Sunday, December 14, 2008

My Week

Honestly, I don't really know where to begin. I think it all started last Friday, meaning nine days ago last Friday. Every day since then has been a big sloppy chaos stew and I don't even know where the hell I am. Oh, right. I'm in Millpond. That's why I'm borrowing this computer with an air card to write this for you all. That's why my weird accent has resurfaced. Just this morning I mentioned that I really needed to go to the post office to buy stay-imps for my Christmas cards. But how did I get here in this Internet dead zone? What about the hair extension lady and the rappers and the thing that happened at the mall?

Let's go back in time and start last Friday and see how far we get. Bear with me here.

Last Friday (9 days ago, as opposed to this past Friday 2 days ago which we will also get to)

My husband has had an ongoing sinus infection for the past 2 1/2 years which he refuses to go to the doctor about. Instead, he has become, as my friend Emma observed, the Robert Downey, Jr. of homeopathic medicine. His latest obsession to clear his clogged nostrils is a little device called a Neti Pot. It's like a cute little teapot from which you pour warm salt water directly up your nose. You pour it into one nostril, tily your head and it flies out the other. It's the most horrifying, disgusting thing I've ever seen. My husband is obsessed with pouring water into his nose and watching it come out the other side along with a bunch of snot, which he then inspects for signs of infection removal. It's so vile. I made a rule that he can only do it in the shower when I'm not in it with him and that I can't see or hear anything having to do with the Neti Pot because it makes me want to barf.

Now, another thing about the Neti Pot is that sometimes not all the water comes out. Some of it gets stuck in your sinus cavities so you have to do special exercises that make you look like a jackass to get the rest of it to come out.

But let's get to last Friday. Husband came home from work and Neti Potted in the shower for like the 15th time that day. We had plans to go to dinner in a restaurant at the mall with my parents.

So we go to the mall. We are at the mall walking around waiting for my parents. M parents are taking forever. I call them and my mother says they are getting in the car. Five minutes later she calls back to say that the famous rapper "Revenge" (not his real name) has pulled up at their house in a boat so they can't come to dinner. I am aggravated. Part of my aggravation is that I have a life where my parents are continually distracted by rappers I've never heard of. Husband and I decided that we didn't want to eat there afterall so he goes to return the pager to the restaurant. While he does that I go to the Sees Candy stand which we only have at Christmas and buy Husband his favorite candy which he can never get except at Christmas. He returns to find me sitting on a bench with his gift. When he sees his gift he is so overwhelmed with joy and gratitude that he bends down in the mall to give me a hug and a kiss. The bending action, mimicking the Neti Pot exercises which he forgot to do because we were in a hurry, dislodges a hot torrent of trapped sinus water which erupts onto my head and face and continues to pour out, in the middle of the mall, all down the front of my shirt and pants. And it had snot in it. And I was covered in it. My husband exploded hot sinus water all over me in a public place. You can not imagine my horror. I felt like I was on Nickelodeon getting slimed. The Neti Pot is officially on notice.

Last Saturday

Homework and grading.

Last Sunday

Velva Haux invites us to dinner at her house. When we get there, there are pit bulls, hookers and johns everywhere eating spaghetti. Also there is the woman who does hair extensions for all the hookers, because you can not, you simply can not be a high class hooker in South Florida without a proper hairweave. The hairweave lady looks like she's been kicked out of the Hells Angels and has an unfortunate disaster of a facelift which has placed her ears on level with her jawbones. Besides that, she is a plus sized woman wearing a size 2 pair of acid washed jeans and an X-Small keyhole, spandex tube top. While we were there she kept messing with my mother's hair and then mentioning that she needed to raise $5,000 to fix her bad facelift. At the same time she also said my hair was thin (it is so not thin at all) and that I need some kind of double hair weave, to which I replied that I actually like my hair short and blunt cut like Cleopatra and that it looks this way on purpose, not by some tragic accident at the beauty parlor. Then, I see the hair weave lady on Velva Haux's kitchen computer where she asks me how to spell Loxahatchee because she wants to look up boar hog hunting trips up there in the Everglades. She's really into hunting boar hogs. This got me to wondering if that's where she gets the hair for her weaves, because one of the hookers, in trying to get me to get extensions, made me feel her hair and I swear it felt exactly like boar hog bristles.

While we were eating dinner my parents' new best friend, the rapper Revenge arrives with his stunning Australian girlfriend Pansy. Just two days earlier my father had met Revenge at the car dealership and they had apparently really hit it off. Now, this guy's real name isn't Revenge. It's something else. I had never heard of him but you might have. I kind of took to him actually.

Revenge is petrified of dogs. Terrified. Of course on his album covers there are tons of pit pulls and references to pit bulls, but in real life the man loves cats and cowers, trembling if a dog comes near him. He's like those people on Maury Povich who have irrational fears of things like clowns and birds and pieces of paper, so Velva had to put up all of her rescued pit bulls before Revenge and Pansy could come in. Once I met Revenge he began to grow on me. He loves cats and ice cream sundaes. He's quite literary.

"I just want to be happy and write happy, inspiring music," Revenge explained, "But the audiences and the record labels don't like it. I have to put on this act like I'm this big, mean tough guy, but that's not me at all."

He sort of reminds me of the elf in Rudolph who really wants to be a dentist.

"I just want to rap about cats and ice cream and Pansy," Revenge went on.

And Pansy, his Australian girlfriend, is just darling.


Final exams, lunch and shopping with Emma.


After school I go to my parents house for a cup of coffee and find my mother looking like Rapunzel. She has been talked into getting voluminous, platinum hair extensions by the boar hog lady. Her hair now shimmers to her waist in pale golden, stripperish cascades. She looks like Britney Spears.

But that's not all.

"You have to take me to the plastic surgeon's office," she says.

"I have to what?"

My mother was getting Botox and Rejuvederm injections and some other kind of injection and then some kind of laser and then some kind of flashing light treatment that grows collagen. Dear God.

"Velva told me he's an artist," my mother tells me.

The cosmetic surgeon's office is decorated with geodes and mardi gras garlands advertising some sort of poker game. I feel like I've taken an elevator into the late 80s. The surgeon is wearing yellow, green and purple scrubs and looks like a giant King Cake. I half expect him to toss beads at me. His assistant, an Israeli girl who seems like she's straight from the Ahava kiosk at the mall, starts in on the typical Israeli hard-sell tactics, so I assume he pays her on commission. By the time the Israeli is through my mother is getting thirteen needles full of shit injected in her face and I'm in the room watching Cirque du Soleil on a small TV and helping out. At one point I swore that earlier in the day someone had actually slipped me some acid and I was having a bad trip and that none of this was real.

"You need Botox on your forehead," the Israeli tells me.

I so do not, just like I don't have thin hair.

But look, I give credit where it's due. You know I'm honest like that. I thought my mother was a gorgeos woman before. Normally I think women should just age gracefully, but at the same time, as long as you don't end up looking like that Cat Lady or David Gest, I don't care what people want to do to themselves. So look, I was horrified that my mother wanted to do this, but in the end, she did end up looking pretty damned good, so what can I say?

I can say three things.

1. I do not need Botox in my forehead and I don't have thin hair either.

2. My mother is beautiful no matter what.

3. The cosmetic surgeon wants to be a professional poker player which explains his outfit and the decor in his office. I can't make this stuff up. Do not accuse me of making things up because I don't have this advanced of an imagination.


I don't actually remember this day at all. Either nothing happened at all or something so traumatic happened that the day has been erased from my memory completely.


We pack all day for our road trip to Millpond and it pours rain. We finally decide to leave early Friday morning.


I awake puking violently and having diarrhea and want to absolutely die. I have caught the stomach big making the rounds in my husband's office. We are scheduled to leave. So what do I do? I decide to suck it up and leave anyway so my family doesn't think I'm a pain in the ass and a neurotic head case. We are, after all, in a large, luxurious, rock star type of motorhome. I figure I can hurl in there as well as anywhere else and there's a bathroom and a nice bed. By Fort Pierce I am convinced that my death is imminent. Blood is coming out of my mouth and ass. Everything on my body hurts. This is it, I think. I'm going to die in a bus somewhere in central Florida. This is fantastic. My father offers to turn around and take me home and I decline because I am a bleeding martyr.

By one that afternoon my mother spots the world's greatest Ross next to a Super Walmart off of I-95 in Sattellite Beach, so we stop.

"Come into Ross with me," my mother urges.

I am bleeding out of my ass and dry heaving, yet my mother somehow persuades me to shop in Ross. Again, I am not making this up.

The Ross appears to have miraculous healing properties. I'm not kidding you. The place is like Lourdes or that place in Yugoslavia that I can't spell. Medj-something. The second I set foot in that Ross something came over me. I began to feel better. The rows of $3.99 shirts took my fever down. $78.00 later, which included a Nine West shift dress and a Donna Karan cardigan for $23.00 with the orginal price tag for $169.00, made me positively euphoric. Perhaps I was not going to die after all.

Next we walked over to the Super Walmart to get some food and I got some medicine and Vitamin Water for my dehydration. On the way back to the bus I look up and see what looks like the Sydney Opera House flying through the sky.

"What in the hell is that?" I ask.

"What the fuck?" says my mother.

So we stand there for a minute gaping at this thing flying through the sky getting closer and closer and trying to figure out what in the hell it is, when finally I realize that what this thing is, is the Space Shuttle strapped onto a 747, flying home to Kennedy Space Center and I am getting to see it. I frantically try to get a picture of it, but of course my camera decides to run out of batteries and the iphone can't zoom in well enough, so I couldn't get a good picture for you all, but at least I got to see it really well. Later we saw it on the news and I was all like "I saw that!!"

Then I felt a little more better.

By later that night nothing was coming out of my body and everything was staying where it needed to stay, but I still couldn't eat and was still dehydrated. I had a very good night's sleep.


This is yesterday. We get up and keep driving. All day long we watch the ID channel and I learn all about horrific murders, kidnappings, con artists, serial killers, and forensic pathology. I could work for CSI now as much of these shows as we watched on the way up. I am loving the motor home. It really makes a long trip seem shorter, especially when you're sick. I was so grateful. I can't even tell you. I'm also reading a good book which helped.

By about four yesterday afternoon I began to get really hungry, so I definitely was getting better. My mom cooked me some chicken and potatoes which I ate and then immediately felt horrible again. But nothing came out. It all stayed in, I just felt like shit. I think it was because I was so empty because after about two hours I felt ok again.

We arrived at Memere Marie's house at around eight at night and I was so happy to be here, way out in the country. We went inside and she had cooked me a huge pot of soup and when I had a bowl of it I felt instantly healed and better. Then I had a bowl of ice cream with bananas on it and I was really better. We talked for the rest of the night and then I went to bed with a nice, warm feeling inside.

Later Saturday Night

The RV has two rooms. I sleep on the couch which has a fold out bed. There is a frosted glass door dividing my parents' bedroom from the living room part where I sleep. I'm trying to sleep. I think I hear a noise. Then another noise. I pray that it is not what I think it is. I pray the noise is one of he dogs doing something - Bombaclaat humping something. I pray with all my soul that ten feet away from me my parents are not having sex. I put on the TV. I cover my head with pillows. I think of other things. Like the time Bella heard our grandparents having sex, which is really terrible too. I worry I may not recover from this trauma and realize that I can't live like this.

I consider going in the house, but in the house I run the risk of walking in on my 80 year old grandmother having sex with her 80 year old husband Ray. This already happened to me once in my life and that was too much. I still have PTSD flashbacks about it. I don't know why I had to be born into such a family of blatant horn dogs.

I watch a show about a man who stole peoples' identities and took out fake mortgages. I watched it with three pillows on my head.

Sunday, Today!

Today we got up and I ate soup for breakfast, then we went to my cousin Alexis' daughter's fourth birthday party at the bowling alley, where I, incidentally, bowled a strike, thank you. A legitimate strike without bumpers or throwing the ball between my legs like the little kids. Alexis is Aunt Kiki's oldest daughter. She lives up here and is a single mom to a little girl with Type 1 diabetes who is the cutest little child. I could chew on her ears she's so cute. I gave her a stuffed polar bear and she hugged me and demanded to know my last name and who I was riding with. I have no idea what she meant.

Pretty soon we got hungry and went for chicken dinner at a restaurant by the side of a desolate highway that is actually in the middle of nowhere. It's Sunday and in this part of the world that means chicken and dumplings. For me, since I can't eat gluten anymore, it means fish dinner. This restaurant was absolute Deliverance, but Lord was the food ever good. I knew I was home when the waittress asked me this question:


Oh, I was home.

"Mixted" I replied, because here, that is a word and it can refer to both people and tea. Don't ask.

They even had pretzel salad on the menu. For real. And no I did not get it. Pretzels have gluten.

Then we drove back from the middle of nowhere to the edge of nowhere and went to the historic reenactment church service, where I learned that Millpond is getting a little more progressive.

Outside of Millpond there is a beautifull restored, one room church. For many years my ancestors, poor farmers in the area, went to this church. My great grandmother Ella actually went to school there as a child, when the building doubled as church and school. She was born in 1893. Every year they have a special Christmas service where they open the church, which has no electricity at all, fire up the woodstove, put up a big cedar tree cut down from the nearby woods and swath the rafters in pine boughs and holly. Then they proceed to have a usually disturbing, Confederate, Civil War reenactment type of deal. After that there's singing and hot cider, which is nice. But this year, they did away entirely with the creepy Civil War reenactment crap and replaced it with a lovely little church service where the pastor got weepy as he read the Christmas story from the Bible and then we sang all three verses of Silent Night in the glow of kerosene lamps as the spiced cider mulled on the woodstove. It was absolutely magical.

I am home. It is Christmas. I know all three verses to Silent Night by heart and can sing them without the hymnal. I had a cup of hot cider afterwards and I felt that wonderful feeling of being so happy and so sad at the same time.

I am home and it's Christmas.


Wide Lawns said...

This post is full of typos. Be kind to me about that because I am borrowing a computer and am not used to it and not able to go back and fix everything. I will be moderating comments from my phone where it will take 45 minutes to do three. But please leave them anyway, as I'm lonely a little up here away from home.

Anonymous said...

Neti Pots:

kerry said...

How wonderful to be home for Christmas!!!

I love your posts. I read your blog every day.

I hope you feel better soon. Traveling while sick is a special kind of hell.

CC said...

Oh, doesn't it just feel like Christmas already? I'm home right now as well and it's so nice, even if there are crazy relatives and too many kids running around.

I'm glad you're feeling better. Stomach illnesses are the worst! It really feels like you're going to die (or sometimes you wish you would just to end the pain).

Merry Christmas!

alissa said...

i can't believe your husband snotted all over you in public. that is so horrifying. like a car crash but you just can't look away! my condolences for the loss of your dignity! hope you have a good trip in millpond :)

DiaryofWhy said...

I think a week in your life is equal to five years in my life.

That Neti pot incident is horrifying. I hope your husband did something really nice for you to make up for it.

Jonathan said...

your hubby is a lucky guy. to snot and still be loved (as Shakespeare would say).

love your blog. have it on my firefox morning coffee.

nicrogers said...

The neti pot incident...I have no words. lol Wow! Crazy man.

Jennifer said...

The neti-pot incident is just horrifying. I'm gagging over here. Seriously, I've used a neti pot, many many times, and I have never had an issue with getting the water back out, or spontaneous snot water dripping later. EW.

Anonymous said...

I think you should let your husband do the neti pot over the sink and get it all out. They really can be amazing when used correctly. Don't make him do it in the shower. Go into another room, turn up the music and let the poor man try to get the snot out. I really think the snot on you was a karma shot for giving him grief over trying to fix something that some people end up having surgery for and still not getting relief.
Happy Holidays!

just a kat said...

First off - neti pot drips? He so is in trouble!
B - Revenge sounds like a sweetheart in disguise as a thug for his record label.
3 - I'm SO sorry you got sick, but I'm glad you found the Ross of Healing. TJ Maxx has been known to do that for me.
Sounds like Millpond will be an adventure...take care and post when you can...we'll miss you!

JDogg said...

I'm glad you have been able to make it back north. I hope that you get to see some snow when you are here, and maybe even get to NYC.

Now that I have a lot of free time, I hope that I can see you when you are here.

NeekoalinAZ said...

OH MY GOSH! The post about your husband is hysterical...THAT is why you got sick! Tell him to knock that snot off! SO gross!

From Amman said...

You never fail to get me to laugh out loud to the point where my kids have to come from the other side of the house to see what's making me have an "outburst."

This time it was the Neti Pot drama and the sweeterunsweet. I know that word all too well.

Pretzel salad?

Chiada said...

My husband also has a neti pot addiction. He always has allergies and is always honking his nose and sneezing up a storm. He neti pots sometimes three times a day. Into the kitchen sink. I think there should be a neti pot addicts club or something.

I hope you're feeling better.

Eric said...

OK I just got this huge Ratso Rizzo dying on the bus to Miami image with your description of being sick in the bakc of the motor home.
And I am sure you look nothng like Dustin Hoffman, I imagine he does need botox on his forhead.

Cheers and happy holidays

Michelle said...

Um, bleeding out of places blood should not come out of should mean a quick trip to a doctor.

Sauntering Soul said...

I don't know if I would ever recover from the neti pot incident. That is one of the grossest things I've ever heard of happening to a person. OMG. And I apologize from the bottom of my heart that I laughed when I read about it. I'm so sorry you had to live through that.

I'm glad you're feeling better.

sallyacious said...

I do not normally laugh aloud at blog posts, but I GUFFAWED at the neti pot incident. I howled for quite some time as I sat at my computer, and I continued to laugh as I tromped down the stairs into the basement and changed the laundry. I am so, so sorry something so awful happened to you, because it must have been hideous beyond all imagining. But I thank you for posting it here because, dayum, it is hilarious in the telling.

I'm glad you survived the trip home and all of the stuff that led up to it.

Mommy said...

I came across a gluten-free recipe for turkey and dumplings the other day. I'll try to find it.
I have similar problems, tested negative. Do you find that you are more tired when you have gluten?

Jen said...

He needs a baby nose syringe instead of the neti pot, less mess. And the neti pots are kind of scary.

As for your parents, I think I feel traumatized by your trauma!

I laughed so hard at this post. Your parents have gone from collecting odd assortments of things to odd assortments of rappers and hookers. Some day they will get all the rappers and hookers together at once and it will be like a crazy warehouse sale.

Enjoy your home, I know how it feels when you finally get back to that small town at christmas. Even though they annoy you there is nothing like that excitement when you first roll down the street and it's all lit up for Christmas. Merry Christmas Wide Lawns!

Hilary said...

Like Eric, I got the Midnight Cowboy image.. poor you.

I was considering getting a Netti Pot for someone who I believe has a chronic sinus infection. He also has an addictive personality. I think I'll pass. Thanks for that! That was hilarious!

Anonymous said...

You know, I got a twinge of wistful longing at the Neti Pot incident. If my husband found it in his heart to hug me or kiss me over something, ANYTHING, I'd take the snot in spades. You are loved and adored, snot be damned.

Merry Christmas!


Ambitious Blonde said...

The addicted to boar hunting hair extension lady was just as good as it sounded in the teaser. That said, more interesting things have happened to you in days than what I experience in a typical calendar year.

Revenge sounds like good people. I hope he writes about Pansy and kitties soon. :)

Finally, Ross sounds like a little piece of heaven. I wish we had one around here.

JoeinVegas said...

Oh, slimed. That might be just cause for a divorce in Florida.

Home for Christmas does sound like it is going well. Please keep searching for the internets in the air to keep us informed. Have fun and be productive with your thesis.

I actually thought of writing a very long comment just so that you would have more to look at while waiting for the load from the phone and the small screen sliding things by but all I could come up with was this kind of rambling long run on sentence which just keeps getting longer as I type and think about but it should probably end soon, like now.

Geri said...

How horrible about the husband and the snot in public. I would have been mortified. I feel sorry for you husband suffering though.

I'm glad you survived the whole thing. Is he buying you diamonds for Christmas?

Kore said...

I have chronic sinusitis, and the neti pot is the one thing that helps. Antibiotics don't always work. If your husband goes to the doctor for his sinuses, the doc may just recommend the neti pot. Just like mine did.

Did your husband stay in Florida for the holidays? That kind of sucks.

That Girl said...

I hate Neti Pots. I've been told to use one by my doctor for the next month (it's part of the sinus surgery recovery process) and I hate it. I cannot wait until January is over and I can throw it away forever!!!!

I would neverrrr want to get the stuff that comes out of my nose on me. I hate even looking at it. *hugs* I can't even imagine how much that sucked!

Steph said...

Sorry to hear about you getting snotted on..

There is a Six Feet Under episode that involves a neti pot. Ruth (one of the main characters) calls it a "nostril pot" - which I always found hilarious. It is one of my favorite episodes.

Happy Holidays, Wide Lawns, and thanks for all the laughs.

jm kaye said...

This is making me want to get hair extensions. Seriously.

tallbladeofgrass said...

I know this post is really old but I just had to come back here, in the interest of relevance, and tell you that it was because of THIS VERY POST that I bought a netti pot a couple of days ago. I thought it would be a little horrifying, and I was a little freaked out about using it at first, but I tried it and it was amazing. My life is changed.

Also your husband must have very cavernous/labrynthian sinuses for the water to stay up there for so long

Anyway, thank you for introducing me to this concept of a tea pot used to pour water through your nose.

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