Tuesday Tipday!

Man, I am tired! I don't know what's going on with me this evening, but when the clock hit two? I was done for. Unfortunately, I was still in my first digital storytelling class and still had to write my SLIFF movie wrap-up. I have never had a tougher time writing, I don't think.

Today's tip is all based on the day I've had. When you need to sleep, do it. When you need to slow down, do it. When you need to lock yourself away from the world and be alone, go ahead and get it done. You'll just make things worse if you wear yourself out, even if you think it's for all the "right" reasons.

Now, off to eat a cookie and sleep.

And...We're Old!

I had no idea things would fall apart this quickly. I mean, I much prefer getting old to the alternative (Death? Yeah, until we find a way to actually turn back time, death is the only other way...), but that doesn't mean it's not odd how our bodies can change so fast.

For instance? I can't stay up all night anymore. I know! It's super sad and shit! Well, really I can still stay up, but the aftermath is exhausting.

The last time HUBS and I spent the night awake was probably around April. It was fun; coffee and hot chocolate were imbibed, movies were watched and internet browsed. But, for the entire week after I. Was. Ruined. For the first time in months I had to sleep until noon every single day, and then after a few hours awake I was tired again.

Then, around August, we both discovered we were having difficulties making it to our (now standard) bedtime of 1 a.m. We had gotten in the habit of watching Craig and then drifting off to sleep. But now? We usually fall asleep on the couch by 10:30 or 11.

I suppose it won't be long now until we're eating dinner at 4 p.m., hitting the sack at 8 p.m. and starting our day before the sun does. Where's my Denny's discount?

Can anybody else feel middle/old age creeping up on them? What's it doing to you?

Again With The Food

An especially good meal. From September.

Summer. Hot. We've been having an early heat wave here in St. Louis, and aside from the fact that this means I've been carrying icy cold water with me whenever I leave the house, this also means the idea of cooking (on the stove, in the oven) makes me sad.

It's got me longing for my good old single days when I could just eat a bowl of cereal and a popsicle and be done for the night. With HUBS around? This will never do.

See, he needs meat. All day, all night; 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. If we're not eating sandwiches twice a day (lunch and dinner) this means cooking. On the stove. Or, God help us all, in the oven.

I am tired of cooking everything I cook. Rice. Pasta. Chicken. Pork chops. Steak. Sausage. Beef in its many forms. Vegetables. I just want to stay cool, y'all, but HUBS won't let me!

And don't mention fast food to me. Really. Or HUBS cooking. I'm sick of all the fast and semi-fast food in the city, and HUBS can only cook three things: pasta (blah), burgers (eh) and fries (we're about 75% potato now).

This house holds scores of recipes, it's not the preparation that's stale. It's the food. How, internet, how can I satisfy my meat lover and my desire to not cook during the summer? Advice please! Tell me!

Well...Ok

Yup. It's pretty obvious to me now - I think I'm depressed again. And I don't mean that random depression that comes when you think about something upsetting and then goes on its way when you watch your favorite tv show. I'm talking about the real, lasting depression that had me on Effexor for about five years.

Other than my anger/rage issues, I've also been feeling really overwhelmed. Even though I know in reality I barely do anything. I have three stories to write every week for my one freelance gig and two stories a month for the other gig. But...But I often feel like I have no time to do what I want or need to. There's this constant nagging in my brain to do a huge list of things, and thinking about this list makes me tired, saps whatever little energy I have and leads to me not wanting to do anything. So, often, I don't.

Last week during a moment of bright, shining clarity when I woke up in the middle of the night, I had a realization. What did I realize? I'm bored. That's right, I'm bored with my main source of income, writing bar/club reviews for an entertainment website.

I'm tired of the running around and the low pay and not getting reimbursed for the cash I spend on food and drink and having to put these excursions on my credit cards and racking up more debt and never knowing when I'll get paid or how much they'll decide to give me when I do.

This week, for instance, I'm doing a special on pies for Thanksgiving. The last time I did one of these holiday themed specials my pay was knocked down to $50 instead of my usual $100 because I didn't talk about enough different things. So, this time I asked my editor how many places I'd need to visit to get my usual fee. He said eight. One piece of pie from eight separate restaurants. Do you know how much running around that is? And how much money spending that is? For only 100 fucking dollars? Shit, I am tired.

And no matter how many jobs I apply for, I just can't keep up that hopeful feeling I had briefly that something with full-time money is around the corner. Just. Can't. Do it. I actually had another interview on Wednesday last week. During the interview the woman revealed that I would only get, at most, $7.75 an hour for this job. I'd wanted $10, which I thought was reasonable and already really, really shitty. It was a front desk job at a local YMCA; haven't heard from her and don't think I got this one either. Even though I have eight years experience handling front desk stuff.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be good for anymore. This whole process is demoralizing.

Hate.

Fit

I wish the title of this post referred to my firm inner thighs and tight abs, but unfortunately I'm talking about the kind of fit you have instead of are.

For a while earlier this year I was having a lot of these, throwing things and yelling and such. I had one again last night. This time, though, I hit HUBS in the stomach and when he said "Hey, what the fuck?" and backed away I threw a bag of crackers at him. Dammit.

Why did I get so upset? He'd just come home, right before 9pm, after saying he'd be home at 5:30 and then saying he'd really be home at 7:30. I had just finished eating without him (I hadn't had anything but toast all day; I tried to eat soup after I found out about the liver thing, but I think I was too worried to eat. So, after getting sick to my stomach I took about a 4 hour nap.).

I was mad that even though I'd called him and told him about the medical stuff, he didn't seem worried, or to care that I was worried. I was really hoping that he'd be home early so I could talk to him and be comforted and such. Plus? My computer keeps crashing and had just done so. So I wasn't able to get started on the story I'd been procrastinating on, like I'd wanted to.

It was one of those feelings like nothing is ever going to be right again. We literally never have any money for anything other than bills anymore, and are dangerously close to having no credit left either. We even had to take a cash advance from one of my cards last week to avoid getting overdraft fees in our checking account and to have some money for something. I really just can't seem to find a job. I put in four applications for retail places on Monday and no one has even called.

Nothing feels right. And, yeah, I was taking some undeservered stuff out on HUBS when I hit him, but I also feel like he hasn't been caring for me like he should. We've talked about this at least 3 times since I've been sick this month. I know he's been working insane hours to make overtime money for us, but when I was sick he still had to be asked and told to do things for me.

I mean, I got dizzy everytime I bent over and I still had to request that he do a little laundry. Do you realize how hard it is to go down a flight of stairs (to the basement) when you're weak and dizzy? He wouldn't so much as load the dishwasher without my prompting. Until I yelled at him. Got angry and told him to "help me dammit!"

Do you know he wouldn't even go get me a hamburger? Just a plain McDonald's hamburger. He didn't come out and say no, it was more like "Well, let's just wait and see after I finish this and we can go together blah blah blah." Fuck, I didn't feel like leaving the house. Basically, after a hard, long week at work he was finally getting to goof off online like he likes to and didn't want to deal with me (which he actually said to me, though not in so many words) when I asked him a whopping 4 hours later why he didn't just go get me a God damn burger already? Oh, and I happened to confront him about this when we were finally on the way to getting my burger, after I'd been hungry for, yes, FOUR HOURS.

I don't think I'm being outrageous here, to expect a little care from my husband when I get ill. Especially since I literally do everything for him when he's sick, and he gets sick A LOT. I even stuck by him when he got some flu-like thing a few months after we got together, when he thought he, wait for it...MIGHT HAVE AIDS. Yeah, and honestly, I think he deserved to get hit a little, though not for everything I hit him for.

This no-job-no-money-no-credit pressure is too much after 22 months of unemployment. I think we need counseling.

Things We've Done Recently

We have had an interesting time of it lately. Here's what's been going on...



1)On the first Tuesday of this month, I noticed a opossum hanging out in our neighbor's driveway in the middle of the day. And it freaked me out, I thought that's all we need now, opossums running amok during the day. Well, by the same time the following day, that poor thing was dead. I guess it was sick and disoriented and that's why it was hanging out during daylight.

2) Almost two months to the day after this, I found another cat left in the road in front of our house. HUBS was at work, so I had to dig the grave myself. I don't think I'd ever really used a shovel before, and I was not very good at it. A lot of that had to do with it being hot and me being very sad. I named her Sheila and put her in the little dirt pile left after we got the tree in the front yard removed. Our neighbor, Fred, saw me digging and when he realized why got very upset. He puts out food and water for the strays like we do. When I said that someone must have hit her with their car her responded angrily with "Who! Who hit her!" and I appreciated his seeming desire to find the person and make them wish they had driven more carefully.

Then, two days later on Saturday, after a night of really hard, ridiculous raining, I went to put out food for the strays and found another kitten in the street. It was all very dramatic; me running through our flooded front walk, out into the rain and picking him up. He was wet and cold and already long gone. I brought him into the house and covered him in our doormat until HUBS could find a spot to bury him. I named him Stanley. RIP Sheila 9/3/09 and Stanley 9/5/09.


Boat. Not as big as you may have imagined.

3) That same day we went to Grafton, IL to see life-sized reproductions of Columbus' Pinta and Nina in dock. I was too upset about Stanley and Sheila to have a good time. Also, we went with his parents. They thought I was just tired. I realized that every time I've seen them this year has been on a day I was already in a crap-ass mood about something else. God only knows what they think is wrong with me!

4) With three cat deaths in two months we (me, HUBS and Fred) were starting to think it was time to get some of the strays adopted. Fred and I made calls to the Humane Society of MO, but they don't pick up strays. Animal control will give out humane cages to catch the animals, but a) they only give you one at a time, and that would take forever around here where we've got about 30 cats wandering our street; and b) if they don't have room for them after getting a clean bill of health, they still euthanize them. None of us wanted that, so we're leaving the cats alone. I still can't decide if that's really the right thing, though. Ideas?


Manny and the freakish eyes.

5) Life hasn't been all bad. For a brief period of time last week, we adopted a praying mantis that was hanging around our windows. HUBS named it Manny, which could be short for Manuela if it was a female. It was odd how responsive it was. More so than any other bug/insect I've seen. If you looked out the window at Manny, his head would immediately swivel to look at you. And if you moved around in the window you could actually see his eyes following you. HUBS looked up some mantis facts and found out they have 5 eyes, can see 60 feet and their heads turn 180 degrees. Freaky! After two days Manny moved on (we hope none of the kittens got him) and now we kinda miss the little freak.

6) During one of my many times at the window watching Manny, I accidentally saw him poop. Don't ask.

7) In a break from watching Everwood Season 2 or Friday Night Lights Season 3, I looked out to make sure no cats were in need anywhere. I found a baby opossum and a kitten eating the remainder of the food I'd put out that day. That damn kitten just couldn't leave well enough alone, and kept trying to play with the opossum's thick, ugly tail while it was eating. Opossum baby was coming real close to attacking the kitten because of it, so I stepped outside hoping to scare them off. Uh, you know they both just stood there and stared at me, right? For like a full two minutes, before opossum baby finally ran away. Baby animal crisis averted. See how brave I am when I can hide most of my body behind our front door?

8) Last Friday night, on our way to one of my bar reviews, we saw a opossum get run over by a car. Now, let me just say that I am no opossum fan. They are creepy, disgusting looking and I've heard they're pretty mean. But, I don't want to watch anything suffer, and Goddammit that thing suffered. It was horrible to see. I'll leave it at that.

9) With all this death-of-animals stuff going on, I asked my mom last week if she thought it was some kind of sign. She believes in that type of thing and so do I. I mean, I was starting to worry that God, The Universe, Whatever wasn't getting through to me about something so they were using dead animals to get me to notice what the fuck ever I need to notice. My mom didn't think so, and that really helped ease my mind. It might sound crazy, but there you go.

10) Speaking of my mom, we went to a job fair together last Wednesday with one of my aunts. Mom got laid off after her brother died back in April and hadn't really been looking for work much yet, but heard that the companies at this fair didn't need to see people with degrees, which was good for her. Unfortunately, she got some misinformation. But we still got our resumes to the company she was hoping to talk with. And, I got lots of goodies from the company tables at the fair. Thank you Brown Shoe Company, I've always wanted a tiny pomegranate lip balm!

11) I also spent a day last week trying to help my mom get her room organized. See, she's become quite the hoarder of paper; she's thrown very little away for the past 14years. Her bedroom is filled with bags, boxes and baskets of old bills and mail. How did this happen? Oh, that's easy; it's my bastard father's fault.

See, back in 1994 when he left her, he bought over $3,000 worth of crap for his new place on their shared credit card...And then filed for bankruptcy. So, for years and years they came after my mom for the money. For things she never bought or even saw. She has been afraid to throw anything away for fear that if she couldn't hide from them anymore she wouldn't have the proof that she never bought that crap and shouldn't have to pay for it.

That crap finally fell off her credit report in 2002, but she can't stop saving things. When I went into her room last week I realized that she even has papers under her pillow and comforter, under the bed, in the closet and in the laundry room. I didn't know how bad it was. So I decided to help her get things straight. I was there one day from 10am to almost 7pm and we cleared out three baskets filled with old bills, receipts and pay stubs dated 1995 to 1998. We have a long way to go.

12)Last Friday our house was almost eaten by a woodpecker. I heard this horrible noise that sounded like someone was trying to pick open our locks, looked out the window and saw nothing. The noise kept coming, and it was freaking out Tux, too. I looked out again and this time looked toward the top of the door and found the bird pecking away at the door frame. I beat on the door and got it to leave for a bit, but it came back to the same spot and tried to make a home. Finally the thing got tired and went someplace else. Is that crazy, or what?


Miller, on the left, with her sister Harris. Miller is currently the only stray that likes to have us pet her.

13) Again with the death. I woke up Monday afternoon (that's right, I'm unemployed and loving the freedom) and saw a dead bird on the sidewalk. One of our favorite strays, Miller, eventually came and picked it up. I hope the bird wasn't diseased, I would hate for Miller to get sick and not be able to help her.

14) Do not believe the hype about ladybugs. When I was burying Sheila, one landed on my arm and bit the shit out of me leaving a nasty little bump behind. I am not happy with you, ladybug!

15) We have a bar stool in a corner of our bedroom where I keep a favorite pair of shoes. I went to put them on Saturday and found a cricket up there with its...Aw hell, I'm gonna say it, poop. What is it with us and droppings?


I'll have a special paw gun made if I have to, Sebastian.

16) And...Just a few minutes ago, I watched one of the strays (we call her Sebastian) fight a pretty big snake...IN OUR FRONT YARD. It wasn't just in the front yard, either. It was dangerously close to the front door. Sebastian kept getting tired and walking away to lie down for a bit, and every time I hoped she'd come back with a tiny little gun and blow that snake away. I watched her for over a half hour, and then ran around putting glue boards (thank you, Orkin Man!) down near every basement window, the front door and two openings around the back door on our deck.

Can I just say, internet, I'm tired of nature, death and shit. Absolutely wiped.

This Is What Happens When HUBS Is Stressed

So, this week has been insane for HUBS and I. Due to construction at the school he works for, he now has ONE FREAKIN WEEK to do THREE WEEKS WORTH of work. This have driven HUBS to severe fits of construction-man anger over the past month. And, because I am a lovely human being who didn't want to see her husband go insane, I offered to help.

On Monday we worked 13 and 1/2 hours (with meal breaks, of course). I was riotously exhausted that night but couldn't, for some reason go to sleep when I hit the bed. HUBS was pumped from getting a good start on all the work and tried to get me to sleep. Turning off the tv, turning on the tv, turning the tv volume down. At one point he put it on a Berenstain Bears cartoon on PBS and, apparently, I finally drifted right off after hours of torturous non-sleep.

Then, about an hour later, I got a poke in the shoulder from HUBS. He had something to tell me. I looked at him.

HUBS: (grinning wildly from ear to ear, eyes wide open and pointing downward as he lay in the bed staring at me) WHO'S GOT BALLS??!!

citygirl: (looking at the HUBS crotch, seeing nothing out of the ordinary) What?

HUBS: WHO'S GOTTT BAAAALLLLLS?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!! (maniacal giggling)

I didn't say another word. In fact, all I did was turn over and go back to sleep. But I remember thinking "This is how stress fucks with you? Really? God dammit!"

Let me tell you, internet, the next morning was quite interesting. HUBS had to take me out to breakfast for that one...

The Rule of 3s

My uncle, middle, at 18 and my mom, in the red, at 16.

Ok, I haven't written in a long time, and the seeming law of nature I refer to in the title is why. In the past month, HUBS and I have had three family members die. This is the tribute post I kept meaning to write. Every time I seriously thought about publishing it, someone else died. So, now that we've gotten to the magic number...Here goes.

My uncle Jerry died one month ago today, Sunday, April 19 2009. He was 60 years old and had at least 32 health problems (more than anyone in the family knew about). He had been home one day from the physical therapy center he had been in for about a month after having a serious set of heart attacks back in February. The abiding feeling in the family is that he knew it was coming and wanted to die at home.

Things he did:
- When my mom was 5 he hid her from the police when she hit a boy in the head with a baseball bat and knocked the kid unconscious. Jerry was 7 at the time.
- Had mostly white and friends at a time when there wasn't a lot of mingling between black and white people.
- Would tell you not to mess up his hair.
- Sat me and my two cousins in our grandmother's easy chair back in the '70s (when all three of us could fit in one chair) and played his guitar for and sang. He left me his guitar.
- Was the requisite cranky, dirty-old-man uncle (even when he was young), who would still do anything for you.
- Told my aunt, during my parents divorce, "If he (my asshole father) makes that baby (my mom) cry one more time I'm going to kill him."
- Literally kept track of every cent he ever spent. When we descended upon his house to try locating his insurance papers, we found boxes and boxes filled with old ledgers, receipts and cancelled checks. How much did he pay for that Domino's pizza on December 3, 1990? Wait, what was the cost of those cigarettes on June 21, 1977 again?
- Didn't believe in owning things. He bought a new car about every three years, and whenever he got close to paying off his house he'd take out a new mortgage on it. To him, if you didn't own anything, nobody could really take anything away from you.
- Made the two hour drive to get me from college when I had my nervous breakdown. Bought me Burger King on the way home.
- Dated one woman for 27 years and helped raise her daughter from a previous marriage, but never married himself.

HUBS' grandmother died almost a week later on April 23, 2009. She was 92. She had Alzheimer's and had declined rapidly in the weeks leading up to her death.

Things she did:
- Was the requisite cool grandmother.
- Told HUBS dirty jokes when he was a kid.
- Survived The Depression, when her mom left her and a couple of her sisters in a children's home. Her mom took her sisters home eventually, but never came to get her.
- Vowed never to leave her kids for any reason.
- She reportedly had a "spaghetti dance" which included lots of hip shaking and arm waving while the noodles were cooking.
- Was game for camping and canooing.
- Helped her husband build two houses.
- Was quite spunky and fashionable in her day.
- Always waved and smiled at me while she was in the extended care home, even though she never knew who I was.


I should have made her tea cakes more often.

My godmother's mom died the Thursday before Mother's Day on May 7, 2009. She was 95. She was the 7th of 14 kids. Only three are left now.

Things she did:
- Mothered all of her younger siblings, without prompting from her parents.
- Wanted to be a nurse, but there wasn't enough money for her to continue her education at that level. Her daughter and one of her sisters each became nurses.
- Studied cosmetology and did the hair of the sick and shut in.
- Ran a store with her husband and daughter (my godmother, when she was a kid) called The Three Nichols (their last name), that my mom went to as a child long before she and my godmother were friends.
- Said "And that is that!" when she was done having a conversation with you.
- Hated the St. Louis Cardinals baseball team. Forever.
- Hot combed my hair a few times when I was little.
- Loved jewelry, but still parted with one of her gorgeous, pearl clustered, gold rings to give me for my high school graduation.
- When one of her younger brothers came home from college complaining about how hard it was and how he might quit, she gave him $5 and told him to take his butt back to school.

We miss you all.

Easter Sunday

To my absolute horror.

I hope everyone out there who celebrates Easter had a good one this year. Especially since mine kinda sucked.

I was up early, trying to get some things done before HUBS and I had to leave for the two hour trip to his folks in mid-Missouri. I could have sworn we should have some cash in our account left over from his last paycheck. I looked at our account. Not only did we not have anything left over, there wasn't enough to cover all our bills until his next pay day.

We'd be about $400 short. Having already paid some of last months bills with one of my credit cards I felt absolutely desperate and panicked. I called the only person I could think to: my mom.

I called on the pretense of only wishing her a Happy Easter, just so I could back out of asking for money if I needed to. She asked how I was and I broke down. I told her about not getting unemployment for the past 6 weeks and that we had no money to pay our bills and that we've been living off my credit cards and that we never have money for groceries. Stuff I had been avoiding telling her because I was hoping it would get better; hoping it wouldn't come to this.

PT told me it would be ok and to stop crying. She asked how much I needed and I told her. She said to calm down and come over.

I didn't feel like putting on clothes, but I knew this unplanned trip would make us late for HUBS' parents, so I did. HUBS was still in bed, I told him I was running to my mom's, kissed him quickly and left. I cried most of the way there.

PT hugged me when I got there. And, I started crying again. Shit, it was days ago now and I'm crying again thinking about the fact that I'm 34 and married and had to ask my mom for money.

She gave us far more than the 400 bucks I asked for. I protested, but took it anyway when she kept counting money out to me. PT tried to cheer me up by telling me that everybody goes through hard times and that right now this is just what I need to deal with. She also revealed that she was without a job for 2 years in the '70s. I figure this was when she was still at home with my grandmother but basically grown.

I thanked PT a lot and left about a half hour after getting there. I cried on the way home, then put a large portion of the cash in the bank.

All of this is a long way of saying that my Easter felt totally fucked. I then had to go to HUBS' family and pretend to be happy that Jesus was risen and I was with his folks, even though all I wanted to do was scream and curl up into a little ball and cry myself tired.

How Could I Have Known?

How I feel: I'm stuck in a tree with my tail in the air and I'm flashing my big orange balls to the world.

Remember how I said I made a huge mistake last Wednesday, without any clue it was going to be a mistake? Well, not only did I not realize I was about to do something stupid, I actually thought I was going to be helping our financial situation. Here goes...

After calling Citibank (they still haven't called me back, by the way) I was feeling bold and decided to do something I'd been meaning to do for a couple months. I called our bank to see about lowering the interest rate on our credit card with them. The only reason we even have the card is because we kept overdrawing our bank account due to my unemployment and getting the card was the only way to have overdraft protection. If your account gets low, they give you a cash advance from the card to cover your checks/payments/bills/what-have-you.

So, this card now has an almost $2500 balance. We pay $20 a week and the interest rate fluctuates between 20% and an astronomical 65% (no, I am not exaggerating). Here, much to my dismay, is what happened:

citygirl: Yeah, I wanted to see if we could lower our interest rate.

credit card bank lady: Ok, let me ask you some financial questions.

ccbl: (after questions about our jobs and income) Alright, I can't lower your interest rate right now because you're only using the card for cash advances. But, I have to tell you that I did lower your credit limit to $2500.

citygirl: Ok...Wait...What?

ccbl: I had to lower the credit limit on the card. With your lack of income right now I can't justify having any more money put on this card. If things change you can always call and ask to have the limit raised.

citygirl: So...Wait. You're saying we now only have $84 left on this card, because you reduced our $8000 limit to $2500, which is right near our current balance. So we have no more cushion?

ccbl: Yes. I'm sorry, it's just not good business for us to have you use this card any more.

citygirl: Ok. Ok...Bye?

I think she may have apologized again before hanging up. So, let me break down what just happened. HUBS and I used to have a cushion if we were running out of money in our bank account to pay for stuff. Now...We don't. All because I just wanted to lower our ridiculous interest rate. That bitch at the credit card took away the cushion. Now if we overdraw our account it'll be just like old times: a $35 charge for going over + whatever the amount is we were trying to pay. Yay!

I managed to remain calm until I got off the phone. And then I started to panic. I called HUBS to let him know what happened and apologized, "How could you have known?" he said.

The more I talked to HUBS the angrier I got and the more I wished I had cursed out the ccbl. No, it wouldn't have done any good, but what did I have to lose at that point? I have literally been daydreaming, all week since then, about the things I should have said to that heifer. Times like these are exactly why God did not give me the power of a witch, because that woman would now be newly unemployed and homeless and if she has a husband he'd be unemployed too. Also, I think I'd make her bald and fat and toothless for good measure.

Holy Jesus, my heart is racing now thinking about it again. All of our credit cards are almost maxed out and now if we overdraw the account we'll just be totally fucked.

Nothing's Easy, Is It?

I did it. I went to bed Tuesday night at 1:15am, which is seriously early for me. The goal here is two-fold: cut back on eating at all hours of the morning by being asleep and start waking up earlier so I can get back on a normal, non-night owl schedule.

You know what happened, right? I set my clock for 11am and could not wake up. I didn't get out of bed until 1:30pm. But, I am undaunted, so I tried again last night. And, seeing as how I got up this morning at NINE O'CLOCK I guess going to bed pre-midnight-thirty finally did the job.

Now, do we take bets on how long it'll be until I need a nap?

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.