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Do you remember this story?  And then the follow up?  Yeah, good times… 

Well………  We had a little visitor last week.  A not-so-well-loved visitor. 

The Mister’s job has been taking him out of town.  A lot.  And you guys know how I feel about that…  That’s another story for another day…  Anyway, on one of his recent overnights, for two nights mind you, he leaves me early in the a.m. with this statement:

“Love you.  *kiss*  Have a good day.  I’ll see you day after tomorrow, k?  OH, and by the way, I think we have a mouse in the house.”  And then he runs.

NO WAY, NO YOU DIDN’T. 

Me, shouting after him:  “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY???????????????”

The Mister, running towards the door, yelling over his shoulder:  “Yeah, I think we do.  I think I saw one this morning.  It could have been a frog.  It was dark.” 

He almost made it to the door before I tackled his ass and put him in a headlock.

“What do you mean you think you saw one?!?!?  And that it could be a frog.  Was it a frog or a mouse????  Because they most definitely are not the same thing.  What did you see?!?!?  WHAT DID YOU SEE?!?!?!”

He went on to tell me that it was dark and he was walking through the living room and thought he saw something hopping like a frog.  It hopped around the corner towards Tucker’s room, so he rushed around the corner to inspect, and found the hallway completely empty.  He said it was weird, that he expected to see a frog sitting there, but since nothing was there, he was thinking maybe it was a mouse.  That a frog wouldn’t have just vanished into thin air like that.  But, he swore, it really looked like a frog.

What.The.Hell?

So, I let him out of the house unharmed and he went on his merry way, leaving me with a frog or a mouse or a combination thereof…  A frog is one thing.  A mouse, now that’s something completely different.

I opted for frog.  All morning long I was jumping around corners and snatching up bedskirts expecting to find a cute little frog sitting there staring at me.  I told the kids we had a frog.  I called the Mister at least fifteen times to confirm that he really and truly thought it was a frog…  I was feeling much better about the whole thing.  We were even joking about the “frouse” (frog-mouse combo…) in the house.

Until…………………………… 

I was opening Avery’s bedroom door to attempt a clean up.  The Gs were over the night before and the kids d-e-s-t-r-o-y-e-d Avery’s room…  Like you couldn’t see a square inch of the floor kind of destroyed.  We were too drunk tired to care that night, so we left it for the morning.  So, in I went to try and do something with the sea of pink and purple and green tulle and sparkles and crowns and dolls and plastic food and ten thousand mother fucking Polly Pocket shoes, when I saw it.   It was no frog. 

Upon opening the door, I spy it…  A giant ass, monster, prehistoric sized wharf rat with glistening fangs baring its teeth and hissing at me…  (Not really, it was a tiny little mouse, running to hide, but that’s what I saw upon first glance…)  It was a rodent scampering out of the pouffy pile of shit on the floor and making its way behind Avery’s kitchen.  I immediately slammed the door shut, fell on the floor and started hyperventilating.

Well, not really…  It wasn’t that bad.  I shut the door quickly and ran into the kitchen snatching up the phone to call the Mister…  I didn’t care that he was in an important meeting and couldn’t be interrupted.  I didn’t care that he was out of town…  He was going to do something, damn it.  Of course, he didn’t answer.  Seeing as how he was in a super important meeting, in another town, and couldn’t be interrupted.  And I’m sure it also had to with the fact that he had run out of the house that morning leaving me with a rodent infestation…  And he was scared…  And I don’t blame him.

I was on my own.  I called my trusty exterminator, who probably already thinks I’m insane (read the linkies provided at the top.)   He didn’t answer, either.  What the hell was wrong with these people?!?!?  Didn’t they know I had a crisis on my hands?!?!  The two men in my life that should be there for a rodent infestation…  The two men I trust the most in the world with my rodent and/or bug problems…  I left him a rambling, crazy message and when he hadn’t returned my call in thirty minutes, I left three more.  Then called the home office and had them call him, because I was calling his personal cell phone.  Hey, he’d given it to me…  I bet he changes it now, though.

Now, you know what a germaphobe I am, and if you read the linkies I provided up top, then you’ve been refreshed on the seriousness of my germaphobia.  Especially when it concerns rodents.  And rodents in my house, well……  You can only imagine.  My stress level was through the roof.  I ran back to Avery’s room, and as much as it pained me to do it, I stuffed a towel under the door.  I mean, it was bad enough that it was in her room and all of her toys would have to be burned, but I didn’t want to have to decontaminate the whole entire house…  So, I trapped it.  In my little Princess’ bedroom.  *Vomit*  

All morning I was racking my brain on how it could have gotten in…  Were there more?  Where all had it been to spread its little rodent germs???  Do I need to call Stanley Steamer to come clean all the carpets???  Was it carrying diseases???  Is there a vaccination against the bubonic plague??!?!?

(I’d been leaving the back door open a lot while we played outside…  NO more.  Absolutely no open doors for even a second.  It will get you yelled at.  Needless to say, the Mister is putting up a screen door this weekend.  He’s tired of getting yelled at.)

Finally, after three excruciatingly long hours, the exterminator shows up.  He comes in, trying to guilt me just a little about all the phone calls and the tattling to the office…  All of that, I completely did not hear…  I did not care.  I’d of called his mama if I thought it would’ve gotten his ass here faster.   He’s nice, and he humors me, and he didn’t give me too much grief… 

He came on in and put those sticky traps all around Avery’s sweet room.  (Which was hard with a sea of toys on the floor…)  Gives me the run down on mice, tells me not to panic, there was no need to call Stanley Steamer, we’re talking about one little harmless mouse, not a pack of dirty city rats, I didn’t need to worry about germs or diseases or vaccinations of any kind, etc, etc, etc…  He tells me not to let her back in the room and to keep the door shut until it’s caught…  Okay………………  It’s her room.  How long can this take???  Apparently up to two days.  WHAAAA? 

I was just so relieved that he had come to my rescue and talked me off the ledge about the germs that it didn’t really occur to me at the moment that he was leaving me with this problem.  I mean, I was expecting him to come in and crawl around on the floor, with, I don’t know, a rat catching net and some cheese and get the mother fucking thing out of my house…  Not leave me with a pile of sticky traps and tell me to have a good day.  I was just assuming he was going to wait around, like it wasn’t a Friday afternoon and he didn’t have anything better to do, until the little thing was caught.

So, I’m walking outside with him, thanking him, practically prostrate and kissing his bug spray covered black Reeboks, when it occurs to me that he’s actually leaving…  More panic ensues…  What am I supposed to do with it when it’s caught?!?!?  But, I didn’t want to seem like a total freak and that I was seriously expecting him to wait, after he just told me it could take up to two days, so I, as nonchalantly as I could, asked, “So what do I do when he’s caught?”  I did not want to hear that answer. 

He says, with a chuckle, “Well, nine times out of ten, they’re still alive, just wiggling and squirming and squealing like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Okay.  Great.  SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT IT?!?!?! 

I shit you not, he said, “Well, you just fold up the sticky trap and you *makes the motion of whacking it on the concrete* dispatch of it.”

WHAAAAAAAAAA?  I’m sure my mouth was agape.  So, wait, I’m thinking, let me get this shit straight…  Not only are you, the FUCKING EXTERMINATOR, whose job it is to get rid of rodents, leaving me with one in my house, but you are also expecting ME to kill it, too??????  It took me a minute as my mind reeled…  I’m sure I staggered a bit.

After I had recovered my senses, I said, “Well, my father-in-law (who had been called and put on stand-by) is coming later.  Hopefully, it will be on the trap and he can handle it.” 

And get this…  This is the best (worst) part…  As if it wasn’t already bad enough, he says, “Well…….  Be sure not to leave it on the trap too long….  They’ve been known to gnaw their own legs off to get off…  And that’s a mess.”

Ya think? 

That’s all I needed…  The Mister out of town and I hear all this squeaking and squealing and burst in the door to Avery’s room to see a rat pulling itself around the room by its little bloody stumps. 

Oh.My.God. 

I think he knew he’d better leave at that point.  Or either I was just in too much shock at that image in my head to hear him say goodbye…  Either way, he left me standing in my driveway with a pile of extra sticky traps in my hand, should I need more. 

Can you guess how many times I called the Mister that afternoon?  Can you guess how many times he actually answered his phone?  Yeah.  None.  He finally responded to an email much later in the afternoon…  Chicken shit.

My in-laws came for dinner and I made my father-in-law check the trap ten zillion times before he left.  My mother-in-law actually spent the night with me, with my father-in-law saying, bravely for her, that she would take care of it for me should the mouse get caught while she was here.  When he left, she said, “I don’t what the hell he thinks I’ll do about it…” 

Anyway, we weren’t woken up to the sounds of squeaking and squealing and there were no bloody stumps stuck to the trap and a missing mouse, nor did we have to “dispatch” of him ourselves….  We woke up to a pretty cute little, already dead mouse stuck to one of the traps.  No drama.  As if we hadn’t already had enough…  I put on two layers of latex gloves and disposed of it and shut the door on the mound of toys and dress up clothes and Polly Pocket outfits, waiting for the Mister to get home to decide what to do with it all…  I was thinking bonfire…

If any of you want to clean out your kids’ rooms, feigning a mouse trapped inside is a good way to do it.  Avery never once protested or questioned us when we said we might have to get rid of some stuff because of the mouse germs…  She was very okay with it…  And we got to weed out all the broken crap and Happy Meal toys without a fuss…  My already behind laundry pile has grown by a good bit, though, since anything that could be washed was shoved into garbage bags and thrown in there to wait its turn.

I have washed her dress up clothes (her fifty princess dresses and whatnot…) But, ten thousand stuffed animals may make it to the dump undetected.  And if she ever remembers and asks me where Puffy the Pink Pony is, I’ll just blame it on rat germs.  She hasn’t asked, though, where anything is, and it’s been over a week now.  Her room has never been so clean.  Especially since the Mister steam cleaned the carpets and rug and we scrubbed, cloroxed and lysoled everything else…  Each and every single solitary mother fucking Polly Pocket shoe was cleaned…  It was a chore.  That mostly the Mister performed.

And he better get his ass home with a quickness today and get busy on that screen door.

I’m Still Here…

ETA:  Ooops!  Guess someone didn’t want Youtube to have that one…  Here’s a link.

Éirinn Go Brách!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day from this Irish lass! 

I’ve been watching that clock all afternoon… 

I take my Irish heritage seriously, people.  My mom’s family is Irish, my dad’s family is Irish…  The Mister’s family is Scottish, so close enough…  My kids are in trouble…  But, seriously, I’m proud of my heritage.  (And it gives me a great excuse for my alcoholism…  “Eh, she’s just Irish…”)  The Mister and I even had Irish elements incorporated into our wedding…  And the ceremony was ended on the bestowing of an Irish blessing upon all the guests.  So, we love this holiday!  And it’s a serious kitchen pass to drink beer and eat my ass off.  (No anorexia for me today!)  

We always have shepherd’s pie, corned beef and cabbage, Irish cheeses and breads and, of course, tons of beer.  The corned beef is cooking now and my mouth is freaking watering.  I love corned beef, but with this damned anorexia and all keeping me from eating shit, I’m seriously salivating…  And am looking even more forward to my Irish meal than I normally am.  I fully intend to be sick from gluttony by the end of this night…

Look at my cutie patootie little Leprechauns this morning:

And just because he’s so stinkin’ cute:

Can I start drinking heavily now?  Yes, yes I can.  I waited til 4:00.  It’s St. Patrick’s Day…  And I’m IRISH.  It’d almost be blasphemy not to…  No, it would be blasphemy not to.  No vodka water for me today! 

So……  Sláinte! 

(That would be “cheers!” in Irish Gaelic…  Pronounced slaan-cheh…  Although, this picture of me is in Germany at Epcot last month…  So, if you happen to be German, Prost!) 

And I’ll end it with a couple of great Irish sayings and expressions…  Now you can go wow your friends and family with some St. Paddy’s Day jargon!  Be sure to put a good slurrrrrrrr on it, though, k? 

May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead!

May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat!

Lá Fhéile Pádraig (That’s “St. Patrick’s Day”…  Pronounced law ae-leh paw-rig.  Wouldn’t want you mispronouncing…  Doesn’t that just roll right off the tongue???)

Pionta Guinness, le do thoil.  (“A pint of Guiness, please.”  pyunta Guinness leh duh hull)

Tabhair póg dom, táim Éireannach.  (“Kiss me, I’m Irish!”  Which on this night around the world should probably just be “kiss me because I’m drunk as hell and horny..”  Pronounced TOO-irr pogue dum, toyme AY-ron-ock)

An bhfuil tú ar meisce fós?  (“Are you drunk yet?”  Very important on St. Paddy’s Day.  on will too air mesh-ka fowss?)

Póg mo thóin!  (That would be “kiss my ass”…  Always handy to know…  Pronounced pogue muh ho-in, because that’s one important to know how to pronounce.)

And last but not least…

Tá mo bhríste trí thine!  (“My trousers are on fire!”  Because who doesn’t need to know that one?!?!  I mean, seriously.  thaw muh vreesh-tah tree hin-ah)

I’ll leave you with the Irish blessing said at our wedding:

May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine

Warm upon your face,

The rains fall soft upon your fields.

And, until we meet again,

May god hold you in the palm of his hand.

And just one that I love:

Wishing you a rainbow

For sunlight after showers—

Miles and miles of Irish smiles

For golden happy hours—

Shamrocks at your doorway

Luck and laughter too,

And a host of friends that never ends 

Each day your whole life through!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, my friends.  Now go get drunk!

No?

Seriously…  What.The.Fuck?  Now SHE definitely gets the Dumbass of the Day award in my book. 

There are just no words.

Well, we got the estimates…

Laura’s car came to a grand total of $3200.00 and 8-10 days of a rental car.

Mine came to $520.00 and two days without a car.

She’s coming this Friday night to help me ward off the Boogie Man again.  I guarantee you she will not be parking anywhere near me…

On a brighter note:

– All the kids are over the stomach bug.  No more poop or puke to be scrubbed out of the carpet.  YAY.  That deserves a toast!

– The anorexia is really going well!  I’m down ten or so pounds.  I love being an anorexic.  Go, me!

– The Mister will be gone again (which is not so happy news in itself… I miss him when he’s gone, plus I really, really, really, really, really hate being alone…  I’m the world’s biggest wuss…,) but it means another GNI.  (That would be Girls’ Night In.)

– Spring is in the air.

On a not so brighter note:

Mema has really gone down hill in the past two or three weeks…  She can do nothing for herself…  Including potty or bathe.  Or eat.  Because she tries to eat everything with a spoon.  They caught her trying to eat potato chips out of the bag with a spoon last week.  They also found her sitting in the hallway with her legs sprawled out in front of her with nothing on but a pajama shirt and one leg in the arm of one of my uncle’s sweaters…  I don’t think they’ll be able to keep her at home much longer.  And that’s seriously sad.  My uncle can’t do it all, and as he so eloquently put it, “Nobody should have to see their mama’s cookie.” 

That’s about all I have to report today.  I’ll be back later.  After I fight Hurricane Henry down for a nap, play princess with the Princess and bounce my beautiful bouncing baby boy on my knee for a few minutes…  Then it’ll be time for a nice tall glass of the vodka and diet tonic water.

Well, I’ve had one hell of a Girls’ Night Out.  It’s been a blast…  We’ve had so much fun!  Funny stories, good times, a few vodka tonics…  Pedicures, pajamas and some running into cars… 

Yep…  Pajamas and “some running into cars”…

Because that’s what we call a good girls’ night out, bitch.  Hellz yeaaaaah. 

(Dana – where are you?!?!)

Did you really get that?  Yeah.  Some literally running into some parked carz… Good timez.  Hellz yeaaaaaah.

Nothing says girls’ night out like when you have to call your husband and say, “Honey, um….  I went to get some beer and took off the side of Laura’s car…”

No… LITERALLY!

ETA: 

UPDATE FROM THE VILLAGE IDIOT…

The above post is all true.  The Mister is out of town, and Laura came over to hang out and spend the night (you know, to help keep the boogie man away…  because she’d be oh so helpful if he did come…)  I seriously was heading to the store last night after the kids went to bed, hopped in my car, starting backing out and heard “CAAAARRRRRUUUUNNNNNNCH.”

I hit her car.  In my very own driveway.  Now that’s a Girls’ Night. 

Laura’s car:

My car (my NEW car):

The Mister is going to just loooove this.

Still Being Puked On…

Just wanted you to know I’m still here.  I haven’t run away.  Yet.  (Poor Henry.)

Thank you, Dr. G, for the “mother’s little helper.”  Could you hear my eye twitching over the phone?  I hate to deplete your supply, even by one, on the very day your little Princess has a tonsillectomy.  (But, not enough to not take you up on the offer.)  I’ll supply you with wine.  Or vodka.  Or both.

That’s what friends are for. 

Here’s to the little man being spew free tomorrow and to Princess Sophie’s speedy recovery. 

Or we’ll need a lot more booze and pills…