Oh, I forgot to tell ya'll I got attacked by nature this past weekend. This happens more than you may think, hence my total avoidance of nature. I mean, I love to appreciate the outdoors, mostly while watching the Travel Channel or looking at it from the safety of a climate-controlled vehicle. But to just turn me loose in nature is a bad, BAD idea. I may not return.

My family knows this. They have known me long enough to understand that nature is trying to kill me. I'm not sure when nature started hating me. Perhaps it was in the thriving metropolis of Comfort, Texas when I SWEAR to God I got bit by a snake on my pinkie toe. My bare feet were hanging over the side of a drainage ditch that my brother Guy and his friends were fishing in when suddenly OWWWWW and bloooood on my tooooeeee....

[Author's note: Yes, there are many things wrong with this scenario. File "fishing in drainage ditch" under "Stupid shit kids did in the '70s that should have killed us but didn't." The '70s were a different world, weren't they? We used to do things like ride bikes with other kids on the handlebars and we all thought it was just good, clean fun. ("Hey, ride me on the handlebars! Me! me!") And our parents were just slap happy to have us out of the house so they could discuss who shot J.R. or something.]

Anyway, my brother said I got bit on the pinkie toe by a snapping turtle, although I could have sworn it was a snake. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Waaaah I. got. bit amgonna DIEEEEE from a snake. (CRY CRY TEARS CRY)
Guy: It wasn't a snake, it was a snapping turtle! And if you tell mom I'm gonna throw you in there with him! So don't you dare tell!

To his credit, he and his friends did haul me back to the house (on the HANDLEBARS) and wash off my toe in the bathtub and put some Bactine a Band-Aid on it.

And while there is some debate in the family, I completely blame nature for the worst hair cut I ever had. We were in the car and I was chewing gum, and I meant to blow a bubble but the window was down and the wind -- which is the powerful and evil hand of Nature -- pulled the gum out of my mouth and deliberately, totally, into my hair.


At least I have an excuse for the bad hair.
From Left: Brian, Guy, me with bad haircut after gum incident


Or maybe nature was just testing me then but truly started hating me the summer my parents sent me off to summer camp. I LOVED summer camp. Except that on the third day of camp we had a nature walk to gather materials for a nature collage and all the materials I gathered happened to be poisonous, mainly poison oak, ivy and sumac. And I had poison ivy so bad it covered the inside of my ears, folks. No lie. And I missed the rest of summer camp because I was stuck in a bathtub full of Calamine lotion.

Or maybe it was the time nature froze my street and I broke my ankle on an ice puddle. Or the time nature gave me hives. I don't know what I did to nature, but it was apparently really, really bad. Because now nature wants me dead.

So, anyway, on Sunday I was sitting on my patio and I was smoking (Dad: I was reading great literature NOT smoking) and minding my own business and out of nowhere, completely unprovoked, a wasp attacked me. Nature stung the base of my neck and then went down the back of my shirt, where it bit me again and as I was pulling him out, he stung me on my hand. No lie.

Then I called Jennifer because she is my friiiieeennndd and will feel sorry for me.

Me: I just got stung by a wasp on my neck, twice, and on my hand and nature hates me and is trying to kill me.
Jen: Oh man, that sucks. Shouldn't you put something on it?
Me: Yeah! Like what?
Jen: Ummmm.... baking soda? Or powder? Or whatever it is you put in the fridge?
Me: Well, which one is it?
Jen: Well, which one do you have?
Me: Neither. Hey, I'm probably not allergic since I'm not dead yet? Right? Shouldn't my lungs be filling with fluid?
Jen: Definitely, the poison would have gone right to your brain.
(silence)
Jen: I just realized what I said. I'm probably not helping.
Me: You are the worst. friend. ever.
Jen: Maybe take some Tylenol? Or Ibuprofin?
Me: Isn't that what Tylenol is?
Jen: I don't know. So what are you going to do?
Me: I'm having a beer.
Jen: Ok, and take some Tylenol.
Me: I hate nature! Nature sucks! Nature can bite me!
Jen: And, in fact.... nature DID bite you. Ahahahahahahaha!
I really am a bad friend, I'm sorry. (Author's note: she did not sound sorry.)
Me: I hate you.


But apparently I am not allergic to wasps, since my lungs did not fill with fluid, even though the poison went STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN. About ten o'clock last night I finally remembered what you are supposed to put on bee/wasp/hornet stings ... apply meat tenderizer! (I don't know if this is actually true, but please don't email me to tell me otherwise since I was really astonishingly proud of myself for having thought of this.) So I made up a paste of meat tenderizer and put it on the back of my neck, and it smelled like steak marinating. My cats started sniffing around, which freaked me out, since if the poison did go straight to my brain, and I died, my cats would not even wait for the Meow Mix to run out before they started feasting on my well-seasoned cadaver. And then I felt sorry for myself because I had to sit still with MEAT TENDERIZER on my neck because nature hates me and my cats are going to eat my dead body before I even get to go out on a date and maybe contract clapotis if I am lucky.

I managed, at some point, to blame this entire situation on Mr. X. It's amazing isn't it, the restorative and healing power of BLAME? And my magical medicinal meat tenderizer worked, I guess, since my neck feels fine, even though the poison has gone STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN.

Because nature is trying to kill me. I swear.

Goodness, you ask such hard questions, Amie. :-) I will admit, I, too, do have a problem with men being overweight. Oh, a little overweight is fine - but extreme overweight is a problem.

Young guys are also a problem for me. I’m 43 and, for whatever reason, I seem to be attracting young men. Maybe it’s all the ‘older woman’ stereotypes. Who knows? At any rate, while it’s flattering, and does do definite wonders for my ego (shallow, I know), I just can’t do it.

One of the guys I met was this 28 year old, Italian guy. He was GORGEOUS. I mean, I felt all those fluttery things we write about and could stare at him for hours (but I didn’t - I do have pride, you know). Fantastic accent, had that European intensity thing (i.e., where you feel like you have 200% of the man’s attention - how rare is that? LOL - where he wants to know all about you because you are oh-so-interesting, etc.) that makes you feel special (and hard to distinguish the B.S. from the truth - LOL). But he was just so YOUNG - that youthful idealism, had just started his career, etc. And when I met some of his 20-something friends … OMG, I felt like a mom.

We only had one date, which was fun, like a trip down memory lane when I was in college, but I just can’t handle the age difference.