Infinitely Spacious Nutshell

Pictionary hates me

2012-02-08T14:59:00.000-08:00

I was up all night playing a stupid video game. Thefollowing morning, 11am ish, I get up and take Andy dog out to the yard so hecan go to the bathroom.

I’m squinting in the sunlight, when one of ourlandlords walks up and starts talking to me. She invites me over to hang out with otherladies and learn Spanish, she said something about carnitas.

They’re sweet ladies and are always inviting me to do things with them.I always decline, I’m not terribly social, but I don't want to be rude. In my pre coffee delirium Isay yes.

I show up at the shindig, with some beer.

It’s 3 older women, speaking broken Spanish and makingfood. They are all old friends, conversationwise there is not much space for me to interject.

We eat, and they try to convince me to join their choir.

Next they set up to play Pictionary. They shake up therules, you have to say what the picture is in Spanish. My first picture I have to draw is Michael Jackson.

Not thecharming beer enthusiast/author. No, the flamboyant pop star, accused child molesterconfirmed crazy guy Michael Jackson.

I draw a stick figure wearing one glove. My partner guesses baseball mitt.

I draw a stick figure wearing one glove, grabbing his groin. My partner says Michael Jackson. Yay we win that round!

We all have a laugh at my silly stick figure drawing. I say,“I would have drawn a nervous kid next to him but the timer was running out.”

The laughter stops. Oh boy. Anyway…….

The game of Spanish Pictionary proceeds normally. It’s my turn to pick a card again, I get Princess Diana. Awww C'mon! It’s hard enough tip toeing aroundtheir delicate sensibilities. Without the gods of Pictionary messing with me.

The image below is a reproduction of what I drew.

My partner guesses Princess Diana right away. Everyone wantsto see what I drew. Then, like older women tend to do. They start chatting onand on about poor Princess Diana. And how they all felt a connection with her,and always thought they were so much alike and how the world lost a hero and so on.

I pipe in “What the heck did Princess Diana do that made hersuch a saint to everyone? Mother Theresadied like 2 days after Diana, and nobody gave a crap. Can someone explain whatPrincess Diana did that was so amazing?”

They all three paused. Until one of them said “She wasreally pretty.”

Another “Yes and she had a great sense of fashion, she waslike a breath of fresh air in that family.” “I think she did charity work didn’t she?”

I said “Yes she gave to charity but all the royals do. It’s how they pretend to be involved witheveryday people. But throwing money at a situation really doesn’t compare towhat Mother Theresa did for people, despite being slightly crazy.”

As though they were trying to strike a compromise one ofthem suggested.

“I think Mother Theresa died when she did, to comfort PrincessDiana in Heaven.”

They all “Awwwed” at each other as though it were the nicest thingthey ever heard of.

I told them that was a stupid idea.

I guess the moral ofthe story is, unless you’re my grandmother. I probably shouldn’t be around oldladies.

The Face Palm Gun

2012-02-07T14:33:00.000-08:00

When people do or say something of immense stupidity. Ifthey realize it in time, they face palm themselves. Also people around theperson in question may face palm themselves out of disbelief or frustration.

Face palming one’s self, is signaling to others that yourealize you’ve said or done something idiotic. I face palm at least once a day, usually before 10 am.

Face palm is a healthy activity, it lets others know, thatyou’re not so stupid that you don’t realize how stupid you can be.

However, there are people in the world who have never heardof face palm. Or perhaps they are too self absorbed to notice they have justacted like a twit.

That’s why I’ve invented, the face palm gun.

It’s not terribly portable, but it looks so cute I think itcould accessorize any outfit.

How it works, is if someone says something of unforgivablestupidity and they haven’t the awareness to face palm themselves. You use theface palm gun to do it for them.

Lets call it a correction.

So if someone makes an idiotic statement, and doesn’t facepalm.

Simply correct them.

Face palm gun sends a life like latex hand slamming into thepersons face at a comfortable speed of 35 mph.

I think probably 30percent of the population needs one of these. Especially around voting time.

The blackout

2012-02-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

Incidentally I happen to be reading about cannibalism whenthe blackout happened.

Growing up in a desert climate, there were black outs allthe time. But they were always fun, because we knew we could do things like notfreeze to death.

But it’s winter in the North West. We have been snowed infor 2 days.

It got cold fast, our place is insulated for crap! Myhusband and I tried to go bed early, 6pm, thinking if we cuddle under all ourblankets we can stay warm. But we just can’t sleep.

My husband went outsideand used his propane burner to boil two giant 6 gallon pots of snow water.

We bring them into the bedroom and the heat from the waterkept us warm all night, go husband!

Aside from thermodynamics, I learned there is no such thingas changing clothes in a winter black out when it’s 30 degrees in your home.There are only more layers of clothing.

There are also stages of cold immersion.

Stage 1 You put on your hoodie and wear socks in the house.Feel badass and optimistic.

Stage 2 You put on slippers and wear a carhartts jacket inthe house. Think a lot about the Lewis and Clark expedition and eat Swedishfish candy because you can’t cook anything.

Stage 3 You are now huddled in a blanket with your dog, whois also wearing a sweater.

There is no stage 4, not really, you go from stage 3 straightto stage 12. Were you look like one of the sand people, and say silly thingslike “Protect the fire!” and “Remembershowers?”

The hours grow longer and you long for a spooky drifter witha pizza.

Then suddenly the power is back on, the roads are clearedand you rush into town to buy food staples like latte’s and chicken tikkamasala.

"Sand-people easily scare, but they'll soon be back, and in greater numbers.” ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

How to kill a Christmas tree

2011-12-28T09:42:00.000-08:00

This past Christmas was the fattest Christmas I have everhad.

My husband made lasagna, we had pumpkin pie and sugar plums. Bythe end of the day I was like…….

Now that all the feasting frenzy is over and all the Christmas cards burned for warmth. I wonder, what thehell am I supposed to do with this Christmas tree? We live in the woods, is it silly to leave atree on the side of the road for pickup when you live in the woods? Do We just drag the tree into theforest and shoot it?

Death by firing squad?

Do I make Gabriel Byrnes do it for me?

Maybe I can bury the tree in the pet cemetery?

Ok, alrightbad idea.

I guess I’m doing this the old fashioned way.

Clothes shopping

2011-12-27T11:30:00.000-08:00

I need clothes.

I never shop.

Times being what they are, if I do get to shopping, it’s ata thrift store to buy dead peoples clothes.

Now everything has built up to its predictable conclusion. Iam out of everything, all my socks have holes, all my pants are falling apartand my shirts look like I was attacked by Mothra.

My husband says there is room in the budget to get a fewthings. He wants to take me shopping. It’s been such a long time since I havegone shopping in a normal department store. I don’t even remember what size Iam. I hope I remember how to try on clothes.

Ass on top right?

Christmasy

2011-12-22T12:49:00.000-08:00

My Mom is a Christmas freak.

We had boxes upon boxes filledwith Christmas decorations piled in our garage. Old card board boxes, olddepartment store bags, and once in a glorious while a Rubbermaid bin. Every oneof them covered in dust and infested with spiders. I hated helping Mom get allthe stuff out, it was always a battle to get the décor away from some jumbo Christmas spider.

Mom had made a bunch of Holiday crafts, wreaths and decor with tons of colorful lights and bows. Nowthat I look back I’m surprised the house didn’t burn down.

The lights would get so hot that the adorable craft pieces wouldbe exuding heat. In particular were these bulbs that have a tube with coloredwater inside. The bulb heats up the water and then bubbles run through thetube. It looks cool, but they were so dangerous. And as a stupid child I justhad to touch them over and over again.

On Christmas eve, Mom would caution me to clean my room. Becauseif Santa showed up and saw I had a dirty room he would know I was a naughtychild and not give me presents. Apparently it never occurred to Santa that a clean freak psychoticchild could exist. In any case, cleaning my room was just not going to happen.What I did do, was shove everything under my bed and in my closet.

I never had closet monsters or under the bed monsters as aresult.

Every Christmas morning I would be the first one up, at 3am,then 4am and finally at 6am. My sister would come get me out of bed and wewould go harass my brother till he got up and then all sneak downstairs. Being the youngest of 3 children, I always received the mostpresents. At the time I didn’t ask any questions. I always had a pile of presentsthe next morning. “Ha! Ha! Santa you sucker!”

The first thing we would go for was the stockings. They werealways filled with copious amounts of candy and tiny gifts. Rolo’s isthe breakfast of champions by the way.

I’d get harassed by my sister to do the impression of thatkid Randy from A Christmas storyfilm. “Whoopee that’s mine!”

Eventually our parents would wake and join us. Sort of, theywere kind of zombified on the couch. We’d tear through every single present asthough the antidote were in it.

Not comb our hair all day, then pass out from a sugaroverdose. Ok, that was just me.

I couldn’t be bothered with hygiene, I had Barbies to play with.

Andy's underwear harness

2011-12-21T15:50:00.000-08:00

Andy dog has this badhabit of getting overly excited and trying to jump all over people. Even if Ihave him leashed he will strangle himself to try and get to someone.

I’m concerned about him getting hurt this way. I’m worriedone day when he’s freaking out, he’ll tug one tug too much and his little doggyeye’s will pop out.

I decided to get him some sort of harness. And just theother day in the grocery store I found a harness I saw advertised on T.V. Itwas a right price, I figured what the heck and bought it.

It looks like underwear.

Like kinky fish net underwear. We hang it next to his leashon the back door. Every time I walk by it, I can’t help thinking how much likefreaky bondage undies it looks like.

I guess it’s better than having his eye ballspop out.

Tourettes kid

2011-12-20T07:46:00.000-08:00

In our old apartment, most of our wall was shared with ourneighbors.

They had a son, 11ish, who was home most of the day. Iused to wonder why he was never at school. It didn’t take long to find out.

At the same time I found out our apartment walls were paperthin.

“F@#king Bitch! F@#king Bitch!” All. Day. Long.

It was constant, only ever those two words. Only sometimeshe might shout it differently.

Longer. “F@@@######kingggggggg Biiiitttccchhh!” Like “Pigs in space!”

Or faster “Fking Bitch!”

Obviously this kid has Tourette’s or something. So I wasn’tangry, in fact it became part of the background noise. Then for a while therewas no profane screaming for a week or so.

Just as well, my husband and I had a friend staying with us.We saw the sights, ate too much food, so far a pleasant visit. One night,as we were all getting ready to eat more food. It began.

“F@@@@#####king Bitch!”

It seemed louder than ever, it was a little hard to ignore.The foul mouthed screaming persisted for another hour. It was almost frantic sounding. Maybe that’sall this poor kid knew how to say? And he might be pinned underneath a bag ofjumbo Doritos or something? And only I can save him?

But no really, I went over to ask the kid if he could cursea little softer. I rang the bell, expecting a parent or something to answer thedoor. Instead I heard a bunch of clumsy shuffling and banging around.

Silence for a few seconds, then a shadow passed over thepeep hole in the door. I looked at it. They said something to the tune of“Ackgrumphlp!” and then more crashing I rang the bell once more. Onlysilence.

I went back to my apartment,maybe the kid is home alone and I just terrified him? In any case he was quietthe rest of the night.

Some months later, I was working at my little desk nookthing. From the wall facing me I heard the yelling start up again.

“F@#king Bitch!F@#king Bitch! F@@@######kingggggggg Biiiitttccchhh!.......SHIT!”

Oh my stars, he just said shit! The first time I had everheard anything different from him. Of all the words screamed, all the same and finally oneglorious change. Shit!

I knocked on the wall, and yelled “I’m proud of you!”

Home alone

2011-12-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

My husband had an overnight business trip a few days ago.

It would be my first time home alone overnight in the new place. Beinghome alone never bothered me before. Even as a kid, I always thought I was socool because I could watch horror flicks alone at night.

But this time I was in the woods. Yes it makes a difference!

I knew every noise, every creak would send my imaginationrunning. Plus Andy would do that thing thathe does, where he suddenly stops and looks at a door or window. As though someone were there. I'd be wrapped in my blanket, kicking myself for having ever read so much about serial killers.

I braced myself for asleepless night.

A night with all the monsters and Dracula’s and bigfootsscratching at the doors. Setting off the motion detection lights then knockingthe power out, making the walls bleed and raiding the fridge.

I weighed my options on protection. A small reasonable knife,or a giant carving knife?

If Dracula busts into the house I feel confident I can whoophim. Zombies, I can handle, well no morethan 2 at a time. Bigfoot ismisunderstood as we all know, I’m surewe will become friends. If Gillman shows up I’m doomed.

I was sure at the end of the evening I was going to feel thoroughlyridiculous.

The night came, and it wasn’t bad at all. My dog and I fellasleep on the couch watching assorted Bela Lugosi flicks. After a while weshuffled off to bed. If there were any monsters, they were very quiet.

Stranded on a desert island

2011-12-18T13:45:00.000-08:00

If I was stranded on a desert island and could only bring withme one book, album and person….

The person I would bring, would be Paula Dean.

The book Iwould bring “How to cook people.”

My Album “The best of Madness”.

Mrs. Dean loves to feed people, I think she would be okaywith it. She may even give me tips on how to make her more delicious. With her foodpreferences I imagine she tastes like a ham wrapped in bacon and rolled in butterand brown sugar.

I know what you’re thinking, “A best of Album?” Yes it’s true, it’s my island of unimaginablehorror, so plbbbb! In reality Paula Dean isenough person, to keep me fed for a longer period of time. Thus increasing mychances of being rescued. After allthere’s no sense in having 2 starving people on the island.

I admit after making my decision, my husband pointed out thatfat people are not necessarily good eats. After all they are filled with fat, not meat. So here I am on a desertisland, I have Paula Dean in a bamboo cage and she’s all gristle.

I bet I can just leave her in the sun, and lick her foreheadevery hour. The amount of butter and bacon oozing from her pores should holdenough calories to sustain me. I guessit’s better this way, I can’t imagine how I’d carve up a person using only acoconut.

At least we’d have good tunes.

The Fat Lady dance

2011-12-07T07:03:00.001-08:00

Another fun character in our old apartment building was the“Fat lady”.

It was warm weather, I had all the windows open save forone. There were two men painting that sideof the building today. So I had to leave one window closed.

I was on the floorsurrounded by a bunch of papers for work. Getting very tired and very disenchanted withhow the remainder of my day was looking like. Then I heard it…

“Yoo hoooooo!”

Yoo hoo? Who the hell actually says that?

“Yoo hoooooo!” There it was again, flirty and melodic.

I looked out my window onto the 3^rd floor rooftopgarden below.

The day is saved, there is a fat lady dancing in the garden.

She’s rocking a beehive hairdo,and being careful not tospill her glass of red wine as she gyrates, all four hundred pounds of her.

She’s dancing for the 2 men painting the building. They havea radio playing, some saucy Latin music. She is raising her arms like a flamenco dancer, swaying her hips,twisting her little feet. Every fold bulging under the strain of her shirt. Every hip thrust a lesson in g-force.The painters seem uneasy, perhaps a little frightened. Butthey smile at her anyway. I do what any person would do. I scramble to get my camera.

I'm terrified I will be caught but I have to do this. No one will ever believe thesheer awesomeness of this moment unless I catch it on film. After some hastyfootage from the edge of the window, I feel I’ve pushed my luck enough.

I spend the rest of the day occasionally looking out my windowto see the fat lady.

“She’s still dancing Ohmygawd.” Only difference is shefreshened her wine, its white now.

After this incident, I saw the fat lady on several occasionsdancing in the roof top garden. With a glass of wine and her i-pod. Standing onone of the planters. Looking at the city below and dancing her heart out. Icame to depend on seeing the fat lady dance.It made me feel happy actually, if she skipped a day I was disappointed.But if she was out there doing her thing, I could carry on with my daycontently.

If the Fat Lady is dancing all is right with the world. Perhaps the fat Lady is still out there dancing, looking for love, drinking tons ofwine. My cap is off to you, Dance Fat Lady, dance!

Andy and the butt monster

2011-12-06T12:02:00.001-08:00

When I would take work papers to the downtown bank. I would sometimes bring my plucky sidekickAndy dog. Everyone would stop us so theycould fawn over him. A drawback to that being it made them also want to talk tome.

Andy is a wonderfully behaved dog. But on this day I was practically dragginghim on our walk. I turned to see what he was doing, he was up on his hind legs beggingto be carried. Maybe he has something stuck in his paw? Andy was so upset whenI stopped to take a look. There were no benches or chase lounges.

In the middle of filthy 3^rd avenue, I sat on theconcrete, flipped my dog on this back to examine his paws. He hopped right inmy lap, I looked carefully at all his paws and found nothing. I stretched hislegs to make sure something wasn’t hurt. Everything was ok.

We struggled the rest of the way to the bank. I thoughtI should give him another once over. He was up on his hind legs, whining for meto pick him up again. I did, flipped him over and started to look at his paws forany clue as to why he wouldn’t walk.

He was tucking his tail between his legs, I figured it wasbecause he was scared. I moved the tail to confirm this. That’s when I saw it.Poop.

His hair had become shaggy recently, and now a piece ofmatted poop clung to his behind. And he was frightened of it. I had a tissueand tried to get it out of the fur but it was impossibly stuck. Andy looked desperately up at me, he was convinced there wassome vicious butt monster trying to terrorize him.

We took the bus home, I carried my forlorn little dog intothe apartment.

Rolled up my sleeves.

He slumped on the bathroom floor, looking up at meimploringly.

I got the liquid soap.

Placed him in the tub, turned the water on warm.

Then.…..withmy bare hands…..used liquid soap to work a wad of poo off his backside.

It wasawful, once it was over I couldn’t wash my own hands enough.

Andy on the other hand was so happy. He ran around theapartment, biting his toys, getting affection. I shot bitter looks at myhusband, “It should have been you!”

Andy looked up at me, I was his freaken hero. It was a horrific thing to need to do. Butbecause of it my little shaggy dog thinks I am the greatest thing since slicedsnausages. He slept on me the rest ofthe evening, the ultimate sign of dog love for those who know.

I on the other hand, ate French fries with a fork thatnight.

Trekking for Love

2011-12-05T16:12:00.001-08:00

Bugs

2011-12-03T21:33:00.001-08:00

Living in a secluded wooded area, I thought I knew what to be wary of.

Hockey masked killers

Bald headed killer bears

People who want to use my skin for lamp shades etc.

But no, Sci-fi B movie monster bugs are what I have tocontend with.

As I was working one day, I became aware of a franticbuzzing sound. A hornet the size of an un-shelled peanut was thudding againstthe window trying to escape.

No one asked him to come in.

Grabbing my flyswatter I stood there imitating ways I would take a whack at the behemoth. Admittedly,I considered what might happen if I failed to kill him. He might fly at me, orworse, he may have family that try to avenge him. How I longed for a hockey masked killer. Not to kill thehornet but to rescue me.

After a while I took pity on the hornet. And opened thefront door, hoping he would notice and fly out. After about ten minutes of “C’mon, over hereya dumb peanut!” He finally flew out. I felt good about it, I helped a tiny creature and get tokeep my member card to the pacifists club.

Still don’t like the bugs.

“They’re more afraidof you than you are of them.” I don’t buy it.

Years ago, after waking one morning. I found I had a nastyspider bite on my behind. This means at some point in the night, there was aspider….ON MY ASS! So don’t tell me they’re afraid of us.

Mostly I find spiders in laundry rooms. More than a few times I have found spiders while sortingclothes. Why are they in my laundry!? What the heck arethey doing in there?

Creepy Cat Man

2011-12-02T17:34:00.001-08:00

Before my husband and I moved to the island, we lived in an18 story apartment building in the city.

One of our quirky neighbors we dubbed the "Cat man".

He was tall and dressed like a skate boarder from 1985. Oneday I was waiting for the concierge to find my UPS package. Cat man came rushing into the lobby unreasonablyangry that the boardroom in our building was locked. He had reserved it for hiscats…….

The concierge excused himself to go help Catman.

Since that incident I have seen Catman on several occasionsgoing in and out of that board room. Always in a hurry, and flustered. My briefencounters with Catman gave me the impression he was unstable mentally.

I could be wrong about all this, you can never really knowanyone until you spend some quality time with them. It’s possible there is alogical reason for these goings on. I’m sure he is probably a very sane andnormal person.

But it is also possible, that once a month he gets all hiscats into the board room for a birthday party.

He probably had a horrific and traumatizing experience as achild where no kids showed up for his birthday party. So now, once a month hebuys a birthday cake, I’m guessing with a creepy clown face on it. And forcesthe cats into a deranged reenactment of his childhood birthday party.

He straps party hats on all the cats. Then forces them tosit on the swiveling office chairs. Thecats try to paw around to figure a way off the chairs. Which probably enrages Catman,who yells at his cats “STAY ON YOUR CHAIRS!”

F@#k you deer!

2011-12-01T21:49:00.001-08:00

My husband and I live on a woodsy island, we see deer allthe time.

Our first week here, my husband and I sat on our porchdrinking coffee and admiring the young deer nibbling grass. They were veryclose, I could have nailed them with my shoe, it was magical.

A certain pair of deer, frequent our yard, I’ve grown used tothem hanging around.

Our kindly landlord asked if we would mind a friend of hers huntingon the property. It’s not our property, we’re renters. I said, “ok.”

I’m not thrilled about deer hunting, but admit they can bepests, destroying gardens, blockingroads, there have been some dog kickingincidents. My husband reminded me that over population could make food scarcefor the deer, or create illness among them.

If I love them, I must shoot them. :weh:

I appreciate the need to thin out the deer population. Butnot my deer, I named them, man!

There’s no way to exemptthem from being hunted. I should haveput bells on them or something. Wrangled them into orange hunting vests.

So Bob the hunter arrives, sets up his tent and waits.

Midday comes, I’m working at my computer by the window.Suddenly my two deer come into view. I flick the window pane, it doesn’t startle them. I go outside, inmy Pajama’s, with bed head still. I work from home so I can look like a frumpall day.

Stomping my feet, waving my hands, making like I was aboutto charge them.

“Ggggrrrraaaaaaaaaaa! Hey! Go away!”

My outbursts degenerated into making crude gestures at thedeer.

“Run for your lives, you stupid deer! Jerks!”

They just stared at me.

“You dumb beasts deserve to die, probably taste delicious!”

I think, maybe they are safe close to the house? Hunter Bobwouldn’t take a shot at deer if they were by a house. I think it will be okay, I go back inside.

I suddenly think “Did hunter Bob see me while in his tent orin the woods?”

Wondering what in thehell I was doing. In the freezing cold, flipping the bird to deer and runningat them in my pajama’s. I hope he wasgoing to the bathroom at the time. After hunting season was done, Hunter Bobhad made no kills. He said there was plenty of opportunity to shoot my deer.But quote “They were so tame and young I didn’t have the heart.”

He saw them, oh crap….he saw me too.

Dog Hawk

2011-12-01T06:50:00.001-08:00

Our kindly island veterinarian regaled me with a localhorror story.

A woman brought her poodle mix into the hospital. Apparentlywhile romping outside the little doggie became a target for a very ambitiousbird of prey. The hawk or whatever swooped down and drove it’s talons into thepoor pooch then tried to fly away with him.

Luckily the hawk only got the dog 5 feet or so off theground before the weight forced him to drop the little guy. The fact that thedog was fat was probably what saved him.

He had puncture wounds and scratches, but was otherwisefine.

My husband and I try very hard to make sure our small dog isa healthy weight. I’m starting to think of fattening him up. Just how big wasthis hawk anyway?

Bijou's Gas

2011-11-30T07:37:00.001-08:00

My guinea pig Bijou developed a sizable lump on her side. Ithought maybe she ate a bunch of bedding. If it’s not that, it’s a tumor.

I put Bijou in her travel carrier, and sorrowfully broughther to the vet. I dreaded tumor news, afterthat it’s just a matter of quality of life to deteriorate. Then I’d have to puther to sleep, on Christmas, in a rainstorm.The vet sat there with Bijou in his hands, squeezing the lump.

He tells me its gas.

There’s a blockage, and it’s filling my pig with gas. I pay80 bucks for medication to make her fart. My husband and I buy Metamucil. Shelikes the Metamucil, but hates the medication. We have to force feed it to herin a syringe, it’s like a German snuff film.

She’s not expelling this gas.

I feel bad, she must be in discomfort. We took her to thevet again, to be told not to give her the medication the vet prescribed as itmay cause more gas.

We are encouraged to feed her yogurt with pineapple orpapaya or something. So here I am mashing papaya and pineapple juice intoyogurt, so we can syringe feed her. Which she loves, she wheeks and wheeksbloody murder because yogurt is all she seems to want now. No force feedings,the pudgy little terror tries to wrestle the syringe from my hand.

My husband read online that holding the pig upside down mightcause the gas to move around. I didn’t like the idea, but it’s been 2 weeks andI’m desperate. I’ve always loved animals. I always thought maybe I might have acareer in veterinary care or animal rescue or something. Instead I’m holding apig upside down saying “Fart dammit!”

So far there is no gas coming from this pig. I’m starting toworry the lump will fill up so huge that she will lift off the ground and floataway.

Hmm, I don’t like that scenario. I much rather think shewill finally pass this infernal gas and that it will make her very happy.

A humble wish

2011-11-28T14:52:00.001-08:00

Regarding the 3 hip strangers, who saw fit to not only to criticize my appearance today. But also made conjectures on my life, and my value to prettyfull society.

I hope their i-phones die.
I hope their parents take their BMW’s away.
I hope Banana Republic closes forever.
I hope they cancel Jersey shore.
I hope Pabst Blue Ribbon goes out of business so they can no longer drink it, ironically.
I hope all the dye runs out of their hair.
I hope their spray on tan, causes them to break out in a rash.
I hope their skinny jeans, are so tight it makes them sterile.
I hope every beanie is too small to fit their huge heads.
I hope every time they go to Value village on Captiol Hill, all the vintage stuff is gone.
I hope every time they order an Americano, it’s made with toilet water.
I hope all their vinyl records get peed on by a smelly elderly cat.

That's all I can think of for now, feel free to play along.

Fun with blood and swelling

2011-11-28T11:49:00.000-08:00

Being a quarter vampire, or quarter mogwai, one of those. I chalked the itchy bumps on my arms to my sun allergy. Then my husband started getting the bumps too.

In the middle of the night, I awoke went to the bathroom, flicked on the light. And saw on the floor, a bed bug. Locked in mortal combat with a tiny beetle looking thing. I sat on the toilet watching the two wave their antennae at each other. Like some freaky bug dick waving contest. Then killed them in a manner most befitting bathroom warriors. With a tissue.

The rest of the night was spent, couch watching the drug dealers through my window.

I’m on the 5^th floor so I can spy all I want.

Morning came, I told my husband that we were infested. The rest of the day was spent, researching bed bugs on the internet. I am now Washington’s foremost expert on the subject.

Did you know they stab each other with their creepy bug members to impregnate each other? They can’t distinguish male from female, so when they want to mate, they walk up to another bedbug and stab them, filling them with semen. No flowers, no phone call.

I read about the now banned chemical DDT. Until 1972, it was used to help in eradicating bed bugs. The bummer is, it was known to cause illness in humans and affected the environment , killing birds etc. I’m a 21st century gal, I hug trees and damn the man just as much as anybody. But I admit at that moment I thought, “Aw C’mon, what’s a little cancer and dead birdies? Show a little foreskin people!”

Yes, I really do know better, wish I didn’t :sigh:

The following day, vinyl mattress cover, a bed sheet filled with bug poison and repellant spray that smelled like tacky Christmas. Cleaned the room top to bottom, never found a trace of the damnable creatures. Apparently, they can live anywhere in your house, not just on your mattress.

I was told my reaction was over kill. Don’t care too busy killing things.

If impaling a bed bug on a tooth pick and leaving him out as a warning to other bed bugs didn’t have such harsh social implications. I would have done it.

Speaking of overkill DIATOMACEOUS EARTH! Food grade mind you. It dries out the bed bugs, dehydrates them to the point of death. We got a little duster, and covered our apartment with the stuff. In couches, every crack in the wall. Every where dammit every where!

Sure it felt like living in a mummies nostril, but such was my mania

Did you know they can crawl up your wall onto the ceiling and drop on you?

I was so paranoid. Instead of the reality that a few slow bugs were lazily chomping me in the night. I envisioned, tearing off the bed sheets to find swarms of them, scattering all over me. Feeling the itchy sting of their fangs in my vulnerable flesh! Eye’s glowing red, they had swastika tattoos and Team Edward shirts on!

Needless to say I spent the rest of the nights on the couch. My husband one morning said.

“You need to sleep on the bed, the poison mat and other things won’t work to kill the bed bugs if they do not get on the bed in the first place.”

“ What are you saying?”

“If you’re not there, they will come looking for you out here.”

Jesus Christmas! Did he just say that? That the bugs would seek me out? Hunt me down?

As if the thought of being bug bait wasn’t enough to keep me awake. The vinyl sheets were, they made everything too hot for comfort. I was stressed, woke up 20 times a night turning on lights looking for bugs.

I was also receiving more bites than my husband. What can I say? I’m goddamned delicious.

I was covered head to toe in more bites than I could count. Mainly because my skin had swelled up making it so you couldn’t count the bites. My husband said, maybe I could continue to sleep on the couch with all the lights on. The lights being on might deter the bugs?

Thus making him a lamb for the slaughter. He convinced me the idea of a few bites a night didn’t bother him much. I wanted to believe it so I did.

Well, project overkill worked, thanks mainly to diatomaceous earth. Till this day though, the mention of bed bugs make me uncomfortable.

I don’t have a lot of raw hatred in me. It’s mostly annoyance of things, sarcasm, skepticism. People who don’t appreciate my brand of humor usually tell me they think I’m filled with hate.

I'm not filled with hate, just a little hate. A normal level of hate, average really.

But damn do I hate bed bugs.

I want them to die, if they suffer badly too that’s fine as well. I want to kill their families, their children, their pets and house plants. I want to shit on their dreams.

Possibly, I can train fleas? Little Viking warrior fleas? To raid their villages, burn their homes. Yes, Viking raider fleas with mustaches and hats made from the torn flesh of bed bugs.

Well, my husband and I won. Yes, even without Viking raider fleas.