How to Kill an Insect in 17 Easy Steps

After my run in with a HUGE sonofabitchen spider this morning, I thought I'd share with you all some tips I have on how to properly and efficiently kill a spider.  Or any mothereffing insect with tons of little squirmy icky legs.  (Have I ever told you guys how much I HATE little bugs with lots of legs?  They terrify me to no end.)
So, here it is.  My steps for killing a bug/insect/spider/creepy crawly/silverfish/"EWWW what is that disgusting thing?!"

*disclosure*  there in nothing humane in any of the following steps.  Shut up PETA.

1.  SCREAM like a little girl.
2.  Go "EW, EW, EW" repeatedly.
3.  Yell for the spouse.
4.  When spouse doesn't respond, run to the bathroom and grab the Lysol/hairspray/air freshner.  Anything aerosol and poisonous should do the trick.  I prefer hairspray as it's sticky and immobilizes said insect.
5. Spray bug GENEROUSLY.  If it becomes paralyzed and drops to the ground or completely sticks to the wall, that's the perfect amount.
6.  Run screaming back to the bathroom for a Kleenex or toilet paper.  Empty half the box/half the roll because ohmygod I'm not touching that thing AT. All. 
7.  Return to frozen bug and pick up with Kleenex/toilet paper.  Scream "EW, EW, EWWWW!" a few more times.
8.  Shudder.
9.  Run back to bathroom yelling at deadbeat spouse for not coming to your aid.  Do I have to do everything in this goddamn house?  Keep the spider body a full arm's length away from you.  You never know what it may do or when it may strike.  Be prepared.
10.  Toss paper wad with bug body in toilet. 
11.  Watch to see if  he starts moving again.
12.  If it's moving, hurl insults at it to die already! 
13.  If it's still frozen from hairspray, mock it anyway.  "Adios, asshole bug.  Enjoy your watery ride to your watery grave."
14.  Flush toilet and smile contentedly as bugs swirls away to sewerland.
15.  Flush again just to be sure it's gone.
16.  Flush again because of your extreme paranoia that the bug will somehow survive, climb back out, and attack your butt when you're on the toilet.
17.  Scream, "EW, EW, EWWWW," shudder, slam lid shut, run out of room to yell at spouse, then freak out all day as you feel creepy crawlies all over your body.  This is called PTBD, or Post Traumatic Bug Disorder.  It will go away eventually.  Until the next run in with an insect.

EWWWW!!!!!!!
 

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I Have a Feeling that After This Post, Food Network Will Be Calling me For My Own Show.

I'm going to go all Rachel Ray on you for a second and share a recipe.
It's more than just a snack or appetizer or dessert option, it's really a LIFE recipe, people.
This recipe has been passed down in my family for a very long time, so I'm sharing this with love and a need to pass on traditions to future generations.
I hope you buy the few simple ingredients required, and try this recipe out today.
Immediately.

Prep time: 1-2 minutes

Fill this glass......

With this:

 Make sure it just came out of the freezer so it's nice and chilled.

Roll this: 

In a heaping pile of this: 

Toss shot of vodka down throat.  Suck on sugared lemon immediately.

Repeat as often as needed.


 And don't worry, it's totally certified organic, see?  

Oops.  Well, it's organic too if you buy organic lemons.

Happy cooking!

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Grossest. Story. EVER.

Get a load of this one y'all.

The other day the Hubby changed the Wee One's poopy diaper because I tend to totally lose my sense of smell when she shits her pants.  It's convenient strange how that happens, right? So anyway, he must have been pretty careless about what he was doing and I have no idea how in the love of all that is holy this could have happened, but I innocently walked into the family room and immediately stepped in something warm and squishy.  A toddler turd.  That was on my floor.  And now stuck between my toes.

JESUS HERBERT CHRIST.
I HAD HUMAN EXCREMENT STUCK BETWEEN MY MOTHERFUCKING TOES, YOU GUYS.

I gagged and screamed and laid down flat on the couch and demanded that the Hubby clean my foot.  Then I hopped outside on my good foot to hose down the contaminated foot with water.  Still dry heaving and screaming and swearing the entire way.  The Hubby laughed the entire time.  Dickhead.

How do you drop poop from a diaper, on to the floor, and not notice?
OR, maybe he noticed it, but left it there to get me.  It's probably part of his plan to drive me batty so I'll commit myself and he'll be free to hog the bed and snore all night without me smacking him in the face to SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, YOU ASSHOLE SNORING POOP DROPPING FOOL.

I drew you a picture of this traumatizing incident.

I need to give my therapist a call now.

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SO. MANY. BALLS!

I haven't been able to finish and publish any good posts recently because I've been SUPER busy with work and kids and drinking and sleeping, but I wanted to stop in today just so you all know I'm still alive and kicking and annoying and random as ever.

I'm basically an attention-deficit clown juggling a million balls all at once and the ball labeled "blog" is the one that I let drop because if I drop the one called "kids" that's kind of abuse and I don't want to hurt or ignore my kids. Or go to jail.  I'm not prison material, yo.  I also refuse to drop the balls labeled "booze" and "sleep" for obvious reasons.  Clearly.  It's all about the priorities, people.

So I'm here, breathing and rambling and swearing and ranting, just in this place called real life and not so much on the internets or the Twitter lately.  I'm hoping everything slows down soon so I can pick up the blog ball I dropped and pay some damn attention to you guys for a bit. 

When I am back more, I'm STILL not gonna drop the booze ball though.  I'll balance that motherfucker on my head or juggle it with my toes or some shit because it's the one ball keeping me sane and smiling.

Oh, hi there.  Just me.  Phoning it in.  And I'm calling collect so you have to pick up the tab.  I'm lazy like that. 

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I Said Yes to the Dress. But Then I Regretted it and Cried Like a Baby.

Here's a quick, not-really-funny story for you, but it fits with our theme over at Cheesy Bloggers this week of "Best. Story. Ever."  I like this story because it's real and it happened to me and it's one of those little moments in life where you stop and go HMMM.... fate?  Coincidence?  What the hell was that and how did it happen?
I like this story.  May not be my best EVER, but it's pretty cool.

Over a decade ago I was planning my wedding to the Hubby.  The most monumental part of planning that day, for us ladies, has to be wedding dress shopping.  I had it in my mind that I didn't want fru-fru, princess, giant tulle that will eat my guests alive as I walked down the aisle, sparkly, lacy, whole-lotta dressness.  On the day we went dress shopping, I was nervous but intent on finding my dress in one shopping trip.  I wasn't the gushing, princessy bride type.

After trying on a few, I can't even remember how many, I had it narrowed down to a couple that I really liked.  They were both VERY similar in style, but one had more "bling" and the other had less.  So, in my hurried decision, I went with the less fru-fru dress, paid for it, done.  I really wasn't much into prolonging this dress crap.

Well anyway, within a week I was looking at pictures online of the dress I ordered and starting to wonder if I picked the wrong one.  I tried to convince myself I didn't.  It was what I WANTED.  Simple, not a lot of shit all over it.  I wasn't princess material. 

Within two weeks I was looking at my dress online and comparing it to the dress I didn't pick and getting stomach aches about it.  What if I picked the wrong dress? 

Within another week I was fighting back this inner voice that kept saying to me as I looked at pictures of my dress, "I hate my wedding dress.  Hate it."

Within a month I was a sobbing, panic attacking fool.... OHMYGOD I PICKED THE WRONG GODDAMN DRESS!!!!!!

It was a terrible feeling you guys.  Horrible.  I didn't want to get married in my dress.  I didn't like it.  I rushed to buy because I wanted to get it over with and lo and behold here I was, hating my own wedding
dress.  That I was stuck with because it was paid for.   

No refunds, sonofabitch.
I tried to convince myself to just wait til it came in and I tried it on again and maybe, just maybe I'd like it.  I'd be all tan and a few pounds thinner by then and it'd fit better and I'd put on a veil and waa-la, I'd like it.  Maybe not LOVE it, but who needs to LOVE their wedding dress anyway, right?

Fast forward four months or so when I got the call that my dress was in.  Time to go check it out, put it on, and hope for a miracle.  We got there, they brought out my dress to me, and the second I looked at it, I BURST into tears.  Crying like a motherfucking baby. Sobbing/hyperventilating/snot flowing kind of crying is what I'm talking about.

This upset the sales girls very much.  They didn't know what was going on.  When I finally got myself under enough control to speak, this is what they heard come out of my mouth:

That isn't my dress.

Everyone looked back and forth from the dress to me for a few seconds, confused.  So I said it again.

That... is NOT my dress. 

You guys, I'm not even kidding here, it was NOT the dress I ordered and paid for.  They scrambled to get their papers and compared numbers and discovered that, yes, in fact, they had ordered the right dress, the dress I'd said I'd wanted, but the manufacturer sent a different dress.  

I started crying like a baby again.  The salesgirls were freaking out.  "It'll be okay ma'am.  We'll get this straightened out.  We'll get your dress here somehow.  Don't cry...."

But here's what they didn't understand.  I wasn't crying because I was devastated.  I was crying out of pure relief and utter joy because I shit you not people, the dress that came in.....  The dress that they were holding.... It was the OTHER dress.   

The one I'd spent about five whole months wishing I'd chosen instead of the one I did.

I was ecstatic, thrilled, relieved, so so so very happy that the "wrong" dress came.  I put it on with my tan and my veil and they promised to take off some bows that I didn't like and alter it perfectly and not charge extra because this one cost more and ohmyfreakinggod was I happy.  I didn't have to walk down the aisle in the dress I regretted.  I got to get married in the one that was "meant to be."

I have no idea how the mix up happened, nor do I care. 

How's that for a story?  

  

PS, if I were to get married again, I'd go big, princess, blingy.  Dresses today are SO much prettier than a decade ago.  Just sayin.

 

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