This is Worse Than Snakes on a Plane

I had to work the other day in an area I don't usually cover. This resulted in me driving 4 hours, working overnight, and then driving 4 hours home after having been awake for 24 hours. I've done this before, and granted it doesn't sound like the safest move in the world, but it's okay. It's much better than having to sleep in a hotel room for a few hours. Do you know how often they wash the blankets in those places? Never. Sheets, all the time. Blankets? Don't kid yourself. Those things have never been washed. Ever.

So, I'm driving home and I'm on the phone pretty much the entire way because otherwise I will lose consciousness. In this instance I called the only person who would understand my need to be on the phone for 4 hours at 7 AM. My mother. We're talking about swine flu and how I should wear a mask when I fly home for a visit next week (yeah...that's not going to freak anyone out. Actually, after Biden's remarks today they'll probably be handing them out at the gate.)

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So, we're chatting and I'm driving about 85 miles an hour on the highway when I look down at the speedometer. And there is an F-ING HUGE SPIDER. It is brown and it is large and it is only a foot away from me.

Mom: "So you need to make sure you grab a mask from the hospital so you'll have one blah blah bl-"
Me: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD"
Mom: "SAMANTHA what's the matter?!"
Me: "There is a SPIDER and it is crawling right in front of me and it is moving down toward my legs on my god oh my god"
Mom: "It's okay just pull the car over...."
Me: "I AM! It's just that I am going 85 miles an hour on a 4 lane highway talking on a cell phone haven't slept for 24 hours and a SPIDER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Mom: "I KNOW! Be careful."

I successfully pull over to the narrowest shoulder of all time. It is exactly the width of my car. I'm lucky none of my vehicle is hanging over into the nearest lane. I immediately unbuckle and jump out of my seat. I can't jump out of the car because if I open the door, it will immediately be ripped off by a semi and I will be sucked out into traffic by the sheer force of it. Kind of like Titanic but sideways and dry.

Unfortunately during the 5 seconds I took my eyes off the spider to successfully navigate off the highway, it disappeared.

Mom: "Did you kill it?"
Me: "I can't find it! I have no idea where it is! It's probably in my hair!!!"
Mom: "Oh you have to find it...otherwise you'll be freaked out the whole way home!"
Me: "I KNOW!"

Bear in mind that the entire time we're having this really productive conversation, my car is being buffeted like crazy by every passing semi. One of those guys veers a little off the road and I'm going to become real familiar with my steering wheel. Because it's going to be crammed into my chest.

Mom: "Look under the steering wheel."
Me: "You want me to bend over and stick my head under the steering wheel? What if the spider's there? I'm just going to scream and jump into traffic. I'd almost rather not find the stupid spider."
Mom: "Yeah, but I know you. If it pops back up while you're driving, you'll scream and run right off the road."
Me: "This coming from the woman who discovered a bee in the car and rather than pull over to protect the lives of the 5 children she was driving at the time, decided to scream and slap at the air until her 14-year-old daughter could successfully pull them over from the passenger seat?"
Mom: "Shut up. Bee stings hurt! That spider doesn't bite anyway."
Me: "You haven't even seen this spider!"
Mom: "There aren't poisonous spiders that far north."
Me: "What are you, an entymologist?"
Mom: "Maybe you imagined the spider because you're tired."
Me: "I did not. I double-checked before I started screaming. Oh my God I can't find this spider."
Mom: "Well, you can't leave without killing it."
Me: "I have to. My car is going to get sucked into traffic by a semi."

So, I start the engine and jump back onto the highway. Totally suspect of every feeling, thought, sight, and sound. The tiny crack that's been in my windshield for a year? Giant spider. My legs itching like crazy? Spider is tap-dancing up and down my legs just to screw with me. Horrible creaking noise? Spider's going to eat me. (Just kidding! That sound is actually the metal-wrenching noise from my driver's side door that's about to fall off.) I made it back home in record time. I drove with the windows down and the radio up because my mother said that spiders hate wind (I'm pretty sure she made that up) and music (I think that is actually Mormon crickets.)

As for next steps, since the spider's still on the loose? I think Ripley has the right idea.

F-ing spiders.

In Which I Realize Why We're Getting Married

Our final exercise of the marriage retreat weekend was to write each other a love letter.

Tom wrote me an AIM conversation.

I'm ready for August.

Retreat!

So we went on the Marriage Preparation Retreat last weekend. And it was awful. More awful than I ever imagined. I think that I had modeled my assumptions about what it would be like on the Simpsons episode where they go on a weekend marriage retreat. You know, some sitting on the couch complaining about each other, and then a bunch of fishing.

(I couldn't find the video I was looking for...and then spent an hour watching Simpsons clips on Hulu. I miss when that show was funny.)

This weekend was much different. First of all, I assumed there may have been 5 or 6 couples. I don't know why I thought that, possibly because I thought more than that would require a great deal more couches to rest upon. We got there and it was like a swarm. There were easily 60 couples there. And we were all packing into the "auditorium" which was code for "room full of REALLY uncomfortable chairs." They looked deceptively padded, but when you actually sat it was like sitting on a piece of plywood. The second day I sat on Tom's sweatshirt because I was still sore from the previous day.

Anyway, so we get there. And we're sitting in the auditorium. And we're being lectured to about marriage by two couples, and a crazy priest. They talk about marriage for half an hour and then we're separated (men stay in the room, women go outside) to fill out worksheets. After 15 minutes, the guys in the auditorium leave to find their fiances outside and "share" their answers/feelings. Of course between Tom and I there was less "sharing" of feelings about marriage and more sharing about the feeling we had toward people lying on the grass with their heads in each other's laps. What is this? Some kind of cheesy commercial? Are you going to feed each other grapes? Everyone's holding hands, in the auditorium they have their arms around each other. It's weird. They even did mass on Sunday and everyone IN CHURCH is touching each other. Not. Cool.

Okay, sorry for the digression. You have to realize...watching 120 people fawning over each other like high school kids in "love" for 2 days straight is pretty little painful. Especially when the majority of them are so unattractive you're just hoping that they don't breed. You know....for the sake of humanity. So, back to the worksheets. Here's a glimpse:

Q: After we are married, if we disagree on a spending issue, who will have the last word?
Tom: Whoever speaks slower.

Q: (Blah blah certain situation) What were my fiance's thoughts and feelings?
Tom: No idea. She was probably thinking about cake. (He's right.)

Q: Do I feel called by the Church to be matrimonied to you?
Tom: I refuse to answer on the grounds that the word "matrimonied" is featured.
Me: I don't know- could you not find a real verb for this?

Q: Is my decision to have a Catholic wedding a free and honest one?
Me: No. The church is charging like $700. It's ridiculous.

Q: What would you like your fiance to do differently when you disagree?
Me: My bidding.

Q: Name some ways I can make a decision to love my fiance when:

• I feel angry at him/her: Physically
• I don't feel like talking: Physically
• My fiance is angry at me: Physically
• I realize I have hurt my fiance: Call EMTs.
  

You can tell that we really worked hard on these. :-p What we actually worked hard on was correcting the worksheets. There were so many grammatical errors. And they're dated from 2001. In 8 years no one has corrected these?! Fiance is spelled incorrectly on every page. And they have these little gems: "What would I most want you, my beloved to change?" There's another comma in there people!! AUGH! Painful.

Anyway, we sat through it. Even though it was the first absolutely beautiful weekend of the year. It was 80 degrees all weekend and we're either sitting in the world's most uncomfortable auditorium or out in my 80 degree car pondering whether we could drive away and still be given our certificates. Included were calculations of how many couples we could take out with the getaway car. Bonus!

So, mission accomplished. And now I understand why Catholics don't get divorced. It's not worth the possibility that you may have to sit through that weekend again. Cripes.

Marriage Favors the Prepared

This weekend Tom and I are attending a required marriage prep course thingie. Woo Catholicism! So, when I signed us up, they emailed directions to the retreat center, and a list of "Questions for the Engaged Couple." The instructions were to answer the questions and share the answers with one another prior to attending the retreat. So, I forwarded the questions on to Tom. The following is what I got back from him.

Q. What do I hope to gain from the marriage Preparation Weekend and how do I feel about making it?
A. Making what? This is a poorly written question.

Q. How do I feel about moving from my individual personal life to a committed relationship in marriage?
A. Better than I feel about moving all my individual stuff into a shared apartment, I'll tell you that.

Q. What do I mean when I say "I love you"?
A. Who am I addressing? The meaning of the phrase differs dramatically if I'm yelling it at the TV after Lowell homers in a tie game in the bottom of the ninth.

Q. How do I feel about my relationship with God?
A. I feel with my hands.

Q. What particular special (concern, issue, dream) do I want to share with you?
A.
Concern: Whoever wrote these questions wasn't taught proper proofreading skilz.
Issue: My mint condition 100th issue of The Amazing Spider-Man with hologram cover.
Dream: The one where I'm flying and then Peter Pan is there.


I have a bad feeling about this weekend.

Mochanut

Today it is 80 degrees outside and abso-frikkin-lutely gorgeous. I am wearing a tank-top and capri pants and I couldn't be happier. So, Tom and I decided to take advantage of the weather and walk to Dunkin' Donuts for some iced coffee.

DD Lady: "May I help you?"
Me: "Yes please. Can I get a medium iced coconut with milk and sweet 'n low?"
Tom: "Make it two."
DD Lady: "Okay."
She leans over to the guy who's actually making the coffee.
DD Lady: "2 mochas with milk and sweet 'n low."
Me: "Not mocha, coconut."
DD Lady: "Oh sorry, coconut."
The guy starts making the coffee. He fills two cups with ice and comes back to us.
DD Guy: "What did you want in those? Mocha right?"
Me: "No- COCONUT with milk and sweet 'n low."
DD Guy: "Ohh, mochanut, got it."
And he goes on his way.
Me to Tom: "Did he just say mochanut?"
Tom: "I have no idea. Mocha isn't even on their list of flavors."
Sure enough, the guy walks back from the corner and we can see chocolate syrup in the bottom of the cups. I almost say something, but it's summer now and the world is as it should be.
DD Guy: "Here ya go."
Tom: "Thanks."

We get the coffee, step out into the sunshine, and take a sip. Indeed he has included both chocolate syrup and coconut flavoring. Unfortunately he has also remembered to include the sweet 'n low which, when paired with the actual sugar in the chocolate syrup, makes the whole mixture taste really funky. It's okay though...apparently Tom has discovered his new favorite flavor. He sucked down his coffee and is halfway through mine at this point. Apparently "mochanut" should be a flavor option.

Another triumph at the Dunkin' Donuts.

In Which Meatloaf Conquers My Fear of Death*

I've always been totally freaked out about dying. Not really the best fear to have when your job is dead people. I'm constantly spending time with the family members of people who are dead/dying in the hospital, and it's awful. I enjoy it, because it's my job to give meaning to death. Yes, your loved one died, and it totally blows. Now, let's use this senseless tragedy to save someone else's life, and tell the Grim Reaper to go screw himself. I have to have these internal monologues to do what I do, and it works. I love my job.

But, when the eye turns inward, things are a little tougher. When I watch a fiance falling apart at the bedside of her future husband's deathbed, I can't help but be a little selfish. I think that if it were my fiance in that bed, I would die. I would just die. And I'm sure that's what she's feeling. When I see parents at the bedside of their child, I think that when I have kids, they will live in a padded room, wear a helmet, and drink their meals through a straw. I know how incredibly easy it is for something simple to kill someone. And it freaks the living hell out of me.

And I've always wondered...when you're like 70 years old, do you just constantly think about death? I know a lot of really happy-seeming old people. They enjoy themselves, don't seem to have a care in the world, and I think if I were them I would be on constant death-alert. You see it on television and people say "I'm ready" or "let me go" and I've always thought, "YOU'RE CRAZY!! BREATHE!!!" I really don't understand people that are okay with death.

So last week I was watching "House." And yes, the show is ridiculous and it's never lupus and all that jazz, but I love Hugh Laurie and find the show diverting. So I'm watching, and the story is that Meatloaf is going to die of lung cancer. In the opening scene. He's on his deathbed, he's telling his wife goodbye, I'm thinking what a waste it is of a perfectly good Meatloaf cameo, and he looks like he's slipping away. And I mean, it really looks like he's going. You know when you're sooooo tired that you're falling asleep in spite of yourself? And you know how good it feels when you finally give into it? Like when you're sick and you knock yourself out with Nyquil?

That is the exact look that Meatloaf had. I felt that peaceful sleepy feeling just looking at him. And then I realized. That's how you feel when you die. (You know, unless you have some horrible traumatic accident and in those cases you're gone so fast you never feel anything anyway.) It's like the longest nap ever. And I thought, I love naps. This is how older people deal with death. They're so tired from doing their jobs, cooking, cleaning, and dealing with a-holes at Dunkin' Donuts, that death looks like a vacation. And now when I think of that wonderful slipping off to sleep feeling, I think that death will eventually be okay.

And that is how in one brilliant guest appearance, Meatloaf conquered my fear of death.

*This post is dedicated to Donny. The only person I know who appreciates the true genius that is Meatloaf.

Earth Day Resolution

This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.

DD Employee: "May I help you?"
Ridiculous Woman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?"
DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?"
RW: "Yeah!"
The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling,
RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!"
DDE: "Sure."

Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.

DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles."
Me muttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles."
RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to:
1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or
2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.

So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.

RW: "Wanda!"
RW: "WANDA!"
RW: "WANDA!!!!"

Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.

RW: "They're outta waffles!"
RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!"
RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"

Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!

So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.

They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.

DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?"
Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."

She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.

Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.