Quintessential

After my last blogging adventure, I thought I was done.  I had fun and learned a lot, but after my one year commitment to documenting my life ended, I lacked vision.  Since then, a few things have changed.  The most noteworthy change is that I am now a homeowner.  On May 10th, 2012, I signed a whole lot of papers and (after a few small mishaps that I'll surely recall here at a later time) got the keys to my own house.  

Truthfully, one of the primary causes for this huge step is simply the fact that I hate moving.  I had already moved six times in the eight years since I began college.  My lease was ending soon, and my roommates were about to embark on adventures of their own - Kristin moving to Boston, and Amanda getting hitched.  I didn't really have a plan, but I knew I have never been a fan of apartment living and that I wanted something a little more permanent than a lease.  After much research, a lot of driving around, a few disappointments, and great patience on the parts of my parents, realtor, and the friends who came with me to keep me focused on the task at hand (rather than cute spice racks or awesome wood paneled walls), I found it.

Sure enough, there were a few things I'd want to change immediately; the most obvious was the wall color.  My mom did not instill in me an appreciation for a full house of powder blue walls.  There were also things that I knew I would want to update over time.  I started putting together a list and came up with my own sort of triage to prioritize these updates and projects based on cost, need, and an attempt at being realistic.  Naturally, my old friend Murphy had a few tricks up his sleeve.  Tonight, over a period of 120 minutes, a full series of events occurred that I couldn't keep to myself.  Here is the quintessential example of Murphy's Law and me: 

Without going into too much detail, I am having some weird allergic reaction and don't know the cause.   I noticed some hives on my neck on Sunday that exploded all over my arms, legs, and - most delightfully - my armpits by Monday morning.  As a result, I feel trapped in this shell of itchy discomfort.  To make it more enjoyable, my doctor prescribed me some medicine to help with the hives... but that keeps me wiiiiiide awake.  The madre warned me of this side effect, and she was right as ever when I was still awake at 4:30 this morning.  I am teaching a summer school camp right now, so I woke up shortly after that and armed myself with a few diet cokes for work.  By 1pm, I made it home, scarfed down some lunch, and curled up on the couch to take a nap.  Around 5, I woke up when the doorbell rang and answered the door in disoriented shambles.  I have no idea how the solicitor kept a straight face when talking to me.  My hair was a messier version of Pebbles Flintstone's classic updo, and my eye makeup had smeared everywhere while I napped.  

I caught up on some emails, watched some television, and gradually came out of my groggy medicine coma with high aspirations of painting my master bathroom.  Around 7:15, I trudged into the kitchen to slave over a microwave dinner but was distracted by movement near the kitchen window.  

FIRE ANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point, I should inform you that eleven days ago, I stepped in a fire ant mound after Amanda's wedding ceremony and collected thirty (Yes, I counted.) ant bites.  Apparently the relatives of those ants found out where I lived, swam here on an ark during last week's insane storms, and decided to sneak in through the kitchen to get revenge.  

Ew.  I didn't know what to do, but I knew I needed to do it quickly.  I pulled up the blinds and opened the window, intending to just pop out the screen and sweep the whole mess outside with some wet paper towels.  

Bad.  Move.  Allow me to humbly discourage you from a similar course of action should you find yourself in this predicament someday.  

Opening the window revealed a crack through which an entire army of fire ants came marching out (not one by one, as the song suggests) and into my house.  Ah!  I ran in circles for a sec before remembering that my dad had bought a can of wasp and hornet killing spray when he was here in May.  I grabbed it and let loose, spraying this toxic material all over the kitchen window, outside the window, and along the floor beneath the window.  I used the entire can.  

Once all movement had ceased and I snapped a quick pic of the carnage, I got some paper towels and cleaned up the mess while trying to come up with a plan of action.  At this point, I called my uncle to find out what I should do to seal up the crack that all the ants poured through.  No answer, so I left a message.  I ran upstairs and threw a t-shirt over the only tank I've been able to comfortably wear during my allergic hive-fest, and jumped in the car to get some gas and head to the store to seek out some more toxic fire ant killer.  

Key detail: in the hubbub, I did not eat any dinner.  My geriatric lifestyle typically mandates that I eat dinner before 6:30 pm, and I get a little crazy if that doesn't happen.  

On my way to the gas station, I also called my brother, dad, and one other male friend to seek out advice for the situation.  None answered their phones.  Stepping on the brakes as I approached a stop sign, I noticed a weird noise in my car.  It was faint, but definitely there.  I called one last guy friend who on occasion has demonstrated some basic knowledge of automobiles and hoped I could stop by his house for a consult.  Another unanswered call.  By the time I reached the gas station, my dad had seen his phone and called me back to provide some product info and advice for the ant situation.  Then, lacking any real knowledge of car-type-things, I decided to check out the source of the noise under my car.  Without looking around at all to see if cars were driving toward me, I walked to the front of my car and dropped to the ground on my stomach.  

Bingo.  There was a huge sheet of metal hanging from it.  No lie, this was not a new experience for me.  At this point, it's about 7:55 pm.  I called the Honda dealership, which informed me that their service desk was closed but would reopen in the morning.  Remembering a Jiffy Lube around the corner, I decided to take a shot and called them.  I can only chalk it up to divine intervention that these fine gentleman who normally close up shop at 8 were told tonight to stay at work til 8:30.  Reid answered the phone, listened to my latest predicament, and told me that he could help reattach the skid plate (for future reference, that's what it's called) but that I needed to swing by Auto Zone down the street to pick up some skid plate screws.  

As I parked at Auto Zone, my uncle called me back and enjoyed a hearty laugh while confirming my father's advice on how to deal with the ants.  I explained that another situation had arisen, which had to be dealt with in a more time-sensitive manner, and we hung up.  Michael at Auto Zone then informed me that he couldn't sell me skid plate screws until he knew whether I needed metal or plastic, and what size.  I tried to get him to sell me the entire stock to bring to Jiffy Lube and just return the unused one, but Michael didn't like that idea.  He said maybe Jiffy Lube could ziptie the skid plate as a temporary fix and let me know which screws to buy.  

At Jiffy Lube, I was miraculously the only customer.  Reid and partner met me outside, explained that they do not believe in such temporary fixes as zipties, but told me they'd take a look anyway.  Several minutes later, I saw Reid walk inside and cut a few pieces of what I swear looked like that curling ribbon used for giftwrap.  Ha.  My life.  I casually asked him if I could get my oil changed while I was there, insisting that I would gladly come back tomorrow if it was a bad time.  Reid explained that it was already a bad time, but that they might as well change the oil while I was there.  I followed him out to the car to give him my car's info.  His partner then informed me from underneath my car that there was only one badly deformed clip holding the skid plate in place and that my best bet was to throw it in the trunk and take it to the Honda dealership.  Done.  I can handle that.  They finished the oil change and sent me on down the road. 

Next stop: Wal-Mart.  I was going to pick up some ant killer, caulk for the windows, and Great Stuff to help seal up the cracks.  While I was there, I decided to also bake some cookies for Reid and partner for being so nice to me about my car.  I saw not one, but two coworkers there who recognized me in my disastrous state.  Upon paying, I headed out to the car - still itchy, still hungry, and quietly laughing about the prior two hours.  But I wasn't done yet.  

I then proceeded to walk up and down seven rows of the parking lot before I found my car.  Along this trek, I passed a former student who hopefully didn't recognize my now-hysterical state of laughing out loud and all by myself at the situation.  

By the time I made it home and had a chance to check out the window/ant situation, it was pitch black outside.  I pulled out a big flashlight and hoped for the best.  Unwrapping the first can of Great Stuff, I screwed the nozzle on too tightly and snapped off the cap.  Nothing could faze me at this point.  I had another can, got to work, and then cleaned up and baked some yummy chocolate cookies to bring back to Jiffy Lube tomorrow.  

Just another day, folks.  

Love, 

Murphy & Me