Just get me a respirator and a squeegee, I’ll do it myself.
Last Monday night, we had an hours-long downpour of biblical proportions, which I was happy about, because let’s face it-it’s been pretty dry here. Anyway, right before I left for work on Tuesday morning, I had to take the dog out, and for some reason, I took her out the back door, instead of the side. As I passed by the basement stairs, this strange glint caught my eye. Light, reflecting off of…water?! It looked like there was a puddle of water sitting on the carpet. Great, I thought, there’s a leak somewhere. So, I took the dog out, brought her back in, and gathered Andy to inspect the damage. That puddle? How about over a half-foot of water covering the entire basement. The partially-carpeted basement. Long story short, the following day included Andy working like mad to remove the water, and conduct damage control. Later that evening, we called the insurance company, who told us they’d be sending their “storm team” out within three business days (how’s that for vague?) to inspect the damage, and move the process forward. Ok, great. Fine. Meanwhile, the odor of dirty, musty, wet sock was slowly taking over our house. But, we waited.
Thursday, while driving to Andy’s parents house, we got a call from our insurance company telling us that the damage wasn’t going to be covered, after all. Apparently, it’s not in our policy. When asked why the person who initially took our call didn’t apprise us of that information, the gentlemen said, “They aren’t permitted to interpret policy.” What? So, “covered” and “not covered” are up for interpretation? But here’s where it gets really good. Even though the flooding isn’t covered by insurance, he said, we were more than welcome to seek the assistance of FEMA. Slack-jawed, we sat for a minute. FEMA? The same FEMA that didn’t even show up on time when a sizeable portion of the Gulf Coastline was underwater, and people were dying/starving/displaced? What the hell good are they going to do? Show up in three weeks with a box fan, and a formaldehyde-laced camper for the backyard? What a total joke. Looks like we’ve got to roll up our sleeves, and take matters into our own hands. FEMA. Come on.
Bachmann, Santorum, and Perry-Oh My!
Hey! Have a Bible, “drink the kool-aid” charm, and an utterly batshit platform? Then hit the campaign trail, crazy! I’m not going to spend any real time discussing the insanity, as it is all playing out clear as day before our very eyes via every media outlet available, but where the hell are these people coming from? I will say this, however: Michele Bachmann-you were allowed to marry a gay man,so why can’t anyone else? Seriously, though, the fact that in 2011, there are not only people who think the way that they do, but that they bullhorn it wherever possible, makes me shudder.
You know what these cupcakes need? A cough drop garnish.
So, out of nowhere, I woke up vaguely ill on Friday morning. It seems as though I have been revisited by the ear infection/strep throat/respiratory infection demon, for the second time in three months. Friday, it was that non-descript throat tickle, Saturday morning, it was that “Ok, I’m definitely sick” cough, and by Saturday evening, it was that “Alright, so maybe I’m going to die” grip of illness that renders you mostly immobile. That’s pretty much where I’ve been hovering ever since. My days have been spent in a Day/Nyquil fog, with a strong desire to bake. Right, because why not? I can’t breathe, and can barely button my shirt properly, but I think I can steady a hand mixer. I had to make cupcakes for a bake sale this weekend, which gave me my first legit excuse in months to break out the butter, sugar and eggs. And you know what? They were delightful. I should know-I ate approximately four of them Saturday afternoon, right before I fell asleep on the couch for 3 hours, woke up for 1, and then went to bed for the night.
Yesterday, I woke up just as wretchedly ill, but again, wanted to make some more cupcakes. I rationalized this excess by telling myself that I needed to tweak yesterday’s salted caramel frosting to be less buttery, and more caramel-y. Dextromethorphan does strange things to us. And so tweak I did, as well as burn my fingers on scalding hot caramel, and eat 2.5 more cupcakes. There goes all that clean-eating talk. I don’t care-when I’m sick, I have no use for tofu and raw vegetables. I’d like sugar, topped with more sugar, please. And some pixie stix.
Anyway, in the clear, cold light of the morning today, I dutifully packed up (most) of the remaining cupcakes, destined for delivery to two people who have either been promised them, or just need them, at this point in their lives. And I hope they enjoy them as much as I enjoyed making them. But, isn’t everything more enjoyable on cold medicine?