Where have I been?

Well, its a tale of two homes and I really don't even know where to start...other than the good news is I am back at a computer keyboard, with lots of blogging material and I miss you guys!

Sadly, I have joined the other bizillion people that have lost their homes. So for the last 3 weeks, I have been moving twenty years of "stuff" from my two-story, four bedroom home.....box by box, tear by tear (sniff) into my new place. Emotionally, it has NOT been easy, but it is what it is and life goes on, so put your big girl panties on and deal with it!

Let me begin with DAY ONE at my new digs. I awake at 5:30 a.m. to have a garage sale. As I have an interview later that day, I jump in the shower to wash my hair. Five minutes into the shower, a horrific noise begins. Gads, what the hell is that noise???? The plumbing? Nope. It was the LOUDEST "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I have ever heard! I jump out of the shower to discover...it is the smoke alarm. Apparently, the steam from my shower set it off. No problem, I will just wave some pillows at it until it stops. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! That's not working. Mind you, I am dripping wet and the noise is deafening. I grab a chair and try to reach the ceiling (I am on the 2nd floor of the house next to the staircase). No go. Too short. I know the neighbors can hear this shrill noise and I can't make it stop. Naked, I run down stairs to the garage to find a screwdriver or a hammer or both in this case. Back upstairs, on the chair, still can't make the blasted thing stop screaming! I am now standing on the iron staircase railing, holding on with one arm and smashing the smoke alarm with a hammer. If the fire department arrives right now, I swear to you I will just die....Forget the hammer, I'll just pick it off the ceiling with a screwdriver....EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, I am waving madly at it like I am weilding an icepick! The noise is absolutely ear splitting, I swear it gets louder the long it is on. I am like a mad woman stabbing thin air. Finally it comes off the ceiling momentarily but it won't stop screaming. What the hell, is it possessed? It is still plugged in! With all the strength I can muster, with one wet left hand, and balancing myself on top of the stair rail with the other, I yank the thing out of the ceiling and fling it across the room. Ahhhh, suddenly, there is peace. And there I am, naked as a jaybird, balancing myself on the stairs. Soaking wet hair, can't even remember if I rinsed out the conditioner, but don't have time now, garage sale starts in 10 minutes....so off I go. Later as my hair dries to the consistency of straw, I discover the stuff I thought was conditioner in the shower was really body lotion........ but me and my straw hair made it to the interview and by gosh it went well!

(p.s. the deceased smoke alarm is still laying on the floor, three weeks later :)

"Oh and Dad, I promise to fix the smoke alarm and thanks for letting me come home....again"

WHERE'S THE BLOG?

Dear Blog Follower in Arizona (you know who you are)

This one's for you!

Thank you so much for your inquiry and yes I've been feeling like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz lately.....if I only had a brain.......

It's because of caring people like you, that encourage me to write even when things are tough.

So sit back PB, read on and enjoy the post below.

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO TITLE THIS STORY

A funny thing happened while at the beach yesterday.....

Mr. Moto and I were flaked out on the sand, enjoying an absolutely gorgeous day. I'm lying on my back and I reach down to adjust my new bikini bottom. As I reach in on the inside of my right hip, I feel a sharp stab. I immediately flinch and try to withdraw my hand quickly, only to feel resistance and a searing and piercing pain. What the hell? Why won't my hand come out of my bikini? I sit up immediately and realize I have caught my thumb on something inside the bikini and it won't budge. As I look down, I see that I have "fish hooked" my thumb to my bikini. Apparently, there was LARGE staple where the price tag was and in my haste to get dressed I had not removed it, thus impaling said staple thru my thumb and attaching it to my bikini bottom. I could see where the staple entered and then ran under the skin the width of my thumb and came out the other side. OMG. I cannot get my hand out of my pants. Panic. I glance again and the bleeding begins. I wake the napping Mr. Moto.

"Andy, can you help me. My hand is stuck to my bikini bottom". He sits up and surveys the situation........trying with all he's got not too laugh. Crap, it hurts and now there is more blood. Get it out I scream! We are both on our knees facing each other trying to figure out what to do. We can't pull the staple out because it is in the fish hook position in my thumb and will rip the skin apart. We can see where it went in and where it came out. It is in deep. So picture the scene. Both of us on our knees, with our hands in my bikini trying to maneuver the staple. Andy's plan is to remove staple from bikini first, freeing my hand and then remove staple from my thumb. As gently as he can he is trying with his man hands to pick out the staple from the bikini..........however, he may as well of had lobster claws for hands. We tried using my car keys to lift bent end of staple but too no avail. Then we tried using sunglasses and anything else we could find on our beach towel, bottle caps, my fingernails. Every time he tried to unbend it, I winced. (come on Trace, be tough, this is Mr. Moto you are with....who has broken more bones than I'm sure he can count, been helivacted, survived punctured lungs and being run over by motorcycles ) and you are whimpering over an impaled staple. Suck it up, girl!!! And then I notice people are now staring. Because this does look pretty perverted. Man with hand in girl's bikini, using car keys and sunglasses and girl screaming out loud....."stop, it hurts". I can only imagine what these people are thinking. And now I am thinking about parading down the beach with my hand stuck in my pants en route to the ER to get this damn staple removed from my thumb. Or I could take off the bikini bottom that is attached to my thumb and look like an exhibitionist and stride down the beach bottomless clenching it in my hand. Those were my two options. After about 5 grueling minutes, gaping stares by on lookers and me now hyperventilating, Mr. Moto is finally able to unhook the bikini from the staple, thus leaving me with a free arm but with a the complete staple still embedded through my thumb. Mr. Moto then grabs the projecting part of the staple, tells me to "bite the bullet", yanks it in a fish hook shaped motion and rips (yes, I said ripped) the staple from my thumb and throws it into the sand like it was a poisonous snake. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHWWWWW, I scream.

Really? Did we have to do it like that? Now pass me a beer. I poured a few drops on the wound, drank the rest and resumed my position in the sand. Just another day at the beach...........