On Friday afternoon, while watching The Ring, I had a panic attack. No, not because of the movie because scary movies don’t scare me…ever. I had a panic attack because an Animal Control Officer came by. Apparently, “someone” reported that we had animal feces and a horrible smell coming from our backyard. He had to check it out. Luckily, my dad was home, so he checked it out with him. The officer found no feces and no odor. While he was at our house, he called in to the office to see if the tags and shots were up to date for Xander, Molly, and Gretchen.
This wasn’t first time “someone” had reported us to Animal Control. Some of you may remember a few months back when we were reported for the same thing (except it was our whole yard instead of just the back yard) to both Animal Control and the Health Department. Both of these times we knew EXACTLY who did it. My dad has pointed to his house on both occasions. When the Health Department came by, they basically confirmed our suspicions. Maybe he reported us to them again and they realized he was full of it. I wish that he could be fined for falling false reports. It’s annoying and causes me to have panic attacks. His family has hated us since his stepson gave me head lice back when I was 8. Of course, they never admitted that his stepson was the one who passed the lice to me, but it was rather obvious since his daughter had the same problem before I ever had lice. It’s only been since we got Xander that he’s truly gotten obnoxious and started going to extreme lengths. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the person who reports us whenever he thinks we’re doing something “unsightly” like having the grass an inch over what the city ordinance says. He’s that big of a pain. He once sent a note to Michelle, another of our neighbors (one we get along with), telling her to get rid of a yellow chair that she had in her front yard. The chair was there so that a vine could grow on it. It was going to be quite lovely. Still, it was fall in line or get reported to the city.
I had to get tank tops yesterday (the straps have been falling apart on my old ones), and instead of getting Juniors XL’s (15), I had to get Misses and Womens XL’s (16 and 16/18). Why? Well, apparently, my breasts are too large to fit into the Juniors clothes now. That’s really funny since when I wear Womens clothing the bust area is too big. My boobs are confusing. I have trouble finding bras to fit them because they’re too big (bust size, not cup size) for the “normal” sizes and too small (cup size, not bust size) for plus size bras. (I’m a 40B, but sometimes I fit into a 38C.) I wish they were either bigger or smaller. That way I could finally get clothes in one specific size.
I got my copy of “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” on Saturday afternoon. I had pre-ordered it through Amazon.com, and I was actually expecting it on Friday. (A lot of times when you pre-order with them, you get it the day before.) Well, it didn’t come, and I was depressed. I checked on the website and they said it was coming via UPS, which was even more depressing because UPS doesn’t deliver on Saturdays. Then, when I went to check the mail on Saturday, I saw this white box that had been stuffed into our mailbox. I saw Amazon.com and then Harry Potter on the side. Well, I became like a little kid right then. I was about to squeal with joy. I ran to the front door. Once I got inside, I wanted to open it right away, but I had a letter from A&M’s financial aid department. I was brought back down to earth by that. After I was “through” with the letter, I opened the box. I didn’t get to start reading the book until later that evening because I had to work on the Heavenly Creatures fanlisting that also made me squeal with joy when I got the e-mail about it.
One of our guinea pigs, Albie, died yesterday. I found him and I was in tears last night. I kept blaming myself because I’d screwed up one of my routines on Saturday night, so I just “knew” that it had to be my fault that he died. On some level, I knew it wasn’t really my fault, but on another, I was absolutely convinced that I caused his death. It seems like whenever I screw up my routines, something bad happens. I forgot to pray for my maternal grandfather back in 1996, he died the next day. Then, I chose not to pray for my paternal grandfather (because I figured it wouldn’t matter if I did) later that year and he died the next day. I went around for years thinking I’d pretty much killed my grandfathers. I knew that I didn’t actually kill them, but I felt responsible for their deaths. So, I try really hard not to mess with any of my routines. Then, if I do mess up, I pray for forgiveness and that nothing bad will happen. Then, when something bad happens, I figure that I didn’t pray hard enough or I screwed up beyond repair. I know that it sounds crazy when I write it out, but it’s part of how my mind works. It’s part of what I deal with on a day-to-day basis.