BlizzaFloodQuakeNado

Spring time in Oklahoma is never boring. It’s cold, then warm, then cold. It rains incessantly for days on end and then we have a drought. We get hail, tornados, earthquakes and snow.

And that’s all in one day.

It usually starts warming up by April, but I remember a few years ago when we celebrated Cinco de Mayo (May 5) like this:

This year, it was colder on Easter Day than it was on Christmas day. You just never know what you’re going to get.

This morning, I had my first run-in with a mosquito. It must have gotten in my car when I did because I had just barely backed out of the driveway when it buzzed around me. I rolled down windows in an effort to blow it out of the car, but of course, that never works. It settled on the dashboard just out of arm’s reach of me so I couldn’t swat it. I looked around to see if I had anything I could kill it with.

All I had was an ice scraper and a small dust wand.

Now before you start making fun of me for having a dust wand in my car, just know that my car usually looks like a rolling wastebasket with napkins, food wrappers, empty drink containers, receipts, and old maps that probably show you how to get to the Republic of Texas. I would never allow my house to be this disgusting, but for some reason, the car is a disaster.

What can I say? I’m complicated.

But a few years ago, I bought this little contraption that is made for dusting your car. It’s actually a tiny dust mop on a handle and it works like a charm. Every once in a while, I pull it out and dust my dashboard and my clock so I can see it. I couldn’t find one exactly like it to show you but here’s a very similar one you can get on Amazon, in case you’re feeling the urge to chase dust bunnies in your car (just click on the photo to find it on Amazon):

I chose it as my weapon against the little blooksucker invading my space. Did it work? No. I guess it was so soft and fluffy, it didn’t do much more than give it a little mosquito massage because it just kept hopping up and flying some more everytime I slammed the duster down on top of it.

I’m stubborn, though. After several beatings, I finally killed it. Or at least forced it to go into hiding and attack me later when it’s dark and I can’t see it coming.

As for the duster, even though I use it occasionally to dust my dashboard, want to know what I don’t do with it?

I don’t shake it out and get the dust out of it.

Want to know what happens when you slam a dusty dust mop against the surfaces of you car?

You release dust.

In an enclosed space.

While you’re driving.

And swerving.

That’s when the next fun thing about Spring in Oklahoma happened.

Watery eyes. Itchy nose. Scratchy throat.

Allergies.

I was never allergic to anything until I moved to Oklahoma. Never had an allergy to anything food-wise or in the environment when I was growing up and living in West Texas.

I moved to Oklahoma and became the ear infection queen.

I have to take Zyrtec every day, year round, to prevent the crud that invades my sinuses and makes me feel like someone is shoving an ice pick through my temple.

And now I’ve released toxic Oklahoma dust into my environment.

Forget nuclear weapons or “dirty” bombs. Trump needs to harvest pollen in Oklahoma and attach it to a warhead and he’ll have Kim Jong-un eating out of the palm of his hand!

I mean, it’s more potent than Anthrax.

I’m really surprised nobody has used it to assassinate Russian spies. Needless to say, I pulled into the parking lot at work with my eyes looking like I had gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.

At one time, the best place  for this to happen would be at work. A few years ago, I had a bad sinus infection with bronchitis and somebody made me laugh which immediately sent me into an uncontrollable coughing fit. I guess somebody panicked and called the nurse and somehow the security guard got called too.

The nurse showed up with her blood pressure cuff and the security guard showed up with a defibrillator.

I guess if the reading on the cuff was too low, Bob (not his real name) was going to yell “CLEAR!” and zap me. He looked really disappointed when the nurse quickly assessed that I wasn’t a fat girl having a heart attack but rather I was just a fat girl having a coughing fit.

Like, I just need some warm tea and a throat lozenge, Bob, but thanks for playing, dude!

Of course, now that I’m practically going into anaphylactic shock, I’m pretty much on my own. Bob retired long ago and once they announced our office closing, the nurse was one of the first positions to go, followed quickly by the blood pressure machine, the dispenser on the wall where you could buy pain meds, antacids and bandaids, and even the damned tampon dispensers in the ladies restrooms.

I guess they’re hoping we stroke out, die from heartburn, or bleed out before they have to pay us a severance.

Okay, I’m being dramatic. When they quit servicing the dispensers in the ladies restrooms, they put a stash of tampons and maxi pads in a cute basket on the counter for people to use as they need.

But this leads to my next question…If the company could afford to supply us with feminine hygiene products for free, then why did I spend the last sixteen years paying a quarter every time I got caught by surprise, for a pad that felt like I had a burrito between my legs?

I mean, one size does not fit all. I don’t feel like I should have to pay for a memory foam mattress for my panties or an entire sheep attached to a string for my hoo-hah, just because that’s the only size that’s available.

I guess I should’ve posted a disclaimer for the few dudes that read my blog and might be squeamish about “lady things”. Sorry. On the other hand, this might be a good education for you on the stupid crap women have to deal with.

This post has REALLY gone off the rails.

I don’t have an ending for this story. I got to work and once I was out of the toxic Okie dust in my car and inside the moldy, recycled air of our workplace, I took a Tylenol for my throbbing sinuses and eventually my eyes settled down so that I didn’t look like Tammy Faye praising Jesus.

And anyway, whatever happened to that defibrillator?

Also, here’s what it’s like to live in Oklahoma:

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!