I have a tendency to Google things that I shouldn’t and scaring the shit out myself. You know, like when you have a headache and runny nose, and instead of blaming it on the common cold, you get ballsy and look it up only to be told you’re suddenly having a stroke, massive bowel blockage, and you’re two skips and a jump away from keeling over and landing face first into your morning bowl of Cheerios. If you don’t use Google as a health consultant already, don’t start. You’re treading into dangerous territory. Just say no.
Here in North Carolina, I feel like my house has been under siege from hordes of bugs. Even after an exterminator came by, and after the hundred+ I’ve killed, (or I’ve told my husband to kill as I scream in bloody terror, rocking back forth on the couch in the fetal position in tears,) they don’t stop! It’s insanity. So, I thought I’d take to Google to figure out what type of bug was trying to become my new roommate and… lover. (I mean, I did wake up in bed with one on my lip the other day… so I’m only assuming it wants to be.)
It’s simply called a ‘house centipede.’ Okay. That’s fine… at least they are common and not coming around because of my terrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win, right? My cats are entertained for hours playing with them when they’re bored, so it’s a bit of a win in my book.
Then I scrolled through Google pictures and found this:
House centipedes can GET. THIS. BIG. And in some places in Asia people keep them as pets. A pet. Like the cuddly dog you curl up on the couch with at night to share your ice cream cone with. (Can you imagine the creepy crawling sensation when this monster walks across your neck? I’m gagging.) There is absolutely nothing okay with this. Nothing. It’s safe to say I will never be stepping on the Asian continent.
Just say no to Google. Some things are better left unknown.
There’s nothing worse than having your in-law’s dog throw up on you while you’re enjoying some syrup-covered bacon. Until he proceeds to eat the dog-food-puke chunks off of you and all you can get yourself to do in that moment is scream in abject terror. Of course, if I didn’t take the time to look at Alex with a bitchy stare and say ‘this is why I don’t want a dog!’ he wouldn’t have had time to eat it again. So, touchè, universe. Touchè. Happy Sunday!
An hour or so later the dog threw up again (not on me this time, thankfully) and the cycle started to repeat itself. Pretty sure this is a metaphor for my life. Even when I know something will have a bad outcome, at times I lack some necessary self control to stay away from it. Like when I eat bacon while I’m trying to work on my health or pick my nose even though I almost always feel crushing embarrassment when I’m caught
red green-handed. Will I ever learn or will I be stuck in a puke-eating cycle for the rest of my life like poor Fido?
So, we’re finally on my self-hosted site. I hope everything is in order and shows up correctly. Let me know if there’s any sort of difference you notice and I’ll try to get it fixed. I’m not sure if people are getting alerts to when I like/reply back to a comment or not, but everything else seems to be in good order. Thanks for hanging with me.
If we’ve previously talked through email, I don’t have that address anymore. The new one is : firstname.lastname@example.org
There will be more changes to the site as time goes on, this is just the beginning 🙂 I have some plans in mind!
Fun Fact: Rats laugh when they are tickled.
I wonder how weird the Petco employees would think I am if I told them I wasn’t there to purchase anything. Only to tickle their rats. Think they’d let me, or call security? Maybe I just need to take a trip to NYC.
At least I found a new goal to accomplish in November.
They are kinda cute, right? Maybe a little bit?
I woke up yesterday feeling like I was upchucked by Satan… which, I can’t say I was too disappointed about. It gave me a legitimate reason to do nothing but be a lazy sack all day. Score! But, as I laid here in a mush of blankets with tissues corkscrewed into nose (sexy, eh?) I discovered two things:
- I never add pictures to my posts. What the hell? That’s boring and something that needs to be changed.
- Too much cold medicine makes you do weird things.
So… here’s a picture of my husband trying to shove himself into a pet carrier.
Why, you ask? Because why the hell not.
Ziggy, our foster cat, has been dubbed the official “Pimp of Cuddling.” Of course, it didn’t take long for this guy to find a new home. He took a liking to females — whether it was human or cat.
He’s got more game than my husband. Okay. Not really. Shh
Although I know he’s found a great home, he is missed.