I didn't wake up until almost 2p Sunday. Two in the ever-loving afternoon people. Miraculously, I was able to go back to sleep again Sunday night. (And yes somehow I STILL slept in Monday morning. Go figure.)
Needless to say, here I am, up and writing. (hoping I fall asleep soon)
So where did we leave off...
1• Mr. "never ever gets sick" Mel husband man was sick, with something weird and unexplainable (to the un-medically-trained eye) and then had an equally weird and unexplainable full, and miraculous recovery. (In case you haven't noticed, I like using the word "miraculous".)
2• I was brutally attacked by my arch nemesis, insomnia. And let me just tell you, it beyond sucked. In fact, it sucked beyond definition. Meaning there are literally no words, that I am aware of, that could possibly describe the level of which that amount of sleep deprivation sucks.
3• Our mailbox met a gruesome and torturous end. And they didn't leave A NOTE!
So that brings us to number 4.
4• Mel was continuously dropping vague hints that he would like for me to make a run to the supermarket for our life sustaining liquid, the nectar of the gods, known to others as simply Diet Coke. To be honest, on one hand he may not have been even attempting to be vague. In hindsight he was being quite clear that we needed to go to the store. On the other hand, he refused to come out with it and just ask me to go.
When I mentioned needing eye drops he quickly jumped on the opportunity, pointing out in a very chalant (as in the opposite of nonchalant, if nonchalant is a word, wouldn't chalant be the antonym? I mean, isn't that what makes sense? However, the dictionary disagrees. So chalant can be added to my list of made up words along with dickery and suspensious.) way that if I need eye drops I may as well get Diet Coke too.
I ended up finding eye drops. But it didn't help our dire beverage situation. Eventually he won, and I caved first. Maybe I wanted Diet Coke more than he did. Either way, I caved in the end and headed out the door.
And that's when the things got weird. Again.
As I opened the door Grayson, completely oblivious to the happenings around him, climbed in to the back seat to buckle himself into his car seat.
I, on the other hand, was instantaneously bombarded by an enormous swarm of flies. I'm not exaggerating you guys. It wasn't a few flies. It was a swarm. A SWARM. I was straight up Amityville Horror'ed y'all. There was a SHITton of flies escaping the van and I was smack dab in the middle of their highway to freedom.
This is as accurate as I could possibly give as an example. This was me y'all. ME. Except I'm a 31 year old non-priest female.
It was over in just a few seconds but it felt like several minutes had gone by. Finally there were only 10+/- left in the vehicle by the time I entered and sat in the drivers seat. Immediately I called Mel to come outside of course, so that I could share with him the horror at which I had just partaken. His solution was to drive with the windows down as to let out any remaining flies. (<insert sarcasm here>As we all know flies are always desperate to find windows to escape from, and exit the moment one is spotted.<end sarcasm>)
After calming from the initial shock of the attacking fly swarm I came to a realization of what must have happened.
So let's back up a few days.
Earlier in the week I had made a dump run, putting our two large trash cans in the trunk and hauling them to be emptied at the county dump. When we returned home and removed the cans we discovered that an enormous herd* of maggots had made a pilgrimage from the trash cans and into the trunk of my lovely van.
There were PILES of maggots EVERYWHERE. I'm talking thousands of these suckers. As the three older kids looked on in disgust-filled horror G and I got to work and began scooping them by the handfuls out of the van. Honestly, I couldn't understand their disgust. They handle earth worms ALL the time! Are maggots really that different?!
Anyhow, as we were scooping and throwing I noticed something peculiar. Some of the little bastards were actually BURROWING into the carpet of the van. I stopped with the easy ones and let G tend to them while I went to work extracting the f*ckers from the carpet. Some were fairly easy to pull out. Some broke in half as I tried. And, well, truth be told, a lot of them were able to evade my attempts at removal somehow, and made it into the carpet, burrowing so deep I couldn't tell where, or how, to find the bastards.
Now in defense of the older kiddo's, they did attempt to help somewhat by grabbing one of our chickens from the coup and putting her in the van, in hopes that she would have a glorious buffet. (Those hens LOVE worms and bugs!) However, instead of doing her job and devouring the feast before her she just sort of gave everyone side eye and walked around the back of the van cautiously. I'm pretty sure if she could speak human she would have asked wtf we wanted her to do. We tried showing them to her but she was too fascinated by being in a vehicle, and not her coup nor chicken run, that she was no use what-so-ever.
Eventually, after being asked a dozen or so times the kids brought out the shop-vac. Of course by then the majority of them were gone, but it did help get the rest of them quickly.
So fast forward and there I was, later that week, being swarmed upon by flies. No doubt the same exact little f*ckers that had managed to get away from me and burrow into safety.
Regardless of whether or not I have an explanation of WHY there was a swarm of flies in my van, it's STILL weird af.
Also? Shit. I just realized our shop vac is probably full of flies...
5• After entering what was now a fly infested motor vehicle, I had to do what I was planning to do in the first place. Grab some drinks and what-have-you at the store.
Now, for some asinine reason I decided against Walgreens and decided to hit up Walmart instead.
Now let me just tell you, if you think that an abundance of people straight off the glorious website of People of Walmart are easily seen during the DAY, just visit late on a Friday night. I was literally surrounded by trashtastically insane citizens.
I'm not going to lie. It was a little scary.
Now, what happened that night of Friday the 13th at the local Walmart was admittedly somewhat my fault. But more accurately, it was NOT my fault.
As we were checking out our cashier begin some small chit chat. He was very nice and polite, but his foreign accent did create somewhat of a language barrier. It began as normal chit chat, you know, asking how old Grayson was etc. I'm sad to say that because of the thick accent and broken English I couldn't make out much of what he was saying or asking. So I went the go-to "smile and nod with an occasional chuckle" move.
He told me he was relieved and happy to be getting off and going home very soon at 9o'clock. Even though he seemed eager and excited, there was also something beneath the surface that I couldn't quite place. I told him that I hoped the next half hour flew quickly. Then he asked me if I knew it was Friday the 13th, and I did know, so I smiled and told him yes.
That's when he became very serious. "I no like Friday the 13th..." he began. He went on for a little while longer but I couldn't make out what he was saying until I heard the name "Jaon". Of course by then I knew who he was talking about, and got the gist of what he was saying. It was apparent that he was very scared and worried. (Even though as an elderly gentlemen and not a teen camp counselor he should be completely safe.) He told me I'd better be careful getting home, and then because I smiled, and assured him I would be very safe, he asked why I wasn't scared. He asked me (almost in shock), "You no believe?! No superstition?!". I smiled and jokingly said, "Nah, I don't believe in superstitions. I believe in guns. I've got plenty of guns to keep me and my family safe.". I winked and laughed and he laughed and smiled right along with me. (Remember, as the great Michael Scott once said, "...I am a little stitious.".)
Apparently, even though I'm not a typical "talk with your hands" gal, I tend to do so on occasion. (Doesn't everyone?) I hadn't realized at first that each time I had said "guns" I had made little pew pew firing finger guns. Truthfully I thought nothing of it.
Before I could really even think about it ,a gentleman came up from behind me, circled the cash register, and stood behind the cashier and somewhat to the side as the friendly cashier finished ringing up the last of my items.
The gentlemen wore a white colored shirt and tie along with a Walmart badge. He very clearly held some sort of seniority. The whole time he stood, arms crossed, staring me down with the coldness of an icy glare.
This is basically an exact interpretation. Except for he was a black male. Also, he did not hold his hands behind is back, and he most certainly did not smile at me like the kind and jolly employee in this picture.
I kept telling myself he was there for SOME reason. That the cashier needed help perhaps. But he never said a word. To anyone. But it couldn't possibly be about me. I'm just not exactly sure what he was doing or looking for.
I couldn't decide if there was a some policy against using finger guns, or if he had played too much Tales from the Borderlands, or if, like I have done, just seen this YouTube clip one two many times:
(Seriously, if you haven't watched this yet you have to.)
For the record, I honestly can't figure out the threat in which he seemingly found me to be. I was wearing a flowy mom'ish shirt, mom capris, and LITERAL mom flip flops. (Seriously I was wearing my mom's Clarkes.) Not to mention I was pushing my 4 year old son, in a cart, full of very mom'ish things. Short of holding a sign, or a tee shirt printed with a family photo on it, I was screaming "mom" in every stereotypical way.
I guess that's wrong of me to say. It doesn't matter what your social status is, or what you wear, your age, race, astrological sign, religion, or political party you support, finger guns are fingers guns and they will NOT be tolerated by Walmart's upper management.
I quietly completed our transaction and then left. I couldn't help but look back over my shoulder as I walked away, and sure enough Mr. Ice-Glare Walmart Seniority was watching me as I left.
Of course as I exited the store I passed a very obviously pregnant woman smoking a cigarette. (This was NOT one of those "well she might not be pregnant and just have a chubby tummy" times, this was above and beyond OBVIOUS. But hey, I guess a trip to Walmart wouldn't be quite complete without seeing something trashtastic and disgusting. (Don't get me wrong, a lot of shit I saw inside was pretty deplorable, but that just takes the cake.) I couldn't help myself as I irately pushed my shopping cart close enough to that sorry excuse for a mother just so she could see, and hopefully feel, the thousand dagger glare I sent in her direction.
6• This may very well be the strangest and creepiest thing to happen to me that day, but it also has, somewhat, of the most hilarious explanation.
I left Walmart and made my way towards my sisters' apartment. As I was slowly driving over the entirely too high speed bumps I looked over and saw a man, on all fours, just kneeling, smack dab in the empty middle parking space
between two cars.
I don't care how stupid or silly it sounds now, but at the time it was just INSANE. To be honest I was a little freaked out. All I could picture in my head were these:
Or even worse, this:
Thankfully logic took over and I told myself that it had to have just been a motorcycle and that all I had seen was the headlight reflecting a street lamp leaving an eerie face-like resemblance.
When I got to the end of the complex I called EVERYone I could think of to come out so that I wouldn't have to get out of my car. I couldn't help but feeling even more creeped out when no one would answer their phones, but ALL of their cars were there.
Once I was on my way out of the complex I couldn't help but to circle in to the section to see the creepy man on all fours once and for all, knowing I would see some sort of explanation.
When I made my way around the curve I couldn't help but laugh. I was right!!! (Well, partly right.) It wasn't a motorcycle! But neither was it a man. It was a woman working out! I'm not sure as to what she was doing the first time I spotted her as I drove by, but when I circled around she was doing lunges. And on my way out of the complex she was doing some sort of jumping maneuver. (And no, it wasn't a jumping jack. I know my way around a jumping jack, and that was NOT what she was doing.)
Really, I feel guilty thinking she was a scary looking man. But in my defense I was far away. I've got to to say though, that chick was kicking ass! (At whatever it was she was doing.)
I was relieved to be right. When I told everyone what I had seen, they had to have thought I was certifiable.
So there you have it folks. My insane day. The very first Friday the 13th that I spent actually feeling like it was "Friday the 13th".
*Interesting tidbit: A group of maggots can be called a squirm, a clew, a clat, a bunch, or a knot.
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