H1N1---AKA "War of the Worlds."

Amazingly enough, things at the POC seem to be calmer than normal. I've been working all week, Corrie is wiped from being caught in traffic, Laura is staying in Fort Worth for the weekend, and the teachers are teaching. Even the pets are calm. Mollie has gotten exhausted from playing all the time (plus, her shock collar is here and I think the mere sight of it is enough to make her behave), Buddy has gotten bored of escaping under the fence, and the cats remain subdued because they are lazy.
But there has been a new development. Apparently, one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse has visited our corner of Texas, and plague is running rampant in our streets. It's supposed to be called the H1N1 virus, but because that requires using the shift key when I feel it unnecessary, I'm going to continue calling it swine flu.
James Herriot, the Yorkshire vet-turned-writer talked about swine flu in one of his books. He said (paraphrased, because I cannot find the passage to quote) "Modern vets don't understand how lucky they are. They should be getting out of bed every morning shouting 'Hurray! No more swine flu!'" He devoted chapters to the panic, destruction, quarantine, and other delightful endeavours that come from a diagnosis of swine flu.
Let me reiterate something about swine flu: The following categories are at risk from this or any infection:
THE VERY YOUNG
THE VERY OLD
THE IMMUNE COMPROMISED
Are you under five? Are you over seventy? Is your immune system weak? No?
THEN YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT FREAKIN' SWINE FLU! It's just the same as any other flu. Those of us in the medical community have been watching people sicken and die from regular old run-of-the-mill influenza for years, but do you see us running out to buy surgical masks during flu season? NO! Because common sanitary practices will pretty much keep you away from it.
The widespread "pandemic panic" has brought out an amusing side of humanity, not unlike the witch hunts of England and early America. If something new and seemingly unknown pops up, it immediately becomes the cause of EVERY PROBLEM KNOWN TO MANKIND.
I soon expect to see forwards like this in my inbox:
"PLZ FWD THIS 2 ALL UR FRIENDZ!!!! SWINE FLU, OR H1N1 IS EXTREMELY DEADLY! THE CDC HAS ISSUED A WARNING ABOUT THIS FLU THAT IT IS POTENTIALLY FATAL TO CONTRACT. REALLY, MY UNCLE'S COUSIN'S FATHER IN LAW'S NEICE TWICE REMOVED HAD A FRIEND WHO CONTRACTED SOMETHING THAT WAS PROBABLY SWINE FLU EVEN THOUGH IT HAD NO SIMILAR SYMPTOMS AND ALMOST DIED........"
At least we'll have a handy scapegoat for a while.
Too tired? Must have swine flu.
Headache? Probably the onset of swine flu.
Slight soreness in the legs? Oh garsh, better stay home, or you could be contributing to the wholesale spread of swine flu.
Overdraft at the bank? Swine flu!
Split ends? Danged swine flu!
Restless leg syndrome? Boo, swine flu!
Halitosis? More like Swine-flu-osis!
Low resale value on your car? Swine flu!
Static cling? SWINE FLU!
Shower mildew? SWINE FLU!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'm tired, and going to bed. In my swine flu-infested sheets.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

This has been a week of stupid. Not just normal stupid, like "I left the coffee maker on" or "I was ten minutes late to work because I lost my keys" or "I forgot to kill the chicken before I ate it." Nono! Because for me, apparently, normal stupid is not good enough! Apparently, God is so proud of how I handle normal stupid that He's decided to SUPERSIZE it!
Now, I've said before that I really don't want to talk about myself in this blog. This still holds true. But for various reasons that will become evident as you read, this had to go in the POC section.
Friday night at Homegroup, I was sitting on the floor as I am wont to do. The floor is so much more comfortable to me for some reason, even when the searing lower-back and sciatic pain starts. The couch just doesn't work for me. Violates my chi or something (Jen, forgive me for using your chi joke, it just fit in so well here). Anyhow, getting up off the ground, I felt my wrist pop a little bit. No big deal, happens all the time. Moved on with my life, didn't think anything else of it.
You see where this is going. Hang on, gotta tighten my wrist brace.
I've mentioned that Scarborough Faire is going on right now. Since it takes three women, a pair of neoprene gloves, and a freakin' TREE to get me, Jen, and Jeni Graves (another awesome friend that needs to visit the POC WAY more often than she does) into our costumes, we had all planned to meet up at Jen's apartment semi-early and head out together.
So my alarm goes off at 7:30. But before the soft, polite "meep! meep!" could wake me gently out of slumber, I attempted to jam my hand under my pillow and woke up.
"Ow...."
There was a pain in my wrist that was quite a bit beyond the normal "slept on it funny" pain. So I tried to flex my fingers.
"Ow!"
Okay, maybe I can get some more sleep and figure it out in the morning.
"OW! MOTHER OF BISCUITS OW OW!"
Okay, so, sleep is a no......
by this point it was 7:30 and time to get up. I was so determined not to be late to Jen's that I had showered and packed my stuff the night before, so all I had to do was brush my teeth, wash my face, dress, and go! Sounds good, huh?
NO!
First of all, everything took twice as long to do because my right hand was utterly useless. Now, I am left-handed, so I wasn't totally crippled, but you'd be surprised how many things it takes two hands to do. Toothpaste is an evil little invention, by the way. Takes two hands to squeeze and manipulate the toothbrush. Nevertheless, I kept trying to use that hand, hoping it was just some soreness that would work itself out. No such luck. The pain just kept getting worse and worse. But hey, I was running ahead of schedule, I could stop by Walgreens and get an ACE wrap, no problem! So I get ready to trundle out the door.
....Where's my phone?
....no, seriously, WHERE IS IT?
Corrie had to call it a dozen different times, because I, the genius, FORGOT TO TAKE IT OFF OF BUZZ! I can hear the little monster vibrating somewhere in the vicinity of my bed, tore apart my sheets, and found nothing. Well, with a car on the verge of falling apart on the road, not having a cell is NOT an option.
"KEEP CALLING, CORRIE!"
"Are you serious?"
"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!"
Then, I see a flash of light coming from under my bed. The side that's against the wall. That's right. Hurt wrist and all, I had to LIFT MY BED AND MOVE IT OFF MY PHONE!
Sometimes, you just gotta let the cuss words out. Holding that stuff in will give you cancer.
So, now I am in a tearing hurry, stop at Walgreens (thirty minutes late already), and make my way out to Jen's house. Between the loading and unloading, my wrist is throbbing, and I'm increasingly more mystified as to what this could be, besides a huge, peanut-butter flavored wad of OW!
Jen and Jeni got tired of my whimpering and made me go BACK to Walgreens for an actual brace. The brace worked like magic and took about 70-80% of the pain away. That fact was actually a cause for concern, since that started me thinking that it might be a stress fracture.
I got through the rest of the day okay, except for one stunning accident in the haunted house that caused me to CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL. Luckily, the medics at the front of the faire were nice and gave me a crapload of ibuprofen. But by the time I made it home I was in a lot of pain. Managed to get to sleep for only about four and a half hours before the pain woke me up. I was really worried by now, because the only thing I could think of that would cause pain like this would be a stress fracture, and since I don't have insurance right now, I CAN'T AFFORD A CRISIS LIKE THAT!!! AGH!
Despite that fact, I had to get Laura to take me to the ER. Poor, tired, "I just worked a twelve hour shift" Laura.
Just FYI, I may be a little impish in the hospital, but I am NOWHERE NEAR as bad as Laura.
FIRST she tried to put me on a bedpan.
THEN she pulled down the scopes and started looking in my ears. When the nurse came in, Laura actually JUMPED AND HID THE SCOPE BEHIND HER BACK!
When the words, "Ooo, I wonder what'll happen if I push this blue Code button" came out of her mouth, I near 'bout lost it.
I finally got Laura to sit down, and in walks the same doc that treated her for her fingers.
CRAZINESS!
So I'm waiting to see if he remembers us, and apparently I was looking at him funny, cause he raised an eyebrow at me. I raised mine in return.
"......what happened?"
"I dunno."
Not the answer he was looking for, I guess.
"You don't know?"
"Nope."
"....so why are you here?"
"So you can fix it." I could do this all day, Jefe.
"......okay."
He looked so confused, I took pity on him and actually explained myself, gave him the lowdown, the 411.
"Huh. Weird."
"I know, right?"
Did I mention this doc is kinda hot?
Oh, and he DID remember us. When he said we looked familiar, Laura held up her two injured fingers and yelled at him for not remembering us before. Have I ever mentioned how much I love Laura? He apologized, and apparently remembered me because I was "pretty funny." It's nice to be remembered for something.
Anyway, the x-rays made me cry. Again. I'm not a wuss, but by this point I was exhausted and stressed, had been put on a bedpan, and had light shined in my ears against my will, lost a staredown with a hot doctor, and was about to have to pay through the nose for them to tell me to keep doing what I had been doing until I felt better.
My spidey-sense always tingles when there are unnecessary medical bills being incurred.
So yeah, apparently I just ruptured a ligament. In Corrie's words, "I don't think there's any 'just' to that statement." I don't mean to sound ungrateful. A ruptured ligament heals much faster than a break. But a lot of people don't get that sprains can be more painful than breaks, and expect you to be able to get over it in a couple of days. Plus, all this fuss....for a sprain? GAH! I know how to treat a sprain! I didn't need the $200 ER bill! So when the cool doc stuck his head in to say that the x-rays were negative, my reaction was, shall we say...somewhat less than enthusiastic.
"Okay, it looks like there's no breakage, so more than likely you just blew a liga--"
"ARGH!"
"......."
"How stupid is this??"
"Hey, it happens. Lean on a joint just the wrong way at the wrong time, and it pops."
"*grumblegrumble*"

Now, three days later, it's sore but nowhere near as bad as it was. This is mostly because Darvocet is the coolest thing since peach smoothies. I'm guessing I should be able to get through tomorrow with just ibuprofen.
Thanks to the roomies for putting up with my drug-induced cackling....I promise I'm not doing anything stronger than pain pills. Thanks to the cute doc for putting up with my grouchiness. Special thanks to Laura for keeping me sane and giving me abovementioned drugs.

STUPID!!!!!!!!!!! GAHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This just in....

So I've been thinking about the POC identities, such as they are, and I've found I'm in danger of steriotyping the people in this house. I don't want to give the wrong impression---the people that inhabit this casa defy description. It's really given my literary skills a stretch to get them down on paper. Don't think reading this blog is tantamount to getting to know them. Come to our house and play for a while, and you'll see that I'm really just stumbling around and occasionally hit on a nugget of truth that may be funny. To be completely honest, they astound me every day with their unwavering faith, their honesty, and their love for anyone that darkens their doorway.
Don't get me wrong. We're all crazy.
But there's different kinds of crazy, and I think the POC et al may be the best kind.
Also, I'd like to issue a retraction on the post I made for the animals a few weeks ago. Buddy is not a pothead (OW! I said it! Leggo my arm, Lisa!). Buddy is a sweet doggie, but probably the most laid-back creature in this house. Really, it astonishes me. I wish we could bottle whatever it is he's got and use it for ourselves.

News Items:

• Mollie's pica disorder (look it up) is continuing at an unflagging pace. I sincerely hope she doesn't get her jaws on anything lethal. As it is, my cat's food seems to be the most delicious thing in the world to her, and my room is her FRIGGIN' SNACK BAR! AGH!
• Buddy has gotten out several times in the last week. It's getting a little nerve-racking. Seriously. Anyone know how to dog-proof a back yard?
• There was a "Tea Party" in Burleson Wednesday night. When Tonya and Lisa said "tea party" I was thinking, "Oh yay, cute old ladies in big floppy hats with crumpets." Yeah. Didn't know they meant more along the lines of THE BOSTON TEA PARTY! Taxation without representation, encouragement of government freeloading, and elimination of freedoms; these are all things that should be addressed. But I gotta say, all the confederate flags I saw and the "general lee" car horn that played Dixie Land made me a little uneasy. So did the story I heard about a law enforcement helicopter hovering over the area. Ever notice how many political rallies are perfectly peaceful until the po'po' show up? This one was perfectly benign, but people seemed kind of....twitchy.
• Michael is apparently suffering from zombie-death related to fatigue. What is wrong with you people? Sleep is your friend! It's going to happen whether you want it to or not. Don't fight it! Embrace the sleepy!
  
• I still think curling up on the trampoline wrapped up in a duvet would be the most nirvanic experience possible on this earth. Anyone want to have a duvampoline party? Let me know.
• Poor Corrie is apparently becoming weary of the extensive drive to and from work. Anyone know of a chauffer that wants to do some pro-bono driving?
• SCARBOROUGH FAIRE IS HERE! YAAAAAAY! For those of you who don't know, I am a massive dork that enjoys dressing up in costume and attending Rennaissance Festivals. if you want to come along, I've probably got stuff you can wear. I'm determined to get Lisa into either court wear or a gypsy costume, cause that amount of cute might just fix the hole in the ozone layer. Come play! It's fun, low-fat, and good for the environment.
• I got an e-mail tonight regarding a class-action lawsuit that was filed against Saturn on behalf of the owners of several vehicle transmissions, including mine! For those of you who don't know, I just had to spend upwards of $4000 on my car's transmission. Before you ask, that price is not a typo and I was not rooked. The transmission alone was almost $1500. Apparently, GM is no longer producing Saturns because of transmission defects, and I qualify to recieve a portion of my costs back. It may even be enough to pay off my poor blue baby and get a car that will actually get me to and fro.
• Laura is still here. We're very happy about that, but we know it can't last forever. Anyone who has ideas to sabotage her moving out, e-mail me at efergusonlvn@yahoo.com

I think that's all the news I have for today. I confess to not feeling very funny right now, due to several different stressors happening right now. But bed is always good. My mattress is stuffed with the down of virtuous geese, my sheets are woven from threads of awesome, and my pillows come straight from the Willy Wonka marshmallow division. Also, my cats have been specially trained to find misaligned and damaged areas on my body and curl up on top of or next to them to work as hot water bottles. When I turn my box fan on, I am basically in a perfect universe.
Okay, done now. Sorry for the utilitarian nature of the post. Next one will be about monkeys and electric toothbrushes set to Liza Minelli singing "Life is A Cabaret."
Over and out!

The following is a slightly jumbled chronicle of a slightly jumbled fifteen minute interval that took place in the POC tonight. Kimmy, one of the POC alumni (All hail her royal kimmyness! I think I have your old room, actually). She was over for book night, which I was unable to attend due to near-fatal fatigue. After the club meeting was over, Kim and Momzalez began conspiring over the computer and wound up at the kitchen counter with Momzalez showing Kim how to make a superb photo montage on keynote.
The following is a dialogue excerpt. It's only funny if you know that Beth G's maiden name is Ferguson, and my last name is Ferguson, and our family trees vaguely branch from the same backwaters.

Michael: Look at you go, mom! I can't believe you're showing Kim all this stuff! I'm so proud of you.
Lisa: You totally look like a Ferguson right now.
Momzalez: .....that's because I AM a Ferguson.
Me: What's wrong with looking like a Ferguson, Heifer?
Lisa: No, that's not what I meant!
MomZ: Oh yeah, I forgot about that...
Tonya: ....did you just call her Heifer?
MomZ: I guess you meant I look like your grandfather.
Lisa: Except he wouldn't have been smiling like you are.
Me: Momzalez is like a Keynote ninja!
Kim: Wait, I'm confused.
MomZ: *cures cancer with three well-placed keystrokes* no, do that.
Kim: Okay, can I show you guys my video now?
Tonya: You called her a heifer!
Me: These cookies are great! (nom nom nom)

Later, we all kind of oozed into the dining room (minus MomZ who had gone home with sweet Steph and the chubby mini-person), where we began two discussions: the first pertained to Tonya's foot, which she broke trying to step over Mollie and not break her foot.
Kim: Okay, so WHAT did you do to yourself?
Tonya: Well, I was trying to go up the stairs and Mollie ran under me (cue a long explanation which can be efficiently summarized by saying she tripped over the dog).
Me: ....Tonya, seriously? Sometimes it's okay to just step on the dog. She'll be okay.
Tonya: I know. Really, I love the dog. But I'm seriously hurting now, and I don't think I'm gonna sleep too well.
Corrie: You want some hydrocodone? Darvocet? Crack? Weed? H? (okay, slight exaggeration)
Tonya: ......Really?
Lisa: Darvocet is my FAVORITE!
Me: I had a friend one time that took Darvocet. He saw little green guys jumping around in loincloths.
Tonya: Why don't I ever see cool stuff like THAT?
Michael: ....You guys are TERRIBLE!
Me: Oh, hush, we know what we're doing.
Corrie: One or two?
Me: For Tonya? One now, one to keep by her bed if the first one doesn't work.
Tonya: *yoinks the pain pills*
(Editor's note: While we do not condone the sharing of prescription medication, particularly narcotic medication, I am currently Tonya's Home Health Nurse and responsible for overseeing her home care. Corrie is an ER nurse and knows how to dose people. No, we will not give you drugs, and no, we are not trying to turn Tonya into a drug addict. Poor Tonya has gone through a lot of pain with no meds whatsoever. Give her a break. And to be completely honest, she probably has an unused script for Darvocet floating around).
Back to our regularly scheduled program.....

The second conversation was regarding a duvet that poor Buddy pooped on some time ago after a bout with chocolate poisoning. We were scared to wash it, as a) we didn't know if it would destroy the down filling, and b) we didn't know if it would even fit in the washing machine. Of all people, it was Lisa who finally bit the bullet, got down to business, and charged into the laundry room with a plunger in one hand and a bottle of Resolve in the other.
Lisa: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Tonya: Go, Lisa. I have faith in you. You can do it. Yay. You're doin' great.
Lisa: *unintelligible grunting* I need some help with this!
Tonya: *leaning against the wall with sore foot propped up* Nah, you're doing find. I have faith in you. You're doing great.
Lisa: ARGH!
And with that she ran out of the laundry room. I attempted to take over, with a gutteral "MORTAL KOMBAT!" scream and managed to get the rest of the comforter in the machine. Amid several more episodes of freaking out, we managed to get the machine started. But a few minutes later, the most ungodly clanking noise started issuing from the room. Lisa slipped inside to check on the machine, but quickly ducked out again, shut the door behind her, and held her back to it as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were on the other side and could somehow be thwarted by the weight of the door plus her butt.
Lisa: Do NOT go in there!!! *CLANKCLANKCLANK!!!!!!!*
Me: But....the noise..............
Corrie: That bad, huh?
Lisa: It's frightening.
Me: The noise is really loud...........
Corrie: Just re-balance the load, Lisa!
Lisa: I'm not going back in!
Me: *whimper* noise!
Corrie: Someone do SOMETHING!
Michael: Pollen! That's what stained my shirt!

So I think the duvet is washed now, but we'll see.
Meantime, I'm sleepy.
Night!

When you leave the laptop unattended too long...

Okay, I think it's time for the animals to speak out. My name is Trippy, and I'm a cat. I know, I know, I was just declawed and I shouldn't really be typing, but Old Lady has arthritis, we can't find Buddy, and Mollie just keeps gnawing on the screen. She never could spell, anyway. I and the others (we, the cats, have a brief and uneasy truce with the dogs, the reason being that we felt it was time our collective voices were heard) are, after all the important ones here. Sure, the people might pay the bills, buy the groceries, and clean up after us, but consider it this way: If someone saw to all your needs, cleaned up your messes, and gave you affection and praise any time you wanted, what would you think: that they owned you, or that you owned them?
Now that we're clear, I'm going to take time out of my grooming regime to express some things, and I will write for the others as they follow suit.

Trippy Speaks:
Let's address this declawing issue first. I'm not mad. Really, I'm not. Oh, I wasn't happy about the hospital visit. The vet was cool, but the vet tech smelled like Armor-All. But I couldn't help the clawing, and (gauche as the ottoman was) I know it's not polite to destroy other people's furniture. If an alcoholic could have a surgery that would cure him of his alcoholism, don't you think he would take it gladly? Thank you. Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you something about my mom...she really spends most of her time trying to figure out what's going on. She hides it okay, but half the time when she's in here she's just sitting on her bed or a pile of pillows with a REALLY confused look on her face. Tonya is okay. I know she hates me, but nobody's perfect, and she usually leaves me alone. She did push me off the sofa a couple of weeks ago. That's all right, though, I pooped in her shoes. Can't wait for her to find THAT in a couple of months. Lisa and Laura are great. Corrie is okay, but I don't think she likes me much, and there's something funny about her....aren't humans supposed to be taller than cats?
Anyhow, it's time to let the others talk. As a sidenote: I'm going to render these dictations as faithfully as I can. I may have to take some liberties with grammar and punctuation.

Old Lady speaks: Huh? You want me to WHAT? Oh, right, the computer. Listen, I got something to say to ALL of you....I may be old as dirt, but would it really be so much to ask for you to dangle a string every so often? In my day, a cat couldn't walk two feet without some moron throwin' a ball of yarn or ringin' a stupid bell. Now we've got these new-fangled automatic feeders, and the dang dumb dogs runnin' around like they hold the dang patent on stupid. Who ever said a dog was man's best friend oughta be spayed. And that's another thing! I'm pleased as punch they got Bob Barker off the air. Same catchphrase for the last 700 years, same suit even! Maybe they shoulda made him retire and kept the suit. HA! Where was I? Oh, right. I don't see much of anyone, 'cause I got this trick hip, and it takes me about thirty minutes to sit down. I mostly just stay on the bed. That girl that takes care of me, she's an idiot. Gets all mad when the alarm clock goes off and she's still tired, but it takes an act of congress to get her in bed. She ain't all that busy, either. Know what she does when she's holed up in here? Reads webcomics. That's right. Reads webcomics and watches YouTube. I don't hold with all this webcomic nonsense. I like Garfield, is what I like. I also like that Dave boy that comes over sometimes. Good boy, he is. Stops by and sees me like he ought to, respects his elders, like. Knows where to scratch, stays away from that arthritic joint in my tail stub. You know, I lost that tail in the Scratching Post Riots of '96...
Editor: Aaaand, we've lost her. She's going to sit under the coffee table muttering to herself for a while, now. We might not see her for the rest of the night if she dozes off. Let me see if I can find Buddy. He's should be done with his joint by now....I mean....................................

Buddy Speaks: Whoa....wait, did I just say that out loud? Maaan, I had some killer chocolate today. I'm gonna be poopin' blood for a week. Heh, gonna freeeeeeeeeeeeeak out my moms. Ate some ketchup too. Ke.....ketchup? Catsup? Caaaaaaaaaatsuuuuup. HA! Cat, 'sup? HA! Whooooaaaaa. Everything's real significant right now. Whoa. You know, they say that Erin broad couldn't pass that test....they say she's a druggy. I've been watching her, and I can tell you, she can't roll a joint to save her life. Swear, I don't even wanna touch her. Don't want my rollin' mojo to get sucked out. But danged if she don't make a grab at me every chance she gets...tellin' you, ladies can't get enough of me. They can't get enough of the Budster. Heh. Buds. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, where are you goin' with my stash? My dealer's outta town, I can't get more until....whoaaaaaa, you shouldn't spin in circles like that....

Editor: And he's out. He'll wake up with the munchies in a couple of hours. We tried to slip Mollie some Ritalin, but I don't think it worked. Let's find out.

Mollie Speaks: HI EVERYONE I JUST WANTED TO SAY HOW GREAT EVERYTHING IS HERE I HATE GOING TO THE VET BUT THEY'RE SO NICE THEY ALWAYS GIVE ME TREATS YOU KNOW PILLOW FLUFF TASTES KIND OF LIKE EATING CLOUDS ONLY SOMETIMES THE THREADS GET STUCK TO MY TONGUE AND WON'T COME OFF MOM SAYS THEY'RE BAD FOR ME YOU KNOW BUDDY SMOKES WEED THEY SAY THAT'S BAD FOR YOU TOO BUT I JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS ESPECIALLY WHEN MOM IS TRYING TO GIVE ME MY ANTIBIOTICS LOOK THAT THING OVER THERE IS SHINY AND PRETTY HEY DOUBLE A BATTERIES TASTE KIND OF LIKE PENNIES DID YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE A TUMOR UNDER MY NECK BUT ITS KIND OF SQUISHY AND I WISH I COULD REACH IT TO CHEW ON IT I SURE LIKE SQUIRRELS BUT THEY ALWAYS RUN FROM ME MY MOM AND I ARE THE SAME HEIGHT LOOK A BUNNY!

Editor: Um, Mollie? That's a....that's a shoe. Mollie? That's Tonya's sh....okay, never mind. Let me know how that shock collar works out for you. Okay, so I think that's everyone, sans the troll that lives in the closet under the stairs. I think all I have left to say is: Is it really necessary to vacuum so much? I know you humans have an obsession with keeping everything "sanitary" but the truth is, IT'S LOUD! Try cranking up your hearing a couple of notches and see how much you like that sound. And the headlight on the front? What's up with that?
Okay, I better go before I start sounding like the old lady.
Sincerely yours,
Trippy.
P.S. Spare a can of tuna every now and again? Maybe some Spanish olives? Oh, and Buddy wanted me to ask for some brownie mix.
P.P.S. I'm pretty sure he shouldn't have any...but we may wanna try giving hash brownies to Mollie.
Okay, bye!

Back away slowly....

This is probably the least formal blog I've written to date. My contacts are also dry, and I can barely see the screen. Should blind people type? I can't see anything dangerous about it. I can't see anything at all. HA!
Coming home to the POC when everyone is home is a lot of wonderful things. It's uplifting, energizing, and loving. But the one thing it is NOT is relaxing. That has to wait until at least one of us has gone to bed. That seems to kind of break the cycle of crazy that tends to permeate our gatherings.
Now I present to you:
Five weird things that happened to me when I came home tonight.
1. Corrie was standing at the back door. The only reason that was weird is that there was thunder and lightening going on outside on par with a Thor temper-tantrum. I'll never understand the whole "standing outside watching the storm" obsession. I can enjoy a storm just fine from inside where lightening is less likely to strike, thank you. A good summer cloudburst is one thing, but when electricity and piano-moving noises start coming from THE SKY, I gotta draw the line.

2. I stopped by Kroger on my way home, and picked up two of the Miso noodle bowls I've been into lately. On my way through the kitchen I threw them down on the counter. Michael thanked me. Way to have some manners, but seriously, dude, BACK UP OFF MY NOODLES!

3. The pile of trash bags in the garage is LITERALLY as tall as me. Awesome. And there's a bar stool in there for some reason. Double awesome. What else is in there that I didn't see? Pterodactyl fossils? The missing link? Paris Hilton's sense of taste? A dead sturgeon? A dead surgeon? I hate it when we miss trash days. The way we generate refuse, it's almost like five women live here.

4. There's foliage in the garage. I don't mean some lawn clippings or an old Christmas tree. I mean SIX FOOT TALL PALMS. Freaky....it was like Birnam Wood was advancing on the Kia, getting ready to storm the POC (don't get the reference? Shame on you! Read your Shakespeare). There were a couple of Ivy plants, I think. Also, that venus flytrap thing from the Little Shop of Horror was yelling at me to feed it. I just threw some organic marshmallows at it. If I can't eat meat, the creepy little shrub in the garage sure isn't allowed to.

5. Did you know that when Laura has her face pressed against a glass surface, it amplifies her already impressive voice like, sixty times? Corrie still can't hear out of her left ear. I shudder to think what would happen if I did that...Armageddon? Bone fractures? Another Resident Evil movie? Or maybe it would have the opposite effect, and cancer would be cured. Cool!

I spend half my time at home trying to figure out what the heck is going on with these people, and the other half trying to decide if I should try and extinguish that thing that's on fire.
Which brings me to Molly. We have previously discussed Molly's somewhat questionable IQ. But really, this dog has GOT to get some kind of smart-infusion or she's gonna die. Over the weekend she ate so many objects that were never meant to be eaten, I'm shocked she still has teeth. One of these objects was a AA battery that bent in half and yet, somehow, did not break. Another object was an electric trimmer with actual razors inside that somehow missed cutting her mouth. I guess God really does protect children and idiots. Technically, Molly is both!
The crazy part about all this is that when you find said destroyed object, and yell Molly's name out of a visceral instinct that says if you say her name loud enough, it will re-cohere the object, she runs up to the scene of the crime and grins (I promise you) up at your face like she's just done you the world's biggest favor.
It's kind of heartbreaking that you have to discipline her for it.

Anyway, I can't talk. My cats are no better. My eleventy-billion year old cat somehow finds it much more convenient to take her business behind the sofa than the litter box.

....what was I saying?

Walkin' on, Walkin' on broken glass!

Just an FYI to everyone, coming to the POC is dangerous.
Shattered glass happens regularly, usually on someone's person. Corrie learned that via a gash in her foot. The rest of the roomies have been a little more lucky to be exempt from the slashy, bleedy kind of education. Michael almost had the worst kind of education via a broken glass measuring cup in his lap, which Tonya had to hoover up while I helped him pick slivers out of his palms. Yeah, THAT was about twenty different kinds of awkward.
But shattered glass and band-aid cuts fail to hold a candle to the epic legend of Laura and the Juiced Fingers.
That's right. Laura juiced her fingers.
It all started one night while Lisa and I were winding down after a long day of work, and Laura was winding up for a long night of child-healing. She was about to leave for her shift, when she uttered the fateful words, "You know, I think I want some grapefruit juice."
Now, two items in her defense: Number one is that the juicer we have has always looked kind of evil to me. Sometimes it laughs in that strange Mephistophilic voice, and every now and again I'll swear two glowing red eyes wink at me from the counterspace it has occupied since the dawn of time. Also, I think it reads Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't tell me any wholesome creature makes a habit of reading that rag.
The second item is that she was actually trying to hold the blade guard on when it happened.
I'll also say this for Laura, she may be a sonorous firecracker at all other times, but when she is in pain and bleeding profusely on the kitchen floor, two of her friends, the dog, and most of the food, she is silent as the grave. Truly, it was eerie how quietly it all happened. All I heard was the juicer sticking slightly. Laura clutched her hand to her chest and ran for the sink. Lisa and I looked at each other, and I think at that point we both realized that this was NOT going to be a "stay in and eat bonbons" kind of night.
In reply to our urgent inquiries to her wellbeing (that, considering the squirting blood were really kind of frivolous) Laura produced the last two digits of her left hand. They were still attached, but both fingers from the end joint up were more or less ground chuck. And they were kind of....droopy.
At that point I think I said something along the lines of, "Hokey dokey, time to give 9-11 a little ring..." I was halfway joking, but really all I could think was, "Holy crap that's a lot of blood..."
Lisa found paper towels, we loaded Laura into the car, and I took off for the ER.
About ten seconds later, I pulled back into the driveway to run in and ask Lisa where the nearest ER was.
I would rather not describe my driving on the way there. Some things are best left to the imagination. A fiery car-chase would probably not be too far away from reality.
Luckily, they had a good staff there along with a VERY attractive doctor. He was totally into me. Anyway, poor Lisa could only stand it for about twenty minutes before she came to join us at the hospital. The X-Rays showed that the end digits on her ring and pinky finger had basically been finely ground into pesto sauce. Fortunately, there was a plastic surgeon on hand (hurr hurr, that was a funny punny). While he stitched up her fingers, I argued with him that Star Trek: The Next Generation was CLEARLY superior to the Original Series with Kirk and Spock. All three of us debated relative merits of the new Star Trek Movie. Laura kept asking for more lidocaine, Lisa tried to get me to let the surgeon focus, and Tonya kept desperately trying to reach someone via phone to find out HOW IN THE WORLD her juicer had killed Laura.
With a ridiculously large bandage and splint on each damaged finger, Laura allowed Lisa to tow her home. After a long and somewhat uncomfortable errand to CVS to obtain Laura's pain medication, I likewise headed in that direction. There I found all the POCers, minus Corrie who didn't exist yet, waiting with obscene amounts of food. Thanks, Mama Claire, for invoking the age-old female law: When in doubt, apply food to the wound.
To wrap up the story, Laura's fingers are now awesome. Although I believe the ring finger is still minus a fingernail, it's hard to really tell.
And we have this AWESOME blog! Let it serve as fair warning to all...don't trust sharp or breakable edges in this house. Especially not those that move of their own free will and read Cosmo.