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Friday, February 01, 2008
Playing opossum
I'm being harassed by a family of opossums...okay so maybe it's just the one and maybe it isn't me, but my dog. So really I'm being harassed by proxy. Alright, enough with the minor details, although I do excel at providing minor details - it's my thing. Note: my other thing is always picking the wrong checkout line.
For about a year or more this damn opossum lingers around the yard and eventually makes it way into the trees along the fence. My yard apparently is vital to its nightly journey because between 10pm-12am it's going somewhere. Then between 3am-5am it's going somewhere else, maybe home, using my yard as it's highway to hell.
Fritter goes ballistic whenever the animal is within 30 feet of the house. Better yet, when the stupid creature is trapped in the trees along the fence, Fritter will not stop barking. It' not a little kinda yap-yap bark, it's a pissed off at the world and she won't shut up until it goes away kinda bark. See that's the problem, it never goes away. It just waits. Hell, it doesn't even play dead. It just waits. Fritter, however, won't wait. She runs. She barks. She paws at the fence. Rinse; repeat.
Her battle cry wakes me and the entire 5 block area. I've learned I can't make the dog come inside or drive the opossum away. So I bribe the dog with a treat, close the dog door and eventually the opossum leaves. During the summer, this ritual occurred almost every night.
One time, Fritter trapped the opossum between the fence and the shed. Both the critter and Fritter were in attack mode. Not only did the marsupial not play dead, it hissed and snapped at the dog. Fearing Fritter's nose would end up ground meat from the claws and teeth, I carried her, ala fireman drag, inside. Figuring the opossum's brush with death, ie the broom I used to shoo it and Fritter's manic behavior, would ensure its avoidance of my yard for weeks, maybe months. Um, no. It came back the following night.
Although the evil creature has been absent during the winter months, it appeared under the carport tonight. When I went outside to scare it away, it turned around and started waddling towards me. Okay, so that little move totally freaked me out. I had nothing to defend myself against it's impending attack, so I went inside where Fritter and I stared at it thru the window.
Searching the internet for answers of how to keep the pest away from my yard I learned lots of useless facts. Like the average life span is 1-2 years because of natural predators. And they stay on the move looking for food. Apparently these facts don't apply to my opossum.
It also seems the masses have problems with the animals bothering their dogs. The advice given was to keep your dog inside. Wow, I hadn't thought of that - thanks opossum lovers. I was hoping for something like, spreading baking soda in your yard would keep them away.
So far the best advice I've heard is to buy a bb gun and take aim.
ramblings by Whitey on 9:55 PM8498475613036934300 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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Thursday, January 31, 2008
Shrinky Dink
My mother accused me of having shrinking feet. Just for clarification, she didn't ask this question, she insinuated I did something to make my feet shrink. Exactly how does one go about getting their feet to shrink?
I was over on MLK day (power to the people!) helping my Dad paint. As I was putting on my old running shoes to leave she starts the interrogation.
Mom: What did you do to your feet?
Me: What?
Mom: Your feet...they look smaller. Are your feet shrinking?
Me: My feet are not shrinking.
Mom: What size are they? They look smaller.
Me: They're the same size they always are.
Mom: Well, I've never seen your feet look so small.
Me: Perhaps I should have an outfit made out of this shoe material so all of me looks smaller.
Mom: They are mighty small now.
Me: Whew, I'm glad feet aren't the monstrosity they were before.
ramblings by Whitey on 3:43 PM6443516151815847267 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Maybe I'm a drunk and don't know it
...not that there's anything wrong with that.
A majority of my Christmas gifts, from friends, were alcoholic drinks. I'm not sure how my daily behavior indicated I was in need of copious amounts of liquor, but a small group of people clearly think need some.
Most of the time I don't even buy alcohol for the house cause I don't like to drink alone. Sure I've got a forty dollar bottle of whiskey that I thought would ease my dire stomach pains. It didn't actually help my stomach, but at least the vomit tasted like whiskey. FYI, if you're ever sick enough to vomit every day, multiple times a day, for about 5 months, whiskey flavored vomit is the way to go. And it's worth mentioning that chicken flavored vomit is the worst possible vomit. ever.
I've also got a bottle of vanilla vodka. Try mixing coke, vanilla vodka and amaretto together for a tasty cocktail. Note: I've never vomited this concoction so I can't endorse it for fits of puke.
Anyway, my fridge is now stocked with six pack of seasonal beer, along with the six pack of Mexican beer I bought for a boxing ppv, as well as the six pack of Bacardi bought for Thanksgiving. A tub of white russian mix is hanging out in the cabinet along with the whiskey and two bottles of vodka - one of those was a birthday gift. Most recently, Lutey loaded me up with a fifth of Crown.
There more liquor in the house than food...not that there's anything wrong with that.
ramblings by Whitey on 9:55 PM5505407271590579792 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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Tuesday, January 29, 2008
For the love of Lutey
Lutey has been absent from karate for about 6 weeks due to a back injury and little Lutey problems. Sure folks would ask about her kinda in the same way they ask how your parents are doing. I thought most of them were just being polite or making small talk at the end of class.
When she arrived tonight, you would have thought the Earth ceased to rotate. I've never seen such love and affection shown to one student. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back." And "it wasn't the same without you." How about, "It's great to see you." Or "I've missed having you in class."
Well, hmpft - I can't say I've ever had the same reception after a long absence. So it seems that either no one notices my absences, or no one wants make eye contact & chat with me, or people don't care about anyone but Lutey.
Dear Lutey,
What magic do you possess to woo people? I want some.
Hugs & kisses,
Whitey
ramblings by Whitey on 9:55 PM6447117679779145290 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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Monday, January 28, 2008
Brown Cow
The lack of personal hygiene in the work bathroom has reached a new low thanks to one person, the very same person who is in charge of cleaning said bathroom. You might remember Large Marge from previous posts like Hey, hey, you need to spray or the ever popular Back to the Bathroom.
For my own peace of mind, and desire not to get some sort of cootie from the toilet seat, I started buying disposal disinfectant wipes. On an average day I wipe down every single toilet seat/handle, stall handle, faucets, door handle and paper towel dispenser. Most days I repeat this process as necessary, which as it turns out, is quite often.
Until recently, only a few of us used the unisex bathroom. Most guys use the urinal but move to another floor for other bodily functions. Most of the ladies prefer the ladies only restroom, but a lock was added to the main door ensuring privacy for all who enter. I felt obligated to warn the other ladies about the seat situation and encouraged them to use the wipes as well.
As you may recall, the fourth stall was the place to be but I've stopped using it because it has become Marge's hovel and remains in a deplorable nature. For a while I stuck to cleaning the other stalls, leaving the fourth stall to rot but left unattended it became a biological nightmare. There are occasional guests who need to use the restroom and I worry what awaits an unsuspecting civilian, so I periodically clean that stall although I don't use it.
Working late last Thursday night, I was the last one in the office. Making the required pit stop before heading home, I cleaned the entire bathroom, using the last of the disposable wipes. In preparation for the next day, I opened the new container of wipes and left for the day.
Sometime Friday morning, I make my way into the third stall. During my required pre-flight check, I notice brown spots on the toilet seat. Ugh. I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that someone (read: Marge) dripped all over the seat (how does this happen?) or that she neglected to clean it up. How can she miss it? The seat is white; the spots are brown.
In desperate need of the disinfectant wipes, I open the container only to realize the next wipe is also covered in brown spots. WTF? Not only has Marge left her mark all over the seat, but she carried it to the one sacred, clean item in the room.
I'm asking for a full-body decontamination suit to wear when venturing into the bathroom.
ramblings by Whitey on 9:55 PM8255680805952679837 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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Kick the tires
Let's see if I can get this thing started.
ramblings by Whitey on 1:44 PM7876310706560168042 Whatcha talkin' bout?
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