Category: Random

While My Ears Start to Bleed

I’m currently sitting at Honda, waiting for my van to be serviced. The waiting room is an ADD sufferer’s nightmare.

Ahead of me, there’s a tv airing CNN. I am trying so hard to follow the impeachment debate. Behind me is a second tv, where some kind of game show is playing. To my right is the dealership, playing Christmas music. All three are equally loud…or quiet. They are competing for my attention, and at this point, I’m the only one losing.

Add to this aural nightmare, the random persons around me choosing to listen to one YouTube video or another. I just heard “ok, I’m going to put potato chips in my vacuum bag.” Now I’m mildly frustrated and confused. Who in the world just puts potato chips in their vacuum?? Potato chips are for eating. And who are the people that are clicking through videos and stopping to view such atrocities (in this case, it seems to be a 3 year old. Whatever makes you happy, kiddo).

I simply don’t understand what causes people to feel entitled to making their presence be audibly known. Maybe it’s because I was raised by a Ballschmieder, with the understanding that in public, you remain quiet. Perhaps it’s my introverted desire to disappear into the background and remain unnoticed. I will never be the person who puts my phone on speaker in public. I will most likely not even answer my phone if I am in public (I probably won’t answer my phone even if I am alone, because I’m not a fan; I never have been).

Back to the initial earsore. I envy the individual who can sit with multiple distractions around them and focus on one item. I hear them all at once, and it ends up a jumbled, “air freshener leaves us with a blanket denial,” and I’m left having to decide if febreeze is in denial, or if it’s the Republicans. Give me closed captioning so I can turn my ears off and read what I want to be hearing!

Sitting, Waiting, Refilling

Monday was a busy day. After dropping Rufus off for his round 2 heartworm treatment, I ran to the hospital for my own appointment–no worms involved. Between the appointment and waiting in the lab (for 30 minutes) so that I could hand the receptionist my cup o’pee, I was not feeling like waiting again at the pharmacy.

Fort Benning is a massive post. And the hospital is equally as large. Which means, any time you have new meds to pick up, you should probably just block out your whole day, because it’s going to take the rest of your life.

I skipped out, and said to myself, “you know what makes sense? Come back Thursday. Pick up your new prescription at the hospital, and then head over to the refill pharmacy (yup, that’s right. 2 separate locations, because nothing can be simple), and pick up your refills that will be ready Thursday morning.”

Of course, then Xander decided to get sick at school. Poor Xander. But I was not taking him out into the world. So, it’s fine–I’ll just move prescription pick-up to Friday.

It’s a good thing the people watching is spectacular, because after waiting 10 minutes to get a number, I was handed 355; they’re currently on 276.

I should also add that my kids have a half day, and will be home by 12:30. I planned for a 60 minute wait, but I’m now a thousand percent sure I will be here until midnight.

Thankfully, the people watching is top notch. For one thing, there are always at least a dozen basic trainees. They are usually in varying states of injured–some have masks on, some have crutches, occasionally an arm is in a sling. And then just as many look perfectly fine. One thing that is the same, regardless of their status, is their obsession with food. These boys (it’s almost always boys), they raid the vending machines. It reminds me of the way my kids reacted to the vending machine at my job–how much can we get with this money??

I know nothing about basic training, but I can assume that they are fed. Of course, to see these young men cramming their pockets full of candy bars and soda, you would think that maybe wasn’t the case.

Back when I split my forehead open, I was lucky enough to sit in the waiting room with a dozen basic trainees who were suffering from a stomach bug. At one point the triage nurse came out and went full mom: “are you here with an upset stomach?! Throw that candy and soda away, and put a mask on!” Ah yes, I also like to chug soda and eat snickers when I’m violently puking……no wait. That’s an absolute lie. Of course I also don’t go to the Emergency Room for the pukes.

The other fabulous thing to see–or hear–are the individuals who put their phone on speaker, and then tell the world about every procedure they’ve had done in the last 24 months. You had what lanced and drained?? No no, I don’t want to know about it (just kidding. Talk louder).

And finally, the people I dislike: the friend-makers. Please, if I am reading, don’t sit down next to me and try to be my friend. I’m in my cocoon of anti-social. And I certainly don’t need to hear about what your doctor thinks is wrong with you (ok, maybe I do–but I prefer overhearing to the straight-forward story-telling).

It’s been 30 minutes, and they’ve made it all the way to 289. I better cancel my Thanksgiving plans–I live here now.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart(worms)

Back in August, after fighting the rest of my family’s desire to get another dog, I gave in. Mostly because I said to Justin, “find me a male adult boxer, and we’ll talk.” Wouldn’t you know, our county shelter posted a picture of a “stray” male boxer in August. The shelter puts a 7 day hold on strays, to give folks time to come back, if they are the owner. The day came, he was still there, Justin and I tried to figure out just how we could get there right when they opened–he had to work, at least until noon, and I had a doctor’s appointment at 11. We would have to go after, and trust that if it was meant to be, he would still be there.

This is our second rescued boxer. 3 years ago, Maddie came into our lives, and 6 months later was gone. The individuals we “rescued” her from sold her for drug money. While we were told she was only 5, the truth was, she was probably much older. My heart broke into a million pieces when she left this world.

So, on the afternoon of August 23rd, Justin and I met at the shelter and rushed inside: “is the boxer still available?!” Keep in mind, dozens of individuals had shown interest in him, so I fully expected him to be gone. But there he was–skin and bones and as cute and can be. In his initial picture, we couldn’t tell just how skinny he was, which ended up being 20lbs underweight. He was a walking skeleton.

Also, he makes the silliest snorting noises when he sniffs, or while he’s eating. It’s constant, and hilarious. There was no way I could leave this sweet boy behind. The criteria had been met; the boxer had been adopted. And just like Maddie, he was the sweetest pup. His back legs are covered in scars, as is his nose and one ear. I would love to know his story: what was life like for you before us??

I instantly decided his name had to be Rufus. And for anyone who knows me, my dogs each have a voice to go with their personality. Bruce (the pug) has a lisp, and a bit of a crotchety old man attitude. Emma (our “mutty boxer”) is a fast talker, and highly excitable. Rufus is southern. And slow. And that boy drawls. He’s a little dopey, a lot doofy, and just seems to spend his life in a “dum-de-dum” sort of way.

Here’s the thing about the south, and dogs. This is not upstate NY. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are animal lovers in the Georgia/Alabama states, but there is a whole lot of neglect. The woman at the shelter was complaining to us that they tend to get the same “stray” dogs, and after the second time your dog is picked up by animal control, you have to pay to get your puppy back. She also told us people will wait the full 7 days before coming to get their dog. I wanted to turn around and ask if we could bring every dog home from the shelter.

The other thing that goes with animal neglect, is Heartworm. And wouldn’t you know, Rufus was the lucky recipient of the “Heartworm Positive” diagnosis. I had expected it, honestly. I knew it would be expensive, but this boy was a million times worth it. So, away we went.

There are a few things you need to know about boxers if you’ve never met one. They don’t know the definition of “personal space.” They snore. They drool. They “kidney bean,” which is this silly thing where they twist their bodies in half and walk toward you, while also showing you their buns. They also love to rough house. Now, the thing about Heartworm treatment, is that during treatment your dog has to be on “restrictions,” basically kept docile. The reason being that, while the worms are dying, they break up and and carried away in the blood stream. These dead worm chunks can then cause blockages or clots.

This is the halfway point in the treatment of Rufus. His first round of treatment meant that after his shot, he had to stay at the vet overnight, and in 24 hours poor Emma nearly died of a broken heart. The second round of treatment was 2 shots in two days, and 2 nights at the vet. The vet employees always tell me how much they love Rufus. “He’s the sweetest boy, and he makes the silliest sounds!” One tech refers to him as her “friend Rufus, who makes the piggy sounds.” I hated the idea of him having to stay over, especially since he came to us after being abandoned. Honestly though, he’s so laid back, he really doesn’t seem to care. Every time I go to pick him up, the dogs that come out before him are always excited to see me: “oh my gosh you’re here! You came! I’m going home!” They don’t care that I am not their human. Rufus comes out the same way every time: “oh hey. What are you doing here?” Again, he’s has a very “dum-de-dum” personality.

While our luck with rescuing boxers is not the greatest, I have no regrets. With Maddie, our time was short, but she got to live the last 6 months of her life absolutely loved. With Rufus, he has plenty of years ahead of him, and in a couple months he’ll no longer have plenty of heart worms.

Signature Required

I really like Amazon. You can order all kinds of things, and two days later they appear at your door. It’s practically magic.

My most recent purchase has me puzzled. I got back from my run yesterday, and located on my door was a “sorry we missed you” note from the mailman. It stated that I have a package requiring a signature of an adult over 21. Justin must have ordered something…in my name??

In the last 2 weeks, the following items have been left on my doorstep, no signature needed: 2 types of fire ant killer (welcome to the south, folks. These little assholes will eat you alive and leave you itchy for weeks), a 27lb box of bullets (not my purchase, and not from Amazon, but still left out there). Other, random, Easter-related items that are harmless. But again, two boxes of items that could literally kill you (although, honestly, bullets on their own are relatively harmless…I think…I honestly don’t know anything about guns or bullets or any of that), were left on my doorstep.

So, what is is this latest package? Two items that could be considered highly…dangerous is not the right word. Confusing would be the best way to sum it up. I have ordered 3 packages of Liquid IV (a “hydration multiplier,” that magically turns one glass of water into 3? I don’t know–Justin asked for it. The Army uses it. Did I mention that this is the south? It’s hot as heck down here, and dehydration is a frequent occurrence). The second item: a coloring book (for Shea), titled: Unicorns Farting.

I’m not kidding! Again, Amazon never ceases to amaze.

But I’m still left wondering: why do farting unicorns require the signature of an over 21, when ant killer and bullets are safe to leave unattended?

I can’t wait to see this coloring book!

Forget Your Troubles, Come on, Be Productive

I will be the first to admit, being productive is not my strong suit. I’m entirely too distractible. But, before Justin kicks me to the curb for not pulling my weight (or any amount of weight, for that matter), I decided I really better step up my game today.

I was off to a good start! The laundry was folded, I showered and got dressed (don’t judge me). Then on to the big tasks: returning library books before the military police arrest Justin for being related to a book-stealing hooligan–ok, I don’t actually know what happens when books are returned late. I’m just guessing it includes water boarding or some other form of torture. “Tell us where your books are!”

With books in hand, I hop into my van, and…she won’t start. Very well, I can only assume someone left a light on, or a door ajar, or whatever. Anyway, the library visit is now off the table. No big deal, there’s plenty more to be done!

On to the next big task: mowing the lawn. This task normally takes around 2 hours. I threw on workout clothes, put sunblock on my head scar (spf 100, per the dr’s orders. My forehead is going to be super pale this year). And away I go!

Just about 45 minutes in, there’s a loud BANG! And the mower stops. Ok, I probably hit a dog toy hidden in the grass–nope, it’s a chunk of burnt wood the size of my fist (leftover gifts from the previous owners, which Emma carries around the yard like they really are prized possessions).

Now would be a good time to mention I’m mildly terrified of lawnmowers. Irrational fear? Perhaps.

That chunk of wood was so far stuck on the blade, I didn’t even know where to begin. I kicked it a couple times, but out of fear that the blades would kick, I gave up on that rather quickly. Using my hands was absolutely out of the question–have you paid any attention to the month I’ve had?! I was not about to tempt fate.

Next idea: bang it with a log until the chunk of wood dislodges itself. This worked like a charm, and after I threw both pieces over the fence (not to worry, the overgrown wilderness on the other side of our fence is not owned…or, at least not by anyone who lives there). Of course now I realize that the mower is dripping oil from the top bit (the motor? I have no idea how any of this works). I’m assuming it’s because I had the mower flipped upside down while I was beating on it, but for now, it’s in a time out.

And my lawn is only 1/4 mowed.

And my library books are overdue.

I’m just not cut out for this “productive” biz.