Blizzardnado

It is creeping on Friday evening, interwebs, I have had two near-death experiences in the past week and I am feeling sassy and threw on a pair of fresh pajamas to celebrate.

I have felt lousy for probably... the entire summer. I thought this was due in large part to Francisco the Asshole Cysto which made me feel like a Class-A Pussy.

Why?  It was a CYST.  At his mightiest and most powerful he was only 4...  I'm bad with measurements.  Couldn't really tell you the difference between an inch and a mile.. something, for chrissakes. And there I was complaining about him, profusely, to Dr. Kickass. (Francisco is now, apparently, deflated and waving around pathetically like one of those inflatable people they have outside of used car dealer ships, by the way. Yay progress.).

I am not that woman, damnit.  I once went to Cedar Sinai with a kidney stone, passed the damn thing in the waiting room and went home.  I once walked a half mile home on a broken foot.  I WILL TAKE THAT PAIN AND RAISE IT A FUCK YOU.

But I've felt totally off all summer.  

Thursday I saw my GP and got some antibiotics because I felt like I had a UTI (considering I'm a horny she-beast I've had them enough times to just alert him when I've needed something).  Saturday I woke up with a headache and feeling like everywhere I went it was snowing.  By Saturday night I had a fever of 102.

By Tuesday morning, my fever was approaching 104, I didn't really understand what day it was, I had a laying down heart rate of 140, I was wearing so many blankets someone could've mistaken me for a Bed Bath & Beyond and I hadn't said anything snarky in nearly 48 hours.  GP sent me to Urgent Care.

Kidney infection, bitches.  Gnarly kidney infection.  I have never felt. That sick. In my entire. Life.

So I had probably been wandering around with an infection all summer, someone passed a slight cold-like bug to me, and my body was like nahhh, dude, too much. I lost 8 lbs in 4 days (so if anyone needs me to like, lick their face while I'm still a little cootieish, I'm game). 

I've spent my week hydrating like a motherfucker, exhausted by moving more than 5 feet, and taking antibiotics the size of gravy boats. Bub took a day off to take care of me, my Mom came up for a day - I couldn't do shit. It has been 36 hours with a temperature below 100 and I've never felt so excited to feel like regular old flu-garbage in my entire life.

On the downside, given my very thick curly hair and lack of being able to move, I look like Cornel West (I definitely mean hair, I kind of mean eyebrows and I may even mean beard). Which as you can imagine, though he looks quite distinguished, is not a good look for a pale girl in her 30s.

(Source.)

Now to the more important near-death experience.  I was almost killed by a komodo dragon.

Bubba the Grump is known affectionately as the worst-nurse-ever.  Nurturing is not his bag. However, this week he did amazingly awesome. He made sure I took my antibiotics, frequently took my temperature, I'd be unconscious and wake up to him hovering over me with a water saying 'drink, woman, drink'.

So the fact that now that I'm mentally more awake I see that the house is a four-alarm catastrophe that any sane person would have condemned is not something I'm upset about.  Had I re-emerged from my coma in a smoldering pile with a husband and three animals covered in ashes, I'd still be pretty proud of him. But today I felt well enough to get up and try to clean for a few minutes.  Gawd smited me.

My only supervisors today are my 500 lb cat  (Mokey), the 40 lb corgi-mix (Phoebe) and the giant somewhat dopey husky mix Luna (I say dopey lovingly - I'm just saying I'm pretty sure whatever thought process she has there are banjos playing in the background).

Let me just say that I feel an intruder in our house should have gone far smoother with this team.  Phoebe, although loving, is a known mouse, bird and bunny murderer. I've left her outside for five minutes only to come out and find her wearing a feather beard with a grin on her face. The only thing that's gotten away from her clutches is a skunk and that's because it distracted her with a skunk-dance before spritzing her right in the nose and everyone knows corgis are suckers for the majesty of an elaborate tap-dance number.  Luna is the scariest fucking thing you've ever seen in your life.  Dopey, yes, but on looks alone she kills. If Mokey hasn't seen a piece of food in 20 minutes, she has the balls to act as though she is starving to death despite looking like a furry waterbed and will smack you right in the face because that's how she rolls.

SO THIS. SHOULD HAVE. GONE. BETTER.

I am in the kitchen cleaning and wondering if while I was unconscious my husband just put pounds of mud on every clean plate just to mix shit up, when I notice that Phoebe and Mokey are sitting in the kitchen fixated on something in the laundry room.  We have a child safety gate between the kitchen and the laundry room - not because we have children (HA) but for the far more ridiculous reason of keeping the dogs from accessing the... free dog bakery Mokey runs out of a box. I go to see what they're looking at and they seem to be looking at a giant piece of fur.

'What are you looking at?' I say as though I'm snow fucking white and can speak to animals, and as I do the giant ball of fur gets up on it's legs and starts to scurry around the laundry room. Not a ball of fur, but a LIZARD.

A series of things happen all at once.

I, naturally, jump up on my kitchen bench and start screaming.

Mokey, who is supposed to take care of this sort of riff-raff being a cat the size of a large diabetic puma, runs into the living room and wedges half of her body under the couch, ass in the air because it won't fit.

Luna, the scariest, proceeds to just run around the living room barking like I'm not scared for my life but rather have just announced that we're all going to Disneyland.

Phoebe, brave soldier that she is, dives as though belly-flopping off a pier into the laundry room. Through sheer gymnastics I shut the child safety gate behind her and scream (Snow White has grown hostile) that I will not be letting her out until she gets rid of it and then continue to scream at the top of my lungs.

I'm screaming, Luna is barking in circles (in the wrong room, naturally), I hear Phoebe scuttling furiously in the laundry room all the while attempting to text Bub that I have survived high fevers and a kidney infection ONLY TO BE KILLED BY GODZILLA and he needed to come home at once (from an hour away) or I was calling the SWAT team.

He apparently thought this was an overreaction.

This is my punishment for cleaning and for mocking sharknado made manifest - I will die by combination Barknado and Lizardnado. A Blizardnado.

Three minutes later it has occurred to me that the neighbors might think I'm being murdered, I spent a good 30 seconds contemplating whether them sending the cops would be a BAD thing before I noticed that Phoebe had stopped scurrying.  Peeped around the corner (my bravest moment) and she seemed to be sitting at the gate triumphant.

I cannot determine cause of death exactly as I will NOT go into the laundry room and I find it best when hiring a furry hitman not to ask any questions just to be grateful, however there appears to be a smooshed, lizard shape outline near my second fridge. (And that damned lizard carcass is blocking me from my juice). Not to say that this was the king of Lizard's but had I found Jim Morrison standing in my laundry room I would've been less surprised.

Mind you, I am happy that I have survived this.  I am.  However, if you would have asked me yesterday I would've thought it gone smoother.  Much more like the Cat on Roomba if the role of duck was played by a lizard, you know?  Hyperfocused cat predator with dogs in the background as a just-in-case muscle prop.  They spot unwanted creature, and without blinking whip out costumes and machinery like a finely tuned death squadron.

Not a psychotic corgi saving the day with a cat, husky and woman in the background acting fucktarted.

(Sidenote - the tile in this video is the exact tile in my laundry room, so now I feel as though this video was trying to prophetically warn me).

Be thankful to be alive today, people.  It's true, there is infertility and lizards and people casting Ashton Kutcher to play Steve Jobs (whaaaaaaaat?! Honestly Luna is closer to Steve Jobs' intelligence) in this world... and if you're having trouble feeling thankful, I give you my new favorite everything (apart from cat on roomba).