Self-Defence

I bow to the wisdom of my betters.

http://thelawdogfiles.blogspot.com/2008/01/meditations-on-self-defence.html

Browning Birthday

http://booksbikesboomsticks.blogspot.com/2008/01/way-of-gun.html

Tamara said it so well.

FIRE: In My Throat and Behind Taco Bell

As I said in my last post, Wednesday was my birthday. While we were being held hostage by Applebee’s, we started talking about who was sick with what. I mentioned my drippy nose. It had been getting worse by small increments for a couple of days.

“Oh, watch that close,” Carolyn said. “I’m just getting over that. It had a terrible sore throat with it. Be sure to drink plenty of water.”

On Thursday, I noticed my throat was hurting. At bedtime it was pretty bad. I sprayed my throat with Chloraseptic spray and tried to sleep. At Midnight I woke. There was no denying it. My throat was on FIRE. I took some Sudafed with Mucinex in case the post nasal drip was the cause. Later I woke up just because I had swallowed. It was getting awful. I took a large dose of Ibuprophen, sprayed some more Chloraseptic, and went back to fitfully napping. By the time I was supposed to get up in the morning, I decided if I didn’t have strep throat, it was some sort of miracle.

The children were sent off to school and I did some light housework. My throat wasn’t so bad at this point, but still very much actively hurting. I picked Oldest up from school to transport her to her appointment. Returning to the car after the appointment, I looked at my watch. “It’s 11:50. You’re missing lunch, aren’t you? How’s Taco Bell sound?”

We had just gotten into our food good when the lights blinked out. I giggled and said, “At least WE have our food.” The lights came on, then went out again. A couple of the employees went outside to see something. Our cashier flipped open her cell phone.

“Hi, we need you to send a fire truck to the Taco Bell at Blah Blah. There’s a fire behind us…. Where the old gas station used to be…”

I had an OMG moment. Caddy was parked on that side! I instructed Oldest to keep eating and pushed past employees. “I need to move my car!”

Caddy was the only vehicle parked there at the time. It was four parking spaces from the drive thru lane. A small strip of grass separated the drive thru from the wooden fence on the property line. The fire raged on the other side of the fence. Gee, my vehicle was indeed the closest vehicle to the fire. A fire truck might need to park there.

As I finished parking on the other side of the lot, I noticed an employee locking the door on my side. I went back to the door I had exited. All the employees were milling about, either just outside or just inside that door. An employee I had not seen before was locking the door. “I need to get back inside. My child is in there.”

He began to argue with me. “We’re closed. We have no power. We’re closed…”

“MY CHILD IS IN THERE! I NEED TO GO BACK INSIDE TO MY CHILD…”

Our cashier appeared. “Her child is really inside. Let her back in.”

God bless that lady.

I rushed back inside. “If someone will get me a container for our food, we’ll leave and be out your hair,” I said to no one in particular. Oldest was busy wrapping her burrito in its paper. The cashier looked to see what we had, then got a lid and bag and brought them to me.

I turned to the other customers. “A bucket truck has touched the power lines. It is on fire. Big flames.” To Oldest I said, “Let’s go.”

“Can I see it?”

“Get in the car.” I explained the need to leave and make room for rescue personnel and vehicles to respond. “As I pull out the back exit, you can see the smoke and flames.” It was most impressive. The smoke was no longer grey. It had become an ugly black. The entire bucket truck was being consumed. Fire trucks began to line the boulevard.

As we drove back to her school, I explained the seriousness of the situation. “I don’t know what happened to the bucket truck operator. Touching power lines doesn’t end well. He or she may well be dead right now. If so, I hope he died quickly. God bless him.” I explained that women could be bucket truck operators, but all the ones I knew had been male.

She was quiet as she digested this information. “I hope he’s OK.”

“I do, too. The best thing to do right now, instead of feeling sorry for him or her, is to just ask God to bless them.”

We signed her back into school. She trotted off to class with her Taco Bell cup and an exciting lunch story to tell everyone. It was time for me to go see the doctor.

As I checked in, I told the Taco Bell fire story to our favorite receptionist. She had been home at lunch at the time of the power outage and her lights had only blinked. “A bucket truck touched the power lines a couple of years ago when they were building the car lot next to us. He was fried. It happens more often than you might think. Dangerous work.”

I had to wait over an hour to be seen as a walk in. This is actually not a bad wait time. The nurse said, “Yeah, we had sent a girl to Quiznoes to get us lunch and they had no power. Maybe that was why. Now I’m going to make you mad…” She grabbed the top of my head and thoroughly swabbed the back of my throat. I tried mightily not to gag.

When she finished I said, “I’m not mad. I understand why you have to do it. I still don’t like it.” I smiled at her and thought of the off color comments I could make, but decided to not offend this nurse I had never seen before.

The doctor finally arrived. I put aside my sudoku book and told him about my fiery throat the night before. He popped out the room to get the rapid strep test results. “She says it’s ‘lightly positive, but definitely positive’. Get these lozenges and here’s your antibiotic prescription.” He wrote a note and a prescription.

I rushed straight home and arrived about five minutes before Oldest did. “I don’t have my antibiotics yet, because I came home so you wouldn’t have to stand outside. Get ready to walk out the door NOW.”

I’ve been living off benzocaine laced lozenges since Friday afternoon, but the antibiotics are starting to work. I actually slept Saturday night. (Friday night was better than Thursday, but far from decent.) I was snoozing along until about 5 AM Sunday morning.

THUMP. (Small pause.) THUMP. (Pause.) THUMP.

After the eighth or ninth THUMP, I got up. I walked over to the rabbit’s cage and kneeled down. He excitedly ran to greet me, to see what I had brought him to eat for breakfast.

“HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

I hissed at the rabbit for a good 30 seconds. Bunny frantically raced around the cage, trying to get away from me. Then in a low growl I told him, “There is NO REASON for you to be making THAT noise at THIS time of the morning. STOP. IT. NOW.”

Two nights of sleeping on the sofa are enough. I’m ready to be better now, thank you.

I do believe I’m rambling. It must be time for more pain meds and such.

Be blessed.

That Long Promised Birthday Post

I had a hard time waking, probably because someone kept me up past Midnight. I stumbled into the bathroom and discovered I couldn’t use the sink. There was a large Victoria’s Secret box blocking access.

Decent start, yes?

As I got dressed, I noticed the bruise on my foot. This would be the bruise caused by dropping a bottle of Maple Syrup out of the refrigerator and bouncing it off my metatarsal. When I had mentioned the incident to my friend, Nether the Lich… Wait, didn’t you know I have undead friends? Hey, pay attention! Anyways, Nether made the cute suggestion “You should draw a face on that bruise…” I picked up the teal Sharpie and outlined the area, then added spikey hair, eyes, and mouth. I could barely see it.

Downstairs, I picked up the purple Sharpie. (I have a thing for Sharpies. Must. Have. All. Colors.) I retraced the eyes and mouth, then added a nose. Oldest wandered through and asked what I was doing. “I’m drawing a bruise on my… wait…”

“Hey, I can draw a bruise on my foot.” She helpfully pantomimes a big scribble above her foot. Smarty Pants.

I wandered back upstairs to find where I had left my watch. Distracted by my hair comb, I instead started fluffing out my damp curls. I turned to leave the bathroom and ACTUALLY REMEMBERED what I had originally come in there for. Watch on my arm, I returned to the kitchen.

Watching Good Morning America got my blood pressure up. The video of the Iranian “incident” got me extremely angry. Am I the only person that recalls the bombing of the Cole? I believe 17 sailors died that day, all because jerks in a motor boat pulled up along side the Cole and blew a big hole in its side. I would have opened fire this week. The Iranians just better be glad I’m not in charge. Time to change the subject.

Oldest was sent to school with a house key. We might not be home when she arrived from school. The bus driver for the younger set was warned that Big Sister might be meeting the bus, but that parental units would soon be home.

Once all the children were safely off to school, I headed upstairs again. As I washed my hands, the sunlight shone on my hair. For all my “going back to my original color”, there sure is a lot of LIGHT in there. Closer examination caused me to say out loud, “Thanks for the DNA, Granny!” I’m going white like Granny did. Very little of this grey nonsense for me! I did the Happy Dance, then went to brush my teeth.

Note to self: in future, apply lip color AFTER tooth brushing. (Wipes toothbrush.)

I headed over to the jewelry repair shop. Not only were they not open, they have a snooty note on the front door stating “Our Insurance Regulations State We May Not Open Our Doors Outside of Our Normal Business Hours.” Instead of standing out front, acting like I was really interested in their window display, I walked into the thrift store next to them.

Two clear glass mugs with sailing ships etched upon them followed me home. Two other not quite so pretty mugs accompanied them.

Finally, I had wasted enough time that the jewelry repair was open. Mickey and Minnie have had dead batteries for literally years. I picked out a pretty red band to go with the red in their clothing, then agreed to return the next day to retrieve my watch. I had to get to church on time.

Sometimes it’s a drag being the youngest participating member of the church women’s group. This day it was my job to play Vanna White. This must be why I took accounting in college. I covered the dry erase board with numbers large enough for the old ladies to see them, then translated for those that still couldn’t see. When the business part of the meeting was over, they sang Happy Birthday to me. Then I was informed I was picking the restaurant for our lunch. No pressure, I just had to make a dozen people happy. “What are you interested in eating?” I was asked. Steak. More discussion followed and our meeting was adjourned to Applebee’s.

Applebee’s then proceed to hold us hostage. That must have been it. Why else would it take over an hour to get our food? The restaurant wasn’t even busy. The waitress apologized for the slow service and tried to make it up to us by giving us all free desserts. I, of course, couldn’t eat my free dessert because I had been forced to eat the largest meal. Everyone else got a “Pick A Pair”. The ONLY steak dish on the menu was a three course meal. Salad was my appetizer. Steak was the main course. Hot fudge “shooter” was my dessert. For being the Birthday Girl I received a FREE Blond Brownie with Caramel Sauce. (It’s still in the freezer.)

Finally free of the restaurant, I was treated to Riding With Old Ladies Part 2. It was… “exciting.” Next time, I either drive myself or volunteer to drive the Over 80 Crowd.

Look! Another white hair!

I rushed in the door, more than an hour after my expected time of return. I thrust food boxes at Hubby and raced upstairs. (When ya gotta go…) I raced back downstairs. “Let’s go. Who’s vehicle?” I hopped in the driver seat of Karl the Wonder Truck.

On the half hour drive to the dealership, I caught Hubby up to date with my day’s activities. His day had not been uneventful either. When we finally arrived, I made sure that Caddy was ready for pick up. I handed over the check book and bid Hubby good-bye. Hopping back into Karl, I put on my sunglasses and turned up the radio.

When I arrived home, I let myself in the door. I was greeted with the sound of crashing and falling objects. Oldest had experienced a moment of panic and things had gotten turned over in her quest to look out the window.

At this point, it was after 3 PM. This was also the point that I realized I had not picked up my birthday cake at 11 AM as promised. Drat.

Hubby managed to beat the younger crowd home. I suggested we order Chinese food from Our Favorite Chinese Restaurant. The guy recognized my voice. It’s not like we order food every week or something.

I picked up the cake, then swung by the restaurant. Hubby met me outside to carry in the food and shut the car door. I zipped inside with the cake. Observant Children wondered out loud “what’s for dinner?” as I applied red candles all around the blue “Happy Birthday Janie”.

We always take pictures of our cakes. I have this delusion that one day I’ll put copies in a special album. I’ll use our previous cakes as inspiration for future cakes. This is the reason I took all three Wilton Cake Decorating classes before I became a mother.

As I was saying, we always take pictures of our cakes. Or actually, *I* usually take the pictures. Hubby was having an argument with my digital camera as I tried to hold the cake as Mr. Photographer instructed. Red wax puddled all around “Janie”. I wished for World Peace and Lottery Wins, then blew out what remained of the candles.

The French wine “Pinot Evil” accompanied the Beef Mixed Vegetables and Sweet and Sour Chicken. (Hubby had his very own order of General Tsao’s Chicken. Spicy. Ick.) For those that have never taken a year of High School French Class, Pinot is pronounced “Pee No”. Rather than being rude, this rhymes with “See No”. The Three Wise Monkeys decorated the bottle: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil.

I wisely pointed out to the children that the Fourth Monkey was not on the bottle. Fourth Monkey is:

“Have No Fun.”

I want one!

Ooo, let the linky love begin.

Those of you that know me personally know how I feel about guns, especially if I made you sit through a retelling of my “nightmare” about the bad guys coming in the old style Southern house with enclosed porch. Haven’t heard that one? Remind me to tell it another day.

As nice Mr. LawDog (http://thelawdogfiles.blogspot.com/) suggested, I hippy-hopped over to read his friend’s blog: http://bayourenaissanceman.blogspot.com/ . Scrolling down to the bottom of the page, what do I see?

http://blog.riflegear.com/archive/2007/12/26/hello-kitty-ar-15---evil-black-rifle-meets-cute-and.aspx

I know four members of my family will want one, but three are under age.

The Boy Child is a HUGE Hello Kitty fan. He constantly irritates his sisters by using their Hello Kitty dishes that were imported straight from Japan. Unfortunately, Grandma and Company* only bought in pairs. We have two girls, right?

Hubby just walked in and remarked, “It’s a good rifle. Want one?” I love my Hubby.

*”And Company” would be Grandma’s sister, niece, and assorted friends. I find it quite amusing to find the warning “For Sale Only Inside Japan” all over the Hello Kitty stuff.