This is the view outside the bathroom window this morning at 3am. It was such a surprise to me that I actually went back to get my glasses to view it clearly. And this is the view this morning out the front door at a far more reasonable hour of 6:30am. Tigger the Dog was flummoxed when we went out the door for her to do her business. She took one step into the stuff and then turned and stood on the front step and looked at me, as if to say, “What the hell is that and what am I supposed to do with that?” But the needs of Mother Nature outweighed her anxiously over the texture and the cold and, if you look carefully, you can see her doing what she needed to do behind the tree.
It then occurred to me that I have to drive to work. In my lovely Smart Car with it’s tiny non-4X4 wheels. And that under the pretty snow on the driveway is a not so pretty sheet of ice. Our driveway is pretty dang steep on good, clear, warm days. It's going to be a bitch to climb out of today. I really have no interest on being on the news as the one who ran their car off their own road into their own ditch. Is it wrong that my solution was to play ball with TTD and get her to score the ice with her nails? She didn’t think so but I felt pretty bad when she slid off and down the hill. She also didn't seem bothered when she came skidding back to me, face full of snow, for another toss and almost went sliding off the steps. In fact, she seemed quite pleased with the drama of the situation. Oh, to see the world through the eyes of a dog. I image there's less doom and gloom when faced with a world of ice and snow if you have a ball. I need to find my metaphoric ball... Oh. I know! Off to get showered and dressed. I might be walking to work but I’m pretty sure I can work in a snowBALL fight with Husband before I leave. Is it wrong that he’s still in bed when I start?
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The pest guy is coming this morning. He’s coming because we’ve got him scheduled quarterly. We’ve got him scheduled quarterly because we’ve found things like these leftovers in the house since we moved in and started remodeling. And because we have a gap between the bottom of the front door and the base of the floor that this guy found inviting and wandered inside. This is the guy that Husband got me out of bed to look at - me in my boxers and tank top with my bare feet and legs that are totally tempting to guys like him (Spider not Husband) to crawl up, unbeknownst to me, creeping up my body until she (yes, she's a she now) gets to my head where she nestles into my hair and forms a nest and lays millions of babies. Babies that instantly turn me into a Discovery movie special when they hatch one day while I'm at work and crawl all over me and everyone around me as people scream, "They're coming from her hair! Run!" I don't like this guy. The door is on the list to fix. We ordered a new one and Home Depot failed us three times – all the wrong size. I got a door sweep thing after the HD debacle but husband poo pooed the cheep fix and said he’d fix it.
I really need to get a time line from him when he says things like that. Anyway, pest guy is coming and I need to get dressed and pretend this is a house and not a construction site. Happy Monday to all. But not happy Monday to the pests. I am wishing horrible things for them. Well, not horrible. Just instant death with no suffering. And no rebirth. That would be creepy. The end. The world is coming to an end here in Tennessee. COMING TO AN END! The way I hear tell, we won’t last till midnight. The news is preaching doom. DOOM!
The Ice Storm a cometh! A co-worker who lives near the Kentucky border called off work for today TWO DAYS AGO! When it was 77 degrees outside. But she knew that the Ice Storm a cometh! And her boyfriend forbad her to drive in the ice. Forbidding happened! It's an impending Ice Storm for goodness sake! Schools are shutting! The stores are emptying of milk and bread! There are contingency plans for the contingency plan! Because the Ice Storm a cometh! Pretty soon, we’ll be incased in our homes like Clark Kent and his Fortress of Solitude. Or we will have perilously skidded out in ditches to become frozen like they say the dinosaurs were. I, quite frankly, am looking forward to my house of ice. I plan to deck it out like the Ice Hotel. I have enough stuffed animals to make myself a fur blanket. Tigger the Dog won’t mind if I skin her babies in the name of style, right? She might mind when it’s too slick to go outside and have a pee. Perhaps now is a good time to toilet train her. I’ll let husband tackle that one; getting an 80 lbs. dog with anxiety issues onto a toilet to pee. Actually, that might be worth the emergency shut down of everything… Sorry. I’m being flip. And the Ice Storm a cometh! I’m off to work. When we first moved here, there was point when I’d walk into a room here that I can tell I've been spotted and they think that I'm Robin Roberts. I’d get several furtive looks filled by hushed whispers and subtle pointing. Or there would be nudging and blatant stares followed by heated discussions. My head was shaved and we’re both mixed race so I must have been her, right? Most of the time, no one would approach me and ask. There would just be a point where they decide that I'm not her. That Robin Roberts wouldn't be in that restaurant or grocery store or bar. Sometimes they’d ask. One guy actually said to my face, “Hey! Aren’t you that lady dying of cancer?” And once, I was followed into a restroom where a woman started a somewhat awkward conversation with "Do you know who you look like?" as we stood in the open stall doors, and continued talking while we were doing what one does in a bathroom and on through the hand washing. An odd beginning but I'd made a new friend(ish). To this day, she calls me Robin when she sees me and I call her Diane. I call her Diane because someone told her she looks like Diane Sawyer. I don’t see it but I don’t remember her real name. Awkward, since we're such good friends. My hair is funky now – short on the sides with sort of dreadlock twists on the top. I don’t get "You must be Robin Roberts" looks anymore. I still get the furtive glances now but they are more - “You must be someone...but I don’t know who…” But then, like when I was Robin Roberts, I can see the point they decide that if I were “someone” I wouldn't be in that restaurant or grocery store or bar. I’m sorry to disappoint them. I’m working on it. I’m working on being someone. I know it seems like all of my posts lately are about lady bits – mine or someone else’s. I think it’s just that once you notice something, you notice it a lot. Like when your friend gets a sliver Honda Element and suddenly every car you see is a silver Honda element. You know what I mean? Now you’ll think of lady bits every time you see silver Honda Elements. Anyway. We moved here almost a year ago and took up residence in the Lowes Vanderbilt hotel, Husband, Tigger the Dog and me. We were there for three weeks while our house purchase got sorted out. Buying a foreclosure sucks. Not as much has having to foreclose I’m sure, but sucky just the same. The view out our window for those three weeks was the top floor of the parking garage, part of a hospital and a dingy office building a block away. Today, I went in for my check up of my lady bits and this is the view out the window of the room I was in. This is our hotel. The one we were living it for three weeks. THIS is what I saw from the gynecologist's exam room! Neat but kinda awkward, right?
Now, a few things I’d like to point out about this picture. ONE: The fact that the blinds were up and I could see the hotel WHILE I was on the table is disturbing. It was a gynecologist’s office for goodness sake! I know it was the sixth floor and the windows are that reflective glass you can’t see through and I’d never seen one single lady bit while staring out the hotel window for three weeks but seriously? The stirrups were pointed right at the window! TWO: The fact that I noticed the blinds were up and didn’t say anything, also very disturbing. I just couldn’t figure how to work it into the conversation while she was asking me if I was sexually active and before she asked me to disrobe from the waist down. And then after, when I was on the table with the sheet across my parts, I was too chicken to close the blinds because a) my bottom half was now disrobed and b) there was lots of lady bit inspection stuff on the windowsill. Inspection stuff I would almost certainly knock off and make unsterile just as she came back into the room to use it on me. And there's an image, me bent over, trying to pick up inspection stuff with my end pointed at the door that opens to the desk where all the nurses are gathered... THREE: The fact that I didn’t say anything because I was too chicken and potentially -yet almost certainly- clumsy, and THEN thought; “Well, this will make a funny story…” means I’m certifiable. I need help. |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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