A Brief Death Scare

First let me say Corey and I are alive.  In fact, that's one of the first things he said this morning.

"Hey...we're alive!"

...

We have three smoke detectors in our loft apartment.  Two in areas of normal ceiling height that can be reached by standing on a chair, and the other just about 18' from the ground that can be reached by climbing from the bed to my jewelry stand and reaching up with a 5' pole.

Which one do you think went off yesterday?

I called Corey on my way home:

"BEEP, BEEP, BEEEEEEP......BEEP, BEEP, BEEEEEP...I gotta go...BEEEEEP...."

I came home to find no smoke, no smells, and no alarm.  Corey had scaled our bedroom furniture and whacked the thing with a pole, shutting off the alarm.  But what could have triggered it in the first place??

Carbon Monoxide.  Had to be it.

Corey called our landlord.  He didn't answer.

So then he called his mom.  She didn't think there was anything to worry about, but we didn't get the definitive answer we were looking for, so we opened all the windows and forgot about it.

In the meantime Corey decided to take a leftover antibiotic from a sinus infection to treat an in-grown hair in his nose (a story for another time, folks) and lay down to watch the Yankee game.  A short time later he comes out of the bedroom to report wooziness.

A sure sign of CO poisoning.

But also possibly a sign of taking random medications for an in-grown hair.

So I call my dad.  He's not a medical doctor but he does talk to them occasionally.

Again, no definitive answer.

"Try pushing the button again and see if it chirps."

"Do you know how hard it was to press it in the first place?!"

We were desperate to stay alive so Corey, again, scales our bedroom furniture, pole in hand, to test the alarm.

He presses the button.  It doesn't chirp.

He presses it again.  No chirp, no red light.

Great.  So one of two things occurred: 1) the alarm sounded to let us know it was dying, or 2) the alarm sounded to let us know it was dying from Carbon Monoxide poisoning.

We convinced ourselves the alarm just outside our bedroom would have alerted us and the dizziness and headache were purely psychosomatic, then went to sleep.  Not really sure if we would wake up in the morning, but too tired to blow up the air mattress in a less "affected" room, we said our good-nights.

Needless to say, because I am obviously writing this after the fact and because I told you at the beginning, we made it.  There was no Carbon Monoxide in our apartment.  Just one dead smoke alarm.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

Overheard in the Locker Room

Not Ten on Tuesday

I'm taking a break from Ten on Tuesday today because:

1. I was required to think about how others see me and a wave of self-doubt and insecurity washed over me.  I was mentally and emotionally paralyzed.  But I exaggerate.
2. I had a lot of junk to do at work today.  Like make little signs for my boss's birthday party that say "zero points" so that she'll eat her birthday cake.
3. You just had a list of "me" yesterday.  I can't over-list you and expect you to return to my blog.

Well, looky there.  I just hit you with another list.  Sorry.

As I still have more junk to do, I'll leave you not with another list, but the card Corey's parents sent us for our anniversary.

Funniest.  Card.  Ever.



Monday Confessions: Balloon Festival Edition

To put it briefly, I just spent the past two days waking up at 2:30am to be at the airport hangar by 3:30am to serve breakfast to several thousand people coming to watch about 50 hot air balloons fill up and lift off.  It was a fundraiser for our local soup kitchen and my dad and I were in charge of organizing about 200 volunteers.

Needless to say, I.  Am.  Beat.

1.  Me, my clothes, my car, my hair reeks of maple syrup and grease.

2.  It took seven attempts to spell "grease" correctly.

3. I have approximately 20 bottles of ketchup in my car.  Just hangin' out.  They will probably be there until Christmas.

4.  When I pulled into my parking spot at my apartment Saturday afternoon I sat in my car for no less than 5 minutes.  I could not move.  I used up the final burst of energy trying to stay awake while driving.

...

We started serving breakfast at 5am.  Which meant everything had to be cooked and ready to go before then: the eggs, French toast, pancakes, sausage, coffee, hot chocolate, OJ, and in large quantities.

Pancake batter had to be "stirred" with a whisk attached to a drill.  OJ was prepared in a bucket.  Eggs were thrown onto an industrial sized griddle two quart cartons at a time. 

Only a handful of volunteers were seasoned Balloon Breakfasters (my father and I not included), yet we still managed to make it in time.

My job was to walk around with a clipboard, hand out meal vouchers, and try not to look like a deer in headlights when volunteers asked me questions.

I had no idea what was going on.

...

5.  I signed up two Colleens.  If you've followed Friday Confessions (see #4) in the past, you would know why I used a lot of "hey yous".  I will screen volunteer lists in the future.

6.  Today I wore a simple pink, long-sleeved shirt to work.  I will, most likely, also wear it to bed.

7.  At clean-up I told a girl to "put ketchup from that bottle in this bottle so we can fill up one bottle and empty the other bottle and take more from that bottle in another bottle that is half full..."  She said, "You mean, combine them?"

Uh, yes.

8.  The food, although prepared quickly and not always using the cleanest preparation methods was de-lish.  I'd eat it even if I had to pay for it.

...

Because of gusty winds Saturday the balloons couldn't take off, but Sunday they all went up.

And it.  Was.  Awesome.

9.  After everything was torn down and loaded into trucks, vans and trailers, my dad, Kimberlie and I went to Applebee's for lunch and a little dessert.  Kimberlie said she would give me $1 if I licked the ice cream off the plate.  I did, but when I asked for my dollar she said I still owed her for the time Katie and I dared her to touch what we thought was poop at the bottom of the pool.  (When she came back up and said it was a hair tie we refused to give her the money.)

10.  My dad then bet her $5 if she would do it.  When she did he pushed the back of her head, getting ice cream all over her face.

Ha!

...

It was a great weekend, but I'm glad it's over.

On to the next project!

Friday Goodies

Friday Confessions for this week has turned into Monday Confessions as I have been too busy to commit acts for which I feel the need to confess.  And as my weekend will consist of waking before the crack of dawn to serve thousands of cold and hungry hot air balloon enthusiasts, I'm sure I will more than make up for my lack of post today.

With that said, I will leave you with my morning treasures:

I'm one of those weirdos you see tip-toeing through the park picking up little acorn hats and stuffing them in their pockets.  I come home with handfuls of the suckers and usually another handful of just dirt.

But bein' weird pays off.  I turned them into my little wooly acorns which sold within minutes of being listed on etsy today.

So Booyah!

Who still says that?

Squirrely Fantasy

Meet Squiggly.

The office squirrel.

She comes to say hi a few times a day.  She'll perch herself on the ledges of our windows and watch us for a few minutes as if she is genuinely interested in the daily opperations of our office.

But really, she just wants food.

And my co-worker, Sharon, obliges. 

Which is probably why we now see Squiggly's bolder, yet-to-be-named friend.

Who may or may not find her way into the office some day.

In the very near future.

But I don't mind.  I've wanted my own little pet squirrel for as long as I can remember.

I would name her Roxanne, but call her Roxy.  Because then I would have an excuse to sing two of my favorite sing-along songs.

I love to make noise, in general.

But not loud noises.

...

Just look at those a-dor-able rodent eyes.  And don't even get me started on animals with opposible thumbs.

I guess if someone were to, perhaps, let Squiggs and her friend in, by complete accident of course, I just might have to, out of the goodness of my heart, let them curl up in my snack drawer to nap in between cuddle sessions.

Warm Slice of Humble Pie

What could this bendy-loop-di-loop on a bed of last year's Christmas tree droppings possibly be?

...

A muffler.

From this prized, 1995 GMC Rust Mobile.

She now purrs like a 'Vette.

And shakes like me on Starbucks.

Just ask her proud owner.

My poor dad.

This van has taken my family across the country more than half a dozen times.  We have a lot of great memories from those trips.  But now that the seats are ripped, the cup holders are crusted over with coffee and melted candy, the windows don't roll up or down, you can stick a few fingers through the rust-eaten hole in the gas tank door (not to mention the rust that is consuming the entire van from the bottom up) and the muffler is sitting in the back seat, it might be time to trade the sucker in.

But I'm not holding my breath.

There's my grandpa's mint condition 1987 Cadillac sitting in the driveway just waiting to be put back on the road.  So what if the heat doesn't work and this part of New York sees temps in the negatives for most of February.  It's a classic, people.  And it's my dad's back up car when his van gets a little finicky.