fearlesstemp: (cary and baby)
grandpa update )

Must go to bed, but before that, a quick non-depressing anecdote.

Last night I was sleeping peacefully when I was awoken by a shrill, terrified scream. My mother. I reacted the way any kind, loving daughter would.

"Ma!" I grunted, still in bed, eyes closed. "Wassit?"

Another shrill scream.

"MA!" I rolled around in bed, willing myself not to wake up too much because I wanted to be able to go right back to sleep, willing my mother to stop screaming. "MAAAAA! WHAAAT IS IT?"

Another shrill scream.

I gave in. I opened my eyes, rolled out of bed, put on my glasses and stumbled into the hallway; in the time it took me to do this, I heard my mother yell, "Get! Get out! GET OUT!"

I figured the cat had brought in a mouse. We have a two-story front hall, so I can lean over and yell down (and toss down laundry, very convenient) when necessary, and I did just that. "Mom, what the - AAAAAAH! WAS THAT-"

"YES!" She screamed. "AAAAH!"


I shut all the doors on the second floor and ran downstairs to assist my mother; I was a big help. She was cowering in the bathroom with a butterfly net, and I crouched on the stairs across from her in my nightgown, and basically all we did was stare at each other in terror and have conversations that went,

"How did he-"

"I don't KNOW!"

"What are we going to-"

"I don't -"


Both of us: "AAAAAH!"

(Fit of hysterical laughter.)

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know! WHY DIDN'T YOU LOOK?"


Both of us: "AAAAH!!"

Basically, all we did was stand there and scream at each other. It was terrible. A real low point for the feminist movement; we went on like this for about ten minutes, and then I had to go upstairs and wake up my brother because I realized my mother and I weren't getting anywhere. He got out of bed, put on his college sweatshirt, went downstairs, got a tennis racket, and within ninety seconds he'd used the forehand that ended many a fun tennis game (he was always hitting tennis balls over the fences, into the park or pond beyond the courts) on the bat, and now the bat is quite literally chillin' in a tupperware container in our freezer, awaiting extradition to the county health department to be tested for any number of scary things I'm convinced I'm now infected with. (That episode of House I saw a few weeks ago about rabies is NOT helping right now.)

More news as it develops.
fearlesstemp: (lionel)
The fact that I'm not homicidal over the fact the power went out and so I missed the encore showing of The OC *and* the Everwood season premiere shows that this was a decent day. But seriously! Again with the missing of The OC! First they pre-empt for the Yankees, then the misleading TV guide (okay, not so much the TV Guide as my stupidity -- almost typed stupidness there, which would have been perfect) listing made me tape the wrong night, and THEN the power goes out! If I miss it tomorrow, I seriously will cry or, possibly, storm the local affiliate and see if they have copies of the feed or something.

Critter Report: We found a chipmunk in our garage the other day, and so we let our cats loose in there with the door open, and naturally, a few hours later, were greeted with the lovely sight of another! decapitated! bunny! What is *with* my cats and bunnies? They're the cutest little animals around here! And why do they rip the heads off? That is what I don't get, because they don't do that with any other creature. Part of me wonders if the cats are partaking in some bizarre kitty occult ritual.

Also, this frog's been hanging outside our front door these last few days, just chillin' with his bad self on the sidewalk. The thing is, I'm the only one who sees him, and it's gotten to the point that my parents think I'm insane. I tried to get them to come out and look at him tonight but they couldn't pry themselves away from the Giants and just suggested that I kiss him, as he could be my prince. "Pshaw!" I said. "Ha! You freaks! Hold on, maybe I'll just pat him on the head..."

But he ran away into the bushes before I could get to him and now I'm destined to die alone. So tragic. But! Tomorrow is another day for me and my amphibious amor! I shall call him Pierre, because all frogs are French to me, save Kermit. Will keep you posted.

Tonight was my second class and I was so totally prepared even though I'd only read 47 pages of a 200+ page book by the time I went to bed last night. I raced through the rest of it over lunch and before class tonight and even participated in the discussion, which I almost never do because I'm such a wimp. But I made myself do it! And I only sounded slightly ditzy. Some of you may be wondering why I'm taking this class, and the answer is: I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time! And I do enjoy it. God forbid I have a plan with anything.

My new temp assignment continues apace. They've given me voicemail and a phone extension. Usually it takes them about a month to do that. I feel like I'm in a relationship with someone that's moving too fast. "But we've only known each other a week! How can you ask me to record an outgoing message? This is all going so fast!"

Time for bed.
fearlesstemp: (bucky)
Last night I got home from work and spent a glamorous twenty minutes or so precariously balancing myself on one foot on a dinner chair, a swiffer mop thingy in my hand, scrubbing bat blood off of the ceiling in the living room. It was like some warped Swiffer commercial.

Post blood-scrubbing, we surveyed our handiwork, felt proud, and then received a phone call from my grandmother asking us whether we'd called the health department to get rabies shots. And then my mother and I stared at our Swiffery-smelling blood-scrubbing hands in horror and waited to start foaming at the mouth.

Dude! Rabies! Are you guys aware what critters are the most common carriers of rabies to humans? BATS. Grrr!!! We might have to go get SHOTS even though none of us remembers being bitten. And then we decided to go to the Centers for Disease Control website, which has this heartwarming, soothing story to ease our fears:

In February 1995, the aunt of a 4-year-old girl was awakened by the sounds of a bat in the room where the child was sleeping. The child did not wake up until the bat was captured, killed, and discarded. The girl reported no bite, and no evidence of a bite wound was found when she was examined. One month later the child became sick and died of rabies. The dead bat was recovered from the yard and tested--it had rabies.

My mother, brother, and I read this at the same time and gaped at each other in open-mouthed horror afterward. And *then* we read this:

The bat was behaving abnormally. Instead of hiding, the bat was making unusual noises and was having difficulty flying. This strange behavior should have led to a strong suspicion of rabies.

And then we were all, "Phew! Okay! It's not like the bat was flying around during the daytime, confused, smashing into walls and going right at people -- oh wait that's exactly what he did."

Grr!! Now my mother's calling places trying to figure out what to do. I don't want to get shots! I don't! I mean, I don't think I have rabies. None of us remembers getting bitten and seriously, the odds the bat was rabid? And I have not been foaming at the mouth or behaving abnormally! I mean, there was the five minutes or so last night during which my brother and I did our best impression of foaming-at-the-mouth rabid humans, chomping at the air by each other's and our mother's shoulders, but come on! That's just general family wackiness, not an "infectious viral disease that affects the central nervous system"!

Whatev. We will have to get shots, or we will not have to get shots. I leave it in the hands of my physician, Animal Control, and God.
fearlesstemp: (bucky)
Woke up this morning to the sound of shrieks and shouted obscenities, which, though par for the course in my house when a Mets game is on, is not so common in the early morning hours. I was lying in bed trying to decide whether it was worth it to get up a few minutes early to go investigate, when I looked out the bedroom door and through my bleary, glasses-less eyes, saw this FAT GRAY BLOB fly past my doorway.

Fly! Past! My doorway!

The cat who was sleeping next to me on my bed jumped to attention and stared transfixed at the doorway, so I knew it hadn't been a figment of my imagination. I stared in horror for a few seconds and didn't see it again, so I threw on my glasses, ran into the hallway, the cat hot on my heels, and hollered "What the HELL?" Before I could get the "HELL" out of my mouth, I heard my mother shriek and my father holler "IT'S A BAT! THERE'S A BAT IN THE HOUSE! A BAT! SHUT ALL THE BEDROOM DOORS!!"

And then it FLEW RIGHT AT MY HEAD and I screamed like a little girl and ran around haphazardly slamming the doors shut upstairs. A bat!! Gray and webbed wings and all disoriented and scary!! So scary!!!!

The cats, of course, were of great assistance -- Scout ran and hid in my parents' bedroom right before I shut the door, and Molly sat and watched from the stairs with detached amusement. The amusement is understandable, since the sight of my father and me racing downstairs, then upstairs, then downstairs again, in our pajamas (me: yellow gingham capri/sleeveless shirt pajama set; my father: ratty pajama pants and white Hanes T-shirt from the late seventies), waving brooms around recklessly, screaming "THERE! NO! THERE!" and "IT'S IN THE FAMILY ROOM AGAIN!! GO!! TO YOUR LEFT!!! NO, YOUR *OTHER* LEFT!" like maniacs must have been pretty funny.

Because we wanted the bat to go outside, we had all doors to the outside world open, so the neighbors got a pretty nice show. I know this is true because eventually Molly moved from her spot on the stairs to sit on the walkway about ten feet from the front door, which I can only assume was a better vantage point from which to take in the action. Her expression was nothing more than her usual stony disdain, but I swear she was laughing on the inside.

Anyway, after a solid five minutes of Brooms vs. Bat, we thought outside the box and grabbed a fishing net from the garage and my father used that to finally capture the critter and place him outside. We savored a few minutes of victory before one of us looked up at the ceiling and realized -- yum! -- that there was blood splattered everywhere. Nice. It appears that my father let the cats in without really paying attention, and one of them (Scout, we think, since she's brought other live animals [one time, a bird] into the house, while Molly just tends to eviscerate them by the front or back door) brought it inside wounded and then let it go. I can only assume it played dead for a bit, and then came alive when no one was looking and began its reign of terror.

Because dudes, it was terror. I mean, it probably weighed six ounces and was more scared than we were, but when you see it flying straight at your head, flapping its wings, making weird noises, I swear, I challenge anyone not to squeal in absolute horror. SO SCARY!!!

And I say that all that running terrified around with a broom totally burned enough calories to justify the half-piece of coffee cake I had when I came in to work this morning. Right?
fearlesstemp: (oh goodness)
So the other night, I was minding my own business, chillin', insert your descriptive phrase of choice, when I had one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. No, really. Really.

I was walking into the upstairs bathroom and felt this thing on my face, like a strand of hair, so I shook my head a little, and went to brush it out of my face with my hand. Before I had the chance to perform the brush-and-remove, though, I did what comes naturally -- to take a breath and try to blow the hair out of my face. And so I took a deep breath through my nose, I guess, and felt this THING in my right nostril. Naturally, I reacted in a mature manner: I snot-rocketed said THING onto the bathroom floor in no time flat.

I looked to see what it was AND IT WAS A SPIDER!!!! The THING was a spider!!!! And it had been IN MY NOSE! Or, if not in my nose, right about to gain entry into my nose! Skirting the outside of my nostril! HOW HORRIFYING!

Oh my God, I seriously almost died. I grabbed some toilet paper and did the ole squash 'n flush but dude, I'm totally traumatized. I'm fixated on blowing my nose. If I feel the slightest stuffiness in my nose, I simply must blow for fear that it could be a foreign object of the arachnid persuasion. I am traumatized!



fearlesstemp: (Default)

February 2009

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