Please excuse Persnickety from being absent from blogging...

Cuz I am so writing that bitch a note!

No seriously. The reports of my death have been greatly....blah blah blah. Germs from preschoolers? THE MOST EVIL FORCE ON EARTH! (just warning ya...that's all I'm sayin.)

Punk came home from school last Monday with the "sickies". I got a call from the teacher about an hour after she went off to school and I was all like "Oh no, what now?" Teacher informs me that a 3 year old the size of a muppet tackled her and bit her. Oh yeah? What happened to my kid being the class bully that is smackin' around toddlers right and left? Huh? HUH?? I think someone is seriously misjudging the all-out ballsy-ness of my kiddo. When faced with adversity she just crumples into a pile of blubbering snot. I know. I LIVE it almost everyday. (She is so spoiled it's stupid.)

So I inform the teacher that if Punk is not bleeding or blubbering, she is fine and can stay at school. We agreed that was the best course. Phone call ends. I snuggled back down in bed for my usual Monday-peace-and-quiet-no-kid-in-sight-nap. Fifteen minutes later I got another call. Teacher again. Punk projectile vomited technicolor all over the classroom floor. Yay. Plus? Fever of 99.9. Double yay. So off to school to go get her. And when I got there? It was still all over the floor. Covered in paper towels. And the teacher? Thought it was a good idea to show it to me. WTF?? I asked her why it hadn't been cleaned up and were they waiting on me to get to school to do it for them? She informed me that they had to call a service to come clean it up because it was biohazard. (That should have been a foreboding clue as to what was to come.) So I gathered the Punk and we went home. She was in stay-at-home-watch-cartoons-soak-up-all-the-attention-she-can-get-from-being-sent-home-with-the-"Sickies"-heaven. I was all well-fuck-it-all-there-goes-my-fucking-day-of-productiveness. (And by productiveness I meant napping.)

The rest of the week went quietly because she slept alot (when she wasn't whining) and by Friday I was all ready to send her back to school. She was spared by me being just too tired to fight with her to get her up and off to school on time. So another non-productive day and then...

Then came the evil.

Friday was going all fine and stuff. I actually hadn't eaten anything and FCB decided to make pancakes for dinner. Punk was all excited because PANCAKES! and WHIPCREAM! and SPRAYITINMYMOUTH! So FCB cooks them up and I got up to go eat and when I did? Woozy-dizzy-oh-for-the-love-of-where-the-fuck-is-a-bucket!!

I lost my shit. And by lost my shit I mean that a Mack truck tried to exit my fucking body sideways all the while laying on the airbrakes and the horn and with a greasy little driver singing "Convoy" all the way out of my esophagus. And then? I puked cammo. (Did she just say cammo? Oh no she di'ent!) Yep. Cammo. Green. Pea soup green. Brown (probably blood cuz I hadn't eaten anything in like 24 hours) and black (coffee grounds) and bright red (blood from the fucking Mack truck that didn't stop to ask for directions). Colors that the human body cannot produce on its own with out the digestion of a fucking gremlin or two. When I thought it was all over and I was all in the clear? Blue.

Blue? Surely Persnickety must be making that part up.

Nope, you read that right. Blue. Seems the gremlin and the trucker had been having a party in my tummy that included a cake with blue icing. Or possibly a chocolate cake with a naked drunk blue Smurf that popped out of the center. Who knew? And why wasn't I invited BEFORE things got out of hand?

This evil little party lasted for 3 days.

By the 2nd day? I was in so much pain from hurling and old accident injuries that I decided to medicate. So I went trolling through my pharmacy. (Cuz I got a doc that is all about the love and fuzzy and what do you need and he rocks my socks.) I see that I have an 800mg ibuprofen. Groovy. But lets just chase that with a narcotic so I will sleep through the next trucker-gremlin-Smurf party. Tramadol...yeah, that'll work...nice and mild. Oh and let's not forget the phenergan to make sure I am not all wookie-woozie-hurkie-hurly. Basically enough drugs to knock out a troll. Yay.

It didn't knock me out. It didn't touch me. Plus the trucker and the gremlin and the Smurf? They amped up the party and invited Oscar the grouch and all his Army buddies. Bitches.

So then I went all Google and shit and looked up the strength of the collective pharmaceutical stores that I had available. And Tramadol? Supposedly going to make me have lots of warm and fuzzies and Alice in Wonderland kinda delusions and alter my sense of reality and I was like fuck-it-all-I-don't-remember-seeing-any-damn-grinning-cats and my reality is just sucking buckets at the moment. So I decided to take it slow and start weak with Darvocet. WHOA! Weak my left nut! It knocked me flat. Yay! Sleep.

And then after I woke up and then because I was all like "no more reality...can't take reality" chanting like rainman on a bad day. I decided to take another one. And then Feisty called to check on me. Well...it seems me on Darvocet? And not sleeping? I get chatty. For over 2 hours I would not shut the fuck up. She was giggly. I was "whoa...who the hell is making all that chatty noise and when the fuck did they get invited to the naked cake cammo party?" And yet I just kept talking until I killed at least one phone battery and then Feisty was all like maybe you should go and rest and I was all yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

So I did. And I am better. And I brought a note. All is well and good in the land of Persnickety and tomorrow? Feisty and I are going to Disney for her birthday. This should be way too much more fun than adults should be allowed to have. We are bringing cameras. And lots of snark.



And leaving the fucking naked Smurf and all his friends at home, dammit.