Children's Benedryl Packs a Punch

We went out with friends Friday night to get away from the deconstruction / reconstruction cycle going on at the house. There’s only so much sheet rock and dryer fan noise you can take before a dose of sake is required.

We had a great time. Benihana’s has this new Japanese / Mexican fusion chicken that’s interesting. The shrimp appetizers were tasty.

Have I ever mentioned I’m allergic to shrimp? I know I am, but it’s not a highly reactive allergy. I can’t eat a shellfish dinner without having a reaction like Will Smith does in “Hitch”, but appetizers are usually ok.

But not Friday night. Immediately the lumps on the neck and cheeks started, then my throat tightened up a little and my voice went all husky. I sang a sexy medley of Barry White and Lou Rawls in my new throaty voice for entertainment.

I stopped at the grocery store for Benedryl. In liquid form, all they had was Children’s Benedryl. A doctor once told me to drink a half a bottle of Benedryl if I had a reaction. Diane poured me a little capful of Benedryl which I downed. Then I took the rest of the bottle and downed that, too.

Children’s Benedryl can pack quite a punch, I’ve discovered. That stuff knocked me for a loop, and I passed out on the sofa.

I guess I just can’t hold my Benedryl as well as Will Smith can.

Bad Start. Reset, Begin Again.

So, the dog steps on a bee during the mandatory walk.

Last night, the mighty dog hunter slayed a cockroach. Knowing the propensity of the wife to scream upon spying cockroaches, dead or alive, it behooves me to remove the carcas from the middle of the dining room.

A water, swirling grave is called for. But as the water recedes, taking the evil and suddenly very much alive cockroach with it, my auditory sensory receptors detect an anomoly. The toilet is not refilling. The toilet contraption, which I call “the contraption,” is stuck in the off position and must be replaced.

I leave a most un-romantic note for the wife, detailing dead bugs and broken toilets.

I also have a voicemail from General Electric who says they’re coming today to repair the oven. Since I didn’t schedule this appointment, I wonder why it now becomes my responsibility to cancel it. Attempts to do so, however, are met with further automated voices telling me to call back later.

Not as bad as last week when a machine called me and asked if I wanted to speak to the DSL phone technician, and when I pressed “1” for yes, proceeded to place me on hold and tell me in a patient but automated and uncompromising way that my wait time would be 12 minutes. But still.

I have to wait till 8 to cancel the oven repair. I have to use my lunch our to buy a toilet contraption. Pulling into the work parking garage, I nearly hit a large turtle. I put on the emergency blinkers, moved the turtle to the lake to the side. Parked the car and walked into a giant spider web manned by a maneating spider that’s probably still in my hair as we speak, who is understandably upset that his web was not strong enough to catch this morning’s meal of the humanoid biped.

That’s the first hour today. How’s your day going?

Late for Work

I was late for work this morning with a new and unusual excuse. First, let me setup the scenario.

It’s a little stressful around the house right now. Last Tuesday we received nearly 10 inches of rain in about 5 hours. I woke up that morning to find an inch of water in the study. Fortunately, the floor isn’t completely level and the computer gear was on a tiny island. Unfortunately, the closet absorbed a lot of water and all the boxes on the floor. And we’re sure the walls have absorbed water and will have to be replaced.

There was eighteen inches of water in the garage. Shop vac, camping stove, other minor stuff was ruined, but the water was high enough to cover the floorboards of both cars.

So I’ve been talking to the insurance company a lot this week. Homeowner’s insurance, flood insurance, townhome group insurance, and two separate auto insurance claims come into play. Last night, a remedial company drilled holes in the water and sprayed anit-mold chemicals and set up two noisy air dryers. The house is noisy and smells funny.

I dropped my car off last week to be repaired; my wife’s car is still pending because the rental car company only seems to make a car available for an hour before saying “oops, sorry, it’s rented already.” And I’m driving a smelly, beatup rental car that reinforces my believe that Enterprise Rent a Car supplies only trashy vehicles.

On top of that, I’m working 65 hours a week, trying to hit an important, expensive deadline.

So this morning, I’m up a little early. I’m going to de-stress and pick up a latte on the way to work and count it as my protein for the morning. And I chill, relaxing in the car, listening to AM 700 talk radio.

After a while, I glance at the clock. It’s 7:00 on the nose.

After a while longer, I glance at the clock. It’s still 7:00 on the nose.

And I realize it’s not 7:00am. It’s 700AM. What I thought was a digital clock was actually the radio station readout. It’s likely to be 700AM all morning.

And that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.