Of Pandas and Puking

I should probably be making dinner, but it can wait. I'm not really in the mood at the moment.

The Saturday before the Monday when I became um.. "liberated".. from my position at The Asylum, I got a wild hair up my beehind and bought myself a fancy new washing machine. My little Panda washer was still chugging along, my only complaint being that I couldn't wash anything big, like blankets or bedspreads. On the front of the little Panda was a sticker that said, "Do not immerse in water."

And now I know why.

Apparently I neglected to turn the cold water hose off all the way the last time I unloaded the washer. By the time I noticed, the cats' litter boxes were floating in about two inches of water, along with a few stray turds.

We won't even go into the magnitude of the resulting mess. Use you're imagination.. and multiply times 100.

Anywho, after the Great Flood, the little Panda wouldn't come on. Poor little Panda. It's now laying on it's side in the backyard.



The new washer was on sale. It has more buttons than I know what to do with. It's one of those fancy HE models (not a front loader, let's don't get crazy) and it has a fabric softener dispenser.

I'VE NEVER HAD A WASHER THAT DIDN'T NEED A DOWNY BALL!!!!

I have washed more laundry in the past two weeks than I have since we moved here. My closet is full. It's no wonder I never had anything to wear.

In other news...

I was tidying up the living room the other night and reached over the couch to straighten the curtain and the back of the couch fell off.

Just like that. Boom. I said words. Lots of words. The kind that make your mama take off her house shoe and fling it at your head.

We have one of those reclining models, with a foot rest on each end. I imagine, that as TA and I fought off the crud from hell, taking turns sleeping on the comfy end, our substantially ample booties, with their wiggling and trying to rollover, must have jiggled something loose, causing the middle section of the couch to become unattached.

I've had the time, but not the gumption, to flip it over and inspect the damage. I'm afraid to look. Maybe.. but it's not likely, I can put it back together. In light of recent events, I really don't want to go couch shopping.

As I mentioned, TA and I had the flu/virus/infection/demonic possession from the deepest regions of Hell, which ushered us straight in to allergy season. I'm pretty much over it, other than sounding like Bea Arthur. TA however, had to finally admit defeat and go to the Minute Clinic, returning home with a ginormous bag of assorted pharmaceuticals. She'd coughed so much that she bruised up her insides and had started puking.

Like.. infant formula projectile puking.

We have two big hulking boxes of Christmas decorations siting outside the bathroom. They should have been taken out to the RV by now, but I'm a little behind.

From Christmas 2014.

Shut up.

So TA was making a dash to the potty palace the other night in the midst of a coughing fit. Then I heard it.. and I knew she hadn't made it to the throne. I found her standing in the hall, her hand over her mouth.

"I'm so sorry, but you'll want to get the mop."

"Why do I have to get the mop? What are you gonna do when I die? You're grown, mop up your own puke." Because I'm a bad mom sometimes.

"It didn't all go in the floor," she said, looking horrified.

"Did you.. you didn't. You did didn't you. YOU PUKED ON CHRISTMAS!! OMG ALL OVER THE BABY JESUS!! IT'S NO WONDER WE'RE CURSED!!!!"

She shuffled off to the bathroom. I mopped. I haven't looked in the box. We need new Christmas decorations anyway.

Anywho.. That's the latest from my little corner of the holler. Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!