You are FIRED!

So, as you may know. Tom and I are in the hunt for a new rental property. Our landlord is not kicking us out, in fact he has been totally on board for us to stay as long as our contract runs and has even offered to make sure that if the house is sold, we have plenty of time to find a new house and move out. But, just the action of putting the house up for sale, has totally disrupted our daily life.

Because, well in order to be always prepare of THE call from the realtor about showing the property, we have to keep the house in top shape – as in clean and orderly.

We have to make the bed on a daily basis – y’all!

Ok, we DON’T have to. But, remember I’m a type A and there is NO WAY we are going to be one of THOSE people who have the house messy and dirty and are then talked behind their backs about how messy and dirty we are by the people who were snooping around our things during a house showing in the first place.

So in the attempt, to not to be ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. I have totally and fully embrace the art of going totally nuts and keeping the house as clean and clear of clutter as I can.

There have been fights and tension and lots of screaming in the last couple of weeks around these parts.

Because Tom, while understands the need to keep the house clean, does not understand the need to do it 24/7.

*Pff’!*

And I know that I’m being totally irrational and Yes, I know… I have issues – more than you can imagine. But, I just cannot TURN IT OFF.

So, my boyfriend has put down his foot and announced that there was no way, no how, we were going to stay in the house while it was up for sale. And so the 2010 MOVE project has been in full force for the last 3 weeks.  We have been consumed by rental ads, Managements company house list and crazy, crazy landlords living in their delusional bubbles.

We have seen about 10 houses so far. And let me tell you… there are A LOT of THOSE PEOPLE out there. There was the house, that we were totally afraid of touching anything less we catch something. Or the house where the carpet was totally the color of poop and it smell just like that.  Lots of houses had small kitchens being described as cozy and quaint (WTF?). And hello realtor/landlord a room without a closet DOES NOT a BEDROOM make.

But yesterday, we realized how low inventory on rentals around our town was.

We had been waiting to see this particular house for a bit now. The pictures look good, and the square footage was perfect, we were gaining almost 500 square feet more than what we have now… so we were pump about seeing this house.  Since the landlord has a bunch of rules (no showing before 6pm on the weekday, no showing during the weekend, no this, no that.) We had to put our name on the list and wait for a call back. (we should have quit at this point)

On Monday, the management company called us and told us to be there on Tuesday at 6pm.

We were there at 5:45pm

We sat outside the house, because well, we wanted to be respectful and polite. We figure the realtor would be meeting us OUTSIDE the property.

At 5:55pm, another car showed up and out steps this woman… Tom asked her if she was the realtor and she responded that she was there to SEE the house.

HELLO?

We looked at each other and thought “they double booked the showing?”

Apparently they did more than double book the showing.

Because, at 6pm 3 more cars showed up and about a gazillion people piled out. And before we knew it we were all on the yard like groupies waiting for the band to show up on stage. As soon as the door open and the realtor (we assume this, since he never had the chance to open his mouth) stepped out, there was a stampede trying to get INTO the house.

Tom and I were the only ones left outside the yard, totally looking at each other and wondering what the hell has just happen.  Then we decided to not waste our time, and to cut our losses and leave.  The whole thing was leaving us a bad taste.  Plus during this another 4 cars showed up!

Wait? Were we missing something? Is this the new way management companies show houses now?

We did not want anything to do with it.

We decided that the house was not good enough and promptly left, but before that we walked up to the realtor and promptly told him “You are FIRED!”

Now we now understand the satisfaction that Donald Trump gets when he uses does words.

Coveting a Dyson, and Cheese puff more than ever

Today marks the 9th day that I have not slept in my own bed. No, I have not moved out, simply put I been pet sitting a shit load of peoples dogs.

We need the extra “mula” and while I’m so grateful that I can do this (easy job) to get it, I miss my house, my bed and of course Tom. Not necessary in that order.

But, this week marks what I’m going to call the family-galorethon. Because Tom’s family has decided to leave their cold abode and head down to bask in our forty-degree weather. So, for the next 2 weeks we have 2 sets of family branches in our mist.

And I’m not complaining, because I love his family. I have come to adore them as I adore Tom. They are funny, gracious and have embraced me fully into their fold. And of course family duty calls – numerous get-togethers, dinners, outings and I would be the first one to enjoy all this activities except that adding that to the mix of someone that has not been sleeping in her own bed for the past 9 days can be a bit overwhelming.

In order words: I have freaked the hell up a couple of times in the last 3 days.

And poor Tom has paid the price. And since we need to put a spin on it, I have decided to morph into super woman and invite the family to not one dinner, not two, but three.

Because, I apparently love to walk on the wild side in order to push my limits.

Or we can also see Tom’s version which is “You are PLAIN CRAZY!”

So of course, as I write this, the mental list is growing by the second. Menus need to be set! Supermarket trips need to be scheduled! Cleaning patrol needs to be assigned! And just now I realized that I may have bitten more that I can chew on this one.

Because as I’m writing this post, all these random thoughts are popping up all over the place:

OMG, I don’t have 98% of the ingredients of the chosen menus
Shit, we still have not found the replacements rugs for the dinning room and the kitchen.
Which means we need to find time to visit stores around town and hope for the best.
When in the hell would I have time to go to the 4 different supermarkets?
I have rugs to purchase!
Damn it, we have to find the replacement filter for the vacuum cleaner.
When, can I fit THAT IN?
God, I wish we have a Dyson, this would be so much easier.
Why is the BFF beating me at Words with Friends?
Oh, wait, that is for ANOTHER post.
Do we have enough tables to sit all of those people up?
Crap! No, we do not. Add call the rental people to the list!
Is it 4pm already?
Damn it! No.its.not.
Why am I hooked on the Olympic curling game? It does not make sense, it’s a boring game!
I’m craving cheese puffs so badly right now.
Jesus, I forgot there are 2 vegetarians in the family, what the hell do I cook for them?
How in the hell would owing a Dyson make things easier?
I can’t remember if the vending machine sells cheese puffs.
I really don’t feel like going all the way to the other building to find out.
I need to relax the hell up.
Where is that rental people phone number??
Is it 4pm already?
Damn it! No.its.not.

A bit overwhelm may not be the right word at this point.

And Tom my be right, “Plain Crazy” may fit better

All good things end – which SUCK!

Our landlord has informed us that he will be putting our rental house up for sale (the poor, poor man). So that means that in the next 4 months (if not, sooner) the following will be taking place in no particular order:

• Mad dash to find another home to rent (or maybe buy, if all the stars aligned themselves)
• Search for boxes in order to…
• Pack, Pack and Pack everything up again
• Loose our shit while packing up
• Loose our shit with each other during the transition
• Kiss and make up after loosing our shit
• Re-decorate EVERYTHING AGAIN

Just writing this has me already exhausted.

I’m use to changes, and totally embrace them (I can say this, since during my early years, my mother moved us every single year, so I’m totally season to pack-and-go).  Tom, on the other hand, no so much.  He does not do well with the whole process. When we moved to this house it took him months to finally relax due to all the changes happening.  So you can image what this bit of news has done to his daily balance.  He is already edgy and we have not even started yet.

I think I’m going to have to start to practice the fine art of meditation, so we don’t kill each other in this process.

Anyone know of a rental out there?  EMAIL-US!

An ER moment, except George Clooney was not there to save me. Instead my boyfriend showed up and showed me he can kick ass.

I been gone for a bit, but I have a perfectly good excuse.

I been super sick, because well, I brought back SOMETHING from NC, and that something was not saltwater Taffy or Smoky Mountain Snack Mix, or even Chocobilly Cookies.

No, sir, NC awarded me with a nice cold, one full of complimentary coughs, and chills and runny nose and oh, let’s not forget the splitting headaches due to congestion.

So after a 12 hour drive back to Florida on Sunday, I was out for the count and put my ass down in bed, under the covers, holding the Klennex box and my Teraflu bottle for dear life.  Because, people I WAS GOING TO DIE – the end.

By Tuesday, I had enough and I knew I needed to step up the game.  So I called my doctors office, did major begging and got myself an appoitment to which I then dragged myself to and proceeded  to DIE THERE so they could give me enough drugs to forget my impending fate.  After an hour wait and having my nose, ears, and throat checked, the good doctor gave me the a-okey and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and strong cough medicine (I had graduated to the big league people!).

I dragged my ass back home and took the first two pills of the antibiotic and then waited until it was dark outside in order to drink up the HEAVY-DUTY cough medicine and finally fall asleep and dream of rainbows and unicorns while BREATHING THROUGH MY NOSE, like a normal person.

Except we hit a itzy-bitsy snag.

After 20 minutes of drinking up and waiting to go off to la-la-land… I started to feel a bit of discomfort, as in pain below my breast bones and this would have been fine except that in less than a minute it tuned into a oh-my-fucking-gawd-will-someone-please-stab-me-in-the-eye-with-a-pencil-to-distract-me-from-the-pain from hell.

And folks, I’m really good about my pain threshold and have a very high pain tolerance, I can hold onto A LOT of pain before I fall and cry like a baby waiting my mommy, or take narcotics.

But, in this case it happen way faster, because as soon as I started having trouble breathing, as in gulping huge amounts of air and nothing, and I mean NOTHING was getting through I knew I had reached the unsurvivable hell in pain-time. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Anyway, on pain scale from 1-to-childbirth (which I have yet to experience but, I have plenty of reference points from friends and mommyblogs), this was about a 9.5 and climbing fast, because this was not one of those that you can “breathe through”, but those that you can only recall later as blurry, red-tinged moments of sweating-panting-teeth-grinding waves of oh-my-baby jesus-pain punctuated by increasingly shorter periods of blessed respite – except there was no intermission followed by liquor and tiny hors d’oeuver.

Where was I? Oh yeah, in agonizing pain so debilitating that I could barely unfurl from the fetal position.  It was time for the big guns: so I shouted out to Tom to come and save me.

Except it was more like a baby whimper, because yeah, I could not even come up for air to scream that I was DYING DAMN IT! and that I was wearing underwear with a hole and that’s how I was going to end up in the coroner office, totally embarrassing. (note to self: I need to stop watching so many CSI’s)

I was taking a shit worried

Tom, thank god hears things and when he shouted back if I was ok and never got a confirmation ran to my side (The good, good man – he gets so many brownie points its bananas!) to investigate and instead of finding me all nice and drugged out-of-my-mind, he found me doubled-over, whimpering, quivering mass of hell, holding to dear life unto the floor and taking big, gulps of breath with a crazy look (at least that is how he describe me later on. I was to busy trying to NOT DIED to notice this tiny detail, plus, truth be told, I was way more worry about the hole in my underwear than I care to admit).

Anyway back to the saga story.

Tom, decided at that moment to play Columbo and start to interrogate the shit out of me, while I’m trying to respond and breathe at the same time, and Internet, I tell you this…IT CANNOT BE DONE — YOU CANNOT DO IT AT THE SAME TIME.  But, somehow, through my panic and reading the medicine information sheet that the pharmacy gives you, but we throw away as soon as we get home (YES YOU DO, DON’T YOU LIE) he was able to play doctor and conclude that I needed medical assistance FAST (it’s what the paper said).

ER here we come.

And let me tell you it takes about 12 minutes from our house to the nearest Hospital ER. But let me assure you folks, those 12 minutes in pain-time equal 10,000 years.

By the time we arrived I was totally out of my mind with pain, scare and about to loose my shit and pass out, because I knew that I wanted to be in total denial at the point of death.

Fortunately, Tom had things under control while people continue to ask me questions and totally ignore the fact that a) HELLO I CANNOT BREATHE and b) I WANTED MY MOMMY BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO DIE!

The next couple of hours, all  I remember was bits and pieces. I was given stuff, which I promptly threw up, I was poked, probed and told to relax and to swallow more stuff, which I proptly keep hurling it right back at them.  They may the decision to insert an IV, which followed with dosages of wonderful narcotics, which relaxed me enough to rejoin the living, in an anesthetized coma.

Which was fine with me.

During all this drama, Tom held his own, answered questions about my medical health (who knew the boy was paying attention all this time?) called my mother and was able to stay calm enough to avoid having another crazy female to deal with and held my hand and told me it was going to be ok, and that they did not see my underwear.

I could not have loved that man more than right there and then.

After all is said and done, we learned to put this in under my already expanding medical history – I’m officially allergic to codeine, which was the culprit of this long saga.

But I also learn one important thing: Tom totally ROCKS IT when it comes to the emergency department.

And if you are still reading this, Holy shit, I think you earned a prize.

I think I’m ready to hear Things That Don’t Suck!

We are down to the wire.

Tomorrow we will all pile up in a car and set out for our first leg of our trip to North Carolina.

Am I ready for this?

According to everything that has been done so far by me, this trip is so planned out it’s actually a bit ridiculous.

Hotel reservations have been made, the best possible routes have been loaded on the iPhone GPS application. Schedule stops have been pre-determined and I have not one, but TWO packing list to make sure we don’t forget the most important things – like you know

… the DOGS!

Tom will be hunting down the winter clothes in the spooky nook under the stairs today and I have a couple of other things we need to gather and place by the door to load up in the car tomorrow.

So, yes, I say, we are pretty DAMN ready for this road trip.  NC here we come!

But,

no matter how many list I have done, and reservations, and planned routes, it has not prepared me for waking up today with my head pounding, my throat sore, my ears all echo-y, my eyes watering, and my nose completely plugged up. Both nostrils. HOW IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED!?

Cue in the sound effects… (Preferably of a mad woman screaming!) NOW!

Fine, universe, way to be a douche bag.

Time for a bit of begging, because Dude!, I need you [universe] to be nice and to pat me in the back and tell me that “hey, it’s ok, you will be fine, and I will take care of you”

Seeing as I’m not the self-medicating sort, right now I’m thinking I may need a Xanax, or possibly more than one – two? three? maybe four?… You know, to make those rough edges seem smooth and manageable.  And I figure the only way I was going to come as close to taking four one xanax was to start with a healthy dose of the recomended 4  2 tablespoons of cold medicine this morning.

Except

…that now I’m at work and I trying very hard to make an effort to distract myself from considering all of the many different ways I might commit suicide with a five-dollar stapler.

I think I’m ready to hear Things.That.Don’t.Suck!

Ready?

Set

GO!

Things I’m thinking about

By this time next week we should be arriving in North Carolina in order to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with Tom’s family.

This is going to be interesting, at least for me, since this will be a bonofied thanksgiving for me.  Those that know me, know that I never celebrated Thanksgiving.  Past Thanksgiving were spent doing some major marathon watching on TV.

In the meantime these are the things that are in my mind and I need to worry about until we set off next week for the 10 hour drive:

I still want to watch a lot of marathon TV next week.

Sadly, I don’t see that happening.

Instead, I will be doing, god-knows what.  Since I’m not a host, but a “guest” and that term  is basically non-existent to me, since 99.9% of the time, I’m the host.

I’m going to be like a lost soul.

A lost soul freezing it’s ass, because I just checked the weather and that weekend is suppose to rain, and be in the low 40’s, with highs in the 50’s

HELL  NO!

Now, I have to look for the winter clothes

Where in the hell are the winter clothes?

Oh yeah, under the stairs, which totally freaks me out

its dark under there

and spooky

I wonder if I can still hide and watch a lot of marathon TV?

Damn it, the dogs need a bath before we go anywhere

Crap, its almost 5pm

what in the hell am I doing still at work?

Oh, yeah writting this post!

Not anymore, I need to go so I can think of ways to get Tom to tackled the task of getting to our winter clothes from under the dark stairs.

Because, I DID mention its spooky under there

Right?

The magic number is three thousand eight hundred and twenty!

I don’t track who comes and goes on this here blog. Because, well, the goal of having this blog was for me to have a place to vent, shout, and write inconsistent topics to keep my small circle of friends’ updated on what is happening with me and my life.

Oh, yeah, who am I kidding? I started it so I did not have to repeat the same dating story over and over and over again. Uh, you know back when I was dating. Because, now it’s just a place to talk about living in not so, since he has not asked yet, blissful matrimony with the boyfriend.

I promise you this is going somewhere.

So, yeah, the stats were really never that important to me. My word press would show them to me, there in my dashboard. I would take a look at the lines and go “uh”.

Until yesterday. When I saw this:

D-Day, November 2nd

Yeah, see the SPIKE UP line?? See it?

And when I clicked on the top of the spike line this BIG number came up:

3,820, as in Three thousand eight hundred and twenty! Hell-O!

Then I had this thought. ok, these multiple thoughts:

Dude, people are READING THE BLOG!

Holy shit!

I need to up my game, I need to stop procrastinating and make sure there is a post daily! Shit, Shit, Shit! Actual people, people who DON’T know me are coming here and hoping to find something whitty to read and to keep coming back for more.

I’m screwed!

How do I make those people stay?, maybe I can bride them? Oh, no that will not work, or maybe it will?

I have no idea how to make those people STAY?  WHAT am I going to do? I need to get a more interesting life! Because, my life is BORING! I work, I live with a funny, artistic guy, his kid (from time to time), 2 dogs, 2 cats, I cook, and I’m a paper engineer! I travel, I take pictures (not so good pictures) and I decorate with the help of very talented friends.

IM.IN.TROUBLE!

Because, oh boy, I like those numbers, I want those numbers back, I need those numbers!!!!

See, total off the wall CRAZY! (Maybe THAT’S reason enough to have those readers stay!).

I then took the time to learn to use the stats menu in WordPress and found out that I owe most of those number to the post that was done in that favorite blog I spoke about here.  If I did not love them enough then, I TOTALLY LOVE THEM NOW!

But, Now I still have to put forth my own effort and make those Three thousand eight hundred and twenty reader to COME BACK! And have them bring more readers and we can totally have a pyramid blog going! Hey, I’m on to something!

So I have planning to do! And marketing to do! and while a procrastinate a bit on those task, I, for now, would like to enjoy the part where Three thousand eight hundred and twenty readers came and stayed and commented and gave me praises and totally made my DAY!

And for that person that found me by typing this “will maca stop me sleeping”  and finding me:

I totatlly would STOP you from sleeping! 

Warpath Day

Now that Tom and I are hitting the almost 1-year anniversary of living together mark, we have ironed out the various routines around the house. After a couple of false starts, we are a well oiled machine around the “CP” house.

One of these routines is our “right-before-bed” routine.

We usually watch TV together on most nights in the living room, and then somewhere around the 10:00 pm mark, I move to our bedroom to watch “my” TV shows read, while I give him the right to watch all the comedy central his little heart desires (sorry, folks, I’m not a comedy central girl, but then he is not a Bravo boy either – so we even out).  By the time that Tom closes up shop, and comes to bed, I’m usually out like a light; because you know I’m OLD and OLD people need more sleep – apparently. And when that sleep is totally interrupted, this OLD person becomes a totally non-recognizable bitch who takes everyone down to the hell that her day has turned into.

It’s pretty basic: Don’t fuck with my sleep pattern, or YOU. WILL. BE . SORRY.

Now by trial and error we have learned that the dogs need about 20 minutes, at a minimum, of backyard time. Because you know, they, on top of having to go “potty”, have to sniff every fucking plant in the backyard, and chase about a gazillion squirrels and other critters in the middle of the night.  So 20 minutes is the designated time frame they need to be out in order to sleep the entire 8 hour night without having to go out again.

Does this sound familiar to new mommies everywhere? Yeah, I thought so.

So, since Tom is the one downstairs, he is in charge of letting the dogs out, before coming up to bed.

Tom is in trouble folks.

For the last couple of weeks, the 20 minute time frame has magically been reduced to 5 to 10 minutes. Which means, that for the last couple of weeks, the following has been happening more regularly, last night the whole thing blew over with this timeline, which is totally acurate, because I CHECKED THE CLOCK EVERYTIME.

1:00AM: Rufus walks up the stairs and stands on MY SIDE OF THE BED and starts deep breathing. (Have you guys had a 150 pound dog breath on your face before? NO? Trust me, its NOT RECOMMENDED) After attempting to wake up Tom, with no success, I yell to Rufus to settle down and go away.

1:15AM: Seems the yelling worked and he plucks down and start to lick himself very LOUDLY.  I apparently fall back to sleep. (but, NOT.FOR.LONG)

1:45AM: I wake up to Maggie’s crying downstairs.  I nudge Tom, who FINALLY wakes up!  And, he, like the man he is, shouts down to Maggie to shut up.  Apparently, it works. And everyone goes back to bed.  I, instead sit staring at the wall, trying to fall back to sleep.

2:00AM: still looking at the ceiling and NOT SLEEPING.

2:05AM: Maggie starts to whimper again.  I ignore her.

2:10AM: Rufus starts to breath loud and in my face AGAIN.  Maggie whimper turn into cries and little annoying barks.

2:15AM: Maggie’s start to cry harder. Tom is not moving even after numerous shoves on my part.  Rufus, not waiting to be left out, start to whine as well. DOOMED CITY here I come!

2:20AM: get up and hurry downstairs to open the back door to let the ungrateful dogs out. Start to rethink about not getting pregnant, because you know babies cry and cry, and they cannot just put them out and let them take care of their business on their own. Shit! Cannot sleep, Need to do something! Power up the laptop and kill time by reading twitter and blogs. Realized that Twitter is awful quiet around early morning – nothing exciting happening. No celebrity deaths, or dramas. We are in the clear people.

3:10AM: Let dogs back in and give them a dress down, making sure they understand that enough is enough and they better go to sleep or else!

3:20AM: Back to bed. Rufus, once again makes enough noise to wake up everyone, except TOM.

4:00AM: Still looking at the ceiling, no sleep anywhere.

4:15AM: turn on the lights, and I start to read. Hoping to fall sleep.

5:30AM: Still reading, still NOT SLEEPING.

6:00AM: alarms goes off, I snooze it and hope for 10 more minutes of sleep.

6:45AM: alarm goes off again and WAKES ME UP – SHIT I FELL SLEEP, to finally WAKE UP? WTF?

7:00AM: debates in calling in sick at work. Totally remember that I can’t.  I shove Tom awake (have to take out on someone right?)

8:00AM: Arrive at work – barely keeping my shit together today.

8:30AM: Tweeted “With only 3 hours of sleep, today is going to be a total warpath”

11:35AM: finish writing this post and realized that I still have 5 more hours to KILL before I can go home and SLEEP.

want to cry and ask for my mommy.

Last weekend recap – in list format

Over the weekend the following good/bad things happened – I wrote it in list format, because it was just chain, after chain of events… and I’m lazy that way….

I have a total of 10 boxes left to unpack, and the only reason they still unpacked is because I’m waiting on Tom to hang the last shelves in the designated office space.

It did not rain on Saturday. Hooray for us!

I sold my bulky armoire for the asking amount with no questions asked. (if only selling property would be that easy!)

I cooked a kick ass Tilapia recipe and impressed the future mother-in-law with my culinary skills – lots of praise followed – felt good – actually felt f*** awesome.

Major car expending averted! Turned out that it took a trip to the corner auto shop, $14 bucks and some elbow grease and we avoided major dealership expending.

It was a beautiful day on Sunday

I left the windows open in my car – you know to “AIR/REFRESH” the car out.

Then it RAINED, because you know, I’m travelling with the “rain doomed” over my head!

Tom FORGOT that windows were open, thus water got everywhere INSIDE the car.

Got home, found out it had happen, had to clean up. Yelled at Tom, when heard THAT lame excuse.

Got LOCKED out of the house by Tom, while I was cleaning the pooled water inside the car.

Called his cell, after borrowing cell from nice neighbors

He did not answer, left really nasty message on voice mail – counted to 10

He called back to tell me … wait for it…

“HE FORGOT”…

He followed with an apology

I did not want to hear it and told him he better haul his ass home.

Had to wait OUTSIDE for him to come back, decided to let it go… but then.. THEN!

Got bitten by gazillion mosquitoes, while waiting for Tom to come back and open the house door.

Then I needed to pee, decided that peeing in my yard was NOT GOING TO HAPPENED.

20 minutes later Tom arrived, opened the door, ran to bathroom to pee and almost tripped over the dog and averted a trip to the ER with some broken bone.

Barely made it to the bathroom!

Then had to run to pharmacy to buy Caladryl or die of the itching associated with bites.

Gave Tom the silence treatment the rest of the night. – it felt good.

Went to bed, woke up and realized that I need to do the whole week ALL OVER AGAIN.

Power tools, electronic stud finders, and super duper wall anchors, mean nothing when you have a cat with superpowers.

This weekend we took a break from unpacking. Yes, we are STILL UNPACKING – don’t judge!

Tom decided he needed to finish a DYI project that he started last weekend and I decided that since I was working on a side job this weekend, I was going to vege-out and not open another cardboard box and put things away. I was going to take a fucking break.

On Sunday, I came back from my overnight job (no it’s NOT THAT) and needed to chill out, because I had not gotten much sleep the night before (NO IT’S STILL NOT THAT!). So, here I was chilling in the bedroom and reading, enjoying the wonder of not DOING ANYTHING AT ALL, and solving a murder in less than 500 pages.

Then I heard a noise… sort of like something shifting on the wall in front of me.

I looked up…Not sure that I had heard anything. Side note here: I suffer from profound hearing lost. While I use to wear hearing aids at one time, the lost has been so deep, that not even hearing aids help me out. So, most of the time, I really do not trust the noises that I hear – because every so often the noises that I DO HEAR are inside my head and not really happening.

But, this time I was not the only one hearing the noises, because I notice that the cat looked up as well… and I don’t need to tell you who has super hearing powers around the house, do I?

The noise stopped and I went back to reading.

The cat went back to licking herself.

Then I heard it again, this time a bit louder. Apparently so did super-ears.  Because, the cat looked up and then at me and then she concentrated on the front of the bed where our beautiful bright RED Wall shelf unit was located – which, held our beautiful NEW 42” LG Flat-panel TV, my Apple notebook, the iPhone and the cable DVR. (I know, it sounds like I’m bragging, but I needed you to know understand fully what was at stakes here). Tom and I had installed the unit about 2 weeks ago after much bitching and fighting over power tools and the right anchors and were in the hell were the stubs on the house. 

So where was I? Oh, yeah the noise, the cat looking up, and me not trusting the noises in the first place.

But, alas, the noises came again, and trust me, I have no idea what made me get up from the bed and get close to the wall unit, but something did. And as I got closer, the noise came again, a bit louder and this time I reached out and put my hands on the TV, and in a split second the whole unit came crashing down, drowning the cat’s terrified “MEOW” and Tom, screaming from down below “WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPEN UP THERE???”.

If you cannot picture it… let me help you a little in getting that mental image going:

After the smoked cleared, the beloved RED unit was on the floor, the DVR box landed (SAFE AND SOUND) inside the laundry basked (that was holding the freshly washed sheets) located below the unit.  The iPhone flew to the other side of the room and landed (SAFE AND SOUND) on the floor, next to the stunned cat (thank good for the plastic case that protects it!) The notebook, inside one of the unit’s cubby was miraculously intact. And the star of the show, ME! Was standing up, holding the most important household item – oh wait let me type it again and clarify – HOLDING THE 42” FLAT PANEL TV WITH MY BARED HANDS!

Tom ran up, and we put everything back on the floor and as I sat on the bed and hyperventilated.  He shouted “WHAT HAPPEN? HOW DID IT HAPPEN? HOLY SHIT WE ALMOST LOST THE TV!!!”

In which I responded: “Yep, so much for power tools, electronic stud finders, and super duper wall anchors, just let’s give thanks to the cat, for alerting us to the impending collapse, because I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING.”

And to set the record straight, the cat is getting extra nibbles for the rest of her life.