Sunday, October 23, 2011


I realize now that these posts are in reverse order, as this is about my wretched Saturday, but whatever. My Saturday SUCKED. But let me start at the beginning. My Friday also sucked. Like, seriously, you guys, it was terrible. And long! A long, terrible, atrocity of a day. But Friday night was amazing. T-Dawg and I went to a wine expo with Ted and some other awesome friends and I tried to drink away any memory of the hideous day:

T-Dawg helped:

So Friday night rocked, and then T-Dawg slept over and we stayed up all night and laughed and laughed and laughed. But then Saturday morning came. T-Dawg left for home. Then Ted and the kids left to visit Ted's brother Jon and Jon's wife Nikki's new baby (I wasn't going because I have a bad cough, and Nikki is amazing and super nice but she might kick my ass if I showed up at her house and hacked phlegm all over week-old baby Justin.)

So there I was. Alone. And so, so bored. Facebook, Twitter, Scrabble, Words with Friends and one's favorite blogs can only occupy so much of your time - especially when your other friends have lives and allow more than 10 minutes to elapse between moves, or don't post blog entries over the weekends (you know who you are). Oh, sure, there were closets to clean, drawers to organize, kitchen counters to scrub, but let's be realistic.

In addition to being bored, I was also FUCKING FREEZING. My fingers were numb and and my lips were blue. So I was really sad that Ted was gone for the next 6 hours because our furnace had not yet been turned on for the winter, and I don't know how to do it. Or how to take the air conditioners out of the window. Yes, I am a real catch. So I was resigned to fighting off hypothermia, loneliness, and intense boredom for the rest of the day. But wait, it gets better.

At I was sitting on the floor in front of my laptop, hitting refresh on the Scrabble screen like a rat hitting a lever in a psychology experiment, one of the cats emerges with a sock in its mouth. More evidence of my crappy housekeeping, but whatever. But then I realized that it was not a sock, unless it was a sock with its own feet. It was a fucking mouse. I elevated myself straight into the air and onto the highest point of the arm of the couch farthest away from the dead vermin that was chilling on my living room floor. I threw a pen at the cat to stop it from eating said vermin. I couldn't leave the room because my cat would have rushed back to snack on the remains, and I couldn't get down from the couch because as soon as my feet touched the floor it was obviously going to come to life and head straight for me. Am I even sure it was totally dead? No, but there was no way that I was getting close enough to that motherfucker for any kind of certainty. You tell me if it looks dead:

Look at the expression on my face in the first photo. Now look at the dead mouse. How had I sunk so low, so far, in fewer than 24 hours? I called Ted, but he was just leaving Philadelphia - at least two hours away. And even though we have lived here for two years I know almost NO ONE in town, let alone someone I could call and ask to play exterminator. So I called my friend Alex, who lives on the Upper West Side, and asked him how quickly he could get to my house to deal with this problem, Funnily enough, he seemed to think that a date with his girlfriend took precedence over driving half an hour to pick up a dead mouse. He did suggest that I get a dustpan and take care of it myself, but fuck that. I am a badass, but everyone has their Achilles heel, and mine is dead rodents. So I called another friend, Dave (AKA Sparky, in the tradition of giving people horrible nicknames and hoping they stick. Don't you want to be my friend?), who seemed to think that grocery shopping took precedence over driving 20 minutes to pick up a dead mouse. I convinced him he was wrong, and he showed up 20 minutes later.

Once he got there and made several unkind comments about the situation in general and my ability to deal with life in specific, he wrangled the mouse into a plastic bag and asked where the outside garbage cans were. I don't really know, but directed him downstairs. Once he returned, he remarked that the door to the back yard had been wide open. To which I replied "So THAT'S why I've been freezing my ass off all day, wearing a parka in the living room and chugging hot beverages." Dave left. And he did not seem to be in a particularly good humor, or very impressed with my intelligence either, I might add.

So. You guys. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Put on some big girl pants and and get the dustpan? Whatevs. The only thing that I have learned from this experience is that I need to make more friends in this town and/or memorize all of my neighbor's phone numbers. And check more often to make sure all the doors to the outside are shut. Living in the country is no joke, yo.


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November 10, 2011 at 9:10 PM

You have four cats. Shouldn't they have been on the job? Slackers.

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