Irony, A Geek and Brian Bosworth

Yesterday afternoon I went to Lowe's and finally settled on the color for the deck stain. The back deck has been power washed and though the front still needs to be cleaned, I decided to forge ahead with staining the back since the temps were supposed to be in the low 80s for a few days. My plan was to start this next phase of the project on Friday, when my gardener/helper, Jack comes.  I was really looking forward to getting part of this epic chore out of the way.

Do I find it ironic then that I woke up this morning to find there had been a most ferocious rain storm during the night?  The first rain in weeks?  A storm that nobody saw coming? My deck is now soaked. It will be at least four days before I can again attempt to stain the wood. By the weekend it's to be back into the 90s.  Too hot to stain.

And on that note...August was the hottest month in recorded history, across the globe. On Sunday it was 101.5* in my part of the world.  In mid-September. I'm so deeply, seriously, agonizingly sick of the heat and humidity.  Worst Summer ever.  I definitely need to head north.  Far, far north.  Igloos and icebergs and snow-capped mountains sound about right.

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The printer guy came this afternoon.  Just prior to his arrival--because what could be more fraught?--I was on the internet when suddenly I lost the connection. I fiddled with the internet access button, then rebooted the router.  Twice.  Nothing.  After a few more tries, I disconnect everything: router, modem, computer, everything.  I'm on the edge of hysterical laughter because the guy is coming any minute and I have no working machines. More dinking, no internet, no connection, but just as he pulls into my driveway, it all miraculously comes back online.

Holy crap.  I can't take the drama, people, I really can't.

After I explain the last two days of my printer issues, he sits down, taps a couple keys, and the frigging printer kicks out a printed page.  My jaw drops.  I begin sputtering in utter disbelief. Turns out I most likely fixed the problem myself when I disconnected all the electronics. Ken said sometimes the router will glitch, or the modem will forget how to talk to the internet, or stuff just gets scrambled and all it takes is a total reset to get Tron back into the game.  He set me up with a separate IP for the laptop/printer so they can talk even if there's an internet issue, which I thought was cool.  Or, wait.  Maybe it was the printer/modem?

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I got my flu shot earlier this week.  I was in Walgreen's and as they were very quiet and no one was at the pharmacy counter, I decided to get it over with.  As some of you know, dear readers, I have an absolute phobia for needles.  If I think about getting a flu shot, I never will. However, if I can trick the inner fearful kid and just do it, spur of the moment, I can get the deed done with a minimum of fainting, nausea and/or making a spectacle of myself in public.

The pharmacist is Brian Bosworth.  Or his doppelganger.  A giant of a guy who could have been Bosworth's twin. I'm tall, he towered, all muscles and hugeness.  The syringe in his hand looked like a small toy.  I follow him into the It's Gonna Hurt room, sit down and try to relax as he swabs my arm. He's commenting on my shoulder tattoo, chatting about the different strains of flu, until finally I can't bear it.  If he's trying to calm me, the opposite is happening.  The wait is killing me.  I'm all tense, expecting the jab at any moment, but no, on and on he talks.  Finally I say, "Oh man, just get it over with!" and he stabs me in the upper arm like he's just harpooned Moby Dick. I flinch, squeak and feel the burn shoot down my arm. I'm pretty sure the guy doesn't know his own strength, but at least the pain helped me to focus: didn't faint or throw up, though I might have staggered a bit when I left...

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The sun is beating in the windows now, rain clouds long diffused, leaving behind a hot, sticky mugginess.  It's so hard to imagine chilly air, visible puffs of breath, a cold nose, while still under the influence of that wretched orb.

Ah well.  This too shall pass.  Right...?