Domestic Disorder

The confused ramblings of a formerly interesting woman turned domestic servant

A feather by any other name...

Here's a question I've been mulling over....what genius came up with the phrase "light as a feather"?  I have a fairly good reason for wondering, since I made the recent (and decidedly poor) decision to buy a pair of feather pillows from an online merchant.  Talking with my sister on the phone tonight, I was reminded of my feather faux pas and thought I could share my (pathetic, embarrasing) story so that I might save some poor schmuck from the same shopping blunder.......    
In theory, it was a great plan: find a pair of pillows that met my limited requirements and price range, pay, receive said pillows in the mail and procede to wallow in feathery bliss.  What I failed to realize was that there is a VAST chasm of difference between feathers and down, and that there are roughly seventeen thousand and one different combinations of those two substances, along with bothersome details like loft, hypoallergenic rating, pillow coverings and the actual provenance of the aformentioned feathers.  So, after foolishly congratulating myself for finding such a fantastic bargain(19.95 for the pair), I eagerly awaited the arrival of my oh-so-luxurious pillows.  Okay, most of you are now snorting into your palms, thinking, "How dumb would you have to be to believe that you could get good pillows--even the regular kind--for that kind of chump change?".  Well, it wasn't one of my brighter moments.  I was blinded by the flashing red letters that screamed at me, "QUANTITIES ARE LIMITED!!! BUY NOW!!"  It was the crudest of ploys, and I was reeled in like a big, dumb, blonde lemming. 
So, the blessed day arrives, and I received the first clue that all was not well when the UPS guy hands me a humongous box that feels as though someone has shipped me a small horse.  I shrug off the teensy frisson of doubt, telling myself that maybe the box has lots of extra packing materials to keep my pillows from, uh.... breaking. (yep--I can be even dumber)  I send the dear man on his way, and procede to tear into my ginormous box that contains zero packing material and 2 pillows that weigh roughly 1 newborn child apiece.  Still, I squelch my doubts and remove the plastic coverings so that I may better admire my lovely new sacks of concrete--er, pillows.  My nostrils are immediately assailed by what can only be desribed as Eau de henhouse.  Ack!  Now I'm getting concerned, but I'm STILL telling myself that they're probably supposed to be that way, and that once they air out, they'll be just fine.  After 4 hours on the porch railing and a good shot of Lysol, I was finally starting to admit that my stinky chicken pillows may have been a bad purchase.  I was not, however, willing to admit defeat. ( I'm kinda stubborn that way.)   I decide that they will be much better once I get the pillowcases on them, and that even though the pillows were a tad....fragrant, they were probably really comfy.  So, I dress them all up, lug them into the bedroom, and prepare for a good night's sleep on my sumptuous new pillows. 
I hop onto the bed, then I lay back onto Mount Plumage.  Hey...it's pretty nice!  This is going to be great!  See--I DID buy good pillows!  I drift off to sleep, innocently believing I had made the right choice.  Two hours later, I'm rudely awakened with what seems to be a hypodermic needle sticking in the side of my face.  What the hell?!?  As I come fully awake, I realize that my new pillow is literally bristling with black, pointy little spines.  It's like waking up on top of a cactus.  It occurrs to me that the feathers inside the pillow are NOT goose feathers, or duck feathers, or probably even chicken feathers...they are some creepy kind of mutant feather that is all pin and no fluff.  What kind of sadists are the people who made these evil pillows?  At that point I determined that SOMEHOW I would get my revenge and FORCE the pillows to be comfortable ( that night I slept with two towels between my cheek and the pillowcase).  After several months of all-out war(and waking every morning with bloody gouges in my cheeks), I finally settled on industrial strength plastic pillow protectors and double layers of pillowcases.  No more stench, and hey--almost all the scars have healed.  Victory is mine!

posted by: LoniMV at October 28, 2006 00:31 | link | comments (3) |

Things that go bump in the night

I will confess that I have been guilty of an excess of self assurance.  I may have been a smidgeon too persuasive in my arguments when trying to convince my currently absent spouse that I had no qualms about staying by myself.  I may possibly have mentioned that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and our two young children, and that I am no sniveling ninny who jumps at every little noise and sleeps with the lights on just because my big strong protector is elsewhere.  Well, the sad fact is that it is just after 11pm on the second night sans husband, and I am sitting in front of my computer trying to distract myself so that I can restrain myself from running to the window every time the dogs bark.  Did I mention the lights are blazing despite the bright blue glow of the monitor?  Or the comforting presence of his machete leaning against the wall beside me?  I am sick with my own cowardice, but helpless to stop the rising spiral of hysteria in my chest every time I hear (or imagine I hear) the slightest noise that I can't explain away.  I have always prided myself on being a self-sufficient woman, and have actually stayed with the kids on my own quite a few times before...but I never felt this disabling vulnerability.  Am I getting more dependant the longer I stay with him?  Have I lost some part of myself that allows me to function autonomously?  Is there a surgical procedure to replace it?  For crying out loud, I have seriously considered trying to stay awake all night and catnapping during the day so that I can remain vigilent through the "dangerous" hours.  Phtt.  What am I afraid of, zombies?  I guess it doesn't help that I just brought a virtual truckload of Katie Macalister and MaryJanice Davidson books home from the library today.  In the bright light of day, it seemed like a good idea.  From my new perspective as a ninny, it's looking pretty freaking idiotic.  For those of you not up on your paranormal romance writers, the two authors I mentioned are two of the best there are....I think so, anyway.  They aren't particularly frightening--in fact they're downright hilarious--but it just gets the mind dwelling on things best not thought about when you live out in the country where there are no streetlights and the neighbors are far enough away that they can't see your house and you're all alone late at night and the damn dogs won't stop barking.  gulp.  Did I actually ever believe it was a fantastic idea to move all the way out here where we would be so secluded?  I'm afraid I did.  I can tell you, I'm rethinking that one.  During the day, I love the woodsy, rural setting.  At night, I think the lights of the Vegas strip would be a little more comforting.  Anyone want to camp out at my house for a week?  Jeesh, I'm such a pathetic weenie.  I'm just going to the kitchen now, to gather up a few paring knives and a meat cleaver or two.  Sweet dreams, all.

posted by: LoniMV at October 22, 2006 21:57 | link | comments (6) |

Speaking of Censorship...

I was just browsing through my most oft-visited blogs, and ran across one that made me start thinking about censorship.  It reminded me that I recently heard a story on the news about some parents who were making a big stink over the presence of the Harry Potter series in the school library.  Being a rabid and insatiable reader, I have had occasion to read all of the Harry Potter books...umm...at least 3 times apiece. (ahem)  I am a TAD ashamed to admit it, since I suppose I could have been reading Faust, or War and Peace, or the Talmud.  Sadly, I prefer entertainment to higher learning and transendental musings.  I know--I should be enriching myself so that I can be a better role model to my children and all that...but reading is my only escape, and I REFUSE to strap on the yoke and plow through a book that I have no interest in.  (yeah--that's right...Hagrid is way more fascinating than Socrates to me)  I suppose I'm selfish, but it keeps me human, and I'm proud to say that I'm not one of those sorts who beats other people over the head with my impressive list of "intellectually stimulating books".  Snore.  Anyway, I do have a point......the Harry Potter books are no worse than, say, a Judy Blume book, in my exaulted (and soooo well read) opinion.  You can turn on the evening news and sustain more emotional damage in 5 minutes than what you would from reading an entire book about Voldemort and the Death Eaters--I mean, come on.  I can understand that some parents want to limit the amount of exposure their children have to death and violence, but this is an extremely obvious fictional work.  I think J.K. Rowling did a fantastic job, and I think that it is perfectly appropriate for the target age group.  Okay--I'll jump off of my soapbox now before I break an ankle.  Censorship makes my blood pressure go up....it's not just the thought of all of those poor children who might never get to imagine themselves waving a wand and causing their greatest enemy to sprout flowing ringlets of nosehair....it's the priciple of the thing.  Though what I wouldn't give for the ability to perform a good Bat Bogey Hex.  Sigh.

posted by: LoniMV at October 11, 2006 04:58 | link | comments (4) |

Much Ado About Nothing

Okay, so I kind of broke my stride with the last post on CANCER.  Sorry to bum you all out, but sometimes I feel this inexplicable burning need to say something semi-important.  So that was it for the year--I promise!  From here on out, nothing but nonsense, frivolity and fluff.  That being said, I have nothing of any interest to discuss...no issues to chew over, nobody I feel energetic enough to criticize.  Oh, sure--there are tons of things I could gripe about....global warming, the depletion of the rain forests, plate tectonics, eye winkers...the list is endless.  Mostly I spend my time worrying about getting through another day of teaching my 6 year old without self-combusting, getting my laundry done before it assumes the size and scope of the Sierra Madre, and fending off ravenous fleas, giant spiders and mosquitos as hefty as hummingbirds.  It's almost funny that I have to perform the 20 yard dash when I go out to get the mail...my oldest son has been instructed to call 911 if I fall down, because I'd be sucked as dry as a crispy corn husk in a matter of seconds.  I've complained about the bugs before, but I've since added the mosquitos to my hit list...come cooler weather, it'll be all out war.  Anybody planning on visiting had better wait until November if they want to avoid a blood transfusion, is all I'm saying.  Actually, we love visitors...the bugs fill up on fresh delicious blood and leave us alone for awhile.  Heh, heh.  I think we'll put up a nice big sign at Halloween, advertising our delectable selection of treats....maybe we'll have a contest for the costume made of the thinnest fabric,  Mooo hahahahahah!  Oh, c'mon--I wouldn't REALLY do it, but it sure is a tempting thought....

posted by: LoniMV at October 04, 2006 05:17 | link | comments (4) |

You can get Ovarian Cancer...even WITHOUT ovaries!

An Eye Opener on Ovarian Cancer

I'm posting this information that I received from a friend because I believe this is knowledge EVERYONE should have.  I had a total hysterectomy (uterus and ovaries) at the age of 35, and thought I would never have to worry about cancer of the reproductive tissue again....I WAS WRONG.  Please read this and tell everyone you can--you could save the life of someone you love.

Years ago, Gilda Radner died of ovarian cancer. Her symptoms were inconclusive, and she was treated for everything under the sun until it was too late. This blood test finally identified her illness but alas, too late. She wrote a book to heighten awareness. Gene Wilder is her widower.

KATHY'S STORY: this is the story of Kathy West
"Just so all of you know, I have Primary Peritoneal Cancer. This cancer has only recently been identified as its OWN type of cancer, but it is essentially Ovarian Cancer.

Both types of cancer are diagnosed in the same way, with the "tumor marker" CA-125 BLOOD TEST, and they are treated in the same way - surgery to remove the primary tumor and then chemotherapy with Taxol and Carboplatin.

Having gone through this ordeal, I want to save others from the same fate. That is why I am sending this message out and hope you will print it and give it or send it via E-mail to everybody you know.
One thing I have learned is that each of us must take TOTAL responsibility for our own health care. I thought I had done that because I always had an annual physical and PAP smear, did a monthly Self-Breast Exam, went to the dentist at least twice a year, etc. I even insisted on a sigmoidoscopy and a bone density test last year. When I had a total hysterectomy in 1993, I thought that I did not have to worry about getting any of the female reproductive organ cancers.

LITTLE DID I KNOW. I don't have ovaries (and they were HEALTHY when they were removed), but I have what is essentially ovarian cancer. Strange, isn't it?

These are just SOME of the things our Doctors never tell us: ONE out of every 55 women will get OVARIAN or PRIMARY PERITONEAL CANCER.

The "CLASSIC" symptoms are an ABDOMEN that rather SUDDENLY ENLARGES and CONSTIPATION and/or DIARRHEA.

I had these classic symptoms and went to the doctor. Because these symptoms seemed to be "abdominal", I went to a gastroenterologist. He ran tests that were designed to determine whether there was a bacteria infection; these tests were negative, and I was diagnosed with "Irritable Bowel Syndrome". I guess I would have accepted this diagnosis had it not been for my enlarged abdomen. I swear to you, it looked like I was 4-5 months pregnant! I therefore insisted on more tests

They took an X-ray of my abdomen; it was negative. I was again assured that I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome and was encouraged to go on my scheduled month-long trip to Europe.! I couldn't wear any of my slacks or shorts because I couldn't get them buttoned, and I KNEW something was radically wrong. I INSISTED on more tests, and they reluctantly) scheduled me for a CT-Scan (just to shut me up, I think). This is what I mean by "taking charge of our own health care."

The CT-Scan showed a lot of fluid in my abdomen (NOT normal). Needless to say, I had to cancel my trip and have FIVE POUNDS of fluid drawn off at the hospital (not a pleasant experience I assure you), but NOTHING compared to what was ahead of me.

Tests revealed cancer cells in the fluid. Finally, finally, finally, the doctor ran a CA-125 blood test, and I was properly diagnosed.

I HAD THE CLASSIC SYMPTOMS FOR OVARIAN CANCER, AND! YET THIS SIMPLE CA-125 BLOOD TEST HAD NEVER BEEN RUN ON ME, not as part of my annual physical exam and not when I was symptomatic. This is an inexpensive and simple blood test!

PLEASE, PLEASE TELL ALL YOUR FEMALE FRIENDS AND RELATIVES TO INSIST ON A CA-125 BLOOD TEST EVERY YEAR AS PART OF THEIR ANNUAL PHYSICAL EXAMS.

Be forewarned that their doctors might try to talk them out of it, saying, "IT ISN'T NECESSARY." Believe me, had I known then what I know now, we would have caught my cancer much earlier (before it was a stage 3 cancer). Insist on the CA-125 BLOOD TEST; DO NOT take "NO" for an answer!

The normal range for a CA-125 BLOOD TEST is between zero and 35. MINE WAS 754. (That's right, 754! !). If the number is slightly above 35, you can have another done in three or six months and keep a close eye on it, just as women do when they have fibroid tumors or when men have a slightly elevated PSA test (Prostatic Specific Antigens) that helps diagnose prostate cancer.

Having the CA-125 test done annually can alert you early, and that's the goal in diagnosing any type of cancer - catching it early.

Do you know 55 women? If so, at least one of them will have this VERY AGGRESSIVE cancer. Please, go to your doctor and insist on a CA-125 test and have one EVERY YEAR for the rest of your life.

And forward this message to every woman you know, and tell all of your female family members and friends. Though the median age for this cancer is 56, (and, guess what, I'm exactly 56), women as young as 22 have it. Age is no factor."

A NOTE FROM AN RN:
Well, after reading this, I made some calls. I found that the CA-125 test is an ovarian screening test equivalent to a man's PSA test prostate screen (which my husband's doctor automatically gives him in his physical each year and insurance pays for it). I called the general practitioner's office about having the test done. The nurse had never heard of it. She told me that she doubted that insurance would pay for it. So I called Prudential Insurance Co, and got the same response. Never heard of it - it won't be covered.

I explained that i! t was the same as the PSA test they had paid for my husband for years. After conferring with whomever they confer with, she told me that the CA-125 would be covered.

It is $75 in a GP's office and $125 at the GYN's. This is a screening test that should be required just like a PAP smear (a PAP smear cannot detect problems with your ovaries). And you must insist that your insurance company pay for it.

Gene Wilder and Pierce Brosnan (his wife had it, too) are lobbying for women's health issues, saying that this test should be required in our physicals, just like the PAP and the mammogram.  With more people "in the know",  they have a greater chance of success.  Let's do our part by passing this knowledge to as many people as possible.  Thanks!

posted by: LoniMV at October 03, 2006 04:08 | link | comments |

My sweet tooth is acting up again

Well, it's fall, and my love/hate relationship with sugar is causing me the usual pangs.  This is bar-none, hands down, my favorite time of year....for eating.  Okay, well, it used to be my favorite time of year for other reasons, too, but since I'm now living in the south, those reasons no longer apply.  No changing leaves, no smell of burning leaves and wood smoke scenting the crisp air, no bundling up in a fluffly robe and slippers and sitting in front of a crackling fire, no watching the gentle path of snowflakes drifting down to settle on the porch rails. (insert long and pitiful sigh)  I'll just say that only the promise of mass quantities of baked goods filling the house with the aromas of cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, vanilla....mmmmmm....helps me cope with the gnawing homesickness.  Waah!  I know, I know--what a whiner.  My husband reminds me CONSTANTLY that there are people who would sell their souls and first born children for a chance to live here, but I just can't work up the proper enthusiasm.  I'm a northern gal, and I guess there's no cure for what ails me.  Except maybe cookies.  Cookies and homemade pie.   Cookies and homemade pie and some toffee with toasted almonds and dark chocolate drizzled on top.  That's it.  I usually curb my insane lust for sweets until October 1st...then all bets are off.  It's a nosh-fest of all things sweet and butter laden until January first, when they have to bring in the jaws of life to separate me from my last fistful of almond crescents.  I then spend 3 months repenting at leisure for my gluttony, fantisizing of the coming fall when I can do it all over again.  Sigh.  I've started dreaming about my first batch of cookies already.  Visions of shortbread danced through my head all night long last night, so I rummaged around this morning and located my recipe for Scottish shortbread.  This recipe is a killer--probably literally, since it has a full cup of butter in it.  Ha!  Like I care.  I think I'll spread the good cheer and post the recipe so that all of you who share my addiction can clog your arteries right along with me.  MU HA HA HA HA!!!  I readily admit I am evil.

Scottish Shortbread

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup superfine sugar
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
• 3/4 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
• 1 cup butter, softened

Directions:

posted by: LoniMV at September 28, 2006 05:26 | link | comments (1) |

The space between my ears is growing

Here is a question I've pondered increasingly over the last few years...where is the sense of self located?  I would dearly love to know, because I seem to have misplaced it along the path to becoming that multi-faceted creature mother/wife/zookeeper/scullery maid.  I need a good map, I guess, because I sure can't find my way around in all that empty space...my brain has become a foreign landscape littered with matchbox cars, toy trains, plastic horsies and all manner of childish detritus.  I am daily inundated with the mind-numbing cacophony of chirpy preschoolers singing the theme from "Barney" mixed with the honking, crashing, screeching, whinnying, galloping sounds of my own children at play.  There simply is no time for deep, meaningful thought...and when I do manage to stand still for a few precious moments, I am so shell-shocked that I'm grateful for the comforting blankness of the inside of my head.  I find myself, at times, humming some unknown tune that I become obsessed with finding the source of.  I stand motionless in front of my thrice daily sinkfull of food encrusted dishes, wracking my brains for the answer...only to find that it's some jingle for a toilet paper ad or a little diddy I picked up from the constant babble of PBS in the background.  Don't misunderstand--I love being a mother.  I simply did not comprehend the full scope of the mutation I would undergo after childbirth.  Sure, I knew about the stretch-marks, the baggy eyes, the bad hair...we've all seen harried mothers at the store herding toddlers as they franticly fill their carts with french fries, chicken nuggets, cookies and juice boxes.  I was not told, however, that I may go for days without showering or brushing my hair because I would be preoccupied with just getting dressed and brushing my teeth.  I was not told that the only intellectual enrichment I would receive on most days would be whatever I could find on the back of the cereal box.  I was DEFINATELY not told that I would develop little flaps of saggy skin just above the tops of my thighs that would defy every single diet devised by mankind.  Exercise, you say?  Ha!  Tough to do sit-ups when you've got a child stuck to one well-padded hip like a lamprey on a shark.  Ah, well.  There are benefits, I suppose, to being a "well rounded" woman.  You don't have to worry about being distracted by new fashion trends--especailly the itsy-bitsy little t-shirts and low-rider jeans...I shudder to think of how my fat-flaps would react to being shoe-horned into a pair of those.  Oh, the humanity.  Yeah, I think I'll just stick with my usual stylish and sexy uniform of saggy t-shirt and ancient but comfy denim shorts.  I used to care about what I wore around the house, but I've found that the kids aren't terribly critical of my fashion sense...they're much more concerned about the crispiness of their french fries and my artful manner of cutting the crusts off of their PB&J's.  Yep, my kitchen skills are unparalleled, but ask me the last time I balanced my checkbook and you'll get a blank stare.  I can feel drool gathering at the corner of my mouth just thinking about it.  I guess I've got to start small....maybe I'll practice counting Cheerios with my 6 year old today.  Wish me luck.

posted by: LoniMV at September 25, 2006 05:07 | link | comments (7) |

Noctourne: Sleep Apnea in D Minor

I've decided to do some research to see how many people have considered homicide as a cure for snoring.  I mean, after countless nights of, "roll over, honey--you're snoring in my ear." or, (insert elbow jab) "Hey--I'm actually trying to sleep over here...could you knock off the snoring?"  or possibly, "Pssst!  That gargling, gagging, phlegmy noise you're making is going to wake up the kids--for pity's sake, role OVER."...how  many people have just decided homicide was their last resort towards sanity and a good night's sleep?  I, personally, don't even bother trying to wake my husband anymore.  It doesn't do one bit of good, anyway--he snorts a couple of times, bellows "HUH?!?" in a voice that would do a foghorn proud, then promptly falls back asleep and starts snoring again.  I concluded long ago that since I can't stop him, I can at least get even for being kept awake by tormenting him.  I was laying there one night, listening to the reverberating symphony of rattling spit and vibrating mucous membranes, when it suddenly occured to me that I could avenge and amuse myself simultaneously.  The first method I employed was the "nose pinch" technique.  I would arrange myself in a nonchalant and restful pose, then carefully reach over and pinch the very tip of his nose--hard.  I would then whip my arm back into place and commence breathing in a convincing sleep-like manner.  It always took a second or two (lucky for me) for the "ow!" message to make it through to his semi-comatose brain... but then he would jerk himself into a half-sitting position, looking wildly around for the offending crab, lobster or nose-pinching burglar who molested him.  The most hilarious part of the whole thing was that after a couple of seconds, he would just crumple back onto the bed and start snoring again like nothing ever happened.  Of course, that prompted more torture, which would continue until he accidentally landed on his side and stopped honking, or until I laughed myself to sleep.  Yeah--nothing like a little well deserved retribution to help a gal sleep.  As you may have guessed, though, I soon tired of nose-tweaking (I was a tad worried he might start developing a hematoma or something...) and devised a new tactic.  It is now my all-time favorite, and much less painful, though excrutiatingly and satisfyingly annoying.   I carefully harvest a nice long hair from my own scalp (a worthy sacrifice) and pinch it firmly between thumb and forefinger so as not to lose it at a stategic moment.  I then assume my  "of course, I'm asleep, it's 2am" pose.  Slowly and painstakingly, I drag the hair over eyebrow, nose and upper lip, lingering lovingly around the sensitive nostril area, then I snap my arm back into place, pillowing my head innocently.  Through slitted eyelids I watch as the blindly frantic hunt ensues for the imagined insect that has taken a leisurely stroll down my beloved's face.  Hee!  I am evil, but I am vindicated.  And I didn't even have to smother him with his own pillow.

posted by: LoniMV at September 22, 2006 09:38 | link | comments (6) |

"Bugs are not going to inherit the earth. They own it now. So we might as well make peace with the landlord." T. Eisner

I've had it with bugs.  There--I said it!  I have finally reached the point where I can no longer console myself that eventually we will overcome the crawling, creeping, jumping, bloodthirsty multitudes.  It isn't happening.  We have been fighting the war on insect terror in an around our house since we moved into this place, and I have at long last come to the conclusion that we simply cannot win!  It all started with spiders.  Giant, hairy, sickening spiders that Floridians have resignedly named "house spiders", because--you got it--you mostly find them on, under, and INSIDE your house.  Bastards!  I hate these things...they creep me out more than any other crawly thing on earth.  I have no problems with spiders, in general--If they stay away from me, I don't squash them.  It works nicely.  However, these grotesque parodies of spiders that lurk in the crevices around my home have caused me to develope a sort of arachnid-induced palsy...as soon as I see one, my entire body shivers and shrinks in on itself, and every hair on me stands up and screams.  Bleh!  I went so far as to buy about a dozen tubes of calk at Wal-Mart and caulked every single hairline crack in the house to keep the spiders from getting in.  It kind of worked, but they still managed to pull a Houdini every once in a while.  I would just start to get comfortable, thinking that at last we had resolved the problem, when I would discover one of the horrid beasts clinging to the wall above my head.  I started keeping an old tube sock by my bed in case of emergencies....I had discovered the only way to be sure and smash them on the first try was to use my hand (eeeuuuw!).   At first spotting a spider I would yank the tube sock onto my hand, then clear the kids out of the room in case he did a runner and I had to hunt for him.(okay...or HER.  I'm an equal opportunity squasher)  I got to be really fast, because the only thing worse than finding a giant spider in your house (and by the way--they're the size of the palm of your hand) is LOSING a giant spider in your house.  Oh, the horror.  Anyway, the irony of the situation is that after trying every method ever designed to kill or prevent spiders, we finally got rid of them fighting fleas.  Yeah.  Another bug problem, the pestilence of all animal-kind.  We didn't know how great we had it, just fighting spiders.   The upshot of the whole thing is that we BROUGHT THEM HOME with us from a petting zoo.  We have three dogs, and yes--they had a few fleas.  However, we were using drops, shampoo, and all that mess, and were keeping the situation more or less in hand.  Then we took the kids to a petting zoo, and the fight began.  First, the car was infested.  Then, the yard was infested.  Then the dogs were absolutley crawling with fleas that we could not get rid of for more than a few days at a time.  Then--you guessed it--one of the little bastards hitched a ride into the house, and the rest is history.  I still carry the scars from all the bites I got.  Yeah--fleas love me...I'm freaking delicious!  I'm nice and plumpy and juicy and fleas treat me like a slice of prime rib. One of the first methods I tried was to make myself less appetizing by eating lots of garlic, but apparently that just added extra flavor to my succulent "au jus" because they kept right on biting me.  Then I started wearing bug spray to bed, and my husband almost divorced me due to the stench.  I guess he figures there was no clause in the vowes that included loving me even though I reaked of pesticide and was covered in fleas.  Go figure.  Nice man that he is, he decided to stick around and help me figure out how to get rid of this plague of insects.  At long last, after trying a multitude of pesticides, tying our dogs and bathing them nearly bare-assed, and inundating our entire property with insect growth regulator, we are beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Now the biggest problem is stopping the blasted rain long enough to let the pesticide do its thing.  Rrrrrrrr!  We've got easily another month of daily afternoon thunderstorms, and I don't know if I can hold out that long.  Meanwhile, I've hidden all the suitcases in our house....just in case.

posted by: LoniMV at September 19, 2006 08:57 | link | comments (8) |

And She's Off....

Nothing of any interest to report, except that I managed to sit down not once but several times yesterday.  I know--I'm pretty impressed, myself.  I'd like to thank everyone who supported me along the way, my family, my friends, and...well...the chair where I did my sitting.  Today I plan to change my bed linens and clean the bathrooms...it's a pretty tough course, but I've been in training for nearly 20 years, so I'm pretty confident I can get through it.  I did a lot of carb loading yesterday in anticipation...I'm all about being prepared.  Now I think I'll go have a couple of cinnamon rolls to give me that extra little edge, and a cafe mocha to ensure adequate hydration...I'm nothing if not a proffesional.

posted by: LoniMV at September 17, 2006 12:09 | link | comments (1) |

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