Pre-weekend update.

So. Job. Yeah, that's pretty much consuming my life. Don't get me wrong--I love it! But it's totally taking over everything while I get settled in and find a routine.

But before I get back to that...a story in three acts.

1. Went to a family Christmas party last weekend. Quite a good time--ate, drank, made merry, etc. I also played Greedy Guts which is, apparently, a family tradition. Only among the women, though! I asked the men how they felt, having been shut out of this long-standing game. My answer was a resounding, "Why the hell would we want to play the women's game??" Hmm.

Greedy Guts, for those not related to me, is basically a white elephant gift exchange after half a dozen vodka and Red Bulls. Totally insane. AND AWESOME.

Walked away with quite a few gifts. Some good (The Italian Job on DVD), some lame (corn cob holders?). Some awesome (Fossil sunglasses!) and some totally annoying. (See photo.)

HILARIOUS. You are SIMPLY HILARIOUS, family.

2. My mom loves Christmas. She also loves holiday decorations and/or seasonal decorations of any kind. So naturally, when the two come together...let's just say that our halls are decked. But this year, she's put some things in different places. And our bathroom counter is apparently now "where all the fake greenery shall live." And that's fine, except for it's not a very big counter and I put my curling iron there every morning. When I walked in that first morning, I looked from the crowded countertop to my curling iron and back again. It's not that I think she shouldn't be allowed to decorate however she sees fit, but I think maybe we need to evergreen it down before I set the house on fire because my hair needs a little body.

You should be concerned, bird.

3. Yesterday my classroom was the scene of an epic meltdown. Upon hearing the announcement that recess would be inside, one of my students began shrieking about Republicans. "WE CAN'T HAVE OUTDOOR RECESS BECAUSE THE REPUBLICAN GOVERNOR WON'T LET US!"

Whoa.

I...I don't even know what to tell you. I could not believe what was happening. I sent him down to the office to have his meltdown because he would not stop yelling about the Republican governor. Apparently he thinks that the governor sits up in Lansing and evilly ponders whether or not elementary school students will have to suffer the horrors of inside recess. As if the state of Michigan would bump that to the top of the agenda. The Republican governor who, by the way, has not yet taken office. Maybe that's the biggest decision they'll let him make pre-inauguration?

You cannot make this stuff up.

No seriously, I'm not done with this topic.

Recently saw a commercial for the Glade motion sensor unit which terrorized my house for quite some time. (A Google search tells me this is called the Sense and Spray. Do your best to avoid it.) It featured happy family members milling around a living room while the Glade hisses like mad.

I see what you're doing here, Glade. Obviously you've read my blog. And it must hurt to learn that not everybody loves your precious little Sense and Destroy. But this blatant personal attack? Is not cute. Or classy. Your unrealistic depiction of a family under the iron rule of your little minion is wholly misleading to the general public. Like I'm supposed to believe that this family isn't startled by the sudden output of noxious fumes? Like they don't mind the scent overtaking their home and threatening their safety? As if they actually ENJOY what is going on around them??

RIGHT. Better luck next time, Glade.

Because it's been a while.

After my first year at a women's college, I found that I was acutely aware of the scent of boys...a talent which has stayed with me. I'm frequently overheard saying things like, "A boy was in this room." Initially, my coed college friends found this quirky ability to be bizarre; I was a detective for non-mysteries involving the whereabouts of men. (Mainly along the lines of "There has/has not been a man present recently." It's not a terribly useful skill.)

Ever since the Christmas Miracle of 2009, I have coexisted quite happily with the reed diffuser air freshening system in our bathroom. It has been blissfully calm in there ever since I banished the "clean linen" spewing dragon to the abyss of the under-the-sink cabinet. (It was heroic...epic poems should be written in my honor.)
Because of all that, I am understandably picky when it comes to replacing the scent of our reed diffuser. I stand in the store, cautiously approaching any scent that sounds tolerable. Pretty much anything floral is generally out, as well as anything claiming to have something to do with a bonfire. It's a long process and God forbid I ever find/remember the same kind I previously purchased.

A couple days ago, as I brushed my teeth, my Axe-senses kicked in. ...Man? After 11pm? In my bathroom? Confused, I pulled back the shower curtain. (No man inside.) I checked all the bottles, finding nothing new which might result in a man-smell. Curious. Assuming it was all in my head, I went to bed.
Yesterday, I experienced the same phenomenon. "Something in here smells like a man, dammit!" I announced to no one in particular. I began my investigation in earnest. Feeling about three times crazier than I'm comfortable with, I poked around the whole room. Picking up bottles, opening up cabinets. I caught sight of the reed diffuser. I eyeballed it suspiciously. "...Are you new here?" I asked. (Yes, I did say that out loud.) Approaching slowly, I picked it up. I sniffed hesitantly. "YOU ARE! YOU SMELL LIKE A BOY!"

Moral of the story: if you're ever in my bathroom and think there might be a man nearby, don't worry. That's just the air freshener.

I should get a pet or a hobby or something.

On Christmas morning, I found two rather unique gifts with my name on them. The first, in my stocking, was a little joke from my mother. An air freshener. No, I'm not joking. It's a cute little air freshener shaped like a duck, full of innocence and childlike wonder.

The potential ruiner of Christmas.

She's hilarious, no? The best part is the scent. According to his packaging, the little guy smells like "summer linen." As if I haven't already had my fill of "linen" scented things. (I've been fooled by that before!)

I finally worked up the nerve to open my new friend.

1:57pm: Open packaging. Looks harmless enough.

1:58pm: Read directions. "Separate front and rear portions of the character." Ok!

2:04pm: Still struggling to pull apart plastic pieces.

Harder than it looks, ok??

2:05pm: Call in reinforcements. (Read: yell for father.)

2:05pm: Mission accomplished.

2:07pm: Tentatively sniff. Squint and back away quickly, preparing for worst.

2:08pm: Not dead. Positive sign. Breathing normal. Even better.

2:09pm: Still skeptical. Don't let me down, duck.

We'll see about that.

That was a couple days ago. I delayed posting this, in case he came and murdered me in my sleep or something. (I don't trust him being in the same room as My Mortal Enemy. They might talk when I'm not in there. Since I don't exactly hang out in the bathroom for fun, this gives them lots of time to plot my demise.) The good news is that his plastic smile does not seem to be masking any malicious intent. The other good news is that he really doesn't smell like anything unless you hold it up to your face, making it The Best Bathroom Air Freshener Ever. (I really am not a fan of the air being freshened, as it turns out.)



















Note: Not trying to kill me.

Delusion.

My friends and I occasionally revel in the glory of a Bad Movie. (My personal favorite was Female Popstar Night—it was the Trinity of Awful. Gigli with Jennifer Lopez, Crossroads with Britney, and something or other with Hilary [and Haylie, but…who cares?] Duff. OH MY GOD the Duff movie JUST CAME ON MTV. It’s fate. Also, it’s Material Girls. I’ll give it a miss this time around.) We gathered last week for just such an evening. Sitting in the basement, we heard sporadic hissing.
Yes. Hissing. Not “some kind of animal is trapped in the basement and getting angry” hissing. (If only...) Oh, no. Something much worse. This kind of hissing made me sit rigidly in alarm. This kind of hissing was awfully similar to a certain “clean linen” air freshener we all know and deplore. I started to panic. Was it following me here? Was that even possible? I asked if anyone else heard that noise. I silently hoped they had. I hoped I was not alone. Was this going to haunt me? Was this to be my own personal case of a heart beating under the floorboards, refusing to be forgotten? Will I guiltily hear hissing everywhere I go until it slowly drives me mad? Does—oh. Ok. Everyone else heard it.
“Oh,” said my host casually. “That’s just the air freshener. It’s supposed to be on a 30 minute timer.” She walked over to the wall plug-in unit as if it were no big deal, as if she were confronting a harmless kitten. Thirty seconds later, she returned to restart the movie.
“Is it very angry?” I whispered, afraid to raise my voice. You can’t let it sense your fear, Amanda, I thought to myself.
“What? Oh, I unplugged it. It’s fine now.”

Yes. Yes it IS fine now. You will not follow me around, awful box. You will stay banished to the cabinet under the sink. (Until I can find a more suitable hiding place. I would bury it, but I worry about those toxins getting into the earth. Even if my mother does not worry about them getting into my lungs. It’s fine, Mom. I have two.)

Christmas miracle.

Today is a triumphant day in the Bitter household. Why, you may ask? Because today is the day when good prevails over evil. Today is the day when things make sense; when order is restored. TODAY IS THE DAY I BANISHED THE DEMON.
How, you ask? Oh, sit down, children, and I'll tell you the tale...

Day 209: Friday
Mother home from work. Students have brought gifts. Benevolent 4 year old gives mother reed diffuser. "Fresh Linen." Tell mother what this is. Experience sympathy cough upon seeing word "linen." Tentatively sniff bottle. Breathe normally. Pause. Gag? No. Sniff bottle again. Find it to be tolerable. Begin planning for coup.

Day 213: Tuesday
Suggest that mother might enjoy reed diffuser. Green light. Set on counter for test run.

Day 214: Wednesday
Objections to new clean linen friend total zero. Clean bathroom for guests. Inquire about putting spitting monster away; cite getting rid of bathroom clutter. Lie. Feel no guilt. Green light again.
Carefully pick up gremlin. Move to cupboard under sink. (Feel delightfully like Harry Potter characters who locked him in the cupboard. Remember that Harry Potter came back with a vengeance. Decide against new nickname.) Wash hands, literally and metaphorically.
Use bathroom freely. All day. Breathe easier; walk taller. VICTORY IS MINE.

What's that, air freshener? You're lonely there under the sink? Oh well, that's a shame...

Pathetic.

Day 172: Wednesday
Have realized yesterday's Big Plan was folly. Grow bored of setting schedule to pollute earth and home. Feel vaguely pathetic. Back to the drawing board. Curse at air freshener in way that would make sailors and truckers proud. Thought cough was seasonal cold...perhaps is side effect? Have contracted Linen Lung? Resolve to google disease and speak with family.

Studying the classics.

Day Something-or-Other: Monday
9am: Wonder if slow motion will sneak by motion detector. Move very, very, slowly whenever in restroom. Success. Briefly. Successful until boredom sets in. Have no patience for this method.

Day Forever: Tuesday
7:45am: Have set off malicious device three times since waking up at 6. New record. Excited for work--decide to use restroom often, relishing in fresh air.
5pm: Not surprised at familiar hissing sound. Swear half-heartedly at box. Remember fondly time when box needed refill. Family was lazy. Refill was slow in coming.
BRAINSTORM. AM GENIUS.
Am reminded of something about keeping enemies close? New. Plan. Will not outsmart box! Will befriend box. Resolve to spend all waking hours in home setting off device. Wave hands in front of box and run every 30 minutes. On. The. Dot. Consider this "taking one for the team"...team of one. Team Amanda. ...Sentiment stands. Figure that only so much "clean linen" poison can be contained in tiny box. This is far from over.

And so it continues.

Day I Lost Count Months Ago: Saturday
12:30pm: Have renewed confidence in using facilities in own home. Feeling good about self and life.
12:32pm: Use facilities. Hear hissing noise. Assaulted by familiar "clean linen" scent. Gag. Cough. Experience flashback, making ordeal twice as bad as usual. Finish quickly, holding breath. Exit bathroom, breathe. Gag. Resolve to figure out mystery.
12:34pm: Suspicions confirmed: mother has replaced cartridge. (Foiled by own parent?) Feel self-esteem plummet. Question motives. "It's my house" found to be airtight. Walk away with head hung low; lungs itchy. Eyeball tiny air-not-refreshing box--it will know who is in charge this time. (Hint: Not malevolent demon.)

Day After That: Sunday
11:20pm: Have not been in bathroom once all day without setting off fresh wave of chemical blight. Am weary. Wonder if poisonous jack-in-the-box has Gremlin-like and/or Wicked Witch-like qualities; consider dousing with water. Think better of this.
11:47pm: Creep into bathroom. Brush teeth. Exit bathroom. Hear ominous hissing. TOO LATE, BOX. HAVE WON THIS ROUND. Small victory, but important one.

Final Countdown.

Day 28: Saturday
11am:Have grown accustomed to irritations in bathroom due to air freshener. Anxiety level still high, but slowly returning to normal. Now use restroom with face turned away from box, in case perfumed air pops out.
Pee. Hear hissing. Not normal hissing. Wait. Smell nothing. Hissing sounded pathetic. No odor? Is demon box conceding defeat?
2pm: Pee. Same sad hissing. LIGHTBULB. Evil contraption needs new cartridge. Emphatically refuse to do its bidding. Laugh as box sounds like fish out of water, gasping for breath, dying. Begging for clean linen life support. Feel no guilt.
HAVE WON THIS ROUND.

Continued.

Day 5: Thursday
11am: Sister bored of freakouts. Sympathy waning quickly. (Four days ago.) Turns evil box around. (Better luck next time, hellspawn!) Pee in peace.
2pm: Shower. Relax for first time in days, knowing motion-activated demon cannot hiss if no motion is sensed. (You have met your match.)
6pm: Pee. Hissing. Lulled into false sense of security. Mother did not pay for box to sit on counter, turned box right way. Gag.

Rough week.

Day 1: Sunday
7pm: Home from Massachusetts. Notice new air freshener in bathroom. Hmm. Upon using facilities, learn that new air freshener is motion-activated. Learn this while trapped, for lack of more delicate terminology. Also learn that “Clean Linen” scent not so much like clean linen. Gag.
9pm: Forget about new air freshener. Unpack. Put toothbrush away, hear hissing/popping noise. Jump because noise is scary. Senses once again assaulted by heavily air-quoted clean linen. Gag.
11:30: Prepare for bed. Remember motion will activate demon’s breath hissing machine. Dance around and then jump out of bathroom. Nothing. Wait. Nothing. Determine room to be safe. Proceed with contact lens and makeup removal. While face is in under-sink cupboard searching for cotton ball, hear much-feared noise heralding arrival of a “fresher” room. Scream and try to escape from room, running into cupboard door. This results in a cut and bruise combo which will surely be a painful reminder of stupidity. Hear laughter emanating from basement. Resolve to punch sister in face.

Day 2: Monday
Try to ignore feeling that air freshener has personal vendetta. Rely heavily on new method of dance in front of air freshener, flee from room, and wait 5 minutes. Adjust to going in bathroom before it becomes a necessity. Expect arrival of nicer, non-punched sister, put on makeup. Hear car. Look out bathroom window. Hear hissing noise as face is pressed to glass. Face now fresh like Clean Linen. Gag. Gag again. Hope chemicals do not result in permanent damage. Truly feel that air freshener has it out for me.

Day 3: Tuesday
Figure out system of lights on device. Blinking will result in hissing and air pollution. No blinking is safe, but for unknown amount of time. Learn from sister that device will only go off every 30 minutes. File information away. Spend remainder of day using bathroom only after another person has set off tiny hellion.

Day 4: Wednesday
Discuss hissing box with mother. Matriarch insists she has never seen it hiss. Stand outside bathroom door and listen for her reaction. Feel vaguely creepy, but all in the name of research. (Research and proving that tiny demon box hates me. See no difference.) Hear nothing. Confused. Wait for mother. Barge in upon seeing open door. Nothing. Dance around. Nothing. Hmm. Mother bored, exits. TINY BOX HISSES. BOX HATES ME. Gag.