A Week of Freaky

Yikes — a week without a blog post went by.  That’s what happens when you run away with Bono after last Wednesday’s epic U2 show.  Oh wait — that was only in my head.

Speaking of things I may or may not exaggerate in my head, let me tell you about a few recent oddities.

1)  Blackout Flashbacks/Panic

If you were in one of the 40-something states under extreme heat advisories last week, you know that it was the ugly side of summer.  Here in New Jersey, we had a brutal stretch of 100+ degree temperatures. 

I hate the heat.  It makes me cranky.  Because, at the end of the day, there is only so much clothing you can remove.  You know, without getting arrested. 

You know what else I hate?  A power outage during a heat wave.  Which is what happened last Friday afternoon.

At first I thought it would be quick.  Don’t ask me why.  Mainly because, I figured, it just had to be.  Because my house heating up to 93 degrees was totally unacceptable.  But there we were, an hour later, at 93 degrees inside.  And climbing. 

I started to have flashbacks to the massive blackout of August 2003.  The one when I had the good fortune of living in the last neighborhood in NYC to have power restored a day later.  The one when my block started to look like downtown Baghdad with looting and limited food.  When my sister and I sat in my sweltering fourth-story walk-up apartment with a transistor radio on our ears, just to understand what was going on. 

That one.

But the truth is that last Friday was nothing like the 2003 episode.  Because only eight houses on my block lost power (there’s that geographic luck again) and because I could load my family up in my air-conditioned car to drive around, go out to dinner and get ice cream.  It’s an SUV, so I figured we could live there for a while if need be. 

Blackouts make me dramatic, I guess.  And, as you may have guessed, it never became necessary to move into our SUV.  Five hours later, the AC was cranking inside again.

2)  The Bear

In the camp of more legitimate drama, I have this.  Last week, a bear cub made his way through the neighborhood before being captured.  We don’t live in a rural area and, frankly, I didn’t sign up for a town that comes with menacing animals.  So I was freaked out.  And promptly considered moving back to Manhattan, where the wildlife mainly consists of insane humans.

With the cub in captivity, everyone was relieved.  Except me.  Because all I could do in my paranoid head was wonder: “Where is the pissed off mother bear, looking for her cub?”

This was met with collective eye rolling. 

Until.

Last Sunday, we had my daughter’s birthday party with about 30 people in our back yard.  You know, because it was down to a chilly 92 degrees, and that was refreshing.  I’m on the lawn and I notice something out of the corner of my eye.

No, not a bear.

It looked like a massive black mushroom in the grass.  And I don’t want to get overly detailed here but the important information is that it was a giant pile of, uh, waste.  That did not come from a dog.  No way.

My husband also raised an eyebrow at this.  But we decided it wasn’t really backyard BBQ conversation, so we enjoyed the chill in the 92-degree air.

The next night, after a few cocktails with one of my dearest friends and her husband — who were visiting from out of town — we decided to re-open the mysterious case of the Unidentified Yard Poop.

At the risk of stating the obvious, Google really is magnificent.  How else do you go about identifying random piles of poop in your yard? I’ll spare you the images. 

You’re welcome.

And according to Google, it came from a bear. 

Holy shit.  {No pun intended}

A bear.  In. My. Yard.  Where my kids play.  Where my small dog, who can easily resemble an oversized kielbasa, hangs out. 

Why did we leave the city?  Oh, how I suddenly missed those oversized mutant urban rats.

So I called the local Animal Control office.  It went something like this.

“Hi, I had a bear in my yard.”

“You saw a bear?”

“No, but I have, uh, evidence of a bear in my  yard.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“A pile of waste.”

“How do you know it was from a bear?”

“Because Google said so.”

“Oh.  Right.  OK.  Well, thanks for calling and we’ll, uh, patrol that area a little more closely.  Let us know if you actually see a bear.”

They were clearly thankful for my research and diligence.

So now I’m holed up inside, in fear.  So the power better not go out again.

3)  Bride of Chucky Doll

It’s not nice to say bad things about gifts.  I know.  So call me mean.

I’m sure it was expensive and collectible and came from a place of love. It really is a thoughtful gift.

But this doll that my daughter received for her birthday.  It freaks me the hell out.

Is it just me?

She’s judging me, isn’t she?  She’s watching me.  I swear, she moves when I turn away for a moment.

And we’re stuck inside together.

Avoiding the bear. 

And hoping the power doesn’t go out again.