Not The Regular Post

Let's see if I can get through this. Punctuation, spelling and grammar can kiss my ass today.

Bipolar along with an anxiety disorder majorly sucks ass. Slept like hell last night and woke up in the middle of a full fledged panic attack. So fun , so fun.

It got so bad I had to call the psych's emergency line. I hate doing that I always feel like such a wuss. I should be able to handle it right? I mean with all that I've been through what's a little panic attack?

Well if you've never had one you're not so sure what's going on. The space around you closes in, your heart beats a thousand times a minute, you're shakey, I happen to throw up during them, that's always a fun little effect. And my vision closes to where I don't have any peripheral vision.

This it taking forever to write. I took two 10 mg valium and it wouldn't let up so I had to call the psych's emergency line. Seriously you feel like you're going to die.  She called me back ASAP and walked me though taking even more medication. Geodon and two 1mg xanex. Said I can take two more xanex over the next several hours.

I know this is boring as hell, but you know this blog is called "The Bipolar Diva" for a reason. Most of the time it's tolerable, times like today suck big time. She as me locked in my room for the day and totally medicated to the hilt. Everything is a blur.

Luckily I haven't had a panic attack in several years, not to this degree anyway. I'm locked in my room, I'm safe, the kids have the razors and all my meds except what the doctor ordered. She's making me eat apples and drink milk.......uh, major yucko since I hate both.

Guess bipolar isn't all fun and games. Sometimes it gets unbearable, like today. She told me to write. ok, what in the hell am I going to write when I have all this medication on board? Something totally incomprehensible?

Two more big doses xanex are in order and I think I'll be sleeping the day way.Today I could probably shoot up the xanex and would probably not bother me at all.

Ok, I'm rambling, I think anyway. I always think of Heath Ledger during time like this. I hate mixing my meds, especially at such high doses. I surely don't want to wake up dead.

Ok happy, normal people this seriously drugged up Diva is slurring. This is taking forever to write. I think I'll try to sleep.

Oh, and Auntie SuSu, I did confirm how much I can take without doing the Heath Ledger exit.

Damn it! I'm out of Tanqueray Ten and Tonic! Double damn!

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Great, Just Great

This was supposed to post last night! Oh well since I'm at a loss for words and recovering from a terrible xanex headach here goes


I'm sitting here trying to read blogs and answer comments on mine. I simply can't do it.

I was cooking dinner when a panic attack began to rear it's ugly head. It's been around 2 years since I last had a full blown panic attack. I have anxiety all the time, but panic attacks are rare luckily.

The attacks pretty much go hand in hand with bipolar but I've been able make it through some time without one. Tonight we got some news that pretty much rocked my world. We'll come through it somehow, not sure how at the moment, but we will come through it.

If you've never had a panic attack you're one very lucky individual. They make me feel like I'm dying. I can't breathe, my heart races, my chest hurts and the surroundings begin closing in. It's like being in a fun house without the fun.

So I left the dinner table, downed some medication and curled up on my bed until it began to wane. After it slowed I thought it would be soothing to try to read. Well, ativan, a double dose of xanex and reading don't go hand in hand.

So tonight I'm sleeping. It's 7:30 and I'm out for the night. I guess I'll schedule this to post late tonight since I've already posted once today. As for typos, grammar, spelling and all that shit...forgetta 'bout it, I am.

Night all,

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The Diva and the Crumb

It had been a long day filled with the usual Diva-ness, coffee, the gym a little shopping, plus assorted extras. Mid-way through the afternoon I began looking forward to my bed. I love my bed; I've spent a lot of money on it. Well, I've spent a lot of money on everything, but especially my bed. The way I see it my bedroom is a refuge from reality, a haven in the midst of havoc.

My husband's chosen career of a hand's on general contractor is a physically demanding and my job is, well, exhausting as well. At the end of the day there is nothing more wonderful than closing the big wooden double doors of the master suite, shutting out the world and climbing into the enveloping comfort of 1200 thread-count sheets atop a plush pillow top mattress.


Every morning I carefully make and arrange the bedding on the tufted leather sleigh bed in preparation for the evening's cocooning. We only use king sized flat sheets on the beds in our home, especially on mine. None of that fitted crap on my bed. I hate the way they never fit the mattress and continually work their way off and create bothersome creases and unneeded distractions. Three sheets in all go on; one covering the mattress pad to sleep on, and two more, one on each side of a matelasse quilt. Each morning I remove all of the sheets and the quilt and shake out any little irritants that may have made their way into the sheets over night. You never know what a yorkie or a construction working husband may have fall off of them in the middle of the night. Any foreign material in my bed is strictly prohibited, after all Divas have extremely sensitive skin, remember the Princess and the Pea? So think of that squared.


After the sheets have been shaken and the first two replaced, the quilt is put in place followed by the third sheet. Then the two top sheets and the quilt are folded over and smoothed down revealing the top one third of the bottom sheet. Four pillows are then neatly stacked one on another and arranged on each side of the bed and a down comforter is folded and positioned over the bottom third of the mattress. It's beautiful, refreshing and relaxing just to see.


On this day I was particularly looking forward to my bed. I was drained. Every muscle in my body ached, my joints were stiff and I just wanted to lie in peace and luxuriate in comfort. I made it into the shower and lathered the grime of the day off of me and down the drain. I shampooed my hair and scrubbed my face free of any trace of makeup. I stepped from the steamy shower, my mind continued to focus on my bed. I couldn't wait to smooth lotion on to my still damp body and climb between the sheets. I wasn't sure I could make it; my body ached more with every movement. I was so focused on getting into bed that I didn't recognize the symptoms of a virus beginning to attack my system.


I grabbed the short, white, terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around my freshly cleaned and moisturized skin. I opened the door leading to the bedroom and there it was, my nirvana.


I pulled off my robe and dropped it at the foot of the bed and pulled back the silken sheets. I sat on the side of the bed, took in a deep breath to blow the day away and eased my body back into the awaiting paradise. I carefully pulled the sheets up around my bare skin and fell back into the welcoming stack of pillows. I sank down surrounded by the softness of cotton and down. That feeling was worth every charge on my credit card.


Only seconds after burrowing in and finding the perfect position I felt it. Just when I though the day was over.


My eyes sprang open.


You have got to be FREAKING kidding me!


There was something in my bed, something small and annoying. I wasn't going to be able to sleep until it was out, but I hurt too badly and was too weary to get out and re-make the entire bed. I couldn't even muster the strength to call for help. Like anyone would help me. Kids can't get it, I'm naked and if I have to get up and put something on I might as well shake out the friggin' bed myself. Jeff won't help. He's laughed at me for twenty three years and loves to brush crumbs, real or imagined, over onto my side of the bed. He's figured out that it's one of my little pieces of craziness.


Shit.


Maybe if I move my legs around I can get it away from me. Maybe I can maneuver it over to Jeff's side, he has skin like an elephant, and he'll never know it's there. So with my left leg I try to brush it over. Wasn't working. Maybe I could grab it with my fingers and flick it somewhere, who cares where, as long as it's no longer in my bed. Couldn't get it. Little bastard seems to have a mind of its own and it had no idea who it was up against, then again, maybe it did.


Perhaps I could ignore it. I turned over on my right side and scoonched a few inches closer to the right edge of the bed. Either it followed me or it was multiplying. Suddenly I realized that I was going to be done in by a crumb, a miniscule piece of annoyance. It was going to win. I was going to lose.


Out of frustration I began to frantically kick at the sheets, I was going to have to re-do them anyway. Pillows were flying and arms and legs thrashing about wildly. In the midst of my convulsive naked tantrum the bedroom door cracked opened. I looked up frozen in a panic-like state as my husband stood staring at me. He had this look on his face that suggested that he was just about to call the men with the white coats and butterfly nets.


"What in the hell are you doing?"

For my husband to use language like that it's got to be something severe, for me it seems a daily ocurrence.


"There are crumbs in my bed!"


It must have been a pitiful site. I knew he was going to think I was a complete loon. It was just a crumb. I began crying. I couldn't even look at him. There I was, flailing around, screaming and crying over a couple of crumbs in my bed. If that wasn't Diva-like behavior, I wasn't sure what was.


To my surprise, he didn't laugh. His look of shock turned into a knowing smile as he picked up my robe and wrapped it around my shaking skin. He told me to sit in the chair and he began to shakeout and re-make my bed. I did see him shake his head a time or two, but he never said anything. When he completed his task he pulled back the covers, and motioned for me to get into the bed. I crept back over, he removed my robe and I climbed into my now crumb free bed. Jeff pulled the covers up, tucked me in and gave me kiss along with a xanex.


He turned the lights down low and quietly closed the door as he left. It was then I heard "You kids will never guess what just happened!"


Oh well, I turned over, burrowed in again and slept in comfort.

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Would Sunscreen or an Oar Make A Better Weapon?

I alluded to the topic of this post on Facebook. I’m just now getting around to it since I’m STILL trying to learn my new Mac. Well that, and the fact that with all of the heathen kids we have the odds of something traumatic, dramatic and/or chaotic happening is more than a mere possibility. It’s a probability.

Last week I posted a vlog of my trip to the river with some of the afore mentioned heathen kids. It was a lot of fun. It took us about five hours to make the float from the jumping in spot to the falling out, Lewis and Clark trail, water bottle dropping, lost in the woods, needing Sacajawea, never listening to Karli’s directions again spot. 

This last weekend I had the brilliant idea of floating the river with my stressed husband. I thought it would be a nice relaxing time for him to forget about work, money, the kids and enjoy the beautiful Clackamas River. Being a Diva and all, my ideas are usually spot on. Or maybe that’s my bipolar talking and my ideas really suck. 

Jeff came home from church Sunday morning while I was at Starbucks. He began filling the rafts with air. When I pulled into the driveway and saw that he was home I scurried down to Rite-Aid to get a waterproof beach bag, some water and snacks. I was waiting in line to get a prescription filled when my phone rang. 

“Teri?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“Uh, Rite-Aid, like I told you.” I admit that question caused me to begin to get a wee bit of Diva attitude.

“The raft has a hole in it.”

“So, there are four more.” More Diva emerged.

“Well I thought you should know.”

By now I’m a little more than irritated. He knew where I was. There were other rafts that could have been filled while he was calling to tell me the first one had a hole!

I got home, we packed up and took off to drop my car at the landing spot. This is where I’m going to bullet form since I’m not really sure how to link this all together.

• Dropped off my car.
• Drive about 10 miles to drop off the truck and get to the boat ramp. 
• Sheriff at boat ramp issuing citation after citation for alcohol, no life vests and no whistles. 
• We have none of the above. 
• I try to get my not so happy husband to move it and get in the river before the river cops get us. I was NOT going to drive 10 miles back to get my car and go home with Grouchy.
• I get in the raft and Jeff pushes me out into the current. 
• Jeff jumps in water to hop in raft.
• Jeff screams.

 “Why didn’t you tell me the water was this cold?”

My bubble thought ( I have LOTS of bubble thoughts in my life) “Uh, we live in freaking Oregon. Have you EVER heard of snow melt?” My actual words “It’ll warm up. It’s not bad at all.”

• We paddle more into the current.
• We hit rapids, Jeff hits butt on huge boulder and freaks out. 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me there were boulders in the river?”

My bubble thought “Are you an idiot? Look around. There are boulders everywhere! It’s a R I V E R.” I actually said “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I’ll keep a look out”

• Jeff paddles like he’s in an Olympic race.
• We’re speeding ahead of all of the relaxed floaters that are ENJOYING the ride.
• We hit rapids again. 
• Jeff hits butt a second time.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! If I get hit again I’m out!”

Time for another bubble thought “Great! I left my xanex in the car! Idiot!” (thought in Napoleon Dynamite style)

• I look at him and wonder where the heck he thinks we’re going to get out. I mean which cliff of boulders looks the easiest to climb?
• He calms down and we float for what must have been 2 minutes.
• Jeff begins paddling again.

Jeff asks “Why didn’t you tell me that I was going to have to work so hard?”

I respond “The kids and I floated the entire way with no paddles. Just relax. We’ll be fine.” My bubble thought “I’m about to rip that damn oar out of your hand and hit you in the head with it if you don’t stop being a baby!”

• I finally realize that we’re going to make a 4 hour float in about 15 minutes.
• Jeff’s sweating it up paddling away. I mean, who the heck are we racing?
• We hit a HUGE rock shaped like a chair. Jeff gets dropped in it in a way that we’re not getting out any time soon. 
• We think about situation.
• I suggest that if he would come over to my side of the raft his side would lift off of the rock.
• It works and he paddles away. Another brilliant Diva idea, thank you very much!
• I thought I saw a huge hawk, but it was a blur since we were making the NAS-boat tour. Kinda like he takes us to look at Christmas lights: leave house, zoom, back home in 10 minutes flat.
• Hit rapids and raft fills with water.
• Jeff wants to know how we’re going to get the water out of the raft.
• I stare and wonder if he realizes that we’re on a RIVER.
• He begins scooping water out with his hands and asks why I didn’t bring a cup. 
• I stare at him.
• When he’s satisfied enough water is out of the raft he relaxes. 
• I take a couple of pictures. 
• We hit rapids and raft fills with water. Hello? We’re on a RIVER!
• We stop on a beach to empty the raft of water. By this time the spray sunscreen can is once again looking like a weapon to me.
• I open the waterproof bag to get my camera.
• Camera was immersed in water. It’s ruined. Bipolar thought "Oh darn, I guess I'll have to go shopping!"
• Back on the river. 
• Hit and get stuck on log. 
• Fat kid that has a crappy pool float comes to the rescue. 
• Jeff is able to jump out and help Fat kid free us from the fallen tree.
• Fat kid jumps on our raft filling the raft with water. 
• We take Fat kid to deeper water so his little, lime green floaty will work.
• Jeff tells me that he’s tired from paddling.
• I tell him he never has to come with me again.
• He tells me he’s having a great time. 
• I think “Uh huh. Glad one of us is.”
• Get to the landing spot. 
• Get out, deflate, roll up and he asks for my car keys. 
• I stare at him.
• He asks again.
• I stare more.

“Teri tell me you have your keys.”

“Uh, I left them in your truck.”

“You left them in my truck TEN miles away?”

“Sorry.”

“Teri, where’s your cell phone?”

“That was a really stupid question. You think I brought MY cell phone on the river?”

“Go borrow a cell phone.”

• Find family and ask to borrow cell phone. 
• Family makes a big deal about it but lets me use it. 
• No child will answer.
• I leave several “Nazi” mom messages.
• Finally get a kid who calls a kid that calls another kid.
• Wait in hot parking lot for an hour.
• Kid shows up. We pick up both cars.
• We’re hungry.
• We stop at little biker bar that has 3 tacos for 3 dollars. 
• No tables. We sit at bar watching new bartender learn how to make drinks.
• Girl pushes wrong button on whatever that thing is called and squirts cranberry juice instead of coke into a Long Island Iced Tea. 
• She says customer won’t notice. 
• Bartender puts straw in drink, puts her finger over the top to hold some of the drink in straw.
• Removes straw and puts it IN her MOUTH to taste drink. 
• She puts the saliva covered straw back in drink and serves it to customer.
• I gag. Jeff stares. 
• She tells customer it’s supposed to be red. 
• He’s so drunk he doesn’t care and downs the drink.
• I order iced tea in a can.
• Jeff orders beer in a can.
• I begin thinking of how to post this.

Now you know how relaxing and fun our weekend was. 

I think that the moral of this story is to give husband a crushed xanax in his coffee before venturing out on any “relaxing” days.

I LOVE this picture! It came from the broken camera.

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Crumbs

It had been a long day filled with the usual Diva-ness, coffee, the gym a little shopping, plus assorted extras. Mid-way through the afternoon I began looking forward to my bed. I love my bed; I've spent a lot of money on it. Well, I spend a lot of money on everything, but especially my bed. The way I see it my bedroom is a refuge from reality, a haven in the midst of havoc. My husband's chosen career of a hand's on general contractor is a physically demanding and my job is, well, exhausting as well. At the end of the day there is nothing more wonderful than closing the big wooden double doors of the master suite, shutting out the world and climbing into the enveloping comfort of 1200 thread-count sheets atop a plush pillow top mattress.

Every morning I carefully make and arrange the bedding on the tufted leather sleigh bed in preparation for the evening's cocooning. We only use king sized flat sheets on the beds in our home, especially on mine. None of that fitted crap on my bed. I hate the way they never fit the mattress and continually work their way off and create bothersome creases and un-needed distractions. Three sheets in all go on; one covering the mattress pad to sleep on, and two more, one on each side of a matelasse quilt. Each morning I remove all of the sheets and the quilt and shake out any little irritants that may have made their way into the sheets over night. You never know what a standard sized poodle or a construction working husband may have fall off of them in the middle of the night. Any foreign material in my bed is strictly prohibited, after all Divas have extremely sensitive skin, remember the Princess and the Pea? So think of that squared.

After the sheets have been shaken and the first two replaced, the quilt is put in place followed by the third sheet. Then the two top sheets and the quilt are folded over and smoothed down revealing the top one third of the bottom sheet. Four pillows are then neatly stacked one on another and arranged on each side of the bed and a down comforter is folded and positioned over the bottom third of the mattress. It's beautiful, refreshing and relaxing just to see.

On this day I was particularly looking forward to my bed. I was drained. Every muscle in my body ached, my joints were stiff and I just wanted to lie in peace and luxuriate in comfort. I made it into the shower and lathered the grime of the day off of me and down the drain. I shampooed my hair and scrubbed my face free of any trace of makeup. I stepped from the steamy shower, my mind continued to focus on my bed. I couldn't wait to smooth lotion on to my still damp body and climb between the sheets. I wasn't sure I could make it; my body ached more with every movement. I was so focused on getting into bed that I didn't recognize the symptoms of a virus beginning to attack my system.

I grabbed the short, white, terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around my freshly cleaned and moisturized skin. I opened the door leading to the bedroom and there it was, my nirvana.

I pulled off my robe and dropped it at the foot of the bed and pulled back the silken sheets. I sat on the side of the bed, took in a deep breath to blow the day away and eased my body back into the awaiting paradise. I carefully pulled the sheets up around my bare skin and fell back into the welcoming stack of pillows. I sank down surrounded by the softness of cotton and down. That feeling was worth every charge on my credit card.

Only seconds after burrowing in and finding the perfect position I felt it. Just when I though the day was over.

My eyes sprang open.

You have got to be FREAKING kidding me!

There was something in my bed, something small and annoying. I wasn't going to be able to sleep until it was out, but I hurt too badly and was too weary to get out and re-make the entire bed. I couldn't even muster the strength to call for help. Like anyone would help me. Kids can't get it, I'm naked and if I have to get up and put something on I might as well shake out the friggin' bed myself. Jeff won't help. He's laughed at me for twenty years and loves to brush crumbs, real or imaginary, over onto my side of the bed. He's figured out that it's one of my little pieces of craziness.

Shit.

Maybe if I move my legs around I can get it away from me. Maybe I can maneuver it over to Jeff's side, he has skin like an elephant, and he'll never know it's there. So with my left leg I try to brush it over. Wasn't working. Maybe I could grab it with my fingers and flick it somewhere, who cares where, as long as it's no longer in my bed. Couldn't get it. Little bastard seems to have a mind of its own and it had no idea who it was up against, then again, maybe it did.

Perhaps I could ignore it. I turned over on my right side and scoonched a few inches closer to the right side of the bed. Either it followed me or it was multiplying. Suddenly I realized that I was going to be done in by a crumb, a miniscule piece of annoyance. It was going to win. I was going to lose.

Out of frustration I began to frantically kick at the sheets, I was going to have to re- do them anyway. Pillows were flying and arms and legs thrashing wildly . In midst of my convulsive naked tantrum the bedroom door cracked opened. I looked up frozen in a panic-like state as my husband stood staring at me. He had this look on his face that suggested that he was just about to call the men with the white coats and butterfly nets.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"There are crumbs in my bed!"

It must have been a pitiful site. I knew he was going to think I was a complete loon. It was just a crumb. I began crying. I couldn't even look at him. There I was flailing around, screaming and crying over a couple of crumbs in my bed. If that wasn't Diva-like behavior, I wasn't sure what was.

To my surprise, he didn't laugh. His look of shock turned into a knowing smile as he picked up my robe and wrapped it around my shaking skin. He told me to sit in the chair and he began to shakeout and re-make my bed. I did see him shake his head a time or two, but he never said anything. When he completed his task he pulled back the covers, and motioned for me to get into the bed. I crept back over, he removed my robe and I climbed into my now crumb free bed. Jeff pulled the covers up, tucked me in and gave me kiss along with a xanex.

He turned the lights down low and quietly closed the door as he left. It was then I heard "You kids will never guess what just happened!"

Oh well, I turned over, burrowed in again and slept in comfort.

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Handguns, Troopers and Assholes

We had left the camp in Southern Oregon from vacation with the kids a few hours earlier. The weather was perfect with blue skies and warm temperatures. We were heading north on I-5 when I noticed the silver Tahoe in my rear view mirror. I had seen it earlier in front of me and had remembered it because of its vanity plate OLD 32. I hadn't realized I had passed it but evidentially he did; he was tailgating me. I changed lanes from the fast lane to the left to the middle lane. So did he. I thought that was a little weird but didn't think much of it. My 11 year old son, my 8 year old grandson and I were singing to "When You're Good to Mama" by Queen Latifah so I just kept driving, singing and having fun with my boys. We were practicing for the family talent show that had been postponed during vacation until Thanksgiving. We pretty much sucked so we needed all of the practice we could get.
A few miles and several song repetitions later I saw that the Tahoe. It was dangerously close to me yet again, so we changed lanes, and as before, he followed us. Ok now, this guy was messing with me. I picked up my cell and called my daughter, Karli. I told her what was going on and that I was going to speed it up and try to lose this loser. I pushed cancel on the touch screen phone and stepped on the gas. We lost the freak, or so I thought. A few minutes later, there he was right behind us again.
Surely I was being paranoid. I changed lanes this time into the slow lane to the far right so jerk-off could pass. He changed lanes right behind me. Ok, now I was getting freaked. I was about 50 miles from home and this ass has been following me for about twenty miles so far. Jeff was no help; he was on his Harley with no way to get a hold of him. It was just me, Joshua (the kid with autism), Jakob (the human superball) and Jeremiah (the flat footed kid that can't run) and the Tahoe from Hell. Millions of things were going through my head; Karli's stalker, my motorcycle accident, and even that movie about a killer truck. Yeah, I had pretty much lost my mind.
I tried to ignore this brainless freak, but he had me scared. I don't frighten easily, but this guy had accomplished his mission. I was panicked. I asked Joshua to hand me my purse that was at his feet in the passenger side of my Mercedes. He handed me the tan leather bag, I reached in and pulled out my .38 Taurus from the bottom of the Coach purse. The handgun had been my mom's and my brothers had given it to me after my dad died last September. It's the one I keep loaded with hollow points and in my car at all times, ever since that homeless guy tried to get in the Jaguar with me at the 7-11 months before. I carefully put it on the dash so if Tahoe Dude got near me he could see I was armed and hopefully he would back off.
When we got to the Wilsonville exit, about 25 miles from my home, traffic slowed to a stop. Great, just freaking great! There was no one beside of me and scary Tahoe dude switched to the middle lane and I could see him slowly inch his way beside my car. Out of the side of my eye I could see the hood of the Tahoe beside my window. I cranked up the CD, closed the sunroof and looked straight ahead. Then Mr. Brainiac was right beside me and screaming. Joshua looked over with this look of sheer panic and I told him to look away and ignore this freak. I glanced over at the Tahoe Terror and grabbed my handgun off of the dash and took it out of the holster. I then made sure he saw it as I put it in my lap. The Tahoe sped away and off at the Wilsonville exit. I grabbed up the iPhone and tried, yes tried, to call 911. The damn phone wouldn't work. It was like every nightmare I had ever had. The phone never works or they put me on hold. Both of those happened that exciting day. When I did get through to 911, they routed me through "push number one for fire", "do this for that", and at the end of the long menu the recording said to say "Help" if you needed help. So I pay tax dollars to put on hold only to find out I could have said help at the beginning of the recording. When I get through I get the Clackamas Police only to find out that I needed to be transferred to the Oregon State Police. Ok, I'm feeling really safe now. When I was finally routed to the correct person I got out the license plate of the Crazed Chevy before the call was dropped. By this time I was shaking so frantically that I couldn't hold the phone to call back. I threw the phone at Joshua and told him to call 911. After several attempts the call went through. I was connected to a woman dispatcher and told her what was going on. She asked me what vehicle I was driving and I told her it was a silver Mercedes. The tone of her voice told me that they already knew of me.
"Ma'am, can you hold on for a moment?"
What is this the damned DMV? I have a maniac following me and I'm being put on hold again!
"Ma'am, is a trooper pulling you over right now?"
"Yes, thank God!"
I dropped the phone and put the windows down. I could see the trooper approach my car as if we were on COPS.
"HANDS IN THE AIR! NOW!"
"Oh, I'm screwed, " I thought.
"NOW! IN THE AIR"
"Ok, Ok, they're in the air"
"Ma'am, can you step out of the car?"
Now I was crying. Not because I was of the trooper, but because I knew we were safe. Not only was I crying, I was about to puke. I was shaking so badly that I had a difficult time moving to the front of the car as the trooper was instructing me to do. I kept stopping and he kept telling me to move to the front of the car. I finally made it and sat on the guardrail. He told me that a driver, Mr. Meathead, had called in some crazy lady waving a gun in a Mercedes. Holy crap, I was going to jail!
I explained that I have a CHP, a concealed handgun permit, and that my gun was in my purse. The trooper got the gun out of my purse, checked it out and returned it, loaded, to my floorboard. He came back around the front of my car and said "Nice weapon, that's the same one my wife carries".
Oh God, I'm not going to jail, it's going to be ok. I explained to him what had happened and how afraid we had been and then promptly threw up over the guard rail. He assured me that I was ok and that he believed the other driver to be the instigator. He had Tahoe Terror's information and was going to be making a visit to his house to tell him that he had chosen the wrong car to mess with. The trooper then told me that since I was in fear for my life and the lives of my children the man should have realized that I could have killed him and would have been protected under Oregon law.
About that time, Michael and Nikki drove by seeing their mom stopped by two state troopers. The looks on their faces were priceless. I was just relieved that I wasn't going to end up dead or in jail.
Looking back on the entire incident the only thing I can think of that I could have done to piss off Tahoe Dude was when I was watching a motorcycle that looked as it were going to swerve into my lane. Sure enough it did and I had to swerve to keep from hitting and killing him. Sorry Tahoe, get a life and watch what's going on around you, and maybe try taking a Xanex.

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