Candy Rant

"I killed a rat with a stick once."

Thursday, September 20, 2007

The Soothing Sounds of Phoenix in the Evening

To try to survive the piercing trauma of my 5:00 a.m. alarm, I hit the hay last night at 10:30. I was scrunched up in my brain, in that place where I ricochet back and forth from trying to remember what I forgot to buy at Target, to memories of puking up corn on my suede boots when I was 7. I could not relax. It was time to take something very mild to help me sleep. You don't want no big mean-ass sleeping pill when you have only 6 hours to sleep it off. I opted for a Tylenol PM.

A gulp of juice and pill later, I was back in bed. Relax. Reeeelaaaaaax. Hold reeeeeeealllly still. (The same words spoken to me in the wee hours on prom night.)

Almost asleep.

Then, the giant angry nuclear powered mosquito from the banks of the lava-filled rivers of hell, which is also known as the police helicopter, comes zooming over the house, close enough to the roof to suck shingles up into the blades. My spinal cord melts from my body, soaks into the mattress, and my brain catches fire like a crackly page from On the Road in an opium den. I try to calm down. The helicopter will be gone soon, I tell myself. Soon enough to let me have my 6 hours of luscious sleep. Five full minutes pass. The helicopter is still growling over the roof, swooping to and fro, and making my blood pressure shoot up like one of those things at the carnival, the tall thing that you hit with a sledgehammer to make the bell ring at the top.

I get up on the bed, push aside the curtain and crack open the blinds and I see the helicopter's razor-sharp searchlight making rapid sweeps over a 2-block circle of Phoenix. A circle I just happen to be in the middle of, along with, perhaps, a "Cops" regular fleeing the scene in baggy culotte-like denim shorts and untied high-tops and no shirt. The perfect garb for appearing on camera, face down in the dirt while being handcuffed and yelling "I dint do nothin', man! Sh*t man, what the f*ck you gotta be puttin' the bracelets on for?"

As my rheumy, drugged eyeballs try to follow the searchlight like a dog concentrating on the owner's Milkbone-grasping hand, I say to Scott "Who the HELL could sleep through this?" Apparently he can.
But if Candy can't sleep, nobody does. So I rouse the cat, too, hold him to the window, stick his perplexed face through the blinds. "See? See the big light out there, Hankie?"

This cat needs his sleep more than I do. He will be 20 years old in March, and unless he gets his crucial 23 and a half hours a day of sleep, that waking half hour is murder on him mommy and daddy. And yes, I did write "him" mommy and daddy. It happens to be baby talk, which I indulge in many times a day with Hankie. "Oh look, him is eating chickie from him widdle bowl." By the time Scott stops puking at such a velocity that there are new indentations on the drywall, I have shifted to "Him is a good kitty," and praising him for finishing the carefully selected bites of chicken breast I had artfully arranged on him widdle dish.

The helicopter finally gives up its search, probably because the culprit has hidden in our tiny pool bathroom and is doing despicable things to our styrofoam swim noodles. Tomorrow I will pose him next to a quarter, and he will go the way of Lizzie.

19 Comments:

  • At 9:17 AM, Anonymous futuresis said…

    Ahhhh....the Phoenix metro area at night. How I miss the screeching tires, sirens, police helicopters, the alarm from the nearby middle school blasting through the night air because of yet another break-in. And I miss the big search light lighting up my back yard. The thrill of living on the edge--wondering if your door was going to be the next one to get kicked in. Then, climbing out of bed with your heart pumping to look for a baseball bat--just in case. Then what was that? Did I hear something in the back yard? On the side of the house? Perhaps someone was trying to break in through the thinly stuccoed chicken wire and styrofoam that served as my exterior wall! After that adrenaline high, I always slept like a baby. For about 14 minutes.

    I hope your styrofoam noodles are OK. That bathroom really would make a good hideout. Next thing you know, some thug will be running a meth lab in there!

     
  • At 10:16 AM, Anonymous Scott P said…

    I like to sing the M*A*S*H theme to myself to lull myself to sleep. Over and over and over.

     
  • At 10:32 AM, Blogger prairie biker said…

    shingles huh? I totally figured Scott for the terra cotta tile type.

     
  • At 10:53 AM, Anonymous futuresis said…

    HAHAHAHAHA! I didn't think of humming the M*A*S*H theme song! That's hilarious!!!!! I'm going to be chuckling all day about that one :-)

     
  • At 12:05 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Futuresis, Scott used to hum the MASH theme to me on the phone every night when I was in the midwest and he was here. Because almost every night there was an attack of helicopters. And it was ALWAYS at 10 p.m. We never knew why. Did the PO-LICE have an appt. every night with a car thief or what?

     
  • At 12:06 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    PB, Scott is FULL of surprises. I also kind of thought he'd have running water and indoor plumbing!

     
  • At 3:17 PM, Blogger Domhan said…

    No HWHAY! I took a Tylenol PM the other night, too! And I took mine to fall asleep, too! 'Cept I took mine at 10:00pm.

    I think Scott's choice of the M*A*S*H theme song is much better than the two that have been running through my head during my insomniac extraordinaire nights: "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy" by the 1910 Fruit Gum Company and the Jetson's theme song, where every phrase sounds punctuated with an exclamation mark. "Meet George Jetson! Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut...DaladaladalaDUT! His boy Elroy! Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut, Da-dut-dut...!"

    Yep. Tonight I'll definitely try humming a song that's not so stimulating. Nor as obnoxious.

     
  • At 4:30 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Domhan, how is it that you and I are always in rehab for the same drug at the same time. By the way, isn't it cool that we have a room next to that girl L. Lohan? She is, like, such a bitch.

    Speaking of celebrity skanks, of late I have been plagued with getting Britney Spears's masterpiece "Oops! I Did It Again" caught in my brainpan. This is just like chewing aluminum foil.

     
  • At 6:35 PM, Blogger Ana Martin said…

    What's the song from Apocalypse Now?

     
  • At 7:39 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Ha! "The Ride of the Valkyries." And I think there's also an Elmer Fudd "Kill da wabbit" version, ain't there?

     
  • At 10:57 PM, Blogger Jerry said…

    I envy you guys having all the fun in America's urban hell--which basically means any urban area in America.

    Living in the US is like living in a war zone. Even out here in the country, I sleep with a Glock by the bed just in case of the random home invasion by some drug crazed meth head.

    I have friends in London who walk home from the pub 2 miles from Notting Hill to Kensington by themselves in complete comfort. What would it be like to live without having to be constantly obsessed with security?

    And, too bad I can fall asleep having drank a six pack, smoked some reefer, ate a quart of ice cream. Now it's a more dignified glass of milk and half an Ambien.

    Matter of a fact, the reason I'm on the computer right now is because I couldn't sleep so I got up to take half a pill and drink some milk--hoping for a few minutes of sleep before I have to get up to pee again (three times a night after you pass 60).

    Nighty night.

     
  • At 11:21 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    "What would it be like to live without having to be constantly obsessed with security?"

    You have just, very succinctly, summed up my Big Life Question.

    There really IS no other question. For people like me who vibrate with neuroses.

    Oh, and by the way, I'm not over 60, and I pee 3 times a night. On a good night.

    Good night.

     
  • At 1:25 PM, Blogger Citlali said…

    lol. I'm having images of you as Bill the Cat and that poor, unsuspecting runaway criminal in a scratchy horror movie where he ends up some Candyfied version of a Lizzie doll... Ooooff. I got chills. = ]

    ps: I can't sleep w/o my Hearos earplugs AND sometimes a hot bath AND maybe even some Valerian Root capsules. Yep -- all depends on my level of jitteriness. I totally get where you're coming from... = ]

     
  • At 1:27 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Valerian Root is next on my list of things to try. That and perhaps an anvil falling on my head.

     
  • At 2:54 PM, Blogger ian said…

    I can walk through my hood at night ... with my dog. Just get yourself a scary looking (but sweet as can be) dog and all your worries will be gone. I mean, I live in DETROIT. Murders have happened w/in a 12 block radius. Yet, the brothers cross the street when they pass my house - even when she's obviously inside.

     
  • At 3:02 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Ian, sounds like you've got some street smarts I can use.
    I take my 19 and a half year old skinny cat out in the back yard on a leash every couple of days. I'm thinkin' it won't have the same effect.

     
  • At 7:03 PM, Anonymous futuresis said…

    I'll buy Hankie a leather kitty biker jacket. That will keep the bad guys away!

     
  • At 2:12 PM, Anonymous oneavid said…

    Candy! If you have to pee three times a night, does that mean your diabetes is not under control?

    Get thee to the doctor and heal thyself!

    If it is for some other reason, I apologize. (If not, your Mom owes me a check for nagging you in her place)

     
  • At 2:23 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Oh good God, oneavid. It ain't the blood sugar, it's the massive collection of electrified Slinkys inside my head. I dream hellaciously vivid dreams, they wake me up, and apparently the excitement of the plot sends a Slinky or 2 downward to pound on my bladder.

    So far I'm still "prediabetic" but just by a slight margin. Hopefully the brand new elliptical coming today will help. I can get on that while I eat my Butterfingers.

    But thanks for the nag. I'll have my mom pony up the dough.

     

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