Me: The only solution is to eat cheese, I’ve decided
Me: It’s the only option
Coworker Dennis: Big buckets of it
Coworker Dennis: Giant plastic bags in bed of it
Me: No! Not in bed
Me: The bugs can’t have any
Coworker Dennis: All bug situations make me just want to bomb the place like it’s Nagasaki
Coworker Dennis: Like, “There’s a 20% chance you’ll get cancer from this but the bugs will definitely be gone…” DO IT.
Coworker Dennis: I’ve had bugs AND mice
Me:): I told my Mom I want DDT back
Me: Fuck the bald eagles
Me: Drive that poison over here in an SUV
Me: Upholstered in baby seal
Me: I have bugs! It’s an emergency!
Coworker Dennis: Totally. Unscrew the snow owl’s head and release the poison.
Me: The only solution is to eat cheese, I’ve decided
Ma Smash: Have you blogged yet today?
Me: No, I haven’t! Got something for me?
Ma Smash: I do. Do you know what my grandson did tonight?
Me: Cried a lot? Ate cheese sticks? Climbed the stairs?
Ma Smash: No. Well, yes. But also this. I was getting him ready for his bath in the kitchen. I took off his clothes, and his diaper and then I got distracted for a minute.
Me: Uh oh.
Ma Smash: He smiled at me and peed absolutely everywhere! Your sister was horrified.
Me: Oh my God! Did you freak?
Ma Smash: I laughed my ass off. Then Oz laughed his ass off, cuz Gaga [her name for herself, swear to God -ed.] was laughing, and everything was so much fun, he toddled over the other corner of the kitchen and peed there. Whereupon, I fell down. The end.
It’s amazing Sgt. Lucky puts up with me.
I called him three times today weeping because the exterminator claimed he couldn’t come til next week. I can tell you from my extensive dating experience that men LOVE it when women call them crying, especially repeatedly in one afternoon. It’s like natural Viagra to them.
The good news is that we now have someone from another company coming to help us tomorrow morning. My new best friend Matt at UMG Pest Control is sending, he promises, one of their very best specialists. Clearly Matt could tell that I was on my last legs, sanity-wise, and didn’t want to get caught in the vortex of crazy. He was very nice to me, and didn’t even overcharge.
Matt: I can have someone there tomorrow morning, early.
Me: Oh my God, really?
Me: This is like Christmas come all over again. You have no idea.
Matt: (Smiling audibly.) You’re welcome!
If this sounds like an ad, I don’t care. I spoke with six people this afternoon, most of whom quoted me figures ranging from $1300-$1700. I believe that this constitutes extortion, and should be made illegal.
The most embarrassing part? I don’t know if this is scientifically provable, but I seem to be bitten more on the parts of me that are squishy. My tummy, left boob, and hip are all nicely decorated with welts. Lascivious little fuckers, aren’t they?
Fucking bed bugs.
There are not enough curses on earth. Our home is infested. We feel betrayed, etc. We will probably have to move, auto-defenestrate, scrub ourselves with kerosene and be reskinned. These are the only real options.
We found out about our bitey little guests yesterday, when one of them popped up on Sgt. Lucky’s pillow, sharpening his little knife and fork and inquiring if anyone had seen the tabasco. Then we found one on my bed pants. Then we pulled the bed away from the wall and found four of the little fuckers making merry in the crack of the box spring.
We managed to stay in denial til we found those four.
“That’s not a bed bug,” Sgt. Lucky said. “It’s too flat. I think they’re round.” (They’re not.)
“It’s not a bed bug,” I said. “We found one like it two months ago. Just the one! No bites!”
No bites two months ago. Lately, I’ve had the oddest problem with hives. I would have suspected bed bugs, but Sgt. Lucky didn’t have any problems, so I figured I’d developed a new and more interesting allergy to something in our detergent.
Turns out, some people don’t react to bed bug bites, and since Sgt. Lucky isn’t allergic to anything, it makes sense that he wouldn’t have problems with those either. Seriously, I think the man could ride a cat through a field of fiddlehead ferns while chewing on golden-rod and rubbing penicillin into his eyeballs and be just fine. His immune system is a holdover from the 19th century, before everyone had autoimmune this and allergy that.
Anyway, Lucky spent the day talking to the landlord and the exterminator and I spent the day washing everything we own. I have done twelve loads of laundry so far and gone to the dry cleaners twice. Also, we’re awaiting our second delivery from Bed, Bath & Beyond.
Soon, soon, we will be wrapped in bed bug proof covers and infused with essence of diatomaceous earth. This is war, fuckers. You have been warned.
Image via BedbugGuru.com.
2009 was not my best blogging year ever.
In fact, without looking at stats or anything arduous like that, I think it’s safe to say that it was my worst blogging year ever.
This is because of the usual reason: I was happy, and therefore had very little to say.
I’m still happy, however, I think it’s time to make a genuine effort with this here blog. I don’t want it to become one of those sad, half-updated ghost blogs that litter the internet. And I definitely don’t want to give up blogging altogether. I’m fair too self-absorbed for that.
So I’m going to do something completely crazy. I’m going to attempt to update this blog every single day next year.
One of two things will happen. I will either totally collapse sometime in mid-January and give up, or (and I think this is probably more likely) you will have to read many, many posts about how stupid I am for making this commitment.
Still. Me blogging. You with new things to read at work. It’s gonna be an awesome 2010, people.
I wrote a thing. Go read it!