Squeezed and pulled and hurt my neck

I live in my house again. This is enjoyable.

The parasite wants out. I have mixed feelings on this topic.

The cat still needs shaving. She has very well-articulated feelings on this topic, which is why it's not done yet.

Posted 4:24 PM by Licketysplit

Baby I'm your one and only

Even though someone warned me that a killer tsunami (as opposed to a friendly, helpful tsunami) is supposed to cripple any land mass touching the Atlantic today, I still managed to get a pedicure. I chose a shade called "Tacky Whore."

Ethicist, will this color make my parasite retarded? I know talking to the pedicure lady for an hour almost obliterated my few remaining brain cells. When she left the room to let my feets marinate in a brimming pool of pathogens, I read US Weekly and felt an immediate IQ boost. She was not my regular lady, let's just say. And there is but a short list of ladies I can stand anyway, so this was decidedly non-ideal. This is a problem that could only happen to me, or possibly someone from "My Super Sweet 16."

Then I had to take my gaudy trick-turning toes into the waiting room, and the local biddies grilled me about my house I don't live in. Word gets around. I'm over the house, see. I didn't like it that much anyway. But the way that unscrupulous snake dealer nearly thwarted my grand entrance and forced me to find a replacement snake at short notice? That was too damn much.

Posted 6:08 PM by Licketysplit

Zero tolerance

Our own problems are always the worst, right? I am an angry wolverine, ready to bite the next person who says they've had a hard day when what they really mean is "They were out of toasted coconut iced coffee at Dunkin' Donuts."

Whatever. At least I can poo, even with a parasite attempting to force all my internal organs up into my left arm somewhere. There are people in this world who don't poo, you know. Poor kids in China. We'll always have regularity.

My mother sadistically gave my email address to an aunt, and that aunt has been bombarding me with religious spam. Funny, right after this started, I GOT FORCED OUT OF MY HOUSE. Thanks, St. Theresa. Today's installment slipped past the junk filter, and it also contains a gem about her grandson's neck fold staph infection and her son and "his use of coffee grounds to grow beautiful blueberry bushes in his yard." My cup, my cup, my cup runneth. Over. And around. And through. Behind and before. My cups actually leak now. That's another problem for another day. The solution is a humiliating system of bra stuffing.

How many more disgusting things can I put in one post? I am dying to see what the sponsored links comes up with to go next to this one. Speaking of which, I am so glad I am monetized. No fair that you get to enjoy my bad mood for free!

Posted 10:33 AM by Licketysplit

Homigod

Housing situation still non-pleasurable. Living in hotel for another few weeks or so. Back story complicated and irritating. Short version: flood, munged up utilities, possible negligence on part of builder, city, who knows. Parasite due to arrive: whenever she wants, at this point.

But but but but....I do not have this Disgusting and Terrifying Skin Disease! SRSLY. Read that article, watch the video, visit the foundation's website, and prepare to think about never touching another surface again.

Posted 7:24 PM by Licketysplit

It's No Good, reports Depeche Mode

I am still not allowed to live in my house. This displeases me.

Yesterday I was debating weeping or going to the post office, and my sister helpfully suggested that I go to the post office and weep there. This turned out to be just the ticket. Thanks, ethicist! Everyone else was already weeping, even the employees. And after filling out a few forms and showing ID and a little ankle, I am allowed to pick up mail today.

Is it possible to get PTSD from sheer inconvenience?

Posted 11:17 AM by Licketysplit

Landshark

Today I saw a beaver and some snakes. And a capsized boat. And people who labor under the illusion that one may successfully drive a car in deep water.

Our private island looks better. You can see the tops of the tires of the Honda Element left in the parking lot now. The mechanical room is hosed, and they have to fix all the utilities before we can move back in. The building overlords say people will be escorted to their units on Thursday or Friday to survey any damage and get more belongings. Someone asked who might be doing the escorting, and I had to admit that this puzzled me as well. High class hookers, I hope. The kind who went to Harvard and can pass for your girlfriend.

Posted 7:42 PM by Licketysplit

Checks and balances

Minus: The local water supply has been contaminated. The grocery store is out of bottled water.
Plus: But there's plenty of Perrier!

Minus: Mr. H and the cat and I are exiled. Some of our stuff is in our cars. Some of it, such as the couch, is on top of the kitchen table back at our brand new scuba lair.
Plus: At least we aren't That Guy.

Posted 4:15 PM by Licketysplit

Would you rather

A) Sort through three boxes of wires and cables that you've dragged along on the past two moves because Mr. H thinks they might be important

B) Deal with a client who says "Lighten this image," and then turns around and says "No, I want it back the exact same way it was before."

C) Interview pediatricians

D) Induce a diabetic coma with fun sized Three Musketeers bars while watching a saved America's Next Top Model episode

Posted 1:37 PM by Licketysplit

Pizza not delivered: no shit

It's been an interesting few months living on an imaginary street. We park the car in a worm hole. No, really. The three-legged dog peed on my tire the other day.

Our street is a new, invented street which is basically a long driveway. The city refuses to put up a street sign even though they generated the address. The street does not show up in Google Maps. However, we are next to a fucking minor league baseball park and a landmark bridge, so most people can find it when you mention these things. The United States Postal Service can find my house. UPS can find my house. Fed-Ex can sometimes find my house. Last week, they delivered something one day, and then the next day they opted to foist an item back on the sender because my house had disappeared again. Whoops. It's so hard to hit a moving target like a huge mill building. Verizon managed to hook up phone service in my house, except they have my address as "Building 17, Parcel something something" on another street entirely instead of the technical USPS-sanctioned address. The upshot is that people who want my money can usually make it by for a spell.

Last night we got shot down by a pizza place. A pizza place which must have previously delivered to this building since they managed to carpet the hallway with leaflets. They took our order, complete with an inquisition about directions and landmarks. Then the driver called from the car. He was down the block, and then he got sucked into the parking worm hole. He was so shaken that he had to turn around and take my food all the way back to the restaurant. Oh, nuh-nuh. He did! His GPS box on his dashboard said we were funnin' him. The parasite put a foot through my esophagus in protest.

So I give up. I went to the damn store and bought "groceries." I hate doing that. I hate being reminded of agri-business and seeing what other people wear to the store and place in their carts. I lugged the groceries home. I put them in the "fridge." I hear this is how it's done. Then I made a list to stick on the front of the fridge to let me know what was in the fridge. Opening the door is too taxing for someone who frequently gets out of the shower with conditioner not washed out of her hair. I need tool tips and maybe that little talking paper clip. I also cross-referenced the expiration dates to placate my old food phobia. You've won, Google Maps. See what you've done to me?

Posted 5:09 PM by Licketysplit

A flashlight, a map, and a trusted Indian guide

The parasite has decided to turn sideways again. This means I am supposed to hang upside down like a bat to encourage her to do the same. Seems contradictory to gravity, but so far it's shoved her "this end up" a few times. She likes to torment by hanging out in the perfect position for weeks, then turning. For the uninitiated in the ways of parasitism: sideways means "can't get theyah from heyah." I would really prefer not to cap off nine months of existential panic with major surgery after all that planning on extruding her into a comfortable hot tub at my house.

In the natural birth world, any deviation from normal = It Must Be the Mother's Fault. Surely I have been thinking bad thoughts or sitting wrong or not Trusting My Baby, Trusting My Body. In the medical world, any deviation from normal = There, There, Dear, a Doctor Can Fix This, Lie Back and Think of England. Can't fucking win, as each option is equally insulting. Gonna move to that cave.

Maybe she flipped overnight because we watched that wicked traumatic "Grey's Anatomy" episode last night that left both Mr. H and I weeping when the pregnant lady died on the operating table after a car accident. That lady's baby came out early, and "didn't look so good," so clearly my parasite is digging in sideways and holding on until it's really time. Yes, I know TV is for shit.

Or maybe she's traumatized because yesterday we learned how to prevent choking by whacking a plastic infant on the back. I think I'll just never allow her anything but a liquid diet. Hey, it works for Kirstie Alley. OK, I promise we won't whack you on the back, you little potato. It's not for sport. You're not about to be born into "The Most Dangerous Game" or anything. Honest. Just try ass-end up for a while. It works so well for Carmen Electra.

Posted 11:24 AM by Licketysplit

She spreads for bread

Sure, it's been a dirt dog of a week, but did I mention what a good sandwich I had? I had the good sandwich on Wednesday, Thursday, and again today. I tried to make Mr. H have a sandwich with me for dinner last night, so I could get in two good sandwiches in one day, but he didn't go for it. He looked at me as if I were insane when I described the sandwich. "It doesn't sound great to me, but I can tell YOU like it." What's not to like about 7-grain bread with flax, shmeared lovingly with mayonaise, topped with alfalfa sprouts*, an entire tomato, and all the different end pieces of cheese left in the fridge?

I saw a literal sign of the apocalypse yesterday. Forget invading Iran. Forget Mission Impossible: III. A strip mall outboard motor business with a pointless letter board saw fit to proclaim "I take my wife everywhere, but she keep's [sic] finding her way back." Keep's. Yes, there was an actual plastic apostrophe used. I backed up to be sure. That officially makes it not a typo, which seems to be the excuse of most idiots and people caught making that mistake on the internet. No, the sign wrangler stood at the base of the pole, inhaled traffic fumes deeply, and opted to use one of those long handled tools to carefully insert that apostrophe into that verb. The surgical precision required to be so wrong is delightful.



*A potential listeria risk, according to books like OMG Your Baby Will Totally Die, but who's counting! I eat sushi too**. Apostrophes are pretty risky, but you don't hear enough about those, unless you live with me.

**It's fucking flash frozen, ask your chef. I'd worry more about mercury exposure than foodborne illness unless you are eating it out of a grocery store dumpster.

Posted 2:11 PM by Licketysplit

And in our hearts we fly. Standby.

It started with other people drinking before the sun was over the yardarm. Or maybe it started when Mr. H and I almost threw up on the plane. Turbulence. I don't know.

At some point, I was asked if "THEY" were "satisfied" with the "progress" that the parasite has made. "No, of course not," I replied. "I am having a weak and reedy child, sunken of chest. THEY feel I will have to heave a sturdy rock at its hideous visage shortly after birth." Then there was a discussion of a custom closet system, not my first choice for conversation. "Did you MEASURE?" "No, of course not," I replied. "Why would I measure to ensure custom results?"

Then there was the problem of more drinking and gross sexual harassment of a waitress and food covered in sauerkraut. I think that was supposed to be delicious. But again with the almost throwing up business. My primary tormentor wolfed down a plate of German potato salad and told a tale of meddling, which stemmed from describing a problem with her inability to gain satisfaction from the help file in Excel. "You have to know how to look things up!" Yes, yes you do. "I was in the checkout the other day, and there was this young kid doing the ringing, and he didn't know what a Belgian Endive was. So I said 'Look under witloof.'"

"Witloof?" I asked.

"Yes, it's the Dutch word."

"And this would help a checker in an American supermarket?"

"Well, I've seen it called that before. At Kroger!"

"Were you at Kroger?"

"No."

"What were you doing with an endive, anyway?" I was suspicious, as it took this person nearly fifty years to try asparagus.

"It wasn't mine, the lady in front of me had it."

"So you injected yourself into someone else's transaction and offered a bizarre foreign word to be helpful?"

"Well, she thought it was some kind of celery. So I said to try looking under Belgian Endive. And he still couldn't find it, so I said he should try Endive Comma Belgian."

"If you had been quiet, he would have entered it under either celery or general merchandise, and you would been able to leave two minutes sooner."

"But that would screw up their inventory!"

***

It has taken me days to get over this trip. You really can't go home again. Not without getting bombed back to one's emotional stone age. There's the judgment, the paranoia, the incoherent ranting about Big Pharma and how money will be worthless, the revisionist history of wrongs committed in childhood, and the great sucking need for connection that I don't know how to answer. What does anyone want from me? What do I want from anyone? If someone likes me, is that enough reason to give my time to that person? What if you also owe that person $10,000 that you aren't really good for? What if you are having a child, and someone assumes he or she will be a part of that child's life, and all you can think of is how much you hope you don't do to that child what was done to you? And the very prospect of repeating history keeps you up nights, in a soppy swamp.

Posted 1:16 PM by Licketysplit