BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the dining room…

As cliche as the following statement may be, the scream echoing up the stairwell was enough to make my blood run cold. Hell, it was more than that. It was enough to make me wet myself.

Therefore, it was a damn good thing my bladder was empty, or I would have had some serious explaining to do. This would not have been easy seeing as I am both too old and too young to be in diapers, so I’m thinking I would have been hard pressed to come up with a suitable excuse in the eyes of the redhead.

And, speaking of the Fiery Tressed Queen of the Evil Underworld, her worship THE E K herself, the scream sounded again. There were no two ways about it. My wife was screaming. However, even in my half-awake state I could tell that she was screaming at someone – or something – in anger, not in fear. Given that even Satan himself is terrified of E K, this stood to reason.

A loud crash, followed by a scampering thud wafted up behind the scream, and it was quickly joined by the sound of claws trying to gain traction on hardwood just ahead of the vicious thumping cadence of a pair of Mary Janes. I fumbled over my head and switched off my CPAP, then extracted myself from the mask. Squinting in the darkness while turning my head from side to side, and holding my mouth just so, I eventually managed to get a blurry image from the segmented LED’s on the alarm clock to show up in the general vicinity of my retina. According to the muddled deciphering I somehow managed to do, it appeared to be 1:47 AM. Either that or 7:41 AM. Or even PM.

Of course, it was also entirely possible that it was Sevum One Oh Forty and a half PMA Greenwich Mean Time. But, I didn’t feel like thinking that hard so I decided to stick with 1:47 AM.

Throwing back the covers I rolled out of the bed and wandered around to the door. In my stupor I completely forgot to lean the appropriate direction – our bedroom is in the upstairs half-story, you see – and therefore clocked my head on the angled wall. I set about cursing for a moment as I absently rubbed the spot on my forehead that had attempted to dent the drywall, only to find a stud in the way. Little did I know, however, that this was the least of my worries.

Stumbling the rest of the way through the dark, I finally arrived at the door and swung it open. No more had I done this than the banshee wail of an angry, firehaired, petite bundle of concentrated eebil rattled up the stairwell once again. This time it sounded closer. Much closer.

The thumping of frantic paws with extended claws – (say that three times fast) – was closer still, and hot on their trail were the Mary Janes. A split second behind the scream and melange of thundering footsteps, a 28 pound domestic gray tabby bounced off the wall in front of me, did a triple flip in the air before sticking his dismount on the stairway landing. He then spun in place twice, rolled over, ran backwards into the office door, somersaulted, and then finally, with puffed tail, ears laid back, and eyes wide in abject fright, he ran directly between my legs and into the bedroom.

However, I didn’t get the opportunity to see exactly where he went in the bedroom, because before I even had the chance to think about turning to look a blur of red whipped around the corner and slammed into me full force.  Immediately following the impact I found myself flat on my back with one Mary Jane in my stomach and the other planted on my face. The evil redhead stood there on top of me, so intent on her mission, that she was completely oblivious to the fact that I was now serving as her squishy carpet.

“DAMMIT! Come back here with that you little fleabag!” She screamed.

“Kahhmmm nabbner wib uht?” I asked.

I barely managed to croak out the question in a muffled voice. After all, she had knocked the wind out of my lungs when she ran right up me and danced on my head. Besides, I was trying to talk through the sole of her shoe, which is probably why she didn’t hear me. Either that, or she fully intended to ignore me. With E K you just never know.

“There you are,” my wife finally hissed, but judging from the direction of her gaze it was obvious that the comment was not aimed at me.

Still atop me, E K began to emit a throaty yowl while simultaneously doing the feline “butt wiggle”. You know, that little dance cats do whenever they have spotted their prey and are getting ready to pounce. (I keep telling you folks her name is Kat for a reason…) But, before the redhead could make her move there was a loud, hiss-yowl combination from the corner of the room, followed by thudding paws. A heartbeat later a gray blur flew through the air past her, only barely evading her grasp. At least, that is what it appeared to be from my vantage point, trying to see around a Mary Jane that was still in the middle of leaving an indelible impression on face.

E K jumped, and I said, “Ooofff!”

I said this primarily because she had used me as a springboard, however I have to admit that part of it was also because I knew someday this incident would become a blog entry and as it happens I just love onomatopoeia. At any rate, the next thing I heard was the wild scream of the redhead receding back down the stairs as she chased the gray feline for some yet unknown – but obviously quite  earthshattering – reason.

After dragging myself up from the floor, against my better judgment I decided to stumble down the stairs to investigate.

While a wildly screaming redhead wasn’t all that unusual around our house, nor was a scampering cat, the fact that this was occurring at oh-dark-thirty in the A.M. definitely had my curiosity piqued.

By the time I made my way to the main floor and rounded the curved landing, all was deathly quiet. This could be a good thing, or it could be a bad thing. If I suddenly heard the sound of a meat cleaver hitting the chopping block in the kitchen, it was definitely going to go down in my books as not so good. Especially if E K expected me to clean up the mess.

Cautiously, I made my way through the living room and into the dining room. Just as I was nearing the kitchen doorway, Her Supreme Evilness stepped through, barring my path. I immediately jumped back for fear that I was about to become her runway and launching pad once again. However, she was moving at a much less frantic pace, although her brow was deeply furrowed in the patented, “E K is NOT amused” fashion.

In her right hand she held the gray tabby by the scruff of the neck. The oversized mouse catcher – who has never caught a mouse in his life, by the way – was looking at me with imploring eyes that said, “Please Save Me!” This stood out as extremely unusual since the gray tabby is scared to death of me, but absolutely adores the redhead. Without saying a word, in a display of uncanny strength, E K thrust the massive blob of fur at me. I took it from her and it immediately tried to crawl inside my T-shirt to hide from a fate worse than death.

Still mute, her supreme eebilness made a deliberate beeline for the dining room table, perched herself in a chair, then plunked a half chewed, cat slobber covered puzzle piece into an empty hole on the jigsaw that was laid out before her.

The issue of earth shattering importance was now readily apparent.

I didn’t interrupt the Queen. Instead, I sent the feline downstairs into the basement where he could hide and I returned to bed – after scrubbing the shoeprint off my face, of course. When I re-awoke at my usual hour of rising, that being 5:30 AM, E K was just then coming to bed. I wandered downstairs and started the coffee, casting a quick glance at the dining table on the way through the room. One look confirmed my suspicions – the jigsaw puzzle was completed, cat slobber and all.

You see, E K is a certified – maybe even certifiable – Puzzle Dominatrix who is afflicted with JOCD (Jigsaw Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder). She will continue to torture a jigsaw, no matter how many pieces it contains and for however how long it takes – sans food or sleep – until she has beaten it into complete and total submission. And Gods help anyone – or any creature – that gets in her way. Especially if they take one of her puzzle pieces.

One of her nicknames is even “The Puzzle Mistress”…

So, if you ever want to drive the redhead up a wall, just give her a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of missing pieces. But, if you’re smart you’ll send it to her anonymously, because when she gets down to those missing pieces… Well, let’s just say that in our basement we have some 10,000 piece 3D puzzles that look remarkably like some people who used to be our friends, but whom we haven’t seen for several years.

And, every time I ask E K where she purchased these puzzles, she just smiles an eebil smile…

A VERY Eebil smile.

More to come…

Murv

The “interwebz” can do some strange things. It’s almost as if the damn thing has taken on a life of its own, which I suppose kinda makes old Al Gore a “Doctor Frahnkensteen” of sorts. (Okay, okay, I know… Gore’s quote was taken way out of context, but the joke worked… gimme a break. I’m actually writing this way early in the A.M. and my caffeine system isn’t up to snuff just yet…)

Anywho, the thing here is this – there are just some places on the internet that seem to have become a multi-headed monster doing whatever it damn well pleases. Social networking sites for instance. In this particular instance, Facebook.

There I was, ditzing about on FB, taking care of my necessary social networking marketing schtuff. E K was at her desk behind me, fiddling about with her own FB page, updating the world on her adventures in grocery shopping and slapping a coat of polyurethane on the O-spring’s chest of drawers.

Yeah, truly exciting stuff there… (Hey, sometimes it’s good to be boring…)

So, anyway, I did a quick refresh of my page to see what was going on and the screen went all willy nilly, flashed a bit, sent some gibberish scrolling around, then settled back into my “Facebook Wall.” Everything looked relatively normal except for one minor – well, actually major, IMHO – detail.

Now, just by looking at the picture on the left you might not see the problem. In reality, it looks pretty normal. In fact, it looks extremely normal. And, if it weren’t for the fact that I happen to use a link that generally resides in that box, I might not have noticed the problem myself. However, on the night in question, after perusing my wall I was going to go have a look at someone else’s wall. Namely, the halo wearing half of The Evil Redhead.

Yeah… I was going to go look at Kat’s page, and the easiest way for me to get there is to click on the link under relationship status, because normally it looks like the picture on the right.

But, it didn’t… It looked like the one above.

According to Facebook, I was still married, but to whom was the question. I checked my info tab and it claimed I was married, but my spouse was a mystery.

Figuring this was just some bizarre glitch, I hit the search box, looked up Kat’s profile – which ostensibly was still there – and clicked on the link. My screen flashed, went blank, then my FB newsfeed appeared. I cocked an eyebrow, grumbled, then tried it again. Same thing.

“Hey legs,” I called over my shoulder. “Did you unfriend me on Facebook or something?”

“No,” she replied.

“Did you block me?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

I grumbled a bit more as FB repeated the redirection each time I clicked, then I answered her. “I can’t get to your page.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I don’t know what that’s all about. I didn’t change anything.”

“Let me try something,” I mused aloud.

I went down the line, clicking on several of our mutual friends. Each time I did so, either I was redirected to my newsfeed or told that this person’s page was no longer available.

Grumbling even more I mentioned this to E K. Of course, she promptly began to click on those links herself.

“I can get to Johnathan’s page just fine,” she announced. “And Tracy’s…” A few more clicks sounded. “And Anastasia’s…”

“But I can’t,” I said, perplexed. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally add me to your block list or something?”

“I’m sure,” she replied.

Just to be thorough I clicked on some of my other friend’s pages who were not mutual between The Evil Redhead and me. No problem at all. Surfed right to them without so much as a brief pause. I cleared my cache just to make sure it wasn’t a phantom page. They still worked.

I logged out of FB, shut down Firefox, restarted it, cleared cache again, logged back into FB, and checked my page. Nothing at all had changed. No matter what I clicked I was no longer married to my wife, nor could I get to mutual friend pages.

“Well,” I sighed a lament. “It would seem that Facebook has divorced us and you got to keep all of our friends.”

E K giggled, of course.

By now it was pushing midnight and well past my bedtime, yet I was still clicking about on my page because I had no intention of signing the divorce papers, virtual or not.

E K clicked off her monitors (she has two, being the multi-tasker she is) and pushed back from her desk. As she rose to head for the bedroom she said, “I think you should just give up for the night.”

“But, it says I’m not married to you anymore.”

“Get some sleep,” she told me. “Maybe you’ll be married to me tomorrow.”

I guess I’ll have to start checking the calendar on the fridge in the kitchen to see which days I’m married and which days I’m single.

Better yet, maybe I’ll just check Facebook…

More to come…

Murv