The Annual Bugman Incident

Yes, it's that time of year again. I never know when it comes, but it's always just around November and it's always when I'm not thinking about it, and when it does, it's inevitable. It's the annual moment of extreme horror, when Bug Man Meets Crazy Bedraggled Author.

I always forget the day he has to show up and of course, the appointment is always at 8 am, just ripe for a seizure on both sides.

So there I was--hair uncombed, mind un-caffeined, in the middle of one of those "I'm too busy writing to care about looking in the mirror" days. Thank God, I had on yesterday's clothes. Last year, I nearly gave Grandpops Bugman a heart attack by appearing in my garage (which I forgot to close the night before) in my half-buttoned nightshirt and giving him a morning eyeful while trying to cover myself with my little bags of garbage.

This year, with my luck, they sent a young Studly Bugman. I'm imagining Grandpops had a heart attack from last year's incident and simply refused to come back to That Author's place this time. So they sent Studly Bugman, with Bug-Finding Stick and Bug-Instruments.

It's funny how we women authors are. We don't care how we look until some cute guy comes to the door. If I were a male author, freshly woken from a couple of days' of "not caring about personal hygiene because it's my damn weekend," I'm sure my first thought at looking at the manly Studly Bugman wouldn't have been, "ArgKKhhh! My hair! ArgHKKhhh! I stink!"

You have to understand. In the morning, before the Uber Me wakes up, the Entity Known As Me (TEKAM) shuffles around the house like a hunchback on Prozac. TEKAM moans a lot. TEKAM wants to just sit there and let the dogs run free. TEKAM is the one that insists on munching on a few chocolate bars with Hawaiian bread for breakfast because nutrition is whatever tastes good and chocolate tastes good every morning for some reason. Also, TEKAM tends to be monosyllabic and prefers to grunt; even the dogs can hold a better conversation than she.

A quick sneak peak in the bathroom mirror as I followed him around the place confirmed my worst fear. Yes, "it" (the Author) did look like I feared. All I needed was to leer at the poor young boy and cackle with evil glee.

Nervously, he asked questions, shining his flashlight into corners. I grunted--then changed it to a cough--and tried to make full sentences that make sense. Bad Puppy was demanding everyone's attention; he didn't like any male in the house, of course, and especially one who was walking in and out of Mom's closet, complaining up a storm with "why, that's MY playroom, so get the eff out before I pee on your weird-stockinged feet, you Bug Guy. I'm studlier than you. I have four women in this house. Mine, mine, MINE!"

"You have to excuse him, this is his first year of Bugman visit," I told the Studly Bugman, in my crackly, not-quite-human 8am voice, as I limped around behind him, trying desperately to comb the tangles out of my hair when he wasn't looking, and grabbing Bad Puppy whenever he lifted his leg threateningly.

The young Studly Bugman already had that look in his eyes. I could always tell because he kept glancing back at me nervously, probably thinking about Grandpops Bugman's horrific rendition of TEKAM flashing her wizened boobs at him, and you know it had to be a pretty horrendous sight to have given him that heart attack.

I shuffled forward, bending towards him. The Studly Bugman gave a sort of a stuck "eeep" in his throat and looked around in desperation. Relief poured out of him when he realized I was just reaching for the sofa to push it out of his way and since I was still in hunchback mode, I had to bend a LOT more than usual. I'm sure the sight was as frightening as his face was telling me.

Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Bad Puppy lifting his leg because Studly Bugman was standing ON his toys and pillow. I shrieked and leapt forward. Studly Bugman shrieked.

Pandemonium ensued. Much noise. Much apologizing. Much tissueing and touching poor Studly Bugman's pants while he looked at me like I was really the Big Bad Bug. Bad Puppy...well, he was the only happy thing in the room because he made his manly statement and ran off with his toy.

Studly Bugman left with a story about That Author. His initiation at his job was now complete. I've done my part in his training and I feel the Bug People should pay me or give me a discount.

Now, where's the coffee? I really need to comb my hair....

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Call Me One-Eyed Jenn

I had this thing "growing" on my right eyelid. It was something between a zit and a wart. The doctor checked it yesterday and decided it wasn't some kind of disease that was going to change me into a demon, but the thing definitely needed to be removed because...well...I was looking at people and giving them the evil eye.

So today, I went, for the first time in my life, to do a little outpatient surgery. Meaning, I was awake after they numbed me and I saw what they did to me with the instruments. It involved sticking some kind of metal on the side of me to "ground" me because they were cautering off this odd lump and then soldering the OPEN SLIT back together.

Then the doctor sewed me back together. It was very strange because even though I felt no pain, I could SMELL my skin burning. I felt the droplets of my BLOOD trailing down the side of my eyes. Afterwards, since my eyes were closed during this procedure, I get to imagine the doctor sewing the skin back together. This is my EYELID, mind you, so the writer with me was getting these awful thoughts about finding out that this doctor sewed my eye shut. Argghhh. Each time he moved the needle, I felt the dangly thread snaking across my face. Argghh.

It didn't take long, but I was glad it was over. My eye, though, looks demonic. My eye is fine, actually, but the eyelid? Yikes. Three times its normal size! The doctor said I should be fine tonight but I've been checking in the mirror and it still looks horrible. Sigh. And the sutures look so nicely fashionable.

Yes, just call me One-Eyed Jenn today. And probably tomorrow. Thank God--no romantic date tonight! Hard to look sexay when one eyelid looks like you can use it for a surfboard.

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Post #2: I Laughed

Today, an acquaintance at Shit and Grits recommended me as a roofer for his neighbor, who's looking to replace his roof soon. This person called me and I went to his house to give a quote. After climbing up on his roof, examined its condition, and looking for possible rotten wood, I gave a summary of my findings and a quote.

This man looked me straight in the eye and said, "So my friend tells me you're a published author, with, like, six or seven books. Surely you don't need that much money. How about taking a thousand dollars off the price?"

I don't think I've ever lost roofing business on the account of me being a published author before. I wasted $3.25 on gas that I could have spent on icecream, dammit.

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An Uber Valentine Story

This is what you can get for your dude, if he hates chocolate. Yummy.

Bad Puppy was so sorry for his book-nabbing attempt that he bought mommie Nalini Singh's newest, Mine To Possess, through Amazon. I got a little gift e-card this morning with a coupon from "Jiggle Low with puppie kisses." Awww. I didn't know Jiggle Low has an Amazon account!

Maybe I'll buy him a Valentine pizza....

*******************

So what's the most romantic thing you've ever done for Valentine's? Most of us get hearts and flowers, but I had a friend who WAS FLOWN to France for the dinner, flowers, and engagement ring. Now, THAT. WAS. ROMANTIQUE.

The most romantic thing I ever did for a boyfriend was fill the bed with little colored paper hearts that I cut out while he was at class, then lie in bed in my sexy red negligee to wait for his return. Unfortunately, he came home with a buddy and I had to pick paper hearts out of my hair all by myself. My first boyfriend--he didn't understand romance at all, as you can tell.

I learned my lesson. No more cute little paper hearts for ANY OCCASION.

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Here's one thing you should never do before you go out on a (pre)Valentine's Day date.

NEVER EVER help your friend spud cemented-down floor tile with a jackhammer.

That's exactly what I did all yesterday evening. It was noisy, hard work, and unbeknownst to me, the tile dust and the sticky stuff that hardened underneath combined to become Invisible Aquanet in the air. I didn't notice till I was in my car that my hair was stiff as Amy Winehouse's beehive, except that mine looked like the nest of a hentai sexwitch, sticking out AND not moving. Even in a convertible. It was just like anime-hair, and at every stoplight, all the neighboring drivers stared.

When I got home, I couldn't drag a comb through it at all. Parts of it was scrunched and sticking out sharply like porcupine needles. Then my date arrived and I had to answer the door looking like I could kill someone.

He waited while I showered, but that made it worse! The water added to the Invisible Sticky Aquanet and made the tiledust into some kind of InvisiPaste. My hair, as you know, is very long and there's a lot of it. I now had a Tangled Nest of Horror on top of head. No amount of conditioner helped. With both hands, I gathered the nest and piled it on top of my head and it STAYED. Why? Because conditioner and melted tile gunk made a perfect hairsetter, of course.

I stepped out of the shower. Peeked into the mirror. Yup. I looked like Elvira without the cleavage. Since it was not Halloween, I couldn't actually pretend that was my intention either.

My date. He patiently waited.

I told him my problem. He didn't understand, since hey, you just wash the stuff out of your hair, what's the big deal? Long locks is the same as short male hair, right? I gave him the look that kungfu dudes always had before they started swinging their braid of doom to cut off the enemies' head. Except that my STIFFENED TENTACLES OF DEATH wouldn't SWING; it would just spike the person to death, I suppose, if I wildly thrust my head around like some maddened bull.

It did not help when he suggested shaving it.

It did not help when he suggested going out with an Elizabeth Taylor hair scarf.

It did not help when he suggested that he go and buy me a wig.

I think he got the idea that his suggestions weren't appreciated when I started to fly through the air using my Stiffened Propellers Of Evil towards him, shredding clothes and skin. I warned him that any moment now, and the hair was going suck his brains out for Valentine food.

Finally, I calmed down and told him to go on out by himself. I didn't feel like going out any more. The Hair had exhausted me.

Left to myself, I soaked in my really, really scalding Jacuzzi tub for forty-five minutes, applying a little baby oil to the shards on my head every once in a while. Hey, the Aquanet started dissolving. My tentacles actually felt like hair again.

Finally, I got out and combed my hair through with that glazy stuff that magically smoothed out tangles. I dried my hair and swung it around like I was Cher. I didn't look fabulous like she did on the Grammys, though, since my body at that moment resembled that of an over-boiled lobster. Forty-five minutes in scalding water isn't so good for tender flesh, you know.

The date called to make sure I was okay. I can't remember what I said to him because I'd decided to consume the whole bottle of wine I bought for our date all by myself after the hairy ordeal. I think I told him I had taken his advice and had gone bald.

You know I'm going out to buy a Carol Burnett hair cover for the next time I go jackhammering tile floors.

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