Sorry, everyone. I've been sick the past couple of days. I'm not sure if it was the dreaded norovirus, too much shrimp 'n grits, or walking several miles in a downpour on Sunday. Or a combination of all three. Anyway, I've been down the past couple of days, and by "down" I mean in my bed
fantasizing about you naked resting.
Except on Sunday night and into Monday morning, when I had been up most of the night, trembling under the guileful hand of fever and doing my best not to puke, because, shrimp 'n grits? Good going down. I'm guessing monsterously unpleasant coming back up.
So, that was the fall out from my weekend in Charleston: two days of recovery from the plague. Or shrimp 'n grits. I'm not sure which.
Today, I was able to rest and recover, which was nice. I helped get the kids out the door this morning, wrote an email to my boss saying I was staying home, and went back to bed. Monday, I wasn't nearly so lucky.
My mother-in-law was coming Monday night to visit and to take the kids with her back to South Bend for two weeks while they are on vacation. My wife, as per usual, had to work the butt-ass-early shift on Monday, which left me to get the kids on the bus. My plan was then to rest some more and clean the house up since my mother-in-law was coming for a visit.
Peculiar thing about when my mother-in-law visits. It seems that, a day or so before she shows up, we get an unwanted visitor. A couple of times it's been mice. Once or twice we've had Palmetto bugs, which are like roaches from fucking Krypton, in case you've never had the pleasure of making their acquaintance. And believe me, you don't want to make their acquaintance. A roach big enough to set off a mouse trap and survive? Fuck that shit.
Once we even had a lice scare, but it turns out it was just dandruff. We still scrubbed and sprayed and cleaned the bedding like you wouldn't believe.
So, I was just waiting. What would it be this time? More mice? Some houseflies? Perhaps more Palmetto bugs?
My answer came Monday morning when I was preparing breakfast for my son while my daughter was getting ready to shower. I was walking across the kitchen floor when I glanced down and said to myself, "Hmmm. Look there. One of Cookie's (my daughter) brown hair rubber bands. Oh, huh. It's broken. And it's all curled up on itself. And it has eyes."
And then my brain registered: "HOLY FUCKSHIT!!! THAT'S A SNAKE!!!"Like all red-blooded, true American males, I have an unhealthy, crippling fear of snakes. I reacted in kind, by shrieking and running around the house thinking that the end of the world was here upon us.
Actually--and I'm being quite honest here--I have recurring nightmares about motherfucking snakes in my motherfucking house. And, here was my nightmare playing out, right in front of me, on my kitchen floor, with my mother-in-law only a scant five hours away.
So, I strapped on my spear and magic helmet, and went to work on the snake.
First, I called my son, Tank, over to take a look. Figuring all small boys love snakes, he'd be fascinated. Instead he ran screaming up the stairs. My daughter, however, came and looked.
I sent one of the children to fetch me the the trashcan from their bathroom, which had high, plastic walls, high enough that this reptilian fiend would find it difficult to scale on his own if I kept the trashcan upright. Once it was brought to me, I put it before the snake, thinking to urge the sinuous demon into the opened, plastic maw.
The snake, cold-blooded and cruel trickster that it was, had other intentions. It lashed its head to side, clearly in an attempt to disarm me, or at the very least to drink my blood. I took a new phone book that had arrived but days earlier (thanks, Verizon!) and tapped the snake on the backside. It was unamused and spun on me, hissing violently, its soulless, reptilian eyes fixed on me, preparing itself for the final attack. It coiled its body, the length of its sinuous, ribbon-like form tensed and ready for battle.
While it was preparing itself, I scooped it into the trashcan with the phone book. It landed with an audible thunk on the bottom of the can. I looked down at the bottom of the can and the snake lay there, defeated and ashamed. Once again, the mammalian brain emerged triumphant!
And let me tell you, ladies...I am 100% ma-male.
Victorious, I showed off my prize to my children before admonishing one of them to get into the shower and the other to finish his jelly toast. I then took the trashcan to the front door and, in one fluid motion, heaved the beast into the front lawn. I watched as all four inches of it slithered away to places unknown...places unknown which didn't happen to be the middle of my kitchen floor.
Like a panoply of heroes before me--Perseus, Apollo, Sigurd, St. George, Neville Flynn--I had disposed of the serpent and now I sought my reward in the form of a maiden fair. So, I called my wife.
"Do you want the bad news first, or the good news?""Good news, I guess." She claims she wanted the bad news, but I
ignored her because this response was funnier than just informing her that we had a snake in the kitchen and that oh holy hell, what was a fucking snake doing in our kitchen in the first goddamned place thought she said "good news".
"I threw the snake out in the front lawn?"
Cold silence. Then, "Uh, what?"
"I threw the snake out in the front lawn. The bad news is, we had a snake in the kitchen."
*insert keening scream here*
"What the hell was a snake doing in the house?"
"Visiting, probably. I'm guessing he came in on our shoes last night when we walked through the yard."
Long pause. "Okay. But it's gone. That's good. Everything else alright?"
"Yeah. I'm sick. But, the kids are getting ready for school."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later."
I hung up, got my kids ready, drove them to school (after waiting fifteen minutes at the bus stop), and then returned home where a quick inspection showed the kitchen was still blissfully devoid of serpentine intruders.
I sat back, basking in my victory, my spear soiled with the blood of the serpent, my helmet aquiver with magic, thinking about how I managed to face my fears and rid my motherfucking house of that motherfucking snake.
And then I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep.
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MJenks versus the Wyrm
March 24, 2010Posted by MJenks at 7:29 AM 24 comments
Fly Away Home Already
January 22, 2010So, it occurred to me this morning that, as I'm directing you here to the "new site", I wasn't providing you with anything "new". That's a bit of a faux pas. So, I thought I'd offer up at least a little bit of a story. Think of it as the blog version of everyone warming up their left over spaghetti for Sheriff Taylor when Opie kept screwing up the message as to who invited the sheriff over for dinner.
Mmm...oregano.
You probably didn't get either of those references.
Damned kids these days...
So, remember back in the early part of December when we had that warm snap? You know, before the bottom fell out temperature-wise and my feet developed their own permafrost? Apparently, that was prime time for the ladybugs...er...the ladybird beetles...to rise up from hibernation and invade my house.Incidentally, here in North By God Carolina, we still have red ladybugs with black spots. In Indiana, those had all been pretty much displaced by the orange and black Japanese ladybugs. You know, the ones with the small boobs and the really earthy smell to them when you crush them. You're familiar with the smell, the one that you can't stand, but after smashing the ladybug and being reviled by the stink, you sniff your fingers again because it smells like victory and death and shame all rolled into one? Yeah, we have those here in North Carolina, too, but we also have a lot of the red-and-black ones.
Anyway, my house is overrun with the little fuckers. I hear them buzzing around at night, clicking against the ceiling in my bed room. Occasionally, I'll feel one smack into the side of my head while I'm sitting quietly trying to read. However, the place where the ladybugs congregate the most? My bathroom.
And, not coincidentally, this is where they die the most, too. Because I kill them, not because my shit stinks that much.
Honestly, it looks like fucking ladybug Ragnarok around my sink, with dead bodies littering the area by the tens. Some are squished. Some simply have been on the lights too long...or something...and they've fallen onto their backs, folding their legs up over their thoraces (thoraxes?) in that typical "I'm a dead bug" fashion.
I guess the silver lining is that my bathroom is now all but aphid free...The final straw, though, came the other morning. I stripped naked for my morning shower and marathon-masturbation session. When I reached for the soap to scrub my filthy body clean, I started where I always start: on my muscular, masculine chest.
Immediately, something didn't seem right. Instead of cleaning my chest, the soap was making my chest stink, all earthy and musky, and there were hunks of shit in my chest hair. Fuck me running, I crushed a ladybug...er...ladybird beetle...into my chest hair and then proceeded to rub it around. I don't know if it was on me and I'm just that oblivious or if it was on the soap or what...but its entrails and various pieces of shattered carapace were smeared across my chest. I knew that for sure.
This was a violation most foul. Mostly because, no matter how much I rinsed my chest with the showerhead, and no matter how much I scrubbed and re-scrubbed the area, my paranoid and germophobic mind kept smelling the distinctive odor of crushed ladybug. Finally, after I had wasted enough time getting "clean" and I needed to get the kids ready for school, I got out of the shower and toweled off. A visual inspection showed no residual ladybug pieces, but I knew they were still there. Throughout the day, I would catch little whiffs of that distinctive odor. I'd be sitting at my desk and suddenly my upper lip would curl and my nose would twitch, and I'd look around for the offending beast, but I could find none. That's when I knew that I carried the distinctive aroma of dead bug with me all day. *shudder*
So, this weekend will be fraught with peril and pesticides. Or, I could just open the window and shoo them away. Whichever disrupts my intended schedule of lazy and worthlessness less.
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home...or at least get the fuck out of my bathroom.
Posted by MJenks at 9:03 AM 21 comments
Labels: no aphids allowed, pestilence, plague