That is my back door OPEN. The one that goes to the balcony. The balcony that is OUTSIDE. MY HOUSE WAS OPEN ALL WEEKEND!

First thing I did is looked to the coffee table and saw my laptop. WHEW! Second, I looked for the cats. Simba was in his usual spot, sleeping on the blankets in the laundry basket that I need to take to the laundromat because my washer is too small. I wasn’t too worried about Simba. He is a smart cat. He knows that if he were to run away, things would be dire. He knows how good he’s got it in my house.

But Kitty Kitty, she likes to bolt any chance she gets. She likes to try and sneak out the front door when I leave in the mornings. She thinks there is an awesome world out there that I am DENYING her. I figured I had seen the last of her.

I went out to the balcony and looked for her. I called her name. Finally she came running. She had been hiding in her usual spot under the futon in my second bedroom.

*DEEP SIGH OF RELIEF*

Then I turned on the heat because it was like 55 in my house! Brrrr!

Here’s the thing, as I was leaving Chicago on Friday morning, sitting on a plane bound for Houston, hoping that I didn’t stink like all the beer I drank the night before, I thought “I bet you the back door isn’t locked. And I bet you I’m going to come home to a wide open door, no cats and a ransacked house.”

Thankfully I forgot about this thought. Otherwise I would have had ruined my awesome weekend. And really, there was nothing to do at that point since no one has keys to my place. (NOTE TO SELF, GIVE SOMEONE A SPARE SET OF KEYS!)

But as soon as I landed in Chicago Sunday afternoon, I was worried about what I was going to come home to. I prayed that everything would be OK. And as soon as I got off on the elevator, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. It was COLD in the hallway. It’s never cold in the hallway, unless some window (or DOOR) is open.

And my fear was confirmed – Door. Open. WIDE. OPEN.

After I found the cats and killed the flies that had come in, I then proceeded to make sure no one was in the house. I armed myself with pepper spray and pulled back the shower curtain, opened all the closets and looked under the beds. No one was there. I really got away scott free. But I slept with the pepper spray on the nightstand just in case.

Oh, and you’re wondering, I’m sure, how the door came to be unlocked? Let’s just say I had a visitor on Thursday night after going out to a bar and this visitor is a smoker and there is no smoking in my house. And said visitor is an idiot and didn’t lock my door, which is why I will never be calling/texting/seeing said visitor ever again.

Also, I woke up with this on my arm after hanging out with said visitor:

So not only does this visitor not know how to lock a door, said visitor also gave me some sort of rash/allergic reaction. (My friend Teri said she had something similar and the doctor said it was an allergic reaction, generally to food or a preservative. SO SAID VISITOR CLEARLY ALSO DRUGGED ME. Or something.)

But I’m very, very, very thankful that this all turned out for the best. And that my kitties are still OK and still puking on my carpet like nothing has changed.

And tomorrow I’ll tell you all about my awesome trip to Houston and how it was just what I needed.

:::::

So because I was so lucky and got away with no harm to my house, etc, I feel like I should pay it forward. Like donate money to charity or volunteer my time or SOMETHING. I want to thank the universe for doing a good thing for me. Any ideas internet? I have to help someone else for me being so lucky.

A little over a month ago, a week before Christmas, I went to get my eyebrows waxed at my normal salon. I went on a weeknight because I was busy over the weekend, which is when I prefer to go. I go every 4 weeks. My eyebrows don’t take a break in growing. In the summer, they generally grow faster and I have to deal with caterpillars above my eyes. Thank God for bangs!

Anyway, that was not the point of this post. So my appointment was later in the evening, so I figured I would head to Trader Joe’s for something for dinner. I figured since Trader Joe’s is always crowded, this would kill some time. But I forgot that Trader Joe’s is always so crowded it annoys me, so I forced myself to get in and out of there as quickly as possible.

So I had some time to kill before my appointment. I drove over  to the salon and parked on the street. Since I had about 20 minutes, I figured I’d just sit in my car, listen to the radio, check Twitter and play a game of Solitaire. Plus, it was raining, so I didn’t feel like getting out of my nice warm, dry car.

The lady at my salon is usually on time, so with about 10 minutes to go until my appointment time, I figured I’d just head into the salon. It was close to closing time, so I hoped I could get in a bit early. So I stopped checking Twitter, shut off my car and started to open the car door.

Note: As a city driver who has experience parking on city streets, I always look before I open my door. And I did on this particular evening, but as I mentioned it was DARK and RAINING.

So as I open the door, I almost hit a guy on a bicycle. I didn’t see him! I swear!

Since I’m far too nice of a person, I apologized profusely, yelling at him from afar that I was sorry. Oops! My bad!

That was until he stopped, got off his bicycle and started racing towards me that I was like “Oh hell no, Lance Armstrong!”

So Lance Wannabe starts lecturing me. Telling me I need to look before I open the car door. And that he could have been seriously injured. And I apologize again, and DO NOT mention that it is DARK, RAINING and that he is wearing ALL BLACK!

Apparently Lance doesn’t like my tone. He doesn’t feel my apology is sincere. So I’m all “whatevs, Lance. I apologized, you’re still able to walk, MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and I walk into the salon.

As I go to take my coat off, Lance CHASES me into the salon (IN! TO! LIKE COMES ON IN!) and starts lecturing me again! Telling me I need to fix my attitude. And at one point says “do you hear how you’re talking to me?” And because I value my life, I DID NOT say “DO YOU REALIZE YOU JUST CHASED ME INTO A HAIR SALON?” Because really, Lance? Politeness is OFF the table at this point, SIR!

Thankfully I love the lady who owns the salon and she stepped in and was all “OK sir, we’re done here” and the dude was on his merry way. And a guy who was in the salon getting his hair cut was all “if he comes in again, I will kick his ass for you.”

And all I kept thinking was 1) this shit ONLY happens to me and 2) I am so thankful I have a blog to share this on.

Really, Lance Wannabe? WHO DOES THAT?

:::

In other news, I forgot to tell you guys I’m writing over at Draft Day Suit. I’ve written two posts so far, and will be writing plenty more, so please go check it out, add it to your readers, comment, tell your friends!

And that’s about all I can write, because I’m currently sitting on the couch in immense pain. Because I threw my back out. It was like straight out of a sitcom. I walked in the door, set down the 50 pounds of cat stuff I was carrying from the car and BAM! I WAS NO LONGER ABLE TO WALK. Funny in sitcoms? Yes. Funny in real life? Fuck no.

At first I figured I was overreacting. Because hello, have you met me? I’m the Queen of Overreaction. I am the person who was convinced I was bleeding from the inside because I was overly tired. So I popped some Advil and went about my business of feeding the cats and continuing to lug the cat food and litter around. Like a fucking idiot. WHY would someone continue to lift heavy things and bend down to pick things up when clearly, something was not right with her back?

So then I yelled at the cats. Because I knew they wouldn’t even appreciate the fact I lugged their 20-pound bag of cat food AND a 30-pound tub of cat litter into the house at the same time. FOR THEM! They didn’t care because they were all “meow, meow, MEOW WOMAN! IT IS TIME TO BE FED!”

Then when I tried to walk over to the couch to sit down and COULD NOT because the PAIN! IT WAS BAD! I was like “Hmmm, something is definitely wrong. I feel like someone took the lower part of my spine and tied it in a knot and then ran over me with a steamroller.”

So I cried. Because, really, what else is there to do but cry? You can’t throw a tantrum because it hurts to move. You can’t punch a wall, you can’t throw things, all you can do is cry. Crying is good. It is therapeutic.

And then I searched through one of the many still-packed boxes and found my leftover Vicodin from my tooth drama. I actually thanked that asshole dentist OUT LOUD for being so shitty that I required better pain pills than Advil. So I’m going to take my pain meds, sit my ass in my whirlpool tub, pray for the pain to get better and hope I don’t drown.

Because if those fucking cats don’t care about my effort in procuring them food and a clean place to piss and shit, they sure as hell won’t care if I drown in the bathtub. They’ll just throw a party and invite their kitty friends over to feast on my blubbery remains.

No, not being unemployed (although I showered today and went out to get my eyebrows waxed and to the library and then came home because the library is overwhelming if you don’t have a list of books you are looking for. So. Many. Books. Thankfully they have free WiFi, so I’m going to be there a lot.)

This post is about my tooth. That is KILLING me. And it happens to be one of the teeth I just had work done on TWO MONTHS AGO. One in which I paid a HEFTY sum to have a crown re-done on it and now it is fucking killing me and I don’t think I can avoid going back to the dentist.

This isn’t the tooth I had the root canal on. This is the one behind it, that has a lovely gold crown on it. The gold crown I paid FULL PRICE for, because I had reached my maximum with my dental insurance. The gold crown that sits upon a tooth that hurts and is sensitive to hot and cold of which I’m convinced is going to need its own root canal.

Here’s where I freak the fuck out and start hysterically sobbing.

1. Like I said, I had to pay full price for this crown. Because I reached my maximum, it is like not having dental insurance.
2. I had this crown put on 2 months ago. The day before I left for BlogHer. It is NEW.
3. My tooth could not have gone to hell in TWO MONTHS.
4. The dumbass dentist was rooting around in there, knew it was sensitive, but said it just needed a filling. I didn’t question her because I AM NOT A DENTIST.
5. I can’t wait until January to get this fixed.
6. Guess I know where my severance is going.
7. I am avoiding calling them because I’m pretty sure they can’t save the crown. So that means the $1000 I have paid for this one, ALL DOWN THE GOD DAMNED DRAIN.

*Cue the hysterical sobbing*

I know there are worse things in the world, but for once in the last year, I would like the right side of my jaw to not be in throbbing pain. I paid (and still owe) a lot of money to this dentist, the least they could do was do it right.

Now I’m at a crossroads. Because I have no dental insurance and my asshat dentist has all my files and knows the history, I am leaning towards going back to them. Because I’m hoping (nay, praying) they will cut me some kind of break. Because this is THEIR FAULT. I am determined of that fact. A tooth doesn’t rot in 2 months with a crown on it and I don’t eat candy like it is going out of style. This is so pre-existing. And they also let me pay off my balance at my own pace.

But on the other hand, I hate them. They make me cry. And I know going to a new dentist will require all the preliminary stuff of X-Rays, etc., things that will cost more money. And I just can’t have this cost any more money than it is already going to.

I would so love to know what I did to a dentist in a former life because the Dental Gods hate me.

And now back to my regularly-scheduled sobbing.