I am so, so tough

I've been painting my old office (blue, if you want to know -- I'll post pictures later).  Painting is nice.  Boring, but easy, and does not involve any sort of dangerously sharp implements.

Bryan has been working on ripping up the disgusting tile from the kitchen, and putting in linoleum.  I was helping last night, because I wanted to be involved.  And, you know, painting is boring, and I was getting a blister from the paintbrush.  Also, I was very excited about the fabulous new floor (I also have before and after pictures, but again, these will come later).

Anyway, he held up the flooring, and I was using this fancy-pants scimitar-looking cutter thing to cut away the excess linoleum.  But, I'm a clumsy fool, and missed the linoleum, and cut the shit out of my hand.

It's really not that bad, but I have a thing with the b-word.  Oh, man.  So disgusting.  And the b-word got, like, all over the place.  (I'm about to pass out writing this.  See what I mean about being so, so tough?)

It was deep enough, and I was freaked out enough, that Bryan rushed me to the emergency room.  The very nice lady doctors there decided not to give me stitches (which is too bad, because I would've felt way manlier if I had gotten some) but they put some steri-strips on there to close it back up.  And I got a tetanus shot for good measure.  All's well, but it hurts to type and to lift things (like a bucket of paint, for instance).

Bryan finished cutting the floor today, and needless to say I was not allowed to help.  I couldn't even watch, really, because I kept chanting "be careful! be careful! watch out!" and that got on his nerves.  Miraculously, he was able to cut the linoleum (and not any of his appendages) and finished that up without my help.

So, the floor looks, like, a million thousand percent better, and it was worth it.  Yes, cutting myself was unnecessary, but whatever.  That's the price of home-ownership, right?  Plus, a little bit of b-word-shed is a small price to pay for new flooring that rocks this hard.

It's like The Ring, but with bad hair.

Bryan made me watch it, and now it's stuck in my head, so I have to share the love.  If it gets stuck in your head too you can e-mail him directly to tell him off, bokay? 

I'm going to squeeze them together

And eat them all up in one delicious bite.

Crazy dream

I had the strangest dream last night -- one of those something-bad-is-happening-and-everyone-is-running-away-but-we- aren't-moving-fast-enough type things.  I have those on occasion (am I the only one?) and even though it was pretty weird, it was still damn scary.

There were vampires roaming around or something, so everyone was packing up their cars and driving away, and Bryan, the kids and I were trying to make it back to our house to get our car.  We were worried about the two littlest kids because they were too heavy to carry that far, and were having trouble keeping up.  We somehow found two rolling carry-on suitcases, and we put them in there with blankets and zipped them up.  Bryan rolled Phoebe, and I rolled Charlie.

We finally made it back to our house (there was some other crazy dream-stuff that happened in the middle, but it was weird, and I think it involved a drug-dealer, so I'll omit that part).  So, we were at our house, which looked nothing like our house, and we started packing -- water, matches, pots and pans, food, blankets, a few items of clothes.  Everyone else in the neighborhood was pretty much gone, and I started worrying about gas, thinking that there wouldn't be any, and we didn't know how far we were going.  Right when we were getting in the car, and I was insisting we hit a gas station, I woke up.

Even though it was clearly a wacky dream (vampires?) I still woke up paranoid and scared.  It hit me how unprepared we'd be if something happened, and the town was taken over by monsters and we had to make a quick getaway.

Note to self: dig out the rolling suitcases, and buy some garlic.

Funny, or not so funny?

Some crazy stuff has happened around me lately -- things with my family members, and I realized that I'm the only one in my immediate family who hasn't been arrested.  Ever.

Two of the three of them have been arrested within the last few weeks (but for completely unrelated things, in totally different states).

One of them was not-so-serious, but still.  Arrested.  Handcuffs.  Jail.

I've only been in a cop car once -- when I was at UCSD, and was walking across campus to the medical center with a friend.  An officer saw us and offered to drive us, so we accepted.  And that's the closest I've ever come to being hauled away by the law.

I can't decide whether to laugh or cry, so I've decided to laugh. 

Man.  My family is nuts.