How to Survive in the Dark

You know when you have a gazillion chores to do around the house (which for me is unpacking about 56 more boxes in my new mini manse) and you’re finally in the mood to get everything accomplished in one (or so you think but really more like a consecutive 14) evening?  Last night I was in full organization mode, unpacking my cocktail glasses, finding a place for my liquor, vino and other spirits, cruising along quite speedily when the sky opened up and a crack of thunder (accompanied by lighting, followed by what seemed like a monsoon) clapped so loudly I about pissed my pants while Teddy cried out with a long, slow meow growl. And then, the entire place went dark.

My new residence is FAR from being settled.  And since I was trying to make some major headway, I had shit everywhere when the lights went out. Liquor bottles, a carton of cat litter, shot glasses, serving trays, toothpicks, vases, my beloved Skinny Pirate light, a fan, end tables, bag of cat food, tubs of picture frames, stacks of DVDs and mounds of throw rugs surrounded me on the floor in complete, pitch black, can’t see your hand in front of your face darkness. Oh F is the first thought that entered my mind as I stood still, hoping the electricity would pop back on moments later. And it did! For three seconds.

As I tried to maneuver my way off of the island of junk, my mind reverted to where my furniture was in my old place.  Walking straight into a wall (my toe still throbs), crashing into my kitchen table and breaking a nail trying to ‘feel’ my way to the drawer where I used to keep a flashlight in my old mini manse. That is still packed away. Among what seems like my millions of belongings. Shit.  I instantly gave up the search for battery-powered light and hunted for a lighter (that most certainly is unpacked, as I’ve used it but where the hell did I set it down?).

Twenty minutes and a long swig of wine later (while yesterday’s post makes me seem like an amateur in uncorking a bottle, I truly am a master. Truly! I opened not one – but two bottles of corked wine last night in the full on black with my mad skills. Impressive, I know. And don’t judge. I was bored!) I had two candles that I could locate glowing after finding the lighter on the floor behind the couch (well, my foot found it).

And then I did what all folks do in the forced dark. I ate all of my perishables in the refrigerator (which ended up not being such a fabulous idea but I didn’t want anything to go to waste!). I also sat on the couch willing the lights to turn back on. After about an hour of this, I did the only thing a girl could do. Take a bubble bath with a bottle of wine and a candle.

Suddenly, my “thunderstorms can suck it” attitude was a piss poor way of looking at the situation. A bath? Wine? Quiet? No unpacking?

Rain, rain don't go away! Come back so I can be lazy a few more days!

Rain, rain don’t go away! Come back so I can be lazy a few more days!

After I blissfully turned into a bathed prune, I took the wine and candle party outside to my deck, listening to the rain, screaming kids driving their parents (and me, of course) bananas out of sheer boredom, barking dogs scared of the thunder (why the hell wouldn’t you let man’s best friend in the house during a storm?) and an adult sibling dispute erupting in the apartment above me (fun to eavesdrop, just hope no one is ever thrown over the balcony).

Thunderstorms accompanied by no power? Yes please.

Nice ambiance. Not-so-peaceful atmosphere.

And in the six (seemed like 6,000 with all of the commotion) seconds outside and the five hours of sitting in the dark, I remembered why having no electricity blows (not meant to be a pioneer gal, obviously).

Suck it thunderstorms!

CBXB

CBXB!

Whoever Smelt It Dealt It

Duh. Read my posts much? If I didn’t mention this, one of you readers might have decided to call the loony bin and reserve a spot for me. A long sniff of my beloved Captain Morgan can relax me almost as much as taking a swig (I’m lying but didn’t want to sound like an alcoholic).  Captain reminds me of the fun Fourth of Julys in the Ozarks with my cousins, the smell puts me at my local watering hole Dalts on a fun Friday night and accompanies the ups and downs in my life with ease. I love this liquor.

Skinny Pirates for me, wine for my first mate on Friday nights.

My Cat, Ted. Teddy Bear. Mr. Bear. Teddy Ruxpin. Teddy Kruger. Teddy Back Bear. TB. Yogi Bear-ah.

Shut the F up at whatever you’re muttering to yourself about me right now. I’m not talking about the smell of his cat pan. Or the terrible duck food breath he blows in my face as he yawns. But there is a specific scent that he emits (like a secret potion that makes me love him even though he does stuff like chew on my purse handles, barf on my rugs, use my toothbrush (click here to read all about it) and meows his brains out daily like a roaring lion at 3:57am) when I catch a puff of his aroma and my heart swells with a little more love for my fur baby.

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Duck food breath be damned!

Gasoline. Fuel. Petroleum.

Oh a good whiff of gasoline… the vapors creep into my nose and make my brain happy for an ecstatic three seconds. Typically (and luckily for my cerebrum) I only fill my gas tank up every two weeks (I work close to home, thankfully) so my brain function shouldn’t be too altered by my bi-monthly gas inhaling.

Fueling up on fuel.

Fueling up on fuel.

Soil. Real black dirt. Not clay.

There is something about the smell of Iowa dirt (not the clay dirt that resides in Tennessee) that takes me back to riding the combine with my Grandpa. Or planting a garden with my dad as a kid. Or concocting mud pies in Grandma’s backyard.

Could this look anymore white trash with my dad in his wife beater?

Could this look anymore white trash with my dad in his wife beater? And I’m pretty sure he’s pointing to where I should dig. How sweet.

ADM Factory. Rotten food. Stank ass.

Eeew gross you think. And I’m right there with you. BUT inhaling this disgustingness means that I’ve made it to the nook of Iowa where my sister, bro-in-law and their little lovies reside. Maybe I should associate a different smell with them…

Smell spoiled food? We're almost there!

Smell spoiled food? Auntie CBXB is almost there and can’t wait to get her paws on you!

The Iowa State Fair….specifically greasy food aroma.

There’s almost nothing I adore more than going to the Iowa State Fair. Fried butter on a stick, pickles, giant tenderloins, donuts, cheese curds, funnel cakes, corn dogs, Snickers….just thinking about the smell of fair food made me gain 10 lbs in the last five minutes.

In fried cheese heaven at the Iowa State Fair.

In fried cheese heaven at the Iowa State Fair.

What makes your nose happy? Weird scents tag, you’re it.

CBXB
CBXB!