Game of Exterminators: A Song of Puns and Ants

Last week I discovered that a colony of ants had decided to squat in my bedroom window. These ants are not the cute l’il teeny ones that are guilty of not much more than ruining your picnic either; these are giant motherfucking evil looking creatures that freak me the fuck out. Seriously. I am not a squeamish person but there is just something about these ants that send me into berzerker frenzy.

rage i hate ants

The last time that these fuckers had ventured into my room was in May and I thought that I had killed the colony since I had sprayed so much ant spray into the woodwork around the window that I nearly killed myself but then as I was working in my room last week I started to hear some sort of odd crackling near my window.

(Actually I think one of the things that sets me stupid about these ants is that I can hear them under the wood.)

I looked over in dread and sure enough there was an ant shaking his ass at me–who was soon joined by more ants who grabbed their crotches and flipped me the bird. I freaked out again and went on a spray frenzy but I had unfortunately used the majority of the spray in my last rage, and while I killed the ants that were doing the Harlem Shake on my sill, I didn’t feel safe from seeing an encore performance later.

I originally wanted to burn the house down but my mother convinced that an exterminator would work just as well. Since I have deadlines and am still covering at my “part time” job she took over finding an exterminator and setting up an appointment.

I came home on Saturday and was told that the exterminator had come and sprayed while I was at my other job.

“They’re Carpenter Ants,” my mother told me.

I nodded. “I could tell by the way they were singing Superstar at all hours.”**

“And it was a pain in the ass to find an exterminator. You would think that they would be under ‘E’ for ‘exterminator’ but they’re not.” (My mother still uses a phone book.)
“They’re under ‘P’ for ‘pest control’,” she clarified.

“I see. And what was the name of the company?”

“Able Pest Control.”

“Oh. I was hoping that they were named Lannister,” I replied.

“What? Why?” my mother asked.

“Because a Lannister always sprays for pests!” I howled with laughter at my own wittiness.

My brother happened to overhear this conversation and told me that I should beat myself for such a terrible pun.
a lannister always, game of thrones, tyrion

And that was the highlight of my weekend.
(I’m not even being facetious, that amused me for several hours.)

And Then I Ripped Out a Kitchen Faucet With My Bare Hands

Aside it being super-duper crunch time with my manuscript, another reason that posts have been sparse is because I have been so busy with super-duper crunch time that I haven’t been engaging in the world outside of my computer enough to experience the usual what-the-fuckery that inspires a good deal of my posts. Well if Mohammad won’t come to the mountain then the mountain will apparently come to Mohammad because there I was minding my own business in my own home on Saturday night when bullshit struck.

After putting in a nine hour day at my part-time job as an optometry tech, I sat down at my desk in the dining room to get some writing done. (There’s nothing like nine hours of dealing with whacko patients to inspire me to get work harder at my writing.) My mother was at her computer in the same room flipping out at Farmville.

“Did you start writing yet?” my mother asked.

“Not yet, I was still catching up on responding to tweets from Wednesday about my hair cut,” I responded.

“Oh good. Can you hit my Farmville request before you start?”

I opened another window on my computer and responded to another tweet as I waited for the game to load.

“I should have assured people that I wasn’t chopping off my hair when I mentioned getting it cut,” I told my mother. My brother had turned on the faucet in the kitchen and raised my voice a bit to be heard over the water running at full blast. “I got several messages telling me to keep it long.”

“What?” my mother asked over the sound of the water from the other room.

“My hair,” I said louder. “I should have made it clear that I never cut my above my shoulders because I like to keep it long enough that it covers my boobs if I ever forget to wear a shirt.”

“What the hell?” my mother asked.

“I know, that’s absurd,” I snickered. “With my amount of boobage I could never grow enough hair to cover them.”

“No not that,” my mother answered looking toward the kitchen. “What’s your brother doing in the sink?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like he’s rising it out.”

“Mike, what are you doing with the sink?” Mumma yelled.

“Nothing,” he shouted from the den.

My mother and I looked at each other and then bolted for the kitchen. We ran in to discover a small waterfall pouring out of cabinet under the sink and a massive pool spreading in front of it. I ripped open the cabinet door and stepped back just in time to avoid being burned by the scalding hot water that was spraying all over under the sink. I glanced inside and saw that the hot water supply line had burst. The water was now pouring out of the open cabinet only that it was too hot for me to turn off the water supply under the sink.

“Turn off the main water supply!” I shrieked.

Mumma ran into the laundry room but by the time she got the valve closed the burst water line had turned the kitchen into something out of a Kevin Costner movie. And much like a Kevin Costner movie I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I had never seen the disaster in front of me.

“I don’t feel like dealing with this,” I groaned.

“Mike you fix it!”

“I can’t. I’m drunk,” my ever-helpful brother replied. I happened to glance at the kitchen table and saw the remains of a Long Island Iced Tea sitting there.

“No you’re not,” I sneered.

“Well I’m buzzed,” he insisted.

I’ll fix it,” my mother interrupted.

angry jaguar

“I WILL EAT YOUR FACE, SINK!”

“You are not getting under a sink with scalding hot copper pipes!” I bellowed. And that was how it was decided that I was going to be spending Saturday night fixing a kitchen sink.

My mother emptied the cabinet and then I wedged myself into the cramped and soaking cabinet to survey the damaged. It was fairly easily to disconnect the supply hose from the water pipe but I could not reach the other end of the hose attached to the faucet.

A slight footnote here: the kitchen faucet had been most shittily installed only a couple of years ago and had been leaking. I had fixed it somewhat (with a broken hand at the time ’cause I am a rockstar like that) but it was never exactly perfect. My mother had bought a new faucet in preparation of a friend promising to instal it however that douche canoe kept blowing her off until she gave up.

“That’s it! We are getting rid of this piece of trash right now and I’m putting in that new faucet!” I yelled.

“Just leave it for now, Kat. We can do it in the morning,” Mumma said calmly.

“Like hell! Give me that wrench!” I again wedged myself into the damp wood of the cabinet and began banging, unscrewing bolts and cursing loudly.

“Are you sure that you’re going to be able to get it out?” my mother asked.

I wriggled out from the cabinet–which, between the garbage disposal and my aforementioned ridiculous chest, took the skill of a Circus Soleil performer–grabbed the faucet and ripped the fucker out of the counter top. “Yes,” I replied dropping the faucet into the garbage bag on the floor.

I’d like to say that all went smoothly from there, but though I am a fast learner, I know next to nothing about plumbing so that when I ran out to Lowe’s to get the needed supply line THAT DIDN’T COME WITH THE NEW FACET I bought the wrong one.

“What the fuck does FIP, MIP, OD stand for?” I snarled at Google.

Once I had figured out with a degree of confidence I realized that Lowe’s had closed. Again my mother urged me to leave the sink until the morning but there was a Home Depot not too far away and they were still open so I took off again.

“I’m 99% sure that I have the right line,” I announced when I got home thirty minutes later holding two braided silvery pipes. “And they better be,” I said shoving myself once again under the sink, “because the next time I crawl out of this cabinet I’m not going back in. So I might be sleeping in here.”

Fortunately it didn’t come to that and while it was a pleasure describing the tools I needed Mumma to hand me which I had not brought under the sink with me, I managed to install the new faucet before midnight.

new sink

The new faucet. (Also my GoT glasses kick ass.)

So that was my weekend.

(Try not to be jealous of my glamorous rockstar lifestyle.)

Gas, Grass and Gollum

So my mother and I went to buy a lawn mower yesterday and we met Gollum from “Lord of the Rings”.

Alright, I’ll back up a bit.

I came home from work on Saturday night to find the mangled remains of my mother’s lawn mower upside down and in the middle of the front yard.  Apparently the lawn mower and my brother had a disagreement and it came to blows.  The only winners in this battle though were my neighbours who got to witness the spectacular display of Irish tempertantrics.  The final result was that the lawn mower was retired, my brother was exhausted from flinging it around in an effort to make it work (no comment), and my mother and I had to pick up a new lawn mower on Sunday.

gollum, lowesWe walked into Loews and were making our way to the mowers when I heard a scratchy voice ask my mother if she needed any help.  I turned around to chide my mother for talking to strangers and nearly fell over a display of Tiki torches since the person who was offering her assistance looked almost exactly like Gollum.  Actually the gentleman was a very sweet grandfather of ten so I guess he would more accurately be “Smeagol”.  Either way it made the shopping trip more bearable since we all know how I loathe shopping.

Unless it’s at Victoria Secret, in which case, I’m the one who turns in Gollum.

“Do you want a mower that is self-propelled?” Smeagol asked us as we walked over to the display of mowers.

“That would make it easier to push, wouldn’t it?” I asked back.

“Oh definitely,” he laughed.

“Then we don’t want that.  My brother is the one who does the mowing and there’s no reason to make things easier for that butthead,” I told him, “In fact do you have any of those old fashioned push ones?”

“We don’t need it to be self-propelled,” my mother cut in, “But is gas or electric better?”

“The electric works well if you have a small yard, but otherwise a gas one would be best.”

“I think we can all agree that what would be best is whichever one make my brother work the hardest,” I said, “Now where are those old push mowers?”

To my delight, they do still make the old-fashioned, non-gas push mowers and Smeagol escorted us to where we could find one.

“There ya go,” Smeagol grinned, “And the push ones leave no carbon footprint!”

“No carbon footprint!” I repeated to my mother, “You see what a brilliant idea this is?”

“It cuts sixteen inches across at a time so it might take him a while,” Smeagol added.

“I will seriously pay for the lawn mower if you buy this one,” I told my mother.

My mother, from whom I get my short attention span, had already been distracted the display of shiny weed whackers behind us though.

“We should probably get a new weed whacker, too,” she said, “The old one has been sitting outside and rusting since Dad died.”

“Now weed whackers are another ballgame,” Smeagol began.

I sighed.
“The thing that you have to remember though,” I waved my hands to get Mumma’s attention from the wall of garden toys, “is that I want goats, and–”

My mother began to rudely laugh, however I continued.

“–they should be able to handle a bit of edging.”

“With goats you would only need to buy a little hand shovel.  And you would get milk!” Smeagol added.

“I knew I liked this guy!” I exclaimed, “So we’re agreed on the goats?”

In the end, my mother bought a gas lawn mower, though not a self-propelled one at least, and decided to wait on the weed whacker.  And I still didn’t get my goats yet.  The day would have been a complete disappointment for me except that thanks to the trip I have since decided to refer to the woman who does my Brazilian waxing as a “weed whacker”.

***

A quick end note here, I have some potentially fucking awesome news about my long-awaited book.  I am a big believer in not counting my goats before they are hatched though, so I’m not showing my hand just yet.  The only thing is that you may notice is that I’ve started to update the format this blog and make it at least look more like an actual writer’s website.  Believe me, content will stay the same because I am what I am–and that is to say that I’m a fucking lunatic and like telling you about it.  In addition to being a lunatic though, I am very serious when it comes to my writing, so I’ve added a new About Me section that sounds a little more professional than my original one.

(However, I’m still keeping the old one because, like I said, I am what I am and that that About Me probably illustrates who I am more than any actual paragraphs ever could.)

The Sky Was Storming But the Watermelon was Everclear

Number 24 on The List of Shameless Shit is “Share a struggle you have yet to “just get over.””  This could be a real downer of a prompt, but homegirl don’t play that.  Instead I’m going to tell you about the beach adventure that I had with my brother this past weekend.

I’m guessing that it’s because I now do so much work from home that I want to be completely out of the house and away from my computer when I don’t have to be around to go in to my pay-the-bills job.  Oddly enough the place that I keep wanting to visit is the beach.  While many of my favourite childhood memories involve staying at my grandmother’s shore house and going on the beach with my cousins, I haven’t been a beach fan in over a decade.  I’ve long ago given up on self-analysis though, so even if this change seemed weird, I just rolled with it.

The forecast for this past weekend had been threatening massive storms, but the worst rain that we seen so far was on Saturday when a little shower had blown through early and left the rest of the day sunny.  Sunday started out the same way–with a shower in the morning–but by 11am it was sunny again.  The beach was calling to me, and after a round of pleas and threats, I was finally able to convince my brother to take a shore trip with me.

We didn’t get on the beach until about 2:30, but the late arrival and semi-cloudy sky worked to our benefit because there were hardly any people to step over as we picked a spot to camp out.  The only issue with the late arrive though was that the tide was coming in and this would possibly mess with my beach plans: to make The Red Keep, one of the castles from A Game of Thrones.

Geeks take their geekiness even to the beach, you see.

My brother, however, had an equally geeky idea about how to give me more time to build my castle, namely by building another GoT landmark: The Wall.

the wall, sand castle, game of thrones

I like how he even labeled it “Wall”.

Much like it’s namesake, The Wall did protect the realm of my castle as the tide started to come in.  And if you are reeling from nerd-overload already, this will send you right over the edge because every time a large wave barreled toward the shore we would scream, “WINTER IS COMING!”  Or if it was a particularly foamy wave we would howl about The Wall protecting us from the White Walkers.

(Shut up.)

Unfortunately the tide didn’t play fair and there was a cross-current that came from the side of The Wall and began to erode The Red Keep before I was even a third of the way finished.

sand castle

“The White Walkers” have surrounded The Red Keep and have begun to destroy it.

After the second wave of “White Walkers” the walls were crumbling and the largest towers had fallen.  I was undeterred though.  I knocked down a few towers myself and declared that the castle was now Harrenhall.

(Pound for pound this is pretty much the geekiest I’ve been in some time.)

sand castle

The ruined castle of Harrenhall.

My brother and I had done all that we could do to save the castle, so we moved on to playing Washers.  We had no sooner set up the washer boxes when the sky opened up with a downpour that would have sent Noah to building another Ark.  I wasn’t wearing a bathing suit so I wrapped myself in a towel while my brother held a sheet over his head until he gave it up for a bad job and let himself get soaked.  For a good twenty minutes we were pummeled with rain, and when it finished everything was saturated–except me (haha-thank you towel).  The funniest part though was that The Wall and Harrenhall made it (kinda) through the storm.

beach after rain

My brother inspecting the remains.

We resumed our game of Washers and then looked over to see that a rainbow had appeared over the ocean.  I have better pics on my camera, but here’s what my brother managed to capture with his phone.

rainbow at the beach

There must be GOLD in the Music Pier!

And then a leprechaun appeared and while he didn’t give us gold, he gave us the next best thing: grain alcohol.

Seriously.

Okay, it wasn’t really a leprechaun, it was one of the guys from the group who had been beaching next to us, but he was rather round and jolly and he really did give us a watermelon filled with Everclear.  My brother and I didn’t have knives, but did that stop us from eating the watermelon?  Nope.  We tore the watermelon apart with our fucking bare hands and ate it.  By the time we were finished, the already drenched beach blanket was further soaked in Watermelon-Everclear juice.  It was a lot of fun to haul the sticky, soaking lot of blankets, towels and bag back to the car, but all in all it was a pretty kickass day.

So what does this all have to do with No. 24 my List of Shameless Shit?  Well, that sea water surrounding my sand castle?  That was the first bit of the Atlantic Ocean that I’ve let touch my skin since I was eighteen.  Without wasting too much space with details, next week will be the anniversary of the day that I was at the shore and came down with a fever that would eventually burn so hot that it would cause brain damage and destroy my memory.  The doctors had told my mother that I must have caught something from the ocean and as a result I’ve had a panic attack whenever I’ve been on the beach and the water came near me.  This my No. 24 because I’m not over my fear of catching a fever from the ocean.

But I’m getting there.

(And because I’m emo, I took the rainbow as present from God for a job well started.)

Fah La La La La, Fah Blah Blah Blah!

I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news, my dear peeps.

The bad news is that I got food poisoning and despite what some people might think, it doesn’t make the holidays bright.

The good news is…

Actually NOTHING!

This fucking blows! Literally! I don’t know what bacteria it was which invaded my darling body, but whatever it was, said body attacked it with extreme prejudice, throwing an unholy fit and calling for mass evacuation of all cavities! It was very fucking rude too because I had planned on renting the food I had eaten for a little longer than two hours!

Anyway, for some reason I get the urge to make cartoons when I’m sick, like how I made this little gem back when I had the flu in February, so you get to hear the “Tale of the Turntail Tuna” in comic form.

STORY TIEMZ!

Once upon a time there was a girl named Kat who was very excited to be going out with her friend, Jewels.

food poisoning comic

Jewels and Kat went to a cute li’l “pop shop” and ordered a sumptuous feast complete with fries, a large tuna sandwich, and milk shakes for dessert.

Food poisoning comic panel 2

About half an hour after finishing their food, Kat began to notice a rumbling in her tummy.

Food poisoning comic panel 3

Kat continued to ignore the obvious disturbance in the force because, as has been stated in previous Stupid Kat Tricks, she has issues with denial.  (Also in this case, she really wanted to catch up with her friend, Jewels.)

Food poisoning comic panel 4

She did wonder if she had suddenly fallen in an Alien movie.  Kat only hoped that it was the first or second Alien, since the third and fourth movies sucked.

Food poisoning comic panel 5

After a couple of hours, Kat and Jewels decided to head back to her place to chat some more.

Food poisoning comic panel 6

As soon as they reached Kat’s apartment though, Kat was forced to make a mad dash for the loo.  She emerged after a while, disheveled and clammy, but sure that the torture would pass and that she would be free to continue the visit with Jewels.

Food poisoning comic panel 7

The girls then agreed to cut their visit short and catch up again after Christmas.  After Jewels left Kat calmly admitted to herself that her tummy hurt a bit.

Food poisoning comic panel 8

Of course, her low blood pressure and parasympathetic response to adrenaline meant that she blacked out a few times from the excruciating pain.  Kat called her aunt for help (shocking since Kat doesn’t ask for help) and to bring her medication (double shocking since Kat has an aversion to medicines).

Food poisoning comic panel 9

(FUN BONUS FACT! Both residents of Kat’s abode–herself and her dog–can now lay claim to having thrown up on the carpet!)

Kat finally came up with a logical and mature solution to her battle with food poisoning.

Food poisoning comic panel 10

Her aunt disagreed with this solution; she got Kat Gatorade instead.

The End.

Epilogue

I’m doing much better now.

Also?  If this entry doesn’t satisfy number 19: Share details of a bodily function or fluid on my List of Shameless Shit, then I don’t know what would.

**All of these ridiculous pictures were created at SP-Studio.