For over a month now we have been plagued with mice. I have always said I'd prefer mice over cockroaches, if only because the mice are less able to sneak up on me. But now I realize it probably was also because I've never had a persistent problem with mice; I've seen one or two, we kill them and then they disappear. This time, I've still only seen a couple and Chris has killed a few more but we know they are still here by the tiny, brown presents we continue to find each morning and evening. We've plugged up all the holes we could find and ramped up from Organic, Peaceful, Life Change Devices to full-on Hulk Smash Killing Machines and still: poos!
Then last Friday night I turned on the stove and after a few minutes it began to smell like hot, buttered death. A smell I recognized from Douglass St. The smell of "oh crap, there's a dead mouse under there." We paged the super, Dez (who is not a supercool pot-smoking Australian as his name may imply, but is a very nice man nonetheless) and he's coming over Wednesday.
Wednesday may not be soon enough, however, as tonight something absolutely horrifying happened. I was walking home, headphones on, crossing 6th Ave at Downing. I then went to cross to the other side of Downing, turning my head to make sure there were no cars coming. As I stepped off the curb between two parked cars, I tripped on something. Confused, I looked down and saw a RAT the size of a GUINEA PIG scurry across my FEET and run under one of the cars. I involuntarily screamed, even though there was a group of men standing near the corner who all looked over at the crazy lady screaming in the middle of the street.
I practically ran the remaining two blocks home and called Chris as I walked into the kitchen, just in case I found a rodent death scene awaiting me, but the traps were all clear. I think I'll make it til tomorrow but I can still feel a phantom scriggle on my feet. I need to learn how to levitate, stat.
not dead yet
I'm coming back, I've just got my frustration cranked up to 11 because of holiday stress, pooping mice and foot plague. What's keeping me from hulk smashing everything in sight are holiday parties with glamorous, funny ladies, eating delicious ramen for lunch with my husband and getting a little something for myself while gift shopping at the Bust Craftacular. And seriously, that new keyboard.
Posted by beth at 09:32 PM | Comments (0)hungarian rioters
It should come as no surprise to someone smarter and more self aware than me that calming the fuck down? Actually makes things easier. By the time I left work this evening, I'd received emails notifying me that all the last minute online gifts I bought had shipped. A quickie lunchtime trip to [ redacted since la familia is watching ] netted me half a dozen more gifts to check off the list. And I actually woke up early and handwashed some new fabric for some of the handmade things I have planned so they would be dry and ready by the time I came home tonight. I have found the answer to the universe! I will never have a moment of anxiety or stress again!
Except for this morning, when I found seven forgotten dollars in my raincoat only to lose five of them moments after leaving the house. Fuck! But wait, perhaps a poor or homeless person found my dropped fiver and now has a bellyful of ramen or rum and a renewed faith in humanity.
But another point in the plus column was that today I remembered to beg the computer center for a new keyboard since the replacement sent over once I lost the ability to type the letter I was hellaciously stiff and sticky so I had to hulk smash each key. The new keyboard is like typing on itty bitty crystalline angel wings. It is so pleasing I want to type extra long emails, start a screenplay, transcribe the movie Reds. It's the little things.
Also, Chris sent a link to this site this afternoon which introduced me to the best shirt in the whole world. It's a damn shame there's no larger image available for that.
Lastly, I had a year end epiphany on the way home: I hereby absolve myself from feeling any guilt or anxiety over eating too much or too crappily or not making it to the gym for the rest of 2008. I know it's rarely effective to put future start dates on these sorts of Making Big Changes type of plans (because more often than not, the future date just keeps moving further into the future), but I know how much I can chew in these waning weeks of the year and I'm not biting anymore.
Posted by beth at 09:13 PM | Comments (1)they craft for their lives
Nothing like a little listmaking to calm my anxious fury. Once I could see how few people I really have to buy gifts for, I unclenched a little and even made a couple quick online purchases. Hopefully they'll actually make it here on time. I just wish I could be one of those people who spends the year picking up perfect, delightful gifts for each and every loved one and storing them in my perfectly organized gift closet, next to my vast stores of cheeky wrapping paper and insouciant ribbons.
I also have yet again put some extra pressure on myself by deciding that handmade gifts, that I make, with my hands, in two weeks, would be an excellent and not at all ulcer-inducing idea. It wouldn't be such a bad idea for a patient person with some sort of real crafting skills as opposed to a person like me, a dilettante who plays at craftery like a meth head making macaroni necklaces in rehab. I don't know what it is, I tend to craft like I'm in some sort of Running Man-style execution gauntlet that will end in DEATH if I don't finish as fast as humanly possible.
But perhaps I'm exaggerating. The handmade items are only part of the bigger picture and I've set it up so I can throw up my hands in defeat and still make it to the finish line. And most important, I'm still making time to do things like meet heathalouise for cheesesteaks for lunch. Eyes on the prize, internet.
Posted by beth at 11:11 PM | Comments (0)what's grinching you?
I think someone keeps slipping me a rage mickey on the way home each night. Every time I sit down to spill out my daily Urban Tales of Urbanity I am instead overcome with rage-ahol and tempted to just type FU a couple hundred times, save, publish, done. Best of Holidailies, here I come!
Tonight is especially bad as the nightly voice lessons in the building seem to be going on longer than usual, and she is sucking more than usual, and it's a good thing I am too lazy to leave my blanketed nest on the couch, throw up the window sash (right?) and shout obscenities into the night. All bets may be off when Indian Delivery Man arrives.
Yes, Chris is out tonight, hence Indian Delivery Man. Chris doesn't hate Indian food, just the subpar version available in our delivery region. I, however, will eat any naan I can get my hands on. And lest you think Chris a devil for leaving me to suffer La Diva Stonata alone with my mediocre vindaloo, he also left me the last piece of leftover carrot cake. He deserves better than Crankopotamus Beth.
Maybe a listing of my grievances will lift the grouchy fog, like listening to a song stuck in your head sometimes clears it out.
Engrinchments:
- Stupid time and its slipperiness. 2 weeks til Christmas? I call foul on calendars.
- Plantar fasciitis.
- Neighbors who give voice and piano lessons.
- Starbucks, whose flavored lattes don't suck like their plain coffee does, thereby enslaving me like the rest of the Internet with their spices and milky goodness.
- Knickerbocking mice! Who poop in the kitchen!
I'm sure there's more but I just grossed myself out about the mouse poop and I need to look away before Indian Man arrives.
