Snakes. I don't like them.

If you don't live in the middle of nowhere, you may not be aware that deer and other wildlife have trails; certain paths that they follow, to water or possibly gatherings where they plot my demise.

I am beginning to think snakes also have trails, and that my house must sit right in their path.  Or the other animals elected snakes as their assassins.  I really don't know much about snakes.  I do know that I don't like them, and I REALLY don't like them in my house.

About 10 years ago I (briefly) rented the house that we bought last year.  At that time I was the single parent of two boys.  The baby woke me up and I stumbled into the kitchen for a bottle.  In my defense, it was dark, and I was mostly still asleep.  So I saw what my brain registered as a really stretched out ponytail holder on the floor, and I (stupidly) reached down to get it.  The fucker moved and I woke all the way up pretty quick.  It was about a 4 foot long black snake.  In my kitchen.  Luckily for me, its head was caught in a mousetrap, so it didn't really have a lot of options.  I called my mom and she appeared magically, as she is wont to do in my times of need, wearing boots and bearing a shovel.

Then I moved.  Like, fucking immediately.

Fast forward 10 years, and we (stupidly) bought this house.  Last fall we had approximately three unwelcome guests.  Baby copperheads.  In my fucking house. 

After I finished having a nervous breakdown, I liberally applied glue traps all over the house.  I made my husband pull up all the trim, even though we had remodeled before we moved in, and fill up every hole we could find.  I work from home, and for a time I sat at my desk inside a circle of glue boards so that nothing could get me. 

Now it is fall again, and apparently this is snake baby-time.  Two weeks ago I was laying on the couch when my four-year-old walked up and asked, "What is that?" pointing at a spot in the floor between us.  "That" was a snake stuck to a glue trap.  She may have learned a new word that day.  This snake was dead already and my husband wasn't home, so I called on my Super Mother Powers and somehow got the damn thing out to the porch.  Where I completely lost my shit and began beating the glue trap, sticky side and snake side down, on my porch.  I did this until I couldn't lift my arms anymore.  It's still there.  Glue traps are very sticky.

Last night it was raining and sometimes when it rains we have a leaky spot behind the T.V.  So right before bed I went to have a look, just in case.  This is what I saw:

                                                      Are you fucking kidding me?

So, I did what anyone would do.  I called my mom again.  This time the snake was still alive and, though well and thoroughly stuck, was trying to strike.  We managed to get it outside, which was really hard because I refused to let my feet touch the floor and had to climb on furniture all the way through the house. 

After we took care of that bastard, I convinced myself that there were no more because my glue trap defense is working perfectly.  Then I put out every glue board I had (about 12).  There are probably close to 50 glue boards hidden all over my house at this point.  Even I don't know where they all are.

I'm concerned.  Fall is just beginning, and we've already had two invaders.  I need more glue traps, and maybe some fire. 

I think there is an animal conspiracy.  I believe the squirrels started it, and they've coordinated the whole mess.  They want me gone.  This could get really ugly.

What? It still kind of seems like a good idea.

Conversation with Gus about glue traps:

*It might be helpful to know that the glue trap in question here is stuck facedown on my porch with a dead snake presumably still stuck on the other side.  Long story.  Suffice to say, I don't like snakes in the house, and I make questionable decisions when under pressure.

Me:  It's rained so much, we might be able to get that glue trap up.  But there's still a snake under there, so...

Gus:  That thing is never coming up.  I suggest we just paint over it.

Me:  Hm. (Not thrilled.)

Gus:  We could just staple glue traps up, sticky side out, all over the outside of the house.  Paper the house in glue traps.

Me:  OH MY GOD! That would be good for spiders, snakes, ZOMBIES.....

Gus:  (laughing)  That was a joke. 

Me:   ....bees, Jehovah's Witnesses....this is brilliant.

Gus:  We're not doing that.  You know that, right?

Me:  Hm.  (Not making any promises, mister.)

Later.....

Me:  I decided that you are right.  We shouldn't cover the outside of the house with glue.

Gus:  Uh, yeah, I thought we already decided that. 

Me: (closing the cabinet door so he can see the glue trap taped to the door, and the bowl stuck on it, hanging in the air.)  No, we didn't decide anything, but I'm a reasonable person.  I've thought about it, and it's a bad idea.  (bowl hanging next to my face.)

Gus:  Reasonable!?  It's not "reasonable" when you only agree with yourself!

Me:  Hm. 

I need to borrow a mongoose. Immediately.

Initially, I thought honey badger, because as we all know, honey badgers don't give a fuck. 

But apparently they are illegal in the U.S. or some shit; although, whoever is in charge of stopping me from smuggling in non-fuck-giving animals is probably out of a job right now, so I bet I could pull it off. 

I'm kind of scared though.  After thinking about it (you're welcome, Gus) I decided that a honey badger in the house might be more scary than a snake.  Or snakes.  Which is what we currently have.

Goddammit!  I live in the country because I don't like people.  I did NOT issue an open invitation to anything poisonous, scaly, creepy, slithery, or slimy.  Basically, unless you are a dragon or a cat, you are not welcome here. 

And the cat is fast wearing out her welcome.  I'd like to know just what the FUCK she is doing when she's dashing all about the house like she's got super important shit to do, when I'm on the couch and a snake can just blatantly slither up to me.  Where was LeeLoo The Vicious Moth Killer and Protector of the Realm then, huh?  Sitting on her ASS.  Much like when a lizard got in my bedroom, and she PURPOSELY ignored my cries for help.

I don't know.  I'm being overrun by nature's most disgusting creatures right now.  I need some tips, or to borrow a mongoose.

R.I.P. Meat

Well, all the tests are back and it is official, I am now allergic to meat.  Thank you Lone Star tick, you little bastard.

If you don't know what in the hell I'm talking about, Google "alpha-gal."

I'm happy to know I'm not a nutcase (regarding this issue; I am very aware that I am, in fact, mostly crazy).

It has long been my rule that if it lived in water at any time, it does not go on my plate.  Clearly, I'm going to have to reassess.  Yesterday I had chocolate pie for breakfast.  This doesn't seem like a good long-term plan.

Unwilling vegan

I am SO UPSET.

I ate this:

And then THIS happened:




















Then, I ate this:

Please see above picture of itchy red me.

I have almost died four times in the last two weeks.  I may be exaggerating a little.  But maybe not.  It's been bad.  Wtf, y'all, is this even legal??  I am on an all Pop Tart and coffee diet until further notice.

 

 

 

I love you, but you're kind of a dick.

I sent this picture to my husband in a text message.  I was laughing hysterically.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Me:  I almost forgot.  I saw this yesterday and it made me think of you.

 

He doesn’t reply.

 

He still doesn’t reply.

 

Me:  Get it?  (still cackling to myself.)

 

He doesn’t reply.

 

Me:  It reminded me of you…because you’re kind of a dick!!!  Hahahahaaha.

 

He still does not reply. 

 

What a dick.

Slugfest

My husband can be a real ass. 

Example #1 (I expect there to be a lot of these) 

I let the dogs out this morning and stuck my hand out in the dark to get their food dish.  I didn’t look at said dish until it registered in my coffee-less brain that my hand felt….slimy. 

Baby. Slugs. ON ME.

At this point everything gets a little blurry.  The dish is no longer in the house, so I can only assume I threw it.  My bathrobe is in the mudroom floor.  I remember ripping it off and sprinting into the kitchen while Gus looked on in awe.

He says he thinks I was gagging.  I really couldn’t say.  I do know that while I was scrubbing vigorously at my ick-infested hands, he inferred that there were slugs on my back.  At which point I very rapidly became naked and then equally rapidly became violent, once I realized he was a lying shit.

After I had calmed down to a state of shock, staring blankly and mourning my lost innocence, he asked me what I intended to do with my bathrobe.   But not that nicely.  Rather, he said something along the lines of: *snicker*snicker* SO. *cough* You just going to leave your shit laying there in the floor so the slugs can just wander off all over our house?”

I glared.

Gus is clearly not concerned about my safety, sanity, or my aversion to animated slime.

I told him that obviously the only logical thing to do would be to burn the robe.

He’s all, “I KNEW you would say that. It’s not a fucking vampire, Renee.  You don’t have to cut its head off, burn it, and bury it wrapped in chains.”

Hmmph.  I guess it’s just as well I didn’t tell him my whole  plan, which was to burn the robe and then the front porch.  This is war, motherfucker.  My perimeter has been breached. 

Seriously. This happened.

I realize that I may seem obsessed with goats.  I assure you, I am not.

 

But.  Before we moved into our new home, we had a ton of cleaning and remodeling to do. (Like, the 500 used needles in the yard. ”I’m not a crackhead, I have diabetes.”  Mmmhmm. Whatever.)

 

So, anyway, we moved Curly over first and she kind of went apeshit.  It may have been the freedom.  At our old place, she had to be tied up.  Here, she had a pond and a field and tons of room to roam.  Of course, she would not stay in the field, but preferred to gallop (goats gallop, shut up) around the yard menacingly and poop on the porch.

 

One day I went over to work on the place, and discovered we had had an INTRUDER.

Seriously, y’all.  Someone broke in and wrote on the walls.  This is where it gets weird.  They wrote GOUT KILLER.  Now.  I’m still a bit baffled by this.  I think gout is something to do with feet.  And I’m pretty sure it’s not a good thing.  But I’m no killer.  So, uh…… what?  I kind of wished they’d come back, and like, clarify.  They didn’t.  Anyway. We painted over this cryptic message and moved in.

 

A few weeks later, our goat, God Rest Her Soul, was attacked and eaten alive by a pack of wild dogs.  I shit you not.  Gus and I had to beat them off of her with shovels (‘cause we are totally badass and zombies better WATCH OUT).

 

The moral of this story is unclear.  It’s either, vandals can’t spell and also hate goats OR I am destined for weirdness and goat-induced mayhem.

The Five Dollar Goat

So.  Gus came in smiling.  I was scared.

Gus:  Hey.

Me:  What did you do?

Gus:  Um.  I bought a goat.  For $5.

Me:  O-kay.

Gus:  And.

Me: What?

Gus:  She needs to be milked twice a day.

Me:  .

Gus:  It’ll be fun.

Me: .

Gus:  Look, do you want cookies and milk during the apocalypse, or not?

Me: .

Gus:  That’s what I thought.

• I went along with this, mostly because I know how distraught he was over the loss of the polka dotted goat, and I am just selfless like that.
• Goat’s milk is kind of gross.  Mostly because goat teats are pretty gross and I
  just cannot bring myself to put anything in my mouth that came out of those
  things.

Best Valentine Ever.

7:30 a.m.  Valentine’s Day about 7 years ago (I’ve been working on this awhile, okay?)

 

Me:  What the fuck have you done?

 

Gus: Huh?

 

ME:  THERE IS A GOAT ON OUR PORCH.  A GOAT WITH ORANGE POLKA DOTS.

 

Gus:  You should probably get some sleep.  (I used to work nights.)

 

Me:  Seriously, you have got to see this.

 

*Ok, so this was going to be a picture of  said goat.  Unfortunately, someone has  sabotaged me and I can’t find the damn picture.   However, I googled “spray painted goat” and apparently this is  an act of terrorism and animal cruelty.  I had no idea I was part of an epidemic.   Sweet.

 

Gus:  Holy shit.

 

Me:  Did you spray paint that goat?  Because I think that might be illegal.

 

Gus:  Is that a sticker on its ass?

 

Me:  Yeah.   It says “do not remove.”

 

Gus: Can  I keep it?

 

Me:  Are you fucking kidding me?  Where did you get this goat?  WHY did you get this goat?

 

Gus:  I’m gonna try to catch it.

 

**He did not  catch it.  He claims that he doesn’t know  where it came from, nor who painted it and put a sticker on its goat-ass.  I have my doubts.  I went to sleep and when I got up the goat  was gone.  Gus was very upset about the loss.