Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Put on your pants. Your mom's pulling in the driveway.

Before we get to our regularly scheduled post, let's take care of a few orders of business:

Please everyone act extra classy and maybe put on your smoking jacket because we may have some guests. I told my classmates and teacher about the blog because what better way to exhibit my professionalism and ability to write serious thinks about smart stuff than to use Naked Cupcakes as an example?

This means people who write Important Nonfiction will be dropping by, gazing through their monocles at what goes on here, so please nobody flash your tits.

And, although this went out in the last memo, it seems we need another reminder to please pick up your prophylactics when you are through making balloon animals. Please. I really need the credibility, guys.

Now. On to business.

This is our first 2010 Christmas tree:
I named it "Asshole" and replaced it, just like I did with my first child.

For 20 minutes in the Baltimore airport the other day, I wandered around a fairly crowded terminal with a barf bag from the plane, searching for a trash can. I finally found a trash receptacle, but it turns out there's only so long you can pretend a coated white paper bag filled with regurgitated Buffalo wings and flight peanuts is a lunch bag before someone is going to warn you that your chili is leaking.

Remember how I'm afraid of ninja psychics? Of course you do, because everyone is afraid of ninja psychics. More than psychic ninjas. Nothing is more stealthy than a ninja anyway, so it wouldn't make a difference if he were psychic. But ninja psychics are scary because you never know if they're around, reading your every thought.

A never ending cycle begins in your brain, during which you alternately try to think of really normal things and try to create an impenetrable mental shield. Even if ninja psychics didn't exist, just the fear of them alone is enough to cause mental health issues. The stress is outrageous.

Recently, I read bed bug infestations can result in mental health issues, such as stress, anxiety, depression and paranoia.


According to the Centers for Disease Control, "Bed bugs (Cimex lectularius) are small, flat, parasitic insects that feed solely on the blood of people and animals while they sleep. Bed bugs are reddish-brown in color, wingless, range from 1mm to 7mm (roughly the size of Lincoln's head on a penny) and can live several months without a blood meal."


Pause here to consider "blood meal."


Furthermore, bed bugs are not a sign your home is unclean. Bed bugs have been found in five-star hotels and the finest parlors. No matter how hard you scrub, how much bleach you use, you can never ever prevent them if they choose you, like the time some Christian-based cult members (God love them) decided my best friend's parents were "chosen ones" and no matter what her parents did, the people stalked them. Her parents removed their phone number from publication and for as long as they lived in that house, they had one of those puffy-letter label-maker labels on their screen door that read, "We do not wish to discuss your religious beliefs with you."


Bed bugs are like that, except they don't care about your unlisted phone number or your passive-aggressive door labels.

Signs of bed bug infestation include: presence of bed bugs in the folds of mattresses and sheets, exoskeletons the insects shed after molting, a sweet musty odor, and "rusty-colored blood spots due to their blood-filled fecal material that they excrete on the mattress or nearby furniture."

You would allow nothing in this world - the exceptions being your baby and your junior year roommate who had the really good weed connection - to continue living in your home after excreting blood-filled fecal matter on your mattress or nearby furniture.

Bed bugs typically live within 8 feet of sleeping areas, and bed bugs can travel as far as 100 feet in a night.

"They hide during the day in places such as seams of mattresses, box springs, bed frames, headboards, dresser tables, inside cracks or crevices, behind wallpaper, or any other clutter or objects around a bed," according to the CDC.

Ever-present bed bugs can always smell your blood, even through building material, and they will travel at frightful speeds to have a blood meal. Imagine how hungry one who hadn't fed for six months would be.

Once it finds its blood meal, the bed bug inserts into its meal an anesthetic and an anticoagulant, so the human or animal will not know it's being bitten. No signs of the bite could be visible for as long as 14 days, but when the bites do show up, they can itch so much as to keep the victim awake all night.

Once the victim is awake all night, the victim can witness all the bed bugs in its vicinity feasting on it.

Who got the job of figuring out if such an infestation would cause anxiety and paranoia? Because I want in on that gig. Sleep tight, pets.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Buff up that cold sore, and lay one on me.

The title of this post is something my husband actually said to me yesterday, proving the romance is not dead.

In that spirit, I've made up a couple Valentines for all you lovey-doves out there. You  know who you are. ;)

Enjoy ... you cutie-pies, you.

Front of Card:

Inside:

Front:



 Inside:

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

It's like Penthouse Letters, and it shows up in your newspaper.







30 Days of Not Doing 30-Days-Of Posts (Subtitled: It's about ta get rawl meta rawl quick.)

Editor's note: OK. So I started this post approximately two months ago, when bloggers presumably were actually doing this 30-days-of thing. And now there's been a whole nother blogger thing I didn't do.

(Oh? Oh? That "whole nother" pet peeve was so 2010? It's not even a conversation starter anymore, much less a joke? Well, screw you. I'm old. I know this because I realized watching a rerun of The Office that I missed a joke about DVRs the first time I saw the episode because I don't have and have never had a DVR. How fucking '02 am I? I thought only some people had DVR. Maybe it was a fad, I thought. When did everyone get one?)

Ahem. So, now there was another blogger fad - best post of 2010 - that I didn't do. Let's be honest, nothing posted on this blog is going to win "best" of anything. I'm well aware this whole blog is sliding under the professor's door, one minute before deadline, full of typographical errors and sporting a cheese curl stain, and I've come to accept this.

I'd rather have a "C" blog than an unhappy blog. State school, here we come!

Anyway, so now I missed two blogger fads, and I'm feeling really uncool. I'm like the greasy hair girl with glasses in the back corner of class, and all the cool kids are like, "TADA! I performed a Christmas miracle!" or "My Top Ten Classiest and Most Thoughtful Posts of Yore." And then, they either saved a homeless person from a meat grinder on Christmas Eve or wrote my face off with their poignancy and tone.

So far this year, I posted a saved post, which was basically a fart joke. I haven't made any New Year's resolutions, and the other day, I went to an urgent care place because I realized I had some sort of upper respiratory infection, so the doc gave me some medicine. I asked if I could drive on it, and she said, "OH YEAH. No problem!" And then, I went back to work, took the medicine, and woke up two hours later in a puddle of my own drool. Professional.

Sounds about right. Here's to 2011! And here's the post about the fad that I originally started writing and never finished, except now I'm finishing it ...

God bless bloggers. So many of them have written thoughtful, funny, touching or painful posts for that 30 Days of Truth thingiewatchit.

Totes love reading it. Like when that 25 Things meme went around Facebook in '08.

The idea of doing it makes me want to iron my face on the Linen setting with steam. Know why?

Because it's FUCKING HOMEWORK AND I AM UP TO MY ASS IN ALLIGATORS AND IF ONE MORE PERSON ASKS ME FOR SOMETHING, I SWEAR I AM GOING TO TAKE A NERF MACHINE GUN INTO A CONVENIENCE STORE AND BLOW shit UP.

Ahem.

So. Whatchu been up to?

I've been needling people and pissing off public officials for a living. Turns out? I'm pretty good at it. Which I'd be really psyched about if I lived in a big city and not in a place where I have to actually wear pants to the grocery store because I know too many fucking people because of my job.

*sigh*

Life is hard.

So, in the last 30 days, I haven't done anything close to poignant, and really, if you knew the other shit I had to do at work recently, you'd be all, "Glad it's you and not me. I could not handle that." And I'd be all, "Thanks, I can't really handle it either, and I could really use some talk therapy, so now I'm going to tell you every detail of the disturbing crap I've had to witness."

And then you'd be all, "So ... um, I wish I didn't know that. Please stop. Let's talk about something else."

Which is why you're kind of a bad friend, because you didn't let me vomit all the disturbing details into your brain so I could get them out of mine. How dare you?

I'm sorry. You're not a bad friend. Even PHubby won't listen to it. I don't blame him. I really don't. But I also don't service him in the car anymore.

This is where I'm ending this old post. I think I never finished it because I really had nowhere to go. It's just a lot of navel-gazing, which is what blogging is, but this one is navel-gazing at a pity party.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Suck Me Off Sunday

Editor's note: I'm extremely impressed that yous guys picked the only unpublished post that was complete. If I recall correctly, which I always do, I was impaired by at least one substance when I wrote this, and PHubby convinced me to wait until morning when I was feeling "a little more sane" and decide whether to post. I took his advice, and this one never got posted. Also, I totally thought you all would have chosen the time I cried about my butt, especially because I haven't written the whole post for the sole reason that, frankly, I'm still too sensitive about the whole thing to find it funny. Which I realize makes it kind of funnier as a situation in general. Especially as a situation involving my butt and crying. But those nurses were really, really mean, and I have no way to ever get back that Sarah P who had never experienced humiliation at the hands of people I relied on to make the pain go away. It just ranks among the experiences that changed me as a person. There was a before and an after. The following post, which I am not editing from draft form, is, most certainly, from after.


Let's start one of those weekly blog traditions and then totally abandon it like "we" always do, shall we? Glad we're all together on this.

Sometimes, I'm, like, really amazed that anyone ever reads this blog.

For instance,  ... hold on ... wait ...

....


just a sec ...

...

it's like, I know what I'm going to say, but I keep forgetting what it is.

...

I've got it.

...

I'm good, really ...

...

I'm just standing here in the corner ...
...

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT.

...
...

*looking left*

*looking right*

*squinty suspicious eyes*

*hands on hips*

*judginess*

It was you.