Hello lovers. Let's talk about the time I peed my pants.

It feels like forever, doesn't it? I know I've kept you going with book reviews, but the days of me writing about life and lamenting about the latest home improvement projects feels far and few between. Things are busy for everyone and I'm right there with you, and I keep taking notes on things I should be blogging about. I'm hoping I can just get my shit together but folks it's hard. But let's start tonight and see if I can't make you laugh like old times.

So remember how last week I said I was going to a play called Spank that was a parody of the book Fifty Shades of Gray? And I was so super excited because I was going to go with Emily, who I really love and who I really miss, and I was just so excited to get the fuck out of the house? I didn't feel great Monday, Tuesday I was home with a fever, and then Wednesday I felt just fine. Great, actually. I thought for sure I would be good to go to this play which was in Minneapolis so that is about a two and half hour drive from me one way. It makes for a long night, but it's almost always worth it.

Anyways.

So I met her in Forest Lake and we drove into the city together and that drive... I all of a sudden felt off. But then I thought, well I haven't eaten today so obviously my blood sugar is tanking and I'll be fine after I eat. We got to Minneapolis and decided to eat at a place called Brother's Bar, which turned out to be nice and inexpensive and if I were feeling better I probably would have liked my food. I mean, I'll try it again, let's put it that way. I ordered a wrap and literally, as soon as I got it, I felt sick. Like going to lose my shit sick.

I went to the bathroom, and nothing. You know that feeling where you want to puke because you are convinced you'll feel so much better? And you wish you had paid more attention to the bulimia unit in school to learn  how they puke on command? Well that was me, and nothing happened.

We walked over to the venue for the play and Mill City Nights is a bizarre venue. Not only did none of the employees seem to have a clue what was going on, they had on suits and attire that made them look like they were pretend CIA folks who felt grossly important because of their shiny shoes and jackets. But they clearly had no clue.

And the play was alright. It was funny in spots but not really what I was thinking it was going to be? And the male lead was not the guy as advertised and honest to god- this guy looked like a mannequin. Not in a good way either, maybe it was just too much makeup to make him look chiseled on his face? I don't know. What I do know is that shortly before the half way mark I felt like I was going to vomit on the guy in front of me. And bless Emily- she said it was OK if we left and I hope it wasn't because I looked like I was going to vomit all over her. I would have really tried to turn the other way. Because that's what friends do.

So we leave, and I feel terrible for basically wasting our money, and I feel terrible like I'm going to throw up in my car, and it's just a total downer. I know I was a terrible date and I was probably far too quiet and it was only because I was trying really hard to not throw up.

So I drop her off at Forest Lake. I decide to drive to the gas station and get some gas, thinking I would be able to not stop in Hinckley, and get home faster.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA..... nope.

As soon as I got out of my car I knew it was coming. I knew it. I kind of ran into the store and into the bathroom where I promptly vomited enough to necessitate a courtesy flush. Not only that? But I peed my pants.

That's right people, this 31 year old, absolutely stone sober woman, peed her pants in public. Not just a little, but enough to make it clearly obvious that oh hey- remember that sprite and water you drank all night? Yeah, bladder don't care- it's coming out. Proof that all of the kegels in the world can't save you from urine.

The best part about this is that I still had to pump gas. And drive two hours home in urine soaked pants.

After that humiliating bit, I got back into the car, after finding a Target bag to sit on, and started driving. Only realizing that every few miles? I had to pull over and puke. And I don't know if you have ever puked on the side of the highway in the middle of the night but it's pretty fucking scary.

And I ended up stopping in Hinckley anyways to get some water and also to puke again. But that was disorienting because on the other side of this bakery is a night club. Keep in mind, this is a Wednesday, Hinckley is Bible beating farm country, and they are playing music you'd hear at a rave where you would be dancing with Molly. So I've got the "boom, boom, boom" bass thing, and I'm puking and all I can smell is baked goods and it wasn't good. I probably also scared the attendant because my makeup was smeared, I obviously smell like urine and vomit, and my pants are clearly stained.

I got back on the road and from all of the puking? I was exhausted. So exhausted that I started hallucinating animals on the road, and all of the fog was really screwing with me, and I slammed on my brakes for a barrel. Thank god almost nobody ever is on the road with me otherwise I would have totally looked like a drunk driver. I made it home just before 1 a.m. and seriously- I felt rough.

So that was my Wednesday night.

I'll tell you about Thursday and Friday.... tomorrow.

Up close and personal... with my hole.

HA! How many sickos got here from a wayward Google search? Plenty, I'm sure.

Those of you who have been paying attention, I have a hole in my living room wall as a resort to my absurd want of some mother fucking baseboards. That was all I wanted, let us be clear. The problem with husbands having under used power tools is that they can sometimes get a little over zealous with them and you know, cut a hole in the wall and talk you into how great it would be to have a random cubby. In the wall. Of your living room.

At this point- we're too far in to go back. My fear is that if we had just covered it up we would have somehow missed the possible greatness of a hole in your living room wall, so we've continued on. Right now all of the walls are patched and ready for paint in the rest of my living room. The hole itself needed a lot of work: plaster and lath ripped out, electrical wires re-routed, a place for a future mini light fixture, new drywall up, and eventually, some carpet. It's a lot of work.

But here's where we talk about Matt. He's super handy. He really is- I don't question his skill or level of ability because even if he doesn't know how to do something, he can not only figure it out but he also has a contractor friend he can call to get some tips and advice. So basically- he is capable of doing most anything around the house. Hell, he was instrumental in putting the addition to the house on (yet.. the laundry sink is a project he continues to stall...) so I have to give credit where it's due. The problem here is that he starts off with all of this motivation and a clear plan... and then it drops off to nothing. I have to then badger him to finish the project when it's in the worst and messiest state of it.

Last week I told him he HAD to start taking plaster and lath down because we aren't leaving this project hanging mid stream like everything else. So he does. But what he failed to do, which I feel is a critical step, is to put some drop cloths down. At least on the furniture. But no. Dust and shit EVERYWHERE.

 I inhaled so much dust I was wheezing like an asthmatic fat kid after gym glass and every time I had to blow my nose or sneeze? Black dust came out. I'm going to go ahead and assume my lungs are compromised.

But Matt didn't care. Instead, his little Antiques Roadshow heart BEAMED when he found not one, but two old things in the wall inside of secret cubby.

 A book from 1927 about house wiring.

 And a book of matches from when phone numbers were only five digits long. Am I the only one concerned that whoever did the wiring did it from a wiring-for-dummies book AND had matches handy?

 After realizing I probably have to have my furniture professionally cleaned because the dust is literally that thick on it, I simmered down long enough to demand Matt start putting drywall up in the hole.

 Which he did.

This is what it looks like when you kneel in the doorway to the cubby area. It's such a bizarre little space? But I don't know. I feel like I'll be able to do something with it. Hopefully.

Tonight Matt is (hopefully) going to start sanding drywall because this weekend? I paint the living room. No more prolonging this. My living room is a fucking DISASTER and part two of why it's a disaster is coming tomorrow.

I need the Cat Whisperer. For the sake of my toilet paper and sanity.

Folks- these cats will turn me into an alcoholic if Matt doesn't do it first.

Stumpy and Batman have taken to being freaks in general. Lenny was weird, but now that he's in kitty heaven/decomposing under my apple tree, Stumpy and Batman obviously feel like they need to make up for his crazy which only adds to the crazy they were already bringing to the table.

In short, I have two cats who are mildly retarded and/or ADHD.

First, it was the ladybug that both cats stared at for over an hour. The bug was on the ceiling but my cats were like on surveillance and were not going anywhere.

 Then they sleep in the 69 position almost every night. Until Stumpy hogs the bottom 1/3 of the bed because he's obese and only one. But then Batman sleeps either on top of my head or in the crook of my neck. Which was cute when he was small but Batman, under his filthy and uncleaned mounds of fur, is a bit of a tub-o-lard himself and it's pretty much him trying to strangle me. But they start in the 69 and lick each other's special spots. Which Matt and I have to listen to. If that doesn't make you horny, I don't know what will.

 You may remember when my bedroom was a CSI crime scene a few weeks ago? Yes well, I have noticed that the cats are ALWAYS staring at the threshold of my bedroom. My bedroom floor isn't finished, so this is what it looks like. Now, I've looked down there thinking there MUST be a mouse. No. I can't see anything. But Batman was eating all of the insulation that was in there. So.. maybe that's like cat crack? But in my paranoia I made Matt put a board on this so a mouse (if that bastard is in there) can't come up.

 And then one morning, I woke up and had to pee. I knew I wouldn't make it upstairs so I went into the laundry room.. which is off my kitchen. I find this. This is TWO rolls of toilet paper and the basket upside down. Mother fuckers.

 Not even a week later, Matt goes up to take a shower and see this. Those fuckers not only clawed up the toilet paper, but knocked the garbage can over and chewed on EVERYTHING. Batman has a taste for qtips while Stumpy (who's obviously already mentally deficient) chewed the cotton balls which were soaked with nail polish remover. And Batman chewed on a pad. A used pad. It was really horrible to clean up.

 THEN. This morning, I go upstairs to pee and I see this. And folks? This is happening EVERY DAY. I'm going through so much toilet paper it's unreal. Do you know how expensive toilet paper is???

And don't tell me to shut my bathroom door. Because it doesn't shut very well and that's where the only heat vent for the upstairs is... and it'll be like a sauna with the door shut while the rest of the upstairs is frigid. So that's not an option.

But seriously. What the fuck? WHAT IS GOING ON??? Why can't I have cats who aren't weird assholes? Is it me? Do I push them over the edge and make them this way? All I know is that I can't afford a super pack of toilet paper every week.

So.. what should I do?? Does anyone know where I can get quality toilet paper for cheap??