Stuff in my Life OR the Rant of Fat Woman Returns

I'm not sure where to begin.

Oh, yes I am.

HIM, otherwise known as my husband, and also sometimes known as Pain in the Ass Man, (and not in a good way), went to the doctor a little while back.  Why you might ask.  HIM had a pinched nerve.  Normally I would be compassionate and sympathetic, having had pinched nerves before, but, but but...  Okay, I call him on his cell phone to see how it's going at the doctor's office and HIM says, "Well, the doctor is concerned that my spine is weird and he's giving me an X-ray, and making recommendations for specialists and some other stuff."  HIM comes home with all these special instructions and medication up the hoo-ha.  (There's enough muscle relaxers to take out a small country.  Also I think they wrapped him in bubble wrap, but he took it off before he came inside the house.)  So what is the problem?

I went to the same exact doctor last year.  SAME EXACT DOCTOR.  Yes.  With a pinched nerve.  Do you know what I got?

HIM: "I have a pinched nerve booboo."  "OMG!  Mr. Bevill, let us massage your neck muscles!  Let us take an X-ray!  Would you like to rest and relax while we call an ambulance to take you to the next room over?  Would you like a margarita?  That nurse's name is Pinchy Cheeks Mary and she's very good at patient relaxation techniques!  Have some drugs!  Have some more drugs!"

How the Medical Doctor interprets
where the male patient points.

Me: "I have a pinched nerve booboo."  "Whateveh.  Do some back exercises.  Take some ibuprofen.  Loose some weight.  Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

How the Medical Doctor interprets
where the female patient points.

Really.  The only good thing is that now I have HIM's extra muscle relaxers so that I can take some the next time that nerve in my back decides to go all hinky.

Subject change: The evil perpetrating raccoon in our back yard has been captured and put into the Raccoon Relocation Program.  (HIM came up with that one.)  The problem: there's at least one more hanging out back.  They know where the bird feeder is and they're not afraid to unscrew the top to get to the seeds inside.  Dammit.

So we got a humane trap and caught one.  It was relocated to a safe spot where it could roam, and steal, and cavort to its little heart's content.  Happily I put the bird seed back out.  The next day there were little raccoon footprints all over the place and an empty bird feeder.  (I swear I heard evil raccoon laughter coming from the woods.  Bwa-ha-ha-ha!)

It looked like this except ALL OVER EVERY PART of the deck.
The only good part was that the coon could not open the bear proof garbage can with
the bird seed inside.  I was mildly surprised that the coons
hadn't carted the garbage can down the stairs and rolled
it out into the woods.

I am certain that raccoon number 1 did not hitch a ride back from the wilderness sanctuary where he/she/it was deposited some twenty miles away, so guess what, we have more than one.

The next day we catch the other one.  He's transported to where the first one went.  We read the Wikipedia entry in detail, hoping that the author is a real animal specialist.  Turns out sometimes they live in groups of up to four.  (The raccoons, not the animal specialists in case some of you were wondering.)  Glorioski.

Pretty sure this one is watching from the woods out back,
planning how to get us back.  Pret sure.

And I thought we would just put the cage out there, throw bird seed in it, and voila.  Problem solved.  Haha.  Nothing is ever that easy.

Now my back hurts from carrying the cage around.  Maybe it's a pinched nerve.  I could take the raccoon to the doctor with me.

Oh I know, it didn't really fit the theme, but I feel guilty about
transporting the raccoons away from their home and I laughed.