Hmm..mmm” I said, trying not to make eye contact lest I get sucked back in.
She taps the numbers out on the register.
“That comes to $11 and then there’s the 20% discount and add tax and you get $9.18. Wait, that’s not right is it?”
Nope, it’s $16 minus the 20% which would make it $12.80 plus tax…but…oh no, I’m not answering any questions – so I smiled at her.
“I’ll just do it the old fashioned way, on paper.”
She proceeds to write down all the numbers and total them up.
“Huh..well, I guess $11 is right. Should trust the machine, shouldn’t I.”
I smile again, figuring if batshit can’t do math then that’s fine by me…and yet I’m left wondering how batshit managed to a) hit the wrong keys on the register and b) get the same wrong answer on her notepad.
Apparently weasel algebra or cat math is involved in batshit crazy. Either way, I don’t want to know.
It’s round-up time!
This week’s round-up is a bit thin…I’ve been busy, okay?
Monday – nuttin’…and I feel bad, so here look at some cute kitties:
I was so thankful, in fact, that I began quoting Shakenspeare on yo’ ass.
It was epic and left me with nothin’ till Friday, when I realized I’m just really boring.
And now I feel like I owe you something exciting, because..you know..ninja…
…that I am not that interesting.
I’m certainly not interesting enough to post witty/pithy/funny stuff ever day of the week.
Oh sure, like all of you I have my *moments*. Unfortunately, those moments are 1)random, 2)happen when I’m nowhere near my computer most of the time, and 3)are entirely dependent upon my ability to remember what I found so funny earlier when I am sitting in front of my computer.
So, yeah..I’m pretty dull and mundane about 90% of the time.
*looks at shoes, kicks rock, stubs toe..ouch*
*whistles a happy tune*
I have no point.
I frequently have no point.
It’s part of my charm.
..but, you wouldn’t have known it by the screams…
Sunday afternoon, my family gathered at my oldest daughter’s house. In town to visit was my niece and her family.
There were 10 kids and 10 adults in the house. The kids range in age from 5 days old to 8 years old.
All but the newborn were running amuck.
At some point in the festivities three of the little girls went upstairs to play dress up princesses and have a tea party.
We marveled at how the girls were so quiet and dainty and how the boys, who had remained downstairs, were flinging their bodies against the furniture, floor, uncles who got in the way, and each other all while screaming/laughing at the top of their lungs.
The newborn, safely tucked into a corner of the room, had no opinion. She slept peacefully despite the noise.
Then, a scream from upstairs.
And another, and another…each one increasing in hysterics and volume. Incoherent babbling followed, and then more bloodcurdling screams.
“Holy shit! That’s mine!” said Daddy to the newborn as he raced up the stairs, closely followed by Mommy to newborn.
The doors to all the rooms were shut, but it didn’t take long to figure out the screams were coming from behind the bathroom door.
It was, indeed, newborn’s older sister in crisis.
I reached the top of the stairs as her Daddy opened the door and rushed in.
He was expecting blood, missing body parts, impalement with glass slippers or something equally traumatic.
A moth was flitting about the lights in the bathroom and had sent her into hysterics.
She thought it was a wasp.
It was a moth.
As we realized what had happened a wave of relief flooded the adults and then the giggles set in.
The moth was dispatched, no doubt its last thoughts being “What the hell is wrong with these humans?”
She calmed down almost immediately and went straight back to the tea party.
The rest of us, well..it took some time before our heart rates returned to normal.
…and it’s called “fibromyalgia”….
No one knows what it is, where it comes from, or what causes it.
All we know is that this condition causes widespread pain. No, that’s not correct…I mean PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s pervasive, it’s everywhere.
I liken the pain to what you feel like as you are catching the flu..only without the fever, most of the time – though fever is an uncommon symptom, and one I often experience.
Breathing is painful, eating hurts, everything hurts.
Oh! And the exhaustion…like…like slogging through wet sand.
Wet sand, coated in molasses.
Up to your ears.
It’s awful, but the worst of it all is what’s known as “fibro-fog”. You literally think you are losing your mind. You can’t remember things..like did I eat? Where are my keys? Where’d I put the cat? Why is the cat in the refrigerator and the keys in the cat food? You know, stuff like that.
Which brings me to this post.
And the fact that I meant to post yesterday, but didn’t.
Yeah, because I couldn’t remember the name of my own web page.
I sat staring at my computer, unable to remember the name, and after attempting many times and getting the “Page Not Found” error, I figured my account had been deleted.
And then, yesterday morning, the “fog” began to clear from the latest (and worst to date) fibro-flare and I remembered.
Which is why I’m just now posting again.
You’d think I’d write it down, add it to Favorites, or something right?
Well, I will. Now.
…grandbaby that is..
She arrived @ 1:50PM on February 13th and is pretty, pink and healthy.
We are thrilled and I’m off for a few days taking care of big sister until Daddy, Mommy and baby go home.
….back in the day before we got all touchy-feely…
In the 1970’s there was a little oil company called “Tiger Oil”.
It was run by the perpetually pissed off Edward “Tiger Mike” Davis. Alas, the venture went bankrupt in 1980, but Tiger Mike left quite a legacy.
From hallway shortcuts to kitchen etiquette and bathroom protocol, this man defined micro-managing.
He also embodied his own nickname for himself: Son of a Bitch
And so, for the epic memos he wrote, I say thank you Tiger Mike. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.