Step One: The Purge

When you get married and have a couple offspring, it is literally awe-inspiring the amount of “things” you accrue. Jerky makers, waffle irons, bassinets, hideous crystal items, plastic fruit, an over-abundance of hemorrhoid items (due to a crippling fear during both pregnancies) and enough bobby pins to replicate the Eiffel Tower and near perfect ratios.

So, now that it’s time to move 31 hours away it’s time to purge all things crappy that take up a hideous amount of your space. No, I will never make jerky. No, I don’t think crystal will make a comeback. It all had to go.

Once we made up our minds to move West, we started selling everything. Furniture, beds, tables, EVERYTHING. Facebook friends snapped up most and curb pickers got a good lot of filth but we still had a LOT. It was time for a rummage sale.

Well, once we managed to dump the majority of our possessions in the front lawns, I sat and waited for buyers. During a lull, my husband decided to drive 45 minutes away to run an errand, leaving me to wheel and deal.

About 20 minutes into his vacancy, I was moving a chair to the edge of the driveway and tripped on the edge of the asphalt, fell and heard all the tendons of my left ankle snap and crack.


As I writhed in a pile of moist leaves, screaming and moaning like a Life Alert commercial, I realized I didn’t have my phone.


After about five minutes of blinding pain and a string of swear words so dirty they make me cringe recalling them, I managed to crawl through (literal) broken glass to my phone. As my husband rushed home, I couldn’t move. I sat in a chair with thousands of leaves, worms and sod all over my body while people shopped my sale and I pretended not to feel like I might need an amputation.

Finally, after two walkerbys tried to take advantage of my whole scene and I almost gave them everything for free to force them away from me, my husband returned.

I drove myself to the hospital. My legs were No-Shave-November-hairy. Found out my ankle was sprained. Received a giant black boot, crutches and Vicodin and wheeled to the curb. Realized when I got him that the ass of my pants ripped when I fell.

Now, I get to pack a five bedroom house with crutches, a ten pound boot and a deep pain-killer haze.

Why wouldn’t this happen to me?

Cat Scratch Fever

I have always liked cats…my own cats. And, considering I haven’t had a cat since high school I think I might be romanticizing my love for them.

I’ve been counting down the days until I get settled into my own place near where I work so I can either legally or illegally smuggle my own fat furry couch-ornament in to cuddle with. However, somehow I think I confused cats as just an easier version of a dog. This is not so.

For instance:
I am housesitting for my aunt right now and she has two cats. My aunt joked before she left, “You’ll be lucky if you even see the little darlings!” and I laughed thinking that no animal–let alone two–could live in a house like they are ninjas of the night. Well, these two do. I should have figured as much when I was never told their names and I am staying here for two weeks. I was just shown the five litter boxes they have (literally) set up in the basement and told I won’t have to change them, feed them ,water them, etc. So, basically I watch free cable and blog while they lurk creepily around every corner.

I literally only saw the tip of one’s tail as I sat in the recliner and it was either under it or scared by it and it vanished through the kitty door (sick) in the basement faster than my retinas could focus.

However, I could live with this. Big deal, they don’t bound to the door when I come home. That sometimes gets annoying. They don’t slober on my legs and leave strings of saliva that make me gag just to describe.

But this was the cincher…

I fell asleep last night in a blaze of glory…literally unconscious. Now, I don’t know if this happens to anyone else but do you ever get where you’re asleep and you know you’re asleep and you want to move so badly but you are, literally, paralyzed? I heard that this happens to everyone but I might be the only one enlightened enough to have had a self-discovery.


So, as I was sleeping like I was in the tub scene of What Lies Beneath, this bobcat sized animal leaps on my chest and slinks toward my face. Instantly, panic seized my body but there was the paralysis. So, I could sit and force myself to remember that, yes, there was food in the basement and no he wasn’t licking his lips while he looked at my jugular.

He sensed my vulnerability but let me live.