Buddy the Squirrel

Growing up, my house always had some kind of recovering injured animal in it. I think my mom is some cross-version of a horse whisperer / animal loving Snow White. You know that scene in Shrek the Third where Snow White sings Led Zeppelin's The Immigrant Song? I immediately though of my mom and her army of wild animals - birds, turtles, hermit crabs, etc. We always had baby birds living on our porch because they'd fallen out of neighborhood trees. My mom would use a syringe to feed them baby bird food and we'd take turns playing with random recovering birds on our porch.

One time I even caught a chipmunk, but let me tell you, those are not fun pets. I think I had it in a gerbil cage for all of one hour before I let it go - I thought it would have a heart attack trying to run out of the clear plastic cage. But the craziest pet we ever had was a pet squirrel named Buddy.

When I was away in college, one of my best high school friends found an abandoned baby squirrel. And what did she do - she called my mom. Next thing you know, my mom is taking care of a squirrel - after calling animal control to see if they carried rabies, of course. She named it Buddy and it lived in a dog carrier on our porch. Seriously. He'd even crawl under the towels we'd given him and circle the cage like a dog deciding where to plop down to sleep. I first met Buddy when my parents came to visit me freshman year. My mom carried him in some straw-like purse thing and he'd poke his head out from under a towel every few minutes. I'm just happy the dorm staff didn't realize my mom was smuggling a wild animal into their facilities.

I came home for the holidays to find that Buddy would crawl up my mom like a tree and then run, jumping off her outstretched arm, onto my 6'3 father. When I arrived, Buddy was thrilled to see that a third human tree had sprouted for him to scamper up and jump off of. It was just short of freaking crazy to have a squirrel run up your back and soar off of an outstretched limb. But he was a chill little guy and this was life at my house.

After a while, Buddy grew up and it was time to set him free into the wild again. It took him a few days to stop coming back to the porch each night to crawl into "his" dog carrier. He'd still hang around our backyard and even come running if my mom ever called out his name. He'd been gone for several weeks before I came home for summer break from college. I was dressed and on my way to work one morning when I felt I was being watched going to my car. I looked over and saw a squirrel staring at me on the sidewalk. "Buddy?", I said.

I was immediately transformed into the human tree, with a squealing squirrel running up my side, through my hair, and around my neck. OH MY GOD. This was de-house-broken, I know how to hunt my own food, going to cut you with my claws, Buddy. I flipped out because he wouldn't get off me, he'd peed on my shoulder, and seemed to be ready to claw my eyes out. I managed to grab his body, fling him several feet away from me, and run inside the house just as he was about to get in behind me. I'll never forget the shrieking sound he made when I had to tosh him like a bean bag into the yard.

So needless to say, I am TERRIFIED of squirrels now. No joke. If I see a squirrel in a park, or on a campus, or even near my car, I freeze, trying to figure out the quickest way to get inside a building or a car. Even if a squirrel is just running around a tree or picking up an acorn, if it so much as looks at me, I grab the nearest person (usually my husband) and hide behind them. So if you're ever walking with me and I have a panic attack, just look around and see if there are any Buddy's walking around.

I See Spiders

Most people don't know this about me, but I see spiders. ALL THE TIME. There have been many times when my husband and I will be watching tv and I'll randomly jerk my head in one direction for no apparent reason. Why? Because I swear I see a spider out of the corner of my eye. I mean seriously, this happens at least twice a week, probably more. Most of the time there's nothing there and I know I must be losing my mind - or have some form of visual turrets.

But I do ACTUALLY see a spider about 40% of the time. Case in point: I'm doing a little house-sitting (house invading is more like it) this week. I'd like to preempt this with a very large "I'm sorry" to the couple who will probably rather not know the story I'm about to tell. The first night in the house was totally fine, I didn't have any head twitches of the spider persuasion. However, the second night, yikes. I really don't like spiders, really really. This may stem from seeing Arachnophobia way too many times as a youngster. Anyway, I have a box of stuff (ok, boxes, plural) in this house, sitting on the floor in the hall. I casually walk past it and immediately do the head spasm thing. OH my LORD. I'm pretty sure that thing could eat my face off.

On the very bottom edge of the box is the largest spider I have ever encountered. It's huge and brown and has scary legs and I'm convinced it's a brown recluse. I'm gonna die - because they bite you and then your skin starts to eat itself - I know for a fact because a guy in my business class got bitten by one and you should have seen this poor guy's hand eat itself away. Nasty. I freak out. I'm barefoot and the only item nearby to beat the living shit out of this thing is my brush. No way, then it truly will eat my face. I do a quick look around, half expecting to be Alice in Wonderland and a magical bottle of spider repellent appear saying "Use Me". No luck. What do I find? The best new bug repellent I've ever met: Shout! As in - gets stains out of your laundry "Shout!". I sprayed the spider once and it immediately balled up, fell off the box, and died. Shout is my new best friend. Me -1, Spiders -0.

Ah, but round 2 was only one day away. I get home from work to find the largest house centipede I've ever seen on the wall in the kitchen.

Right now my spider seeing accuracy is at about 110% and I need it to be -500%. The only thing I hate more than house centipedes are silverfish and those scary brown camel crickets...



Animals like this just shouldn't be allowed inside a human dwelling place. I didn't have the courage (or height) to kill this one so I just ignored it. And now I live in fear because the million legged creature disappeared from site an hour later. I'm hoping the mercy I showed the centipede will make its way through the spider nation so I don't get ganged up on for killing mister brown recluse. I'd love to keep my face covered with skin.

This is Just an Appetizer

I know, I know. I've been totally MIA. But it's actually been on purpose. I'm truly about to explode from all the little random things I want to publish on this blog...think Gretchen Wieners from Mean Girls...hair so big because it's full of secrets. I don't think it's safe to write about them all until after I leave this contract gig, but I will give you a taste of the stories to come:

It's 6:55am on Good Friday, I'm the only one at work yet from my department, and things are super quiet. I see a man from another department walk past my office and think nothing of it. Until he back tracks and walks into my office. (Back story: this guy is much older, really shy, and keeps to himself. He's just a guy I pass in the hallways and say hi to - as any polite southerner would do).

I say hi and he immediately hands over something and says "this is just an appetizer". My brain screams "say WHAT? what? what does that mean?". My eyes look down and see two pieces of individually wrapped chocolate in a zip lock bag laying in my palm. Ok, this is weird. Not that I have a totally dirty mind or anything, but seriously, doesn't that sound SO sexual? Hours later I will obsess over this phrase "this is just an appetizer" and try to convince myself he only means it's an appetizer for all the chocolate Easter candy I'm about to get. And really, wrapped chocolate in a zip lock bag? What's up with that? I'm so shocked at this point I don't know what to do - I am definitely a deer caught in headlights.

Then here comes the best example of why I'm the biggest dumb ass in the world. He follows up that one liner with, "I'm not very good at this, but would you like to have lunch with me this week?". Now, I know what a normal married person would say - Hells No. But I immediately recall a time when a girlfriend of mine told me that not all guys are interested in me and that I shouldn't be so full of myself. Thanks friend. Because my reaction was "Suuuure???". I mean come on, this guy is shy and totally not social, and I felt like he was asking because he was trying to make a friend. I was trying to not be full of myself and consider this a lunch date. And to my own defense, I practically shoved my wedding ring in this guy's face to make it clear I was married. And of course, as soon as the "Suuure?" response vomits out of my mouth, I immediately follow up with the excuse that I'm really busy at work right now and I don't know if I'll be able to get away for lunch, etc. He offers up another great one liner: "Well, you know where I am". Um, yeah, I do, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to stay as far away from that office as I can.

As soon as that's all over I call my husband and he agrees that we should give the guy the benefit of the doubt because he's probably just trying to make a friend (I know, how retarded ARE we!?!). I tell one of my coworkers because now I'm scared this guy is a crazy serial killer and he's going to hack me up in little pieces and make me eat my own fingernails or something. She totally thinks it's a date invitation. I literally hide from this guy for 2 weeks. Isn't that sad?

After two weeks, I'm certain he's gotten the picture that No, I don't want to go out to lunch. Yeah. Right. Monday morning arrives and again I'm at work really early all by myself. I've gotten in the habit of keeping my office door almost completely shut until some other people start arriving at the building. I hear footsteps in the hallway. I hear a tiny knock at my door. Panic rushes through me and my heart is practically outside my body. I look at that tiny little sliver in my door and see flowers. Beautiful flowers. How did my husband get in a secured building??

And then I see a head poke in the door and it's crazy serial killer man. NO! As soon as he walks in and tells me he's brought me flowers, I make a stop motion with my hand and tell him this is very inappropriate because I'm married. Yikes, that was fun. I can tell he's mortified as he stumbles through saying that he grows flowers at home and that he brings them in for coworkers sometimes and that he should have asked me first if I was married. Way to avoid the sexual harassment claim buddy. I'm mortified, call my husband and he offers to do some ass kicking. My coworker walks down the hallway to see that no coworkers in his department have flowers. Talk about awkward. So now I cringe every time he walks by my office (which has significantly increased since the flower day) because I'm pretty sure I have my very own stalker.

So moral of the story - be as full of yourself as you want to be - because he totally means it sexual when he says he's got an appetizer for you. Oh, and make sure you throw that chocolate away immediately. You don't want to get all roofied.

Old Red

Every now and again I check out the free stuff listed on Craigslist. I've actually gotten some pretty sweet stuff doing this and if nothing else, it helps the day pass by. I find it really interesting to see what crazy stuff people will try to give away and what words they use to describe. Like "funky couch" means "heinous, dirty, and probably has bodily fluids on it". Or "vintage", which means "old piece of crap that I doubt anyone even wants for free".



Today's Craigslist experience has been my favorite of all time. About a week ago I was browsing the free stuff in Nashville and found someone giving away a real, live horse for free. For reals. Today I was looking at the stuff in DC and came across a listing for a free horse. In DC? Where the heck is there any land to have a horse here??? And that's when I came across my favorite posting yet:

"Old red needs a new pasture. Eats nothing, real quiet, gets along well, does rear most of the time. Has had a few injuries but healed well. Comes with one can of touch up paint."

I might be the only person who finds this funny, but you're also talking to a gal that had a life-size cardboard cutout of Goldberg (as in Bill, the wrestler) in her college apartment. I really think that Old Red would be a great conversation starter at parties. And I could totally decorate him for each holiday. For Halloween he could be a witch and for Christmas I could just toss on a Santa hat and wrap him in lights. I have a fondness for Old Red and am actually sad I can't have him. He'll probably end up in the hands of some unappreciative frat that'll break his legs off. Can't you just imagine having Old Red in your house and sending your kids to him for time-out while saying "quit horsing around". Har har har.

Satan’s Floor

This past weekend I was able to experience the true *delights* of contractors installing hardwood floors. The contract was signed two weeks ago, with demolition to begin two Thursdays ago. Thursday arrived and so did the first bit of drama. Our floor had jip creek under it which crumbles to pieces when you pull up plywood. Sign number 1 that this was going to be the floor from hell. Next they get to the stairs and, oh!, surprise!, they’re not made out of concrete, but wood. Sign number 2 that this was Satan’s floor. So by the end of Thursday we find out that we can’t install the engineered wood we were sold because it won’t adhere to the stairs. We’re super excited to have to drive all the way back to the flooring store in rush-hour traffic.

The new plan is to install real hardwood flooring. Brazilian Cherry – which costs a heck of a lot more than the stuff we bought. But since the retard who drew up the contract failed to realize you shouldn’t ever install engineered wood on jip creek, we get the new stuff at cost. Thank you, God. The plan is to have the new wood delivered at the crack of dawn on Friday so they can install it on Sunday morning (48 hour acclimation period). Well, that part goes super well because the wood gets delivered at 3pm on Friday. Sign number 3. We literally have to wait a full 7 days for work to be done again on the floor.

My Good Friday was spent watching contractors install the new floor – not very exciting (but I am leaving out SO many awful details). On Saturday everything is going pretty well and I guesstimate that they’ll be done around 6pm. But 6pm arrives and they’re not done. At 7pm a neighbor comes up to complain about the noise and how he has friends coming over soon. The contractors promise to be done in 30 minutes. Ok, that’s cool. Well, 8pm rolls around. Seriously guys, I’m ready to eat dinner. At 9pm I walk over to check things out since it’s getting kinda late. They decided to have a brain fart and cut out a hole in the baseboard and pull a telephone line through it. I mean, I’m all for having random wires hanging out in my hallway but seriously, are they on crack? I call my husband (who’s out of town all week) to see if this is what he told the contractors to do. Um, no. So guess what time they finished on Saturday? 10pm. For reals.

Not exactly how I expected to celebrate Easter weekend. My advice…expect contractors to screw you over and for the entire experience to make you want to claw your own eyes out. Happy Easter!

Sometimes it's Better to Be Wrong

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a hypochondriac/paranoid person. But I'd like to point out that I'm also correct more than half the time. For example, when I was in college, I was a rower, and one November I noticed that my back was hurting really bad. It hurt for weeks, to the point where everyone was sick of hearing me complain, my coaches wouldn't let me row during that time, and finally they sent me to have it checked out. Oh yeah, it was fractured. So thanks everyone for telling me I was just being paranoid. You can really just kiss my butt.

You need another example? How about the time when my foot started hurting really bad for no reason? Again, I complained and no one believed me. Yeah, it was fractured. Need a non-medical example? How about at my wedding when I was getting ready to run out to the car with my new hubby. Without reason, I asked him if he had his wallet for the honeymoon. Random, I know, since he's never forgotten it before in his life. Yeah, he'd left it at the hotel where his parents were staying.

So, to bring a point to all this rambling, in my previous blog posting, I speculated that there was a convict near my house and that's why a helicopter was circling my neighborhood. I was totally joking but then decided to check some news websites. Thanks Fox news....

ALEXANDRIA, Va. -- Police are investigating after three attempted assaults on women in Alexandria over the weekend.
The first attack happened just after midnight Saturday. Police said a woman was walking in the area of Beauregard and King Street when a man grabbed her. The victim screamed and fought her attacker and the man fled the scene, police said.
The second attack happened just after 1 p.m. Saturday at a McDonalds at the intersection of Glebe Road and Mount Vernon Avenue.

Police said a man tried to push his way into a bathroom that a woman was using inside the McDonalds. He is described as a white Hispanic man. He was wearing a black jacket and black pants.
The third attack happened at about 6:30 p.m. Sunday near Armistead Boothe Park and the 500 block of Cameron Station Boulevard in Alexandria.
Police said a woman was attacked by a man who attempted to sexually assault her. The victim told police she managed to fight her attacker off.
Police are still investigating all three incidents. Authorities said they do not believe that any of the incidents are related.

Um, YEAH. I live a hop-skip-and-a-jump from Cameron Station. I'm going to go buy some mace.

Convict

I'm still in quarantine tonight, currently watching the movie Annie on TV. Nothing is on and I don't want to watch Ryan Seacrest being an idiot at the Oscars. Plus, Oscar speeches make me feel uncomfortable. I don't like people who get kicked off stage because they're talking for too long, it makes me embarrassed for them.

So I'm watching the part in Annie when Punjab saves her from dangling off that bridge...you know, he ties his turban to the helicopter and saves her. Well, I'm sitting here thinking, wow, this tiny 17 inch TV has some mad surround sound. That is, until I see a helicopter spotlight through my window. No big deal, I keep watching the boob tube. Except I keep hearing this helicopter A LOT and see the search light again. After 5 minutes I start counting the times it's circling over head. In the past 15 minutes it has come around 19 times. Uh, is there a convict in my neighborhood? I mean, this is DC. It's times like this when I realize it would be great to have mace and a taser gun. Have you ever wondered just how bad it would hurt to get tasered? I do. We watched an episode of Mythbusters where the red head chick tased one of the guys. It was awesome.

Well, they must have lost the convict because they're getting farther away, but have circled 12 times since my last count. Oh, and there goes Ryan Seacrest being a retard... He just asked Jessica Alba if she's going to breastfeed. Get a grip dude. I'll check the news tomorrow to see what nut job just escaped from a mental hospital (we've had two of those already this year).