A trifecta of unpleasent situations.

So first, I got all ready to head out this morning, hair, make-up, shorts and Toms, the usual. Then I checked back once to make sure Levi was still sound asleep. Convinced by his heavy breathing and the goofy grin stretched across his face, I assumed that he was still frolicking his happy life away in dreamland, and I left. I turned out onto the main road and got about halfway to the stoplight when I hear "Toot toot!". Classy. The "I think I'm so cool because I give the obviously inferior bike rider on the side of the road whiplash in order to gain her attention even though I'm going 50 mph and she's going like, -2" honk. [You know people, we don't even have time to see your face as you drive by and I seriously doubt you have time to see ours. You might as well be honking at the plane flying overhead because the flight attendant might be hot.] Anyway. This time I looked up and it was big, lifted, black Dodge Ram. Same truck Levi drives. Had a cover over the bed and everything. Now let's think about this. Do you wave? Or do you not?

If you do, you could be leading on some innocent flirt and create for yourself a situation you weren't actually trying for. If you don't wave though, you do risk hurting the feelings of your boy with an un-intentional ignore. I mean he could have woken up. Maybe you forgot something. Then again, maybe it WAS your man's truck but NOT your man. Maybe someone stole it after seeing you ride away! In that case wouldn't the finger be appropriate? But if you give the finger, you could also be either crushing some sweet [although privileged] teenager's heart just for trying to be cute, or you could get yourself in serious trouble from the boyfriend who maybe woke up and was just trying to help. Sigh. By the time I decided that not doing anything was probably the best call, the whoever-it-was was already gone anyway. I just can't think fast enough for these drive-by-honkers.

Later I talked to the boy and we decided that in the future, if he ever drives by me on the side of the road he's going to lean out the window and yell "BABBBEEE" at the top of his lungs so there's no confusion next time. Phew. Sure am glad he's so good at solving life's main mysteries.

Number two. I'm at work now. Later in the afternoon, four or so. Baby is in his little walking device ramming into the kitchen pantry over...and over...and over. I'm just finishing reading a quick text from the boy ["Missin' my lady." Awww.] when I look down to the ground about a yard away from baby where my Toms are kicked off under a kitchen chair. Suddenly my shoe...twitches. I look a little closer, take a couple steps, and BAM! Two inch long scorpion takes off across the kitchen floor. Towards baby.

I should probably take a moment right here to explain to you how fully I do NOT do scorpions. As I explained to my sister later, throw me off the Eiffel Tower straight into a burning building filled with free roaming snakes, spiders and the like. If I catch fire throw me in the Nile. It's cool. I'll be fine. Not worried. Stick one scorpion in that mess and FORGET IT. I'll find myself a different horror story to live. One without long stingers that turn your limbs numb. Shudder.

However. There was a baby in the mix. A really cute baby that is MINE to take care of from 8 in the morning to five at night. So, I reacted. First baby. I grab the little guy and cradle him one-armed as close to my chest as I can. Then I look for a hammer. Fail. So I grab the first thing I see and I turn that BAM factor right around on the nasty fellow. Lucky for me he was a slow one and it only took me two smacks to leave him motionless. Problem averted. WAY easier than I imagined.

Then I washed all the scorpion guts off of the bottom of the boss's favorite thermos. Seven times.

Even LATER today. I'm already home from work. I've been home actually. For a good hour or two. I mention dinner and Levi suggests Shoyu Chicken again [we're kind of rut people]. I tell him we need chicken breasts for it and we decide that since Levi is in the middle of laying tile, I'll just go pick it up. I need toothpaste real real bad and have a little list I'd like to get some things on anyway. So we kiss. We hug. We say some nasty "Don't be gone too long..." "I miss you..." mushy gushy stuff and I head to Fry's. [Which is of course an entire two and a half minute drive from our house.] I start with the chicken and as I'm walking over there I catch the eyes of the "meat boys" behind the glass and I lip smile courteously before turning around and picking the pack I want. I decide on one, wrap it up and I'm off to the next. Rice. Soy sauce. Maybe some bread. Peanut butter would be good. Maybe there's a sale on Pop Tarts... I'll go get my toothpaste on the way to the check out... I'm just wandering the isles having myself a good ol' grocery lovin' time when I start hearing these whistles. Like the way people whistle when they want people to notice them being inconspicuous. Then I start paying a little closer attention. I realize that each isle I'm walking down, the same boy from the meat department that caught my eye before is at the end of. Just sauntering. Whistling. Looking. My stomach gets a little sick and I try heading all the way up to the front where the fruit is. Then I come back. Still there. Still lurking. Still staring me down every chance they get and then looking at each other laughing like they're doing something they should be proud of. I force myself out of enjoyable-sale-hunting mode and try to grab the necessities but it's getting ridiculous. I can feel him burning holes in my back and the whistles are getting louder and the laughs are getting fuller. So I grab my bag of rice and turn straight towards the end of the isle where sure enough, he's walking slowly down at the end of. I stare him down the entire time. Dirtiest look I can muster. Then I leave. Frustrated. Then I get home. No toothpaste. FURIOUS. Then I call the manager and tell him to "give the bastards in the meat department a stern talking to". He agrees and apologizes profusely. I feel a little better.

Then I got on and bought new Toms and felt a LOT better.

But what is the point of that, really? What do they think that it's going to accomplish? "Hey, buddy-who-also-smells-like-a-dead-cow, let's make this lady trying to do some simple grocery shopping feel really uncomfortable because we're so cool that we can!" You know what? Whatever makes you feel better dude. I'll just bring my boyfriend-who-is-twice-the-size-of-you with me next time. No big deal.

Old picture today. Cause I'm reminiscing over my old Toms. Will forever love those babies.

Night, y'all.