n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I couldn't make this up if I tried

and if I did, nobody would believe me anyway.

Hilarious week, man, hilarious. So, before I explain, let me preface by saying I have a 'mouse dilemma'.


So, in case these pics aren't obvious, I was searching my kitchen drawers today for a trash bag and ended up opening the bottom drawer near my spice drawers. This is the section I keep for strange knicknacks, Xmas-stocking presents I don't know what to do with, and the remaining pesticides from my sister's reign over this particular kitchen area, i.e. d-Con.

Granted, I'm willing to admit I have an obvious mouse problem. I'm aware of it. And thank-you to all those out there who have suggested traps and poisons and brutal but understandable tactics, but I can't bring myself to it.

On the night before Halloween, before I dreamt that aliens invaded earth and used mortuaries as birthing dens, I heard something scratching around in my kitchen. At 4am, I bolted out of bed and ran into the kitchen with a purpose, a ferocious purposeful one. I turned on the light and found myself face-to-face with my kitchen's four-legged friend (not my dog). Yes, there he was, looking at me, ears enlarged, whiskers panicking, eyes two innocent specks of reflected light. So I did what any woman would do: I climbed a stool, raised my nightgown, and said "Woah unto me, I've been Overcome."

No, actually I cornered the critter in my spice rack, from which he launched himself into my plants and then tried to shimmy down the steep slope of my counter, from which I grabbed him, whereupon he wiggled from my hands, leaped upon my breasts and then scampered my legs. After which, of course, I decided to find a plastic container to catch him instead of my useless useless hand, and so retreated to my cupboards, but here Herald meandered in and provided cover for the mouse to escape beneath my stove. Accccch!

So. I have a mouse problem. And I can't have a cat because a) I'm too poor to take on another animal, and b) my mother and cr's property abuts the Road that Kills Cats. And I don't believe in poison because it's horrifying and disgusting, or traps because they misfire half the time and cause Guantanamo suffering within steel bars. I've already tried one version of the no-kill traps, and while I admire their design, I find many architectural, not to mention practical application flaws. My mouse (mice) is so friggin smart that he trips those hippie traps, gets the booty, never is caught. I have (a) mouse/mice named Bond and/or Houdini.

Anyhow. Back to the pics. I opened up the knicknack drawer and found it to be stuffed with dog food. Not dog food I placed there, by the way. Above and beyond that, the d-Con poison boxes had been chewed open and the empty portions stuffed with dog food. And the joke plastic-mouse I keep around for good fun was buried in dog food. Some people can claim mice problems, but not all people can claim Ironic Mice problems. Or some "punk ass m-fckn mice" as cr put it when I showed him the scene.


I also got word from my grandma that she had been attacked in a grocery store by a woman brandishing Pork Chops... because my Grannie mentioned, after the woman stated she'd been volunteering at the polls, how wonderful it was we'd elected Obama. Apparently the woman was not a fan.

How many of you can say you've braved a porkchop-toting freak in the name of your Right to Choose?

That's right, not many of you. And again, I'm not making this up.

And I can't help adding: This is part of what my Grannie sent me after my last blog rant:
"As you point out, it is not the "marriage ceremony thing," it is wanting equal respect, benefits and considerations as any other couple. Gramps and I are an old married couple but we seem to becoming more of a minority each year. Anyway we dearly love you and please let me know how we can help to get equal justice for every citizen; we financially support Human Rights, but there must be more."
Maybe I'm wrong, but I really think my Grans is acting perfectly to support human rights. I consider myself incredibly incredibly lucky, and kinda want to pass on this message to those who don't.


Finally: I wonder how I'm going to volunteer to make up my portion of the change for which we voted Obama into office. It's not going to happen with magic, that's for sure, but Herald thinks it's going to happen.
there is a story at wheelhouse magazine online called My Small Murders. Guy trying to get rid of his mouse issue but so much more in the story, anyway, this post made me think of it.
and those Californian's are wacky, i think you're right about the people who just went out to vote for obama and didn't think twice about that law. i mean, common, the governator! i'm so glad i left that state.

those wacky Californians, sigh. so dramatic, so fickle.

thanks for the link.
Post a Comment