Lsmrck's Blog

Lease on life.

I need to preface this by admitting  that I have been watching a lot of Grey’s anatomy lately. Stupid,stupid show. Everybody comes into the hospital with a nose bleed, they get rushed into surgery and thirty minutes later, most of them are dead on the the operating table. All of this was weighing pretty heavy on me last week my chest became engulfed in little red dots. I noticed it and then promptly tried to ignore it. Internal dialogue as follows.

“please be dry skin, pleeeeeease be dry skin. it’s probably just dry skin. I’m just going to ignore it. Yeah, that’s best. Just ignore it. It’s probably dry skin. Probably not aids.”

Two days later the dots started spreading down my trunk (trunk is a medical term btw). It’s really hard to ignore a rash when it gets itchy. So now my only option was, of course, to get my friends, family and co workers to diagnose it for me. Dialogue as follows.

“Hey you, will you look at my chest? I have a rash and it’s super embarrassing. I don’t think it’s really fair if it changes your opinion of me. Now that you’ve seen it, don’t you think it’s probably just dry skin and definitely not:

A. Ring worm

B. Scabies

C. Heart disease

D. The clap

And also, don’t tell anyone. And stop trying to touch it.”

Cut to two days later. I’m consumed by itch. Dizzy with fear of death, I don’t feel safe driving myself around. I call my mom. ” You just have to go in.” she says. ” when you get a rash, you can’t ignore it. It could be anything and it’s not going to go away till you get something for it. You had rashes when you were a kid.”

Side note: I have a long and complicated history with rashes.There was one time in 1986 when I skidded my face off some gravel and then picked at it till it became infected with impetigo. I also had pink eye every twenty minutes from birth on. I was/am gross.

Since my mom has about a 7564 and O record for being right, I could no longer avoid the inevitable. What was I supposed to do? What if it was about to spread to the neck up? I went to my local Now Care.

It needs to be noted, that when you live in Montana, there is a certain amount of conversation you are required to participate in. It doesn’t matter if you are in line at the grocery store or in the middle of a horrible car accident, it’s coming at you from every angle. Going to the doctor to receive your death sentence in no different. The small talk started the second I stepped on to the elevator.

Sweet old lady going to the third floor says: “Oh, my grand kids just LOVE to ride the elevator.”

I say: ” Oh I bet they do. How old are they?”

What I’m really thinking: “Lady, you got yourself a front row seat. Whatever has taken up shop in my chest is about to chew it’s way clean through.”

Sweet receptionist says: “Oh, it sure it snowing out there! And what are we seeing you for today?”

I say (in a stage whisper): “I’ve got a RASH on my CHEST and I can’t ignore it anymore. It’s probably just dry skin!”

What I’m really thinking: “You better update my emergency contact. I’m about to DIE ON THE TABLE!”

Cowboy next to me in the waiting room says: “Boy, with this snow, the roads are going to be hell”

I say: “No kidding. Thank God for four wheel drive!”

What I’m really thinking: “Sorry buddy but it’s probably too late for you. We are sitting too close!”

By the time I was called back to talk to the doctor, I was so worked up I had to add stroke and aneurysm to my list of inevitable tragedies.

The exam was quick and polite. My doctor had flame red curly hair and she pretty much got right to the point.

Flame red curly haired doctor says: “You have strep and it has presented as a rash. The rash usually confines itself to the trunk of the body, so I wouldn’t worry about it spreading. I’m going to put you on antibiotics and cream. It should clear up in a week or so.”

I say: “Oh, thank God. I love antibiotics. And, just so we’re clear, you have seen scabies before right? And this isn’t that? You would know if it were right? And also ring worm? You see those things sometimes and would know if this were them?”

I am suddenly liberated. Not today death, not today. I get in the elevator and the conversation went like this.

I say: Whoa, sorry about that. I almost got off on the wrong floor. HAHAHAHAHAHA, I would have been looking for my car for a week. It’s a good thing I looked up when I did. I get so turned around in these hospitals and actually, now that we are on the subject, I’ve never been real comfortable in elevators.”

What I’m really thinking: “I AM GOING TO LIVE!!!!!!!!”

Nice middle aged man with a baseball cap and blank stare says: “huh, yeah. Have a nice day.”

I hate to do this over the world wide web, but…

Dear Montana,

I want to start by saying that you have been great. Your huge and scenic and your residents are almost comically polite. And sure we have had some good times. The whole frolicking in your rivers and lakes thing, basking in your big sky blah blah blah.  That being said, I think we are suddenly going in different directions. If I’m being honest, this has been coming for a while. You’ve become ridiculously cold and I am finding it hard to fake laugh all winter as I crack my tail bone off your ice covered pavement. That’s never really been funny by the way.

It’s not you, it’s me.

NO, You know what? F- that, It IS you! you’re a real asshole! I’m already packing my shit. LOSE MY NUMBER!

Sincerely,

L

P.S. Also, don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors about you and that dirty el nino tramp!

P.P.S. I recently developed a rash. Just FYI.

Listing

I like these things. Now I am putting them in a list.

• Anjelica Huston
• Ketchup
• Loud, fast talkers
• Swear words
• Nerdy people
• Extreme abbreviation or exrm abbr
• Spanish dog names. Most notably Esteban, Cesar and Fidel
• Ridiculously over or undersized jewelry
• Rob Thomas from Matchbox 20 (I understand that this admission may affect my street cred. I can own that)
• When people hold grudges for more than one generation
• Lists
• Narration
• When my sister laughs at all my jokes

It’s been a year since I’ve done this. I’m trying to start slow. And also, most of my sentences start with “you know what I hate?”, so this is kind of a stretch. Oh, and also, I like Bill Murray. a lot. And short fragmented sentences. And I’m shutting it down…. NOW

Wanna hear something gross?

Our dog smells. Eats literally anything off the ground. Examples:

• Lettuce
• Snot rags
• Dead rotting fish
• Cow afterbirth
• Sticks
• Taco bell hot sauce packets
• All manner of fecal matter
• Carpet (made of either natural or synthetic fibers)
• Garlic
• Dental floss
• Vomit (most notably the great cottage cheese and pineapple projectile of 07′ and the playground mystery vomit of 08′)

Etc…. That, combined with her almost constant ear infection, creates some unholy mixtures of smells most akin to teriyaki beef jerky,brewery and the sweet smell of decay. This stank oozes out her little beagle pores constantly.

Gross?

Yes, disgusting.

Even grosser?

I like it. No, I love it.

Sometimes she sits on my lap, heats up and then moves, creating a wave of what could be consider some form of bio-terrorism gas. I like it. I like it when she makes a nest out of our blankets and then they smell like her. I like it when she eats her actual food and then sits on my lap and burps in my face. It’s disgusting, I know, but she has a particular “brand” and I am somehow genetically predisposed to it.

I bet at least three days a week i say to Aaron “Wanna hear something gross?”. He responds, predictably, “NO.” The funny thing about writing the grossest things you can think of is that by the time you realize how nasty it is, your already too far in. It’s like that time that I accidentally watched 45 minutes of ‘The Exorcist’ on TNT. By the time I realized what I was watching it was too late. I had seen too much. I need an old priest and a new priest.

An open ended farm retrospective: part two

I think I’ve made my point about snakes. I hate them. No, like, they haunt my dreams hate them. When I was a kid, every night that I remembered to be scared, I would rip the covers off my bed all the way to the bottom to check for snakes and tarantulas (tarantulas: evil enough to survive the harshest northern climate) . Even as an adult my fear is palpable. My 4 year old niece has a rubber tarantula that she cuddles with at night. It’s roughly the size of my head and I cant make myself pick it up. IT’S RUBBER! All the same, it might be real?

Anyway, when my sister and I weren’t (for mentioned) declaring jihad on weeds, or acting out our surprisingly elaborate torture rituals on Jessie, we were river rats. If someone had happen upon us in our swimming hole, they would find us synchronized swimming, diving off the rocks, or just plain pleasure cruising.

My fear of snakes was always in the front of my mind. I was sure that at any give moment, I was about to be bitten and that sweet silent death would follow. There would be nothing anyone could do. Sure my sister would try to suck out the venom, but it would be a lost cause. Curtains for Laura. I felt doomed even back then.

One time Carrie and I were hosting some kids in our swimming hole. Maybe they were neighbors, maybe they were cousins but all my fears were realized in one glance. There I was, doing my best impression of a mermaid, swimming without my glasses when I spotted two big fat terrifying cobras swimming up stream! They had their full hoods extended, obviously ready to strike. My reality slowed to a stop. I knew what I had to do. It was all up to me to save these kids.

“COOOOOOBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAASSSSSSSS!!!!! EVERYBODY GET OUT! COBRAS UP STREAM!!!!!!”

Cobras: evil enough to survive the harshest northern climate.

Turns out, without glasses on two ducks swimming up stream look exactly like two horrifying ready to strike evil cobras. Who knew? I learned two pretty important lessons that day:

1. Panic is a good motivator. Possibly the best motivator. Those kids were like white lightning getting out of the water.
2. Even if it’s preposterous, scream most anything at the top of your lungs and people seem to will obey.

Oh crap! We got a camera

Aaron and I got a camera for Christmas! I can hardly turn it on, as you are about to find out but Mandy wanted me to post some pictures, so, let’s get on with it.

An open ended farm retrospective

When we were kids, in an attempt to conserve our creative brain power, my sister and I shared an imaginary friend. Her name was Jessie. I think our relationship started out innocently enough. She was the third sister we never had, accompanying us on our exploration missions to the cliffs, the river and the hamburger rocks. Engaging us in stimulating conversations about the weather and the likelihood of a bumper crop. Maybe it was the lack of much social contact, or just proof that humans are inherently evil but things took a turn for the worse for our collective fake friend. Turns out my sister and I were like two budding sociopaths, acting out our isolation driven fantasies on our innocent (albeit make believe) victim.

Our outings would start with my sister and I luring Jessie into reach by being sugary sweet. Offering her food and popularity (both things we might be lured by) if she would just come close enough and , BAM, the trap was sprung. “Quick, douse her in gasoline and light her on fire before she can run away! Quick, push her in that hole we just dug and bury her alive before she can claw her way out! Quick stab her, A LOT!”

A couple months ago Carrie and I were sitting around laughing (somewhat inappropriately) and telling stories about the PTSD that our best friend Jessie must have lived with, when someone asked us what she looked like. I explained that she had flame red hair and lots of freckles, you know, the type of person who may have had it coming. When Carrie was prodded to explain, she described… ME. Hmm.

Speaking of mental illness

Yesterday I went to the mall. Christmas is in 5 days and I had to go to the mall. I should have stuck with my original plan and gotten drunk first. I pretty much try to avoid the mall as a general rule but Christmas really forced my hand this year. I staged a mini revolt, though, by going with dirty cloths and hair. I also stuck it to the capitalist man by trying to maintain a bloodthirsty look on my face the entire time. Looking back now I am certain I achieved more homeless than idealistic. That’s a slippery slope I guess, sometimes the two walk hand in hand.

When did I turn in to such a scrooge like bitch? Wait, don’t answer that. But really, when did the holiday season go tits up for me? I love to give, but when its some kind of requirement, it really sucks the baby Jesus right out of it.

If I’m being honest, this whole ‘cranky about everything’ riff would probably best be served by medication.

On a lighter note, here is an addendum to my earlier ‘Texting is the best thing that ever happened to mankind. Seriously. Ever’ entry. I should explain that part of my job is to help mentally ill people get groceries for their houses. C stands for Carrie (my sister).

L: It’s 7 degrees here! My body is telling me to F off.
C: You should come to Alaska for a tropical vacation!
L: I know, it’s like God has developed a severe and debilitating mental illness.
C: You should drive him around in your car and maybe take him to walmart so he will fix this.

What’s new is old again

I was just thinking the other day about when I decided to start blogging (holy shit i hate that word). The night before I wrote my 1st entry I was up till 4 in the morning thinking of things to write. Lying in bed, begging my imagination to come through with its best performance yet. fantasizing about a well exercised right brain. picturing what it would be like to get in touch with my emotions through written word. Silently mouthing my end of the phone call from the publishing company (complete with hand gestures and humble shrugs), who had been turned on to my blog from an anonymous tip and now want a book deal.

12 blogs later and I’m tapped. Again with the not finishing after starting. Maybe It’s a mid blog crisis. I guess I can always fall back on my original creative outlet. Driving.

death to do list

Every time I leave the house I think I’m going to die. On my way to work I wonder how many co-workers will come to my funeral. Inner dialogue goes like this:

‘I bet my parents will want to have the service in Cut Bank and I’m not sure if anybody in the office really likes me enough to drive 5 hours. Would I drive 5 hours for one for their funerals? Would I have to get a hotel room?’

Whenever I go out for an evening of substance abuse, I make a mini budget for Aaron for after my demise. I assume the life insurance will cover my portion of the mortgage, and he should be able to afford to live in our house for a while without me. Would he get a roommate?

It hits it’s peak though when I spend time with my friends Heather and Candy. My vacation packing list for our time together goes something like this:

• Contact solution
• Swim suit
• Underwear
• Charge phone
• Back up underwear in case you get pushed into a body of water
• Bargain with God about living until the last day of this vacation!
• Shoes

Said bargain usually goes like this:

‘Well, God, it’s been a good run. Thanks for getting me this far. Let’s try to make this a clean kill yeah?’

You can tell I have started the packing/bargaining process for my upcoming Alaska trip. I’m really excited. Seriously!