So, if you try to leave a comment and Haloscan won't take it, then leave another one and STILL it doesn't show up, try hitting the 'reload' button a couple of times to find out just who has been in the same boat, because you're not alone.

It's obvious, someone at Haloscan has done an 'upgrade,' and while we're all waiting for the shit to settle we have to settle for shit.

Heh. I just made that up. I'm sure I'm not the first to do so.

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So. The tornadoes yesterday. They almost got me.

SRSLY! Dudes, I was all like driving home on 540 (not "THE" 540, because please? we're not in California) yesterday afternoon, and what to my wondering eyes should appear behind me but a cloud so dark you knew nothing good could come of it. Oh, it came a-rolling in, and because the traffic on 540 was almost at a standstill what with all the OTHER folks trying to get home before the tornadoes hit, the tornado-laden big black cloud of imminent doom was freaking GAINING ON US at an alarming clip.

We, all the other similarly concerned commuters and I, crept along at 3 miles an hour, then 10 miles an hour, then to full stop before starting the maddening cycle all over again. The voice on the radio mentioned that a twister'd been spotted in Southeastern Wake County and was progressing at 35 miles an hour eastward. I called some friends that live in that area, who reported that 1) they were stuck 40 trying to get home, and it didn't look good, and 2) they'd gotten stuck not but a half mile from home, at which point their almost-new car got pelleted with 2-inch hail (which, as we all know, must be equated to a piece of sporting equipment, and so I choose 'golf balls,' which makes me eligible to report the weather on the teevee, I'm thinkin'.). Both friends were OK at the time I talked with them, a little freaked out maybe, but I shared their freak and it was good.

Or, not good.

My storm, my own special freakshow, was still gaining on me. Licks of lightning whitened the sky, the crack of thunder became ever more synchronous with them, fat blobs of rain smacked down, wind whipped, and my freak grew three sizes that day.

I was sure I was going to die, and it wasn't fair because I was supposed to go to a friend's house for DINNER, and I was going to perish before I could have their world-famous (or nearly so) chili! Chili is one of my favorite foods, and yet this stupid STORM was going to grab Tinkerbell by the bumper, lift her off the ground, launch her in the air, and spin me and her at 70 miles an hour (Note: windspeed, for the traffic was still doing a steady 5) into the 18-wheeler ahead of me, and kill us both dead.

I am not a fan of the dead.

As you can tell, and am sure are happy to hear, I am not dead, but that's only because right about the time the storm was about to lick at the heels of my demise, the exit I needed came up and I was able to turn Tink northward, away from the clutches of the ravenous beastly thunder-stormy storm. Within 5 minutes there were clearing skies, no rain, and a shrinking freakout on the menu.

And chili. We made it to the dinner party an hour late, but no matter. Chili can simmer. Just not to death.

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Today is Thing 2's 11th birthday. Hard to believe, but true. 11 years ago today he was hauled out into this big world, a wondering little blob of human who has grown into a wonderful, amazing, caring, pesky, smartassed young man. At 11 years old he's almost as tall as me, his hands are as big as mine, his mind is agile, his heart huge, his wit astounding, and his feet a size 12.

I love that kid, and wish him a happy happy birthday today with his Dad and tomorrow with me. Double-up the treats, dude, you totally deserve it.

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Have a great day folks. I'm headed off to find out just how much mental torture I can take before hiding under my desk blubbering about the details, the details, the awful, awful details!

Alarm clocks.

People who don't review things when they ought to and then want to change something at the very last damned minute, expecting that the person who has to make the changes will smile and say "of course," as though it's their pleasure to make the changes, re-send the item for approval, chase after the approvers, and basically reiterate a week's worth of frigging work just so that the person who didn't look at the damed thing when they should have can get in their tuppence.

Menstruation.

The grizzled old guy in the 1950's Ford Pickup who couldn't get that puppy over 25 miles an hour on a 45-MPH speed limit road, and who refused to pull over. For ten miles. By Cracky, I'll just bet he's a native farmer who thinks that if the tobacco will wait for him to get to the fields, then by gum the yuppie commuter behind him will too. Which she did, cussing a creative blue streak at him the whole dadgum way.

Bigots.

Towels that don't fold correctly. The tails should come out evenly if the first fold-in-half is done properly, yet it's rare that the resultant rectangle is accomplished with all tails matching. WHY IS THIS?

Cramps.

Silverware that spots as it dries. We hand wash everything at the Tiny House, there not being enough room in the kitchen for a dishwasher, and I've yet to figure out a way to keep the silverware from spotting as it dries. Spotty silverware irks me, and so I'll take the time to shine it up on my shirttail before putting the drawer, which I'd rather not have to do, but when you're just a tiny touch OCD (albeit sporadically), you do these things because to leave the spotty silverware in the drawer would be to invite unexpected guests, who would no doubt tsk-tsk at the slovenly housekeeping skillz you exhibit, and that's never a good thing, the tsking.

Stinky towels.

And that, for now, is that.

What are YOUR irksome items of the day? Feel free to vent in the comments, and have a lovely day.

(also - thanks for the well-wishes yesterday. They worked, and I'm back at work and the 50 bajillion e-mails and phone calls that came in yesterday. Hoo-ray, I'm sure).

I just slept 17 of the past 18 hours. It think this makes what I have an official 'sickness.'

"What variety of sick?", might you ask, being a curious person who is concerned for an internetly friend. Ah, friends, 'tis a glorious sick indeed. It's the barfy, ass-pee kind of sick that makes you want to curl up n' die. The kind of icky gastrointestinal sick that shows you how well you chew, how quickly you digest, and just exactly how sensitive your stomach is while you're in the head-up toilet position.

Go on, read between those lines. We've all been there.

It's the kind of sick that waters eyes, flushes then whitens skin, shivers timbers and bones, cramps intestines, empties guts, and I despise it and the infection it rode in on.

At first I blamed the bourbon, but this ain't no hangover. This is for real.

I hate being sick, and so in response I sleep, for if I can't FEEL the sick perhaps it will get huffy and go away.

So, the sleeping. Lots and lots of sleeping.

It seems as though this strategy may have worked rather well, because the good news is, at 4:45 p.m. it seems the corner has been turned. I haven't puked in 8 hours, am no longer shivering beneath two comforters, and the thought of food doesn't make my spit taste like hate.

So, there ya go. One thing for which to be thankful on this was-to-have-been very busy Monday. Hope y'all are doing well, and that sunshine and rainbows are your constant companions.

See you tomorrow.