Wasps are horrible.

I have googled what good wasps do in the world.  I haven’t come up with anything worthwhile yet.

I do have some things to list on the horrible things that wasps contribute to the world.  Stings.  Really painful stings.  Stings that lead to allergic reactions.  Wasps suck.

My son literally ran across a wasp nest when he was about 8, resulting in multiple stings, and a humongous, worthwhile fear of wasps.

And then, as a family, two years ago we had a wasp incident that was so epic, that my children drew pictures of it, and talked about it for a very long time.

It was a Sunday in August, beautiful, warm day.  We decided to take the kayaks out for a couple hours on a nearby slow river, let the kids swim a bit, just enjoy the day.  2 parents, 3 kids, 2 dogs.  What could go wrong?

We launched at a spot that we hadn’t in the past, crowded, random dogs running without leashes, their owners not caring…this may have set the tone for the rest of the day if I had paid attention.  Thing is, we had our dogs with us too.  On leashes.  This was the first time we were going to take the dogs with us on kayaks.  I pictured all the cute photos I’d seen of dogs calmly sitting on their owners kayaks, smiling as they got to be paddled around.

Not our dogs.  Instantly jumping from the kayaks, nearly capsizing us, wanting to swim along side the boat.  Sigh.  We finally wrangled the two dogs, got them onto separate kayaks, and sat them between our legs to keep them still.  Such a lovely, calm first five minutes of our outing.

About 15 minutes into out peaceful float, everyone was boiling hot (including me with my frustration of this not being at all relaxing so far), we began to look for a nice spot to stop and take a swim.  The right side of the bank was labeled ‘Private Property, do not enter’, so we looked to the left.  A beautiful spot under a big tree, totally shaded with a narrow sandy beach, perfect.  The dogs were thrilled, began exploring the area right away between dips in the water.  My husband was beginning to relax, as was I standing in the cool water.  My oldest stayed in his kayak floating, and my two girls began to get wet in the water.

Then all hell broke loose.

My husband said ‘I just got stung!’  Just then, I had something fly between my sunglasses and my eye, I dropped my glasses into the water, and looked up to see tons of wasps flying around us.  I got stung on my left wrist, screamed and went under the water thinking that would make it get off me.  Nope, those bastards just keep on repeatedly stinging.  By then, I had a second one on my arm, was screaming like a lunatic, and quickly grabbed them and plucked them off of me.  Amongst all this nasty craziness, we as parents, yelled at the kids to get on their kayaks and start moving out quickly.  I remember clearly looking into the center of the water as my son had his littlest sister on the back of his kayak, both of them staring at me crying as they saw me screaming in pain.  Looking back, I wish I could say I held it together.  I didn’t, not at all.  I was scared, and it really hurt badly.    As we began to follow their kayaks in ours, I have to laugh now thinking of the sight we must have been.  One kayak with my son paddling, my littlest sitting on the back, my middle daughter paddling behind them, both dogs swimming behind them, and then our two kayaks bringing up the back.

As I began to calm, and things settled as we were paddling back, my middle daughter said ‘mom, you have one on your back.’  I asked her to paddle up to me and take her paddle and swipe it off.  She did with ninja like precision.  Overall, I got stung 5 times.  My husband, 3.  My kids, none.  So thankful for that none.

We did not talk too much on the way back, just paddled quickly.  I began itching.  Crazy itching on my head, under my arms.  My nose got a little stuffy.

We packed those kayaks up in record time and headed home.

I went straight into the bathroom to look in the mirror once we got into our house.  There were welts up and down my arms, under my arms and spreading onto my shoulders.  I calmly broke the news to my husband that we needed to head to the ER, and my youngest looked at me with tears in her eyes and said ‘are you going to die mom?’  I’m so thankful that I had my right mind with me after initially losing it when I got stung.  I assured her that I would be fine, gave her the needed amount of love to make sure she believed me, brought my kids to my neighbors who were thankfully home and off to the ER we went.

The hives and swelling weren’t the thing that got me seen right away once we got to the overcrowded ER, it was that my nose had gotten stuffed up after being stung.  Lots of drugs through the IV got me back on my feet, and some Benedryl handed to my husband for his sting got us headed back home after many hours.

I think it’s safe to say that I hate Prednisone.  I could probably get side effects from Tylenol if that is possible, so to put my body on Prednisone, that was evil.  Not as evil as being away the next weekend when I got to stop taking it, only to be woken up by what I would assume is most like going through drug withdrawals.  Come to find out, the pacing around the room, and feeling like I was coming out of my skin, or about to have a heart attack was the result of the prescribing doctor not tapering off the Prednisone, rather cutting me off of a high dose cold turkey.  Got a couple of Ativan out of it though, still sitting in my cabinet in case it’s ever needed.  The doctor thought I may need a little edge taken off.

Wasps to me so far =

  • Watching my then 8 year old son suffer in tons of pain, to be followed with a fear of anything flying by him in future years.
  • Painful little jerks that just keep stinging until you pluck them off of you.
  • ER visit worthy.
  • A need to carry an Epi-Pen with me always now.  (The ER doctor said that future stings could bring exponential symptoms that may differ than what was had on that day.)
  • A drug withdrawal experience leaving me to feel like a strung out junkie.
  • Making me absolutely lose my mind and freak out rather than pull my s**t together and stay strong for my kids, resulting in them being scared to death.

Wasps suck so much.  And they are everywhere around my house during the summer.

Mike Rowe posted this on his FB page, it is perfect:


You’re killin’ me Comcast!

Hot pokers in my eyes, or calling Comcast again soon. Below is why I would struggle with this decision.

I have spoken to Comcast technical support four times this week totaling over three hours of my life. 

I received a new router tower thing after being told the reason for my slow internet speed was because my old router was, well, old.

Call 1:  I had to call to ‘activate’ my internet after I had already set it up, and activated it online when it worked for 5 minutes.  This was not a short phone call.

Call 2: My son called the second time when the router accidentally was unplugged and had to be reset and the cable unplugged, and so on.

Call 3:  Realized my home phone wasn’t working. Yes, we are the odd family that still has a home phone, primarily for the two children in the family that don’t have cell phones. We never use it, that’s why I didn’t even know it wasn’t working. Resetting, resending signals, 45 minutes later, he needed to reconfirm my account address as he was asking about our second account at a different address.  At this point, I lost it. 

Call 4: When I got to our second address where we have Comcast today, no internet access. Called, and one of the previous three calls about my home service resulted in our second account being disabled by a technican.  Had to reset and resend signals, etc. Unbelievable. 

At this point, if it was between sticking a hot poker in my eye and calling Comcast for technical support, it’s a coin toss. 

I’ve got a confession to make…

I have an irrational, obsessive fear of elevator shafts and street drains.
Let me explain.

First, elevators.

I’m not scared of an elevator falling to the bottom floor as you may think is my fear regarding elevators.  I’m afraid of that little spot between the floor, and the elevator.


The slat that is a perfect spot, that if my keys fell, it would be a fiasco to try and get them back.  There is not a time, not once, that I step onto an elevator and I don’t think about that hole, and my keys falling into it.  I then go through the steps in my mind that I believe would be how to get them back.  This is what I’ve come up with.  If we’re at a large building, say a casino, there are people that work there all over, I believe I could find the right person to lead me down to what I picture as a basement with a burning stove, where in movies, it’s creepy and murders take place.  BUT, there would be my keys, sitting at the bottom of the elevator shaft, along with what I would imagine are wallets, money, phones, and other keys belonging to people who hadn’t thought through a plan, and figure their item is gone for good.

IF, it is a small elevator, in say, a small apartment complex.  I figure I’m pretty screwed.  It’s going to take a long while to get someone who knows where to go and what to do to get me my keys that fell down the hole.  But, if I can get the keys to the bottom elevator floor room, I’m pretty sure I’d have the situation locked down.  I’ve thought it through in my mind so many times, I’m pretty sure I’ve come up with all possible solutions.

So, as I think through my plan of action each and every time I get on or off of an elevator, you can look closely, and will see that I am distracted in my thoughts of where exactly my keys are.  If they are in my purse, and there is any possible way that they can fall out and land perfectly as to slide down that crack into the elevator dungeon, I’m double checking that my purse is securely closed, possibly checking multiple times.  If my keys or phone are in my hand, there is a death grip on them.

My husband was with me when I took the picture above of the floor in front of the elevator.  He said “What are you doing?”  I told him that I was taking a picture because I may write a post on how I’m scared that my keys will fall down the elevator shaft through the slot between the floor and the elevator.  His reply?  “Alright.”  Really, no skin off his back, this isn’t his first rodeo with me and my crazy thoughts, he knows there is no reason to question further.

Moving on to street drains.

As if the elevator wasn’t enough to worry about, there are street drains.


These pose an entire different threat.  Some, I don’t get too incredibly worried about, because you can see the bottom.  Yet, on a rainy day, that bit of comfort is totally gone.  Once those keys hit the flowing water downhill, they are gone.  And really, I have no plan for that one.  As well as the large drains where you can’t see the ground.  No plan other than calling the City Utility district and maybe making up a story that the keys belonged to the limo of a top government official or something so that maybe they would come and help me look for them.

And what about this sign that often accompanies a street drain?  It makes this whole process even harder to handle.  Really?  A creek?  I’m never getting my keys back, ever.


Street drains.  I have to hold my keys even tighter in my hands then when I’m walking onto an elevator.  Some of these drains seem large enough for my whole wallet to fall through.  I will avoid walking directly over them at all costs.

The other night, I felt like someone pulled the banana in the tailpipe trick on me.  Not really that trick specifically, but a clever one that got me.  As I leisurely got out of the car at Target, I looked down and this is what I saw:

IMG_7017Good Lord.  I let out what I imagine would be described as a loud gasp, like, I just missed getting hit by a dart or something.

Thankfully, my keys and phone were tucked away in my pockets, where they were not threatened by this unexpected drain.

I can pretty much guarantee that I will never park in that spot at Target again for as long as I live.

I think it’s safe to assume that you would not be surprised at this point to know that each and every time that I take off a ring or earrings near a sink, that I mentally go through the steps of taking apart the pipes below to rescue any fallen jewelry.  I find comfort in having a plan.

And, there you have it.  My brain.  It’s never boring in there, there’s always something that I can find to worry about!

I’d love to know if anyone has every dropped anything down the elevator shaft hole, or in a drain, and what the outcome was.  I am fully willing to add a new plan of action to my current ones if need be!  🙂



OH MY GOSH!  After I wrote this, I googled ‘my keys fell down the elevator shaft’, and this came up!

No way.

AND THIS!  I love Mike Rowe, and Dirty Jobs, didn’t know he did this episode.  And they found a credit card!!!  Along with some gross stuff…

Best friend/wedding ring. Yuck.

My very good friend asked me the other day if I’d seen the commercial for the best friend/wedding ring.  Um, no.

We have talked many times about the whole husband as my best friend thing.  That’s why this commercial was so extra hilarious to us.  Really?  You need 2 diamonds?  One for your marriage, and one to state you’re best friends?  Yuck.

I made a mental note to watch it on YouTube.

She texted me tonight that she had just seen it again on TV and had I seen it yet.  I immediately went to YouTube.  And this is what I saw:

I may or may not have texted her that I had just thrown up in my mouth.

Again, I’m not a hater.  I love that people are happily married.  I gave that disclaimer in my post My husband is my best friend…NOT.  Heck, I have tomorrow’s date circled on the calendar because it will have been 20 years from the day my husband and I met.  I’m just not into the husband best friend thing, let alone a ring with two diamonds.

I’m thinking it’s a new ploy to get even more extra competitive over the engagement ring.  Did YOU get 2 diamonds?  An extra for being a best friend, or just one diamond because he has a different best friend than you?

Wow.  Whole new can of worms right there.



My 100th Post! How did that happen?

I can’t believe this is the 100th post on my blog.

The fact that I’ve had enough to say about something 100 times is pretty crazy, but also pretty cool.

As my blog states, You can’t argue with crazy is about how ‘Migraines suck, and other tidbits of my life!’

Well, as I look back through these 100 posts, I’ve written a lot about the other tidbits…

Here’s a few of those tidbits from along the way to 100.  They make me laugh and smile.  So, hopefully when you click on them and read them, they make you laugh and smile too!

Take for instance, posts about bugs:

Or animals:

My husband:  

My Recreation Therapy profession:  

My kids/parenting:

Random no real category posts:

And of course, migraines:

There is one thing about this whole blog experience that leaves me puzzled.  How in the world people find my blog from some of the things they search!

Here are some search terms that led people to my blog.  I can’t make this stuff up:

  • how can someone be so drunk that they do abnormal things like peeling wallpaper
  • when moms argue because kids friends argue
  • can fruit fly follow you

and, the one web search that got them to my site, that is just nuts:

  • i promise. I will kill you soon.

That one just makes me nervous!  What the heck?  How did that lead to my blog about migraines?  The internet is weird.  Maybe they got my anti-migraine smoothie recipe and all is good now.  Hope so!

Anyway, 100 is a lot!  And I have my sister in law to thank for this very first post to You can’t argue with crazy:

‘Winning’ (Charlie Sheen reference of course) the endless game of migraines (for this quarter at least)

Swearing 101

If you’re going to swear, know your audience.

Standing, waiting to be checked out at a local office supply store, I had to listen in to a conversation between co workers behind the cash registers, who all clearly saw me and knew that I was in line waiting to be called over.  As the one female dropped the F bomb in the middle of the story, she giggled, and covered her mouth and said ‘ooops’.

Ya, I didn’t want to hear your story in the first place, I want to pay for my things and leave.  And I also don’t need you to be dropping the F bomb at your place of employment where you are supposed to be professional.

Offended is way too strong of a word for what I felt hearing her drop the F bomb.  I didn’t yell out ‘WHOA, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”  It was more like I just felt like saying ‘Clean it up, it’s not cute.  Know your audience.’

I swear.  Pretty much always have.  I still remember my first bad words.  5th grade, on the playground, I called someone a Friggin F**k hound.  I have no idea what that meant, nor where I got it, but I stuck it on someone for some reason or another.  I certainly did not swear often as a child.  And I still do not swear all the time, and most definitely not in front of everyone I know.  There’s the rule, know your audience.

There are people  who I will never in my life swear in front of.

And there are people, old, fantastic friends who I have known for life, that when around them, it’s like I just changed out of tight pants into sweats and can let the words flow.  No filter, no regrets, not judgement.  Using the words as an emphasis, and part of the way our friendship cracks each other up.

That’s not everyone though, and that’s the point.  To the rookie telling the story at the office supply store, know your audience.  Clean it up, no one needed that.

Active, not athletic.

This week while at work, three high school boys came up and were selling cookies to create funds for their cross country track team.  I asked them about their mile times, and they were totally excited to share them.

The night before, I watched Becoming Alex Morgan about the soccer star with my daughter.  Very cool.

I’ve never really had a huge athletic piece in my life.

I’ve always said that I’m active, not athletic.

‘I play real sports, not trying to be the best at exercising.’  Classic Kenny Powers.  Yet, I don’t even try to be the best at exercising.  I’m like, average, and ok at exercising.  I just go through the motions to get it done.

I’ve done a handful of 1/2 marathons, and one full (bucket list, done.)  Each and every race I’ve done, my husband asks if I’m going to ‘smoke’ the people I’m running with in the race.  And I’ve always replied, “I’m staying with my friends!”

Being an athletic and competitive person, he looks at me like I am truly speaking a different language than one he can understand.

A perfect example of me being active, not athletic (which, by the way, I see no problem with, and in no way do I state that about myself negatively), is my husband’s family reunion volleyball game.  I’m a tall person.  Active.  I believe tall and active were misconstrued for athletic.  Half way through the first FAMILY volleyball game that included kids, and adults, I was pulled aside by not just one of my husbands uncles, but two of his uncles to point out where I needed to be moving, and when, and how I needed to improve. Sorry guys. Active, not athletic.

I like walking, biking, mountain biking (without much uphill, I’ll whine loudly if there’s a lot of uphill), at times running, and I can hold my own working out at the gym too.  Those work for me.  Although, I’m not good at classes at the gym.  Some of my friends love their classes.  I’m ok with admitting the main reason I don’t like classes:  I don’t like being told what to do.  “Push it harder.  Go faster.”  No thanks.  I’m good.

Being that I like biking and mountain bike riding, I tried a spin class.  Once.  Hated it.  Why?

  1. Being told what to do and when.  (I know it’s not a good quality, but at least I’m admitting it.  That’s worth something right?)
  2. I couldn’t walk for about 2 days.  I now know why people bring their own seat cushion things.  Horrendous.

It has been 6-1/2 years now that I have kept a twice a week crazy AM commitment to working out.  My good friend Timaree from (just about to publish her first cookbook, it’s awesome) and I have met each and every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:00 AM (sometimes even earlier!) since May of 2009.  The only times we have missed a day is if one of us is pretty darn sick, or we are out of town.  I have people ask me all the time ‘Do you still work out with your friend in the mornings?’  Yep.  The other days of the week, we do our own things to stay active and healthy.  The early Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s basically just auto-pilot.  And it is a pretty great feeling to hit about 2:00 PM and realize that I’ve already worked out for the day (because is seems like it had been yesterday being so early in the morning!)  I’m no hero though, the times that she hasn’t been able to make it, I thankfully reset my alarm for two hours later and roll over!

Being active and working out always has the benefit of being able to fit into the clothes in the closet.  But over the past few years, it’s become much more than that.  When I don’t move, when I’m not active, my emotions and my mental health are affected.  I can physically and emotionally feel when I haven’t been active enough.  For me,it helps with anxiety, and all that comes with that lovely quality of mine.  I wrote how exercise can help change my mental state in a past post, Bad Mood Mama.  The quick fix of endorphins, it usually is the key.

I’m on day 45 of being migraine free, so migraine related anxiety is asleep for now.  Still heading towards that 200+ glory mark though!!!  I’ll take what I can get for now and feel good being ‘ok at exercising!”


Just keeping it real…

While shopping at Target for the second time in 3 days one recent morning, after getting all 3 of my kids off to their 3 separate schools, I saw a sign that read:


I wanted to tell it to shut up, and then maybe give it a little shove to knock it over.

This particular recent morning, prior to my Target outing, had been a rough one in our household. Therefore, a more appropriate and accurate sign to be hung in my house would have read something like this:


And while thankfully the majority of the time I could accurately display the love and laughter sign from Target, my own sign of attitudes, fits, temper tantrums and yelling is definitely an accurate portrayal of my home during certain moments.

(Disclaimer: moments where my ATTITUDE sign can be displayed may be getting more and more frequent as the number of teenagers in my house increases.)

Just keeping it real.

99 Cent Store Adventures…

I went to the 99 Cent store last week.

And as a precautionary disclaimer, I am not a 99 Cent or Dollar Store hater.  I love these places.  Proof is in this receipt here:


Who spends over $90 at the 99 Cents store?  Me.

I wandered up and down every aisle, and put multiple things in my cart along the way.  All while wearing my sunglasses inside so I don’t get a migraine.  (I have gotten migraines in this store twice in the past, I’m thinking it’s due to the lights.)  So now, I walk around like I’m cool or something with my sunglasses on while cruising up and down the aisles.

So, with it being stated that I am not a hater.  There are some things that just can’t avoid being pointed out.

I will share these with you, as I did with my oldest, lifelong friend through texts throughout my shopping trip.




And if you needed to see it more up close, here it is:



Wow.  Did not know he has his own food line.  ‘Just Add Beer’ it says.


One of the reasons I went to this store, was to pick up more of the cereal my youngest likes.  It’s Jif.  Yes.  Like the peanut butter.  Don’t judge.  It was at Safeway months ago for about $4.69 a box.  I found it here a couple of weeks ago, and was glad to find it was still here!



Choco Ronis:

IMG_6535 I didn’t buy those. 


This would have made bath time way more successful back in the day of little kids.  I may go back and get a bottle, put it in the shower, see what happens.  It’s 99 cents.  You can do that.



And finally, I saved the best for last:



I love that store.  Constant good deals while being entertained.


Oh ya, and I texted this to my middle brother while there:



You have to watch it now.  So great!