Happy Birthday, P.T.!!

Mom, before me.

Today is my mom's birthday, you guys. She's 58 years old now, and can I just say again...I worry about her?

I know I've regaled you with tales of her taking care of my grandmother and, because of it, not really caring for her border-line-diabetic-high-blood-pressured self. But let me tell you what happened yesterday.

HUBS and I planned to see her Sunday to wish her a Hap-Happy and hand over some souvenirs we got from SC for her. I called to see what time would be good and suggested we bring some lunch over for her and the grandmom. Mom was enticed by the idea of Chinese food. She particularly wanted ham fried rice from the place we took all the parentals when they first met. Cool, right?

So, about a half hour before we left I tried calling in an order. Unfortunately, they weren't open for another two and a half hours. Ok, I thought, no worries. I'll call the place down the street that HUBS and I love. Except, they're not open at all on Sundays. As a last resort, I tried another Chinese place we like, but that's a bit out of the way...no go. Those fuckers weren't open either.

None of this was that big of a deal. I was upset that mom wouldn't get her fried rice, but I figured I would just call her and she was sure to want something else. Here's why I'm worried, you guys, my mom was nearly brought TO TEARS at hearing that she was not getting ham fried rice. I mean, holy shit, folks. How small does your world have to be to cry at the possibility of having to cook.

I tried to make it better. BBQ? No, might upset the delicate balance of my grandmother's limited diet. Burgers? We eat those too much. Pizza? I don't think she can chew it anymore, plus I just had one Friday. Then my mom nearly broke down: I thought for once I wouldn't have to cook or go get anything. I don't know what to do anymore. She's tired of everything I make and everything she can have.

Crap. Shit. Crap. Crap. Shit! Now I felt horrible for making a cool it's-your-birthday-tomorrow suggestion and wished I had never done it. Mom managed to recover by telling me to just get the Chinese from the mall (you guys have a Panda Express near you, right?). Which is exactly what we did, because dammit, mom was getting her fried rice!

I wish I could make it all better. But I really don't know how.

Red-Haired Temptress

Oh, God, y'all. I think I love Kathy Griffin. Have you ever watched My Life on the D List? Or seen her do comedy? Well, I never paid much attention to the woman until our honeymoon. HUBS was having an off day, not feeling particularly touristy and wanting to stay in the hotel and chill a bit. This was totally cool with me because a) it was a hot-ass bitch in South Carolina in July if you weren't under an umbrella on the beach and b) we don't have cable at home, so I finally had more than six channels of nothing to flip through.

In my rabid flipping I came upon a marathon of D List on Bravo. I was immediately taken by how goofy and honest she was. Although, if being on the D List in Hollywood gets you a fucking HUGE mansion like that...well, I think that might not be all bad. I bet Kathy has more than THREE closets in her house.

About a month after we got back from the vacay, I looked her up on You Tube and watched a marathon of her comedy specials. Freakin' hilarious. Then, a week ago Friday, I woke up at 4:15 in the morning to pee and couldn't get back to sleep. I started watching more D List on You Tube and guess what? I was transfixed. Get this, I literally spent NINE AND A HALF STRAIGHT HOURS watching her show. I only got up to eat and pee more. The only think that broke my stride was taking a shower at 3:30pm.

By the time HUBS got home around 6, I had already collapsed into the bed. All laughed out and ready for some serious sleep.

Why do you lure me with your devilish siren song, Kathy? WHY?

What Have I Become?

The yellow car is the culprit.

Oh my God, you guys. I was going to tell you about last weekend for my next blog post, but what happened last night is much more interesting.

HUBS and I were on our way out to Qdoba for dinner. We had a two-for-one coupon and were very excited about the prospect of a semi-cheap din-din. Since HUBS had just gotten home from work, he requested that I drive his car, which I did.

So, we were almost on the highway when I noticed a spider on my window, right near the top where it was open a little. Now, if you remember, me and spiders in cars do NOT GET ALONG. I'm busy trying to drive so I can't kill them and I hate that. I feel powerless to stop the infestation, and me no likey that.

I started to freak a some, but not too bad. It was small, and not a black widow or anything , so not that immediately terrifying. HUBS tried to help me out. But, instead of grabbing one of the million-and-one napkins on his side of the car and killing it, he tried to flick it out the window. This, my friends, is when ALL TOTAL HELL broke loose. Our nemesis the spider DID NOT get sent outside.

IT FLEW INTO THE CAR. IT. WAS. ON. ME!

I find it really hard to explain what happened next. We were on the highway and I was driving and I saw the enemy land on me, but did not know where. I began to panic. And not a little "Oh crap!" kind of panic, but full-on panic attack type panic. Really. I immediately started to cry. And hard, too, people. Tears are streaming down my face, I'm shaking and screaming and cursing and acting like a total punk.

HUBS' initial reaction was to giggle a bit. I don't blame him, though, because I was acting so crazy that he thought I was overacting for effect. When he saw the tears, he knew what was up - I was a lunatic and needed to be calmed down before I killed us both.

Two things made this worse: There was no shoulder, so I couldn't just pull over. I had to wait for the first exit and find a place to stop. Also? I knew I was acting insane, but couldn't stop it. I would start to calm down, then think about the spider setting up shop in my hair or clothes or large intestine and begin to freak! out! again!

This ordeal only lasted about 5 minutes before I could pull over in a parking lot, but it felt like an eternity. I ripped off my sweatshirt (thank God for tank tops) and eventually HUBS found and killed the spider, which was on the back of my seat. As you can imagine, he had to drive once we finally got back in the car.

I have no fucking clue what happened to me! It's not like HUBS purposely threw a tarantula or a bucket of brown recluses on me. It was an accident! And a small, basically harmless spider! And I lost my mind with the shaking/crying/screaming travelling show.

The last time I acted like this I was in college and depressed and lonely and self-hating. HUBS thinks this might have something to do with "the store closing" soon. But I have never gotten this bent out of shape about anything just because of my monthly.

Holy crap. I hope this ain't a trend.