This Old Foreclosed House - Home Improvement Addition

In our last installment of "This Old Foreclosed House", we saw just how much fun it is living right next door to the world's largest mosquito breeding ground (aka: partially filled in with crap in ground swimming pool).

After complaints to the Health Department (too numerous to count) about the swarms of (probably) disease carrying mosquitoes attacking us from the ghastly quicksand of muck and stagnant water next door, the bank sent someone over jiffy quick (if jiffy means months and months, and quick means a year) to take care of the problem... by covering it with a tarp.  Seriously.  Stop laughing.

See, I told you they covered it with a tarp.  You thought I was totally joking.  Can't you see just how much better that looks by having a tarp thrown over the gaping hole filled with muck and garbage!  I'm pretty sure my house price leaped up by several thousand dollars just by stretching the tarp over it!

Of course, what the tarp people didn't take into account was that when you stretch a tarp over a hole, and loosely secure it with various and sundry semi heavy piece of readily available debris... when you get a storm with any sort of breeze and rain, you get this:

Which made my house price plummet once again.  A few weeks later, some different work people showed up and at this point I thought they had learned their lesson and were going to fill it up or whatever you do with craptastic in ground swimming pools, but no... they would not let the tarp idea go, and instead of fixing the problem:

They built a new house over the pool.  Ok, they didn't, but I thought they were, what with the extensive platform they built, the three days they put into building the extensive platform, and then the heavy gauge wiring they nailed to the platform (seriously, for a while there I thought they had relocated the Ground Zero Mosque), but then... they dutifully stretched and secured the tarp.  So there we have it.  A back yard that any new homeowner would want:

Its almost good enough for a dance party! 

If you'd like to blow up the picture a bit bigger, you can see that on the pickup truck parked in the other neighbor's yard (the one that use to have the chickens, but now only has some man and woman who scream and curse at each other nightly, while slamming doors and threatening to kill each other) they've put a computer and monitor.  I guess they are really into mobile computing.

In our next episode of "This Old Foreclosed House" we'll show you the "for sale" sign up in the front yard... in the small path of fallen tree that someone cleared so they would have room to put up a "for sale" sign.

The Zombies Got Me

My employer has an emergency contact site. You log in and add your emergency contact information and if something drastic happens, they can contact you (I have no idea what they expect me to do, other than cower and hide until the emergency is over, cuz I'm so NOT going into work during an emergency... of any sort).

Once a quarter, they send out reminders for you to update your emergency contact information. Typically I don't change any of my numbers, so its been quite a while since I've had to log in, but I did get a google voice number and I figured I'd add that in there instead of the 40 other phone numbers. I'm being nice, saving them some time and money by just calling one number to ring the 40 phone numbers I could possibly be at. Besides, if there is an emergency like my work place getting shut down, I want to be notified of that as quickly as humanly possible so I can go back to bed.

So, following the quarterly reminder instructions, I tried to log into the site... except I had no idea what my username or password were. I took a few guesses, but didn't get in, so I opted to answer the "forgot your password question", except it wasn't an answer they wanted, they wanted me to type in the question for the answer I had provided. Holy crap, seriously? I had no clue. So I clicked the button for "need password reset" and it opened up my mail program, where I guessed I needed to ask someone to reset my password. So I did... like this:

Subject: No clue
Body: I have absolutely no idea what my username and password are, and no clue what question goes with my answer. I'm a bit disturbed that a site that is for the express purpose of contacting me in case of emergency and guiding me through emergency steps is so hard to access. The contact information on this site can easily be found doing a Google search on my name, and not only will it reveal every phone number I've ever had, every address I've ever lived, but will also allow you to zoom so close to an actual satellite photo of my home that you can see me walking out to my mailbox in sleepy pants and robe picking my nose.

I highly doubt that during an emergency I'll have the wherewithal or the time to send an e-mail to someone asking them to reset my password. During the time I wait for someone to get back from lunch or a long meeting to reset it, an alert could have been sent out telling me that brain eating zombies are roaming the streets near my building and I need to hide in a closet or at least lock my office door. I won't have received this notice, and therefore, be the first victim of their nefarious brain eating deeds.

Isn't there a better way, and oh yeah, please reset my password.

Regards,

Four hours later I (and about 14 other morons) received an e-mail stating our passwords were reset and we were free to access the site, after changing our passwords and security question.

I sent back the following response:

Subject: Out of Office Reply
Body: If you have received this message, then the brain eating zombies have broken through my office door and eaten my brain as I was unable to update my emergency contact information.

There was no response, which leads me to believe that I work for people with absolutely no sense of humor.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

SHUT UP!

Ok, so how many new lightbulbs do you put into a light before you decide that the switch is messed up and you'll need an electrician to fix it? (and before all of you "do it yourselfers" leap in and tell me how easy it is, you do realize that I managed to zap myself on the head with a bug zapper, right?  Also, I want someone I can sue if my house burns down, I don't want to end up in some stupid youtube video of idiots who burn their own houses down, thank you).

Ok, so about a year ago, I flipped the light switch to the back room where the washer and dryer was and the light blew out.  FINE, get a new bulb and replace it, switch.... nothing.  CRAP!  Get another bulb, screw it in, switch... NOTHING.  SONOFA... FINE!

I go tell Lobsterman, who immediately says "well, just put a new bulb in".  This started a 15 minute rant about just how stupid do you think I am of course I already put TWO bulbs in, so any moron can see that its the stupid light switch and now I'll have to call an electrician and blah, blah, seriously, really, I mean am I that stupid, good gawd!

Today the other back room light blew.  We didn't have bulbs, so I thought... well, there's a perfectly new stupid lightbulb in the socket where the switch is bad, I'll just use that.

I'll pause a minute while you realize that THE FREAKIN BULB DIDN'T WORK!!!

Yep, for a whole freakin year it was the lightbulbs.  Went out to buy new ones (note to self: never go to Target the day before school starts), walked into Target, then straight back out of Target because people were fighting over notepads.  Went to the grocery store (because I was out of ice cream anyway) and apparently Armageddon or a major snow storm was approaching, as there were no less than 500 people standing in line while my ice cream melted.

Got home, and sure enough... stupid light works back there.  I should be happy... but there's this distant nagging voice in the back of my head that a lightbulb made me look really stupid.

So, the lesson here is to try at least 400 lightbulbs before you call an electrician.  On the bright side, at least I didn't call an electrician who would have said "duh, all you have to do is put in a new lightbulb" at which point I'd be in jail for shoving the electrician's body in the sump pump hole.

You've Got To Be Kidding Me!

Warning: this post will probably contain TMI, will contain discussions of bodily functions, and will mock a product.

I want to thank my friend (as usual, I won’t mention her name, but will give her the usual alias) Leather for sending me this link. It was actually a topic that I had been meaning to blog about for some time, but the abject stupidity of this product caused me to immediately rush to my computer (by way of the coffee pot, then I grabbed some miniature chocolate bars out of the freezer, got distracted by the laundry that had been sitting in the dryer for at least a day, then remembered what I was so irate about) to blog about this very topic:

Pooping

We all do it. We all know that sometimes it involves a bit of noise and most likely a bit of stink (despite some people’s insistence that theirs don’t), but this is why toilets are in their own little rooms, with their own little stalls for privacy and anonymity, and why toilets aren’t right in your office or in an open hallway.

Bathrooms were invented to allow people the ability to go stink and make noise with minimum disruption to the general workplace. NOBODY should be embarrassed to do whatever it is they do in a bathroom even if their shoes are recognizable under the stall door. That’s what a bathroom is for! Frankly when I walk into a bathroom and hear all manner of commotion and stink, I’m thankful that the person doing it isn’t in my freakin office doing it!

But apparently bathrooms are now places of shame for doing what comes naturally, or so some company thinks or wants you to believe because they’ve come out with a product called “Eco-Otome Toilet Sound Blocker”. Go read the stupid write up.

Now, if you read that and thought “Holy Crap! (no pun intended) that’s a fantastic idea and I need about 4 of them”, then I want you to leave this blog, delete the link, stop following me, and don’t even think about leaving a comment telling me how wrong I am about this product before you leave.

Let’s break down this whole ad (as seen on CNN... why doesn’t THAT surprise me):

“You are sitting on the toilet and know that people right outside can hear your every noise”. DUH! Most bathrooms are made of tile and metal, which not only allows people right outside to hear your every noise, but also manages to create a gigantic amplifying affect. Its that way because its easier to spray off all sorts of nasty muck from tile and metal than sound proofing material. Would you rather have a crap covered sound-proof toilet or a clean one?

“Small and clipping easily to your mobile phone...” I will ignore the poor english and shoot straight to... you’re embarrassed to have someone hear you fart and drop some kids off at the pool, but you’ll bring your cell phone into the toilet with you and chat with your friends while you take a dump?

“... makes the noise of a toilet flushing to hide the other noises you might be making.” Oh, so you don’t want people to hear you fart and splash, but you’d rather have them think that you are crapping so much that you must constantly flush the toilet to keep up with the mass of spew? Frankly I’m a bit leery of people who flush while still sitting because seriously... what is so foul going on that you feel compelled to flush while you’re still doing your business? Its a toilet, not a bidet.

“... white has a green slogan - after all, this little device means you won’t have to flush for real and thus saves water.” OH NO YOU DON’T! Don’t you even think about using a public toilet and not flushing when you’re done for me to find when I have to go! I walk into that nasty stall and find that, I’m turning right around and beating you with the decorative soap dispenser or whatever happens to be handy (most likely fake, dust covered plastic flowers).

So, frankly, about the only use I can see for this is for when you’re in a boring meeting, or maybe walking into the office kitchen, hitting the button, then walking out buckling up your pants.

This Old Foreclosed House - The History

As I may have complained bitterly and sarcastically in earlier blogs, we live next door to a foreclosed house.

I'm not going to get into the whole socioeconomic reasoning behind why someone would foreclose, or whose fault it was, or all of that stuff (if you'd like to take the easy way out: blame Bush), but in the case of our neighbors... I have no idea.  We're the "quiet people who keep to themselves" type who have yet to appear in a major news flash broadcast about some unspeakable horror (as all "quiet people who keep to themselves" are portrayed by the media), so I don't know what kind of woe or misfortune they had that caused them to foreclose... I just know that there were signs it was coming.

Now, before I get into the signs, you are probably thinking "gee, why didn't you reach out to help them if you saw signs, why didn't you offer your support and help to them?"  Well, my, aren't we judgmental and all pompous, like you would do that, and you know you wouldn't, but to be fair, when they initially moved in, we did the neighborly thing and was all nice and offered to loan them lawn care tools and all that... and they were buttheads.  So, screw em.

Now, on to the signs.  They had a great pool.  The old lady that lived there took such good care of that pool that it was beautiful, always clean.  The lawn was well taken care of, and because of that, we overlooked the fact that her fat poodle would waddle into our front yard and take a crap.  Plus she grew tomatoes and always gave us some, so it was a give and take neighbor-relationship. 

When the new people moved in, they initially took ok care of the house, but you could tell the pool wasn't a major deal to them and slowly but surely, it went to hell after a few years.  At one point they brought in dump trucks full of cheap fill dirt and seemed to try to fill it in... until the fill dirt company realized why they needed the fill dirt, and that just filling in an in ground swimming pool was illegal in the county and refused to bring more fill dirt.  With a crappy in ground swimming pool now only 1/3 filled, they covered it with a tarp to hide the dirt... then proceeded to throw stuff they didn't want into the pool. 

Then they stopped mowing and cutting back trees and bushes, which encroached into our yard.  It was at that point that I told Lobsterman that they were foreclosing.  He didn't think so, I did. 

Then the POD appeared in the driveway and I told Lobersterman that they were foreclosing.  He thought that maybe they were doing some major renovations that required them to remove bits and pieces of their belonging a little at a time on the weekends.  The POD stayed for a year and then they stopped coming by every weekend to get stuff, only showing up randomly.  Lobsterman said that they weren't foreclosing because they left all of the windows up in the house... I laughed, especially when I saw them dragging out parts of the house that should be considered permanent... like copper plumbing.

Through blizzards, torrential downpours, heat, cold, and in between, the windows stayed up, finally the electricity got cut (because their motion sensor light wouldn't come on as the feral cats hunted in their back yard), and finally after two years, a sign appeared on the door and padlocks were put on all the doors... foreclosed.

In the next installment of "This Old Foreclosed House", we'll explain the joys of living next to a potential crack den.

Bats in your hair

So, I'm sitting outside enjoying the ear piercing shrieks of cicadas when I see our 2 usual bats doing their supersonic moves through the air in our yard, hopefully sucking up all of the mosquitos from Malaria Pool next door... and it totally weirds me out.

In my head, I hear my grandmother warning me: "watch out for the bats because they'll swoop down and get tangled in your hair". Yes, this from the woman that thinks pregnancy comes from toilet seats, but still... why risk it?

I KNOW after a gazillion years of watching Discovery Channel, and National Geographic channel and every channel but lamestream media, that bats don't swoop down and get tangled in hair. I think that even lamestream media would have a story about that, along with a video where the news puppet would laugh at the poor person with a bat stuck in their hair... but no, nothing.

Even though I KNOW for a fact that a bat won't swoop down and intentionally tangle itself in my hair... I'm still weirded out by them. They're fast. They zoom around all erratic. What if they made a silly mistake and jinked instead of twisted and BAM... bat in the hair? Then where would I be? I'd be apologizing to my long dead grandmother and also explaining to all of my former facebook friends who would post that video of me getting a bat cut out of my hair by EMTs that all I was doing was sitting on my deck listening to annoying cicadas and they all should DIE!

So, if you are a parent... tell your kids that a bat will swoop down and get caught in their hair, and they'll get pregnant if they sit on a public toilet seat, and make them pull your finger, and that chewing gum will stay in your stomach until you die, and you'll get worms if you eat cookie dough raw... because I shouldn't be the only one with mental problems in this world.

... and I still can't get any Xanax.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Pants Rant

I strongly believe that captured terrorists should be forced to wear Vera Wang pants.

So, there I am at work, working... no really, I was working... seriously, stop laughing. I'm wearing my comfy pair of black Vera Wang pants that collect ridiculous amounts of dog hair, but as usual, I don't care, they're comfy and stylish.

I'm pretty sure that Vera (since I wear her pants I feel that I can be on a first name basis with her) designs her pants for people who have no hip bones, such as herself. While most pants have a fly and button, Vera goes for a very secure closure that includes a zipper, two gigantic hook things, a flap and a button, all craftily hid inside the waist band and nearly impossible to manipulate. I'm pretty sure that when I purchased the pants, they weren't in the modern chastity belt section, just the average women who have hip bones but want to look as though they've had their hip bones removed so they can be just like Vera section. The only thing missing is a combination lock.

Having successfully navigated the bathroom on several occasions throughout the day with minimal difficulty, I thought nothing of taking an afternoon bathroom break stroll after 3 cups of coffee and a venti iced latte, 4 packets of sugar. Stroll probably isn't a good word, more like hurried walk. As usual, once one enters the bathroom, their bladder has a certain expectation that shortly upon entering the stall, blessed relief will begin. This is where the trouble started.

For some odd reason, the secure gigantic hook things had somehow become welded together. This seemed problematic, especially because my bladder was tapping impatiently waiting for the "go" signal. I pulled and manipulated some more... to no avail. I then began frantically pulling, twisting, and tearing at the hook things.

This was getting serious! Its not like I could just give up and go back to my desk, my bladder clearly knew where we were, I had to go, but I couldn't get my pants off. I dimly recall seeing the shoes of a co-worker/friend in another stall when I came in. As I respect the privacy of those I blog, we'll call her Sylvania. For a fleeting moment I thought of yelling out to Sylvania for help, but then I thought... well, what the heck would she do? Do I leave the stall while trying to tear open my pants and perhaps have Sylvania take a go at them, and what happens when another co-worker comes into the bathroom and sees two women trying to rip one's pants off? I mean I doubt we'd even get the pants open before security came, tasered us, and dragged us (me with peed pants) to jail or signed us up for a Cinemax at night gig.

There wasn't any guarantee that Sylvania would take one look at me, call security and have my pee stained self dragged from the building, and what would happen if those WEREN'T Sylvania's shoes in that stall, what would that person think of me screaming for them to rip my pants off. Just thinking about that made me laugh, which made things even worse because now I was thinking about the other people in the bathroom who could probably see my feet pivoting around as I tried to rip my pants off and now I was laughing, so it was only a matter of time before the security tasers came to get me... but then I got the hooks undone and I could pee, so life was good again.

And captured terrorists should wear Vera Wang pants.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Tuna Rant

All right everyone, pull up your pants and get ready for a "when I was a kid" rant about tuna.

When I was a kid, canned tuna was chock full of big meaty tuna pieces with a little bit of water (or oil, if you were one of those that preferred the oil).  You would plop out a huge glop of tuna meat, add half a container of mayo (Helmans... none of that Miracle Whip crap), and make the entire family a freakin tuna sandwich.  Half the time there was enough left to feed some homeless feral cats and most of a high school football team.

Hard to believe that such a tiny little can of tuna could provide that much tuna, but it did, and the tuna was delicious, and it was chunky, and it was plentiful.  I'm pretty sure you could feed a whole impoverished country with one can of tuna back then, it was just that good.

Now look at it!  You open up a can of tuna and its nothing but a bunch of glop in water (or oil if they even make it in oil, since oil is probably the major cause of obesity or death or something), its the consistency of the hair that gets stuck in your bathtub drain and sits there for about 6 months because you are either too lazy or didn't even realize you had 6 pounds of congealed hair in your drain until the water wouldn't drain and then you are left with a handful of slimey nasty crap that you could just as well slop onto a slice of bread and have a much better sandwich than the gooey crap in that tuna can... it doesn't even smell fishy anymore (the tuna, not the hair). 

Its so gooey and nasty and chunkless that adding ANY mayo into the goop makes it even goopier and nastier, and then try spreading that crap on bread, it just sucks the goo right up!  You can barely even make one sandwich out of that mess, and even then its like eating two slices of bread that have been soaked in a neglected aquarium.

What the hell happened to canned tuna?  I vaguely remember some sort of hoopla over the whole catching dolphins in the nets by mistake and since dolphins are cute and apparently as smart as humans (but apparently not so smart that they can't swim around a fricken tuna net, or have the wherewithal to carry a pocket knife to free themselves if they found themselves in a stupid net and before you point out that dolphins don't have pockets, I'll trump that with "oh yeah, what about that stupid blow hole thing?") and shortly after that, tuna started to suck, which leads me to this horrific thought:

What if all of this time we weren't eating tuna, we were actually eating FLIPPER!!!!

Um, frankly, I say we need to start Flipper farming because this real tuna stuff totally sucks.

Fond Childhood Memory

One winter, when I was in Elementary school, I wanted to wear shorts to school.  My mother, of course, thought this was incredibly silly.

Mom: You can't wear shorts to school, its winter!
Me: why not?
Mom: Because its winter, you don't wear shorts in winter, your legs will freeze.
Me: but its ok to wear skirts and dresses to school and freeze your legs?
Mom: Well... but you wear tights or pantyhose and those keeps your legs warm.
Me: Pffft, are you kidding me?
Mom: Don't mouth off, you just can't wear shorts to school in winter.
Dad: oh let her wear shorts to school in winter if she wants

Gosh I loved my dad!  So, off I went to Chandler Elementary School in shorts.  As the normal routine, all of the kids played in the school yard until the bell rang and then we'd line up and walk into the school and into our classrooms.  None of the other kids seemed to have noticed that I was wearing shorts in winter, but as soon as the bell rang and we lined up, one of the teachers pulled me out of the line.

Teacher: What are you wearing?
Me: shorts
Teacher: Does your mother know you're wearing shorts to school in winter?
Me: yes
Teacher: (speechless for a few seconds) You're Jon's daughter, aren't you?
Me: yes
Teacher: get inside

One winter I asked for iced tea instead of milk.  Everyone thought I was insane.  You simply don't drink ice tea in winter, it was against the law.. or something.  My argument was that people drank sodas in the winter, and they drank other juices in the winter, what's the difference between that and drinking ice tea.  Its as if it was physically impossible to make ice tea during the winter or something, it was a "seasonal" drink.  I would like to think that I had something to do with the fact that you can get iced tea any time of the year now. 

The beauty of living in a small town is that most of my teachers also taught my father, so they pretty much knew what they were getting into.



Like the time I got a little magnet in a book, and for show and tell I talked about how magnets worked.  My teacher asked me to demonstrate, and since she was wearing a metal watch on a necklace, I plopped that sucker right on the watch... I didn't realize that putting magnets on watches was a bad thing.  Apparently it was an heirloom passed down from a few zillion generations.  She just looked at me and said "Yep, you're Jon's daughter".

I loved that.

Things That Are Getting On My Nerves This Weekend

Fledgling birds!

This is nest #2 of the dysfunctional robin family.  You would think after about 10 years of having their babies fall into the mouths of my dogs, they would go build their nests someplace else, but NOOOOO!

If they don't care that their offspring meets horrible deaths every time they fling themselves out of the nest, then I shouldn't have to live with the guilt, but they don't have to toss their (sometimes) still death reflex gulping babies over the fence after the sudden squawking death at the teeth of my huskies.  Euw.

There were two (note the past tense) this morning, but one threw itself out JUST as Loki came trotting out to pee and that was the end of that.  There's one more in there, tottering at the edge of the nest each time one of the dogs has to pee, so I'm forced (through guilt) to leash the dogs up and walk them around the yard to make sure the last survivor makes it out of the yard... I'm pretty sure when its ready to fling itself out of the nest it'll run straight for me and meet its doom.

They can't wait for the weekday when they have 8 hours of safe yard while we're at work, no they wait for the weekend.  Its so bad, Loki now just lays right under the nest with his mouth open.

Morons at the mall!

Friday I ran to the mall to grab batteries for my early warning Lojack system because their automated phone thing kept calling me while I was driving around and saying someone was stealing my car.  I got behind some woman that had a zillion "I support organ donation" stickers all over her car... who appeared to be lost, stupid, blind, or something.  When she slowed to 2.5 MPH I was screaming "OHMYGAWD ITS A GOOD THING YOU SUPPORT ORGAN DONATION BECAUSE WHEN I'M THROUGH WITH YOU, SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET A WHOLE SET OF YOURS", and then when she stopped in the middle of the intersection, I realized her license plate holder said "I'm a kidney donor recipient" because I only managed to stop 2 inches from her back bumper, at which point I screamed: "YOU SHOULD HAVE RECEIVED A BRAIN DONATION YOU SCUM SUCKING..." it went downhill from there.  I'm pretty sure she now needs a heart transplant because when I laid on the horn, she jumped about 5 feet in the air and got out of the way... make that an underwear transplant.

I did get to see a mall cop SUV, a mall cop cheater segway (the kind with 3 wheels), and two county cops at Burlington Coat Factory on the way out.  I was hoping they'd be dragging the kidney woman out in cuffs with the taser things still stuck to her chest.

I blame the heat for being cranky.

Sunday With Lobsterman

As usual, hubby went on a motorcycle ride with his "gang".  I stayed at home in the air conditioning because I smooshed my finger with a sledge hammer... ok, that wouldn't have kept me from riding on the back of the bike, the 900 degree heat did have more to do with it.

Me: I see that SPF 8,000 didn't help out any today
Lobsterman: no, not really, now stop talking and spray something on this
Me: I need you to move out on the deck
Lobsterman: why the deck, its cool in here
Me: well, you're close to the smoke detector and I'm concerned your crackly skin is going to set it off
Lobsterman: shut up and spray... is that Pam, the no-stick cooking spray? 
Me: well, you are medium-well, and its olive oil, its suppose to be good for the skin

Iced Latte with Lobster Bisque Man

Hubby went on his usual weekend motorcycle ride today.  It was only 95 degrees out, but it felt like 99 degrees, therefore it was 99 freakin degrees.  I opted to stay home in the glorious air conditioning.

Instead of just being lobster man this time, thanks to the humidity he was Lobster Bisque man.

Me: Wow, I'm pretty sure you're going to glow in the dark.
Hubby: shut up, I think my nose it going to ooze off
Me: I have something for that
Hubby: is it NOT going to hurt like the time you poured alcohol on that open wound I had?
Me: probably
Hubby: stay away from me
Me: come on, that was like 20 years ago, and why do you still have that bandaid on where you got a tetnus shot three days ago
Hubby: because it'll hurt if I pull it off, so I'm just going to let it come off naturally

It was at that time that 2 monks and a hippy walked into a Starbucks... no seriously, they really did.  How can you carry on a band-aid conversation with that going on.

Memorable Workplace Moments

So this morning I was outside of work talking to some co-workers about something and I kept feeling a bug crawling on my arm.  It was very annoying, even though I kept trying to brush it off my arm on my shirt and pants, the stupid thing seemed to flit back on my arm.  I tried to swat it a few times with my hand as I kept talking, but it just kept coming back.

For some reason, as I swatted and swiped my arm against my shirt and pants, my co-workers were getting these strange looks on their faces, so I looked down at my arm and realized that a scab from a small puncture I had gotten from Meeshka during one of her storm freak outs had started bleeding all over the place.  Why is it that the smallest little wounds just gush blood.

I just pretended like spontaneous bleeding was absolutely normal, and so did they, but I'm guessing they'll probably avoid me... like everyone else.