A Wocket in my Pocket is different than a Mouse in my House.

Remember that book by Dr. Seuss - There is a Wocket in my Pocket? He always made stuff sound so cool. I dare to say he couldn’t do it with this story!

There is lots of construction going on across the street from my house. This has been going on for a bit more than year. All the mice that were in the field have scampered across the road and into my ivy and on my property. The cats have “gifted” me some of them. My neighbor’s outdoor traps have received some of them. And I have called the pest control guy to get rid of the pesky little creatures. The pest control guy has brought out the sticky traps (think glue). I have added snap traps to it. The pest control guy has brought out the bait traps - but the poison is not harmful to my cats if they do get hold of them. That is, if I don’t fire them first! The pest control guy has come out and made sure there are no holes from the outside in to where the mice can come and go.

Over the last several months, every once in awhile, I end up with mouse pee on my counter. Now, to any of you have experienced this – it is NOT pleasant. There is a distinctive odor. But it is easy to clean up. But it makes me crazy, as it usually happens at night and I have to deal with it prior to coffee.

I remember reading Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary. She never mentioned where the mouse went to the bathroom.

However, there is never any mouse poop. The pest control guy will tell you that it is not possible for the mouse to pee and not poop at the same time. Apparently, mice don’t know about the Kegel exercises. He also thinks it is one of my cats suddenly marking their territory.

Let’s back up and let me tell you about the cats. One is 15 and old and tired and the other one is a great hunter (unfortunately, she brings me stuff all the time). They are both females. They never have “marked” their territory. Is there a cat whisperer in the house?

The pest control guy has me believing that it is one of the cats and that there is no way possible it is a mouse. Nor, are there any mice in the house (he comes out here every few months and puts down new traps, or fills up the old ones. The last time he was here (after a distressing call from me), he spent hours here making sure there were no holes anywhere and he checked up on the bait traps, where he stated that there was no bait even touched – and if I had a mouse problem, the bait would be gone, as would the mice. He still insisted it is one of the cats.

I’ve been keeping an eye on the cats – making sure they always have plenty of food, and clean kitty litter.

Imagine my surprise on Saturday morning when I went into the bathroom where my robe is hung up on the back of the door. And when I went to put my nice snuggly comfy robe on and there was a mouse hanging out in the arm of it. Now, I am no sissy, but I screamed bloody murder, as the little guy scrambled up my arm, onto my shoulder and then launched himself over to the counter and down onto the floor, behind the basket where I keep my blow-dryer and curling iron. And also imagine my surprise that not one of my neighbors came to see what was wrong. They had to have heard me. Unfortunately, my husband was at his weekly soccer game and had taken the dogs, so I was left in the house to deal with it myself. (Damnit)

Of course, I slammed the door and shut him in there. After I calmed down a bit (and poured myself some coffee), I gathered up all the sticky traps left over from the pest control guys last visit (declaring that I didn’t have mice), and one “Mr. jaws” trap loaded with peanut butter. I slowly opened the bathroom door and he was still cowering behind the basket (I could hear him and see his tail!). I lined the sticky traps up so he HAD to cross them to get out. Mr. Jaws was waiting in case he decided to run that direction. Just as I was putting the final one down – he made a run for it – right at me again. I screamed (again like a sissy girl), slammed the bathroom door to keep him inside. Ooops. With me inside too. He tried to run past the door, he tried to jump in the bathtub, and then he went barreling past me again and ran behind the toilet. I gathered up the sticky traps (which he ran right over) and placed them and a box to set a trap. I was going to get this mouse and show it to the pest control guy if it killed me. Everything all set again. I can still hear him. At this point, I wanted to terrorize the little shit for disrupting what was going to be my perfect Saturday morning at home.

I left him in there and slammed the bathroom door. I put towels down in front of the door so that Mr. Fatty-Boombalatty couldn’t get out from under the door. And let me just tell you – this mouse was huge. He wasn’t one of those cute little things you see in pet stores. In fact, as far as I know, it coulda been a rat. And this somehow makes it worse.

After a few minutes, I heard a huge commotion. I thought Mr. Jaws had squished him. I go flying into the bathroom and somehow he had gotten up on top of the toilet tank and knocked over my orchid and disappeared again. Isn’t that cute? I was pissed.

But not as pissed as I was when I realized that I had left the door open. And now I have no clue where Mr. Fatty-Boombalatty is.

I thought perhaps he was still in there. I spied my hunter cat and threw her in the bathroom and shut the door. 10 minutes later, I had no mouse, a pissed off cat and a freaking mouse loose in the house.

I really wish I had a wocket in my pocket instead. It couldn’t be any worse.

I wonder if Mr. Pest Control Guy is in the office yet.

I almost failed to tell you – there was not one bit of pee, or poop, in any of the mouse’s hiding places in the bathroom. And I have washed my bathrobe. And I may never be the same.

Do you think if I sold my house I would have to tell them about the mouse?

Do NOT use on unexplained calf pain

My friend, Carmen, is darling. She is 40something, a size 2, great hair, perfect skin (she hardly ever goes out in the sun), and is one of the funniest people I know. Of course, even though she looks like the girl next door, she can drop the "F-bomb" just as much as any teenage boy.

This week, she had a varicose vein removed from her leg. How crazy is that? When I was talking about with a friend of mine, I announced "It's so funny that Carmen is as vain as she is."

HAHAHAHAHA. Get it? Vain? Varicose veins? I crack myself up.

Here's what THEY say about it: https://healthlibrary.epnet.com/GetContent.aspx?token=70ff5260-81bd-4de1-9998-14fc98aa9133&chunkiid=11474

I don't know if anybody has managed to link the varicose veins to the little stickers that appear on the bottom of all vibrators "Do NOT use on unexplained calf pain".

Does anybody know why vain people have veins removed?
And why are there stickers on the bottom of all vibrators:

DO NOT USE ON UNEXPLAINED CALF PAIN

Cancer Christmas Card Mishap

I am trying to be more organized. Every year that is one of my resolutions, but I tend to make it a monthly one. My desk always starts out clean. My piles of paper are somewhat organized. Things are where they are supposed to be. And then something happens. I suspect it may be little green men in the middle of the night. The piles are strewn from one side of the desk to the other. My calculator is missing. Where the hell are my scissors?????

This Christmas, I decided to truly make an effort. I figured the extra week in between Thanksgiving and December 1 was a gift.

I shopped online, I watched the sales, I took advantage of my Borders & Best Buy frequent buyers program discounts, I got free shipping. I designed my own Christmas cards (it’s a sickness, I know); not only my personal ones, but business ones as well. I managed to get the correct sizes, the perfect wording, the perfect pictures, and the perfect look I was going for. I uploaded them to Winkflash (who I have done business with for 4 years). All of this was completed by December 3rd.

My December this year was going to be different, and not crazed. (Other than when you hear that bell ringing and ringing and ringing outside of the grocery store and you just want to strangle those people with the bucket and the bell from the Salvation Army. Oops. Did I say that out loud?)

By the second week of December I kept checking the status of my order from Winkflash. It said the same thing: PRINTING. Poor dears, I thought, they are swamped but will get to it. I sent them a friendly reminder email. After a few days and no response, I sent them another email, this one matter-of-fact and to the point. I finally called them on Saturday, December 16. I was assured that they would be shipped out on Monday. On Tuesday, the printing status had not changed. I sent another email – this one not so friendly. I also called again. I was told that the cards had been completed on December 8th, but they didn’t know why they hadn’t been shipped out. He gave me “managements” email. They would return my email within 24 hours. I sent a copy of my previous emails along with a “what-the-hell-is-going-on” email to management. The next day I called and was told by a different person that my order had been printed, there was a problem with it, they were going to reprint it and that there was no way possible I was going to even receive them by Christmas.

I lost my mind. My perfect plan to be organized and stressless and cool as a cucumber had gone to shit. I wanted to scream at the lady:

“BUT I HAD CANCER!”

Yes, it was 5 years ago. But still, I had cancer. And why, you ask, would I even care that she knows?

People treated me differently when I had cancer and was bald from the chemo. I didn’t wait in doctor’s offices (might have had to do with the fact that I was ready to burst out in tears at a moment’s notice); I got seated at restaurants right away (even if I couldn’t taste any food); the grocery store clerks were extra nice; people smiled at me when we passed each other on the street.

And now? It IS different. It shouldn’t be. If I had told them I had cancer, I would bet that my order would have been given priority. Why should that matter? It shouldn’t.

The world is a different place when people are just thinking about themselves. People treat you different if they think you are going through something tough. We are all going through something – not just those of us who have had cancer.

Either people need to be nicer to everyone, or meaner to people with cancer.

PS. I don't recommend Winkflash.
PPS. I got my cards done locally and out in the mail!

What happened to your eyebrows?

I never, ever thought about eyebrows, or lack-of, or anything, B.C. (before cancer). Other than those people who only have one eyebrow and you know that they shave the middle of them, and then I make fun of them (behind their back of course).

As I was going through chemo, I lost ALL hair on my body. Yes, everywhere. So, I had to learn to draw my eyebrows on (trying very hard to not look like Shirley McLain). Did you know that there are stencils for this kind of thing? Well, there are, just in case that ever comes up in a conversation. Anyway, I was going in for one of my daily radiation treatments and my hair was just barely starting to come in. I can remember being the envy of the office because it was about 1/4" long. I also remember hopping out of the shower that day and just heading down to the doctor's office - no wig, no makeup. Come to think of it, I didn't 'hop' out of the shower, I think 'lumbered' would be a better word - the chemo took away much of my response time!

Meanwhile, back at the radiation oncologists office: I was sitting waiting for my appointment and working on a puzzle. There was a little girl who was in there - waiting for her mom. Now, I saw her mom come in and she was just coming for a consultation, she had not had any chemo or radiation (yet). The little girl was probably about 7. So, the little girl looked at me and said, "Can I ask you a question?" I told her of course she could, and was prepared to tell her about my hair (on my head), because I didn't have a wig or a hat on (remember, I was proud of my 1/4 inch of hair). She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYEBROWS?"
So, when you think you are going out and nobody notices the zit, or the makeup smear on your eye, or lipstick on your teeth---they see it, they just don't tell you about it or ask about it. Leave it to kids to make you feel totally self conscious!

By the way, I punched her in the mouth and then said, "What happened to your front teeth?"