A snowy morning in April? Hell yes. That was one beautiful coffee-sipping view. I know, you probably woke up pissed about it. I'm not happy that you're upset to see it but it sure did make my day.
I've always kinda been the odd man out. I prefer Winter and cold weather while the majority of the world would take shorts and sweltering sun. No thanks, shorts, I'm all set with you. I'll sit uncomfortably in my jeans in August. Trying my hardest to not be outside unless I am inches from the ocean. (My attire changes slightly whilst I sit by the sea). Late October through March, however, I will spend all the time in the world breathing in that cold (somewhat) fresh air. But ya'll don't want to hang out there with me then, do you?!
I'm certainly not an avid hiker but I do really love walks in the woods... in November. You're not finding me dwelling amidst a thick forest if there is even a hint of humidity in the air or a winged insect... or a crawling insect for that matter. The more leaves on the trees the less my chances are of being outside. I prefer a bare tree silhouette any day. This is the time of year in which I truly appreciate the last of the branchy views and I take lots of crappy sunset pics to capture them.
As for books - I'm not really a big reader of popular best sellers. I'll read anything Stephen King puts out but that's as far as it goes. I also don't love audiobooks or podcasts (Shout out to the You Rock School of Music podcast!) I do have a couple of favorites but I guess I'd rather read or view the material than just listen to it. I don't comprehend as well by just listening - I'm incredibly visual. My guitar instructor can tell me the same thing over and over again but until I actually print out exactly what I need to learn and study it I just can't grasp it.
I'm also not a "Paint and Vino - Girls Night Out" kinda gal. I don't want to paint what you want me to paint. I also don't need to sit in a group of thirty women I don't know giggling over Zinfandel. I'm not knocking it for all of those who enjoy it! I love you guys and love that you enjoy it! I've seen plenty of posts on social media of amazing paintings that have come from these events. But much like a Pampered Chef party or Thunder From Down Under night - I'm not attending. Give me my best friends in a brewery or vineyard and I am more than happy to stand around with my glass having a fantastic time.
I am going to end it here because this list goes on and on and on ... I always intend on writing shorter posts but my typing fingers are very wordy.
I hope you all have a great weekend! See you soon!
xo
Showing posts with label bugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bugs. Show all posts
April 18, 2020
May 16, 2013
Yeah, I can't do this...
It's a beautiful day. Currently, the temperature is 78 degrees. There is a light and lovely breeze. The sky is blue, the sun is shining and all that other harmonious crap. So, the question at hand is Why am I not outside enjoying this glorious day with my little peapod? Well, if you MUST know, the answer is Because I am an absolute lunatic.
Spring time. Some wait all year long for it - daydreaming of ice-cream trucks, children on swing-sets, flip flops and open windows. Others (myself exclusively) want to hibernate from it while mentally taking a brown crayon and coloring the entire neighborhood barren and still asleep. I'm not ignorant. I know that nearly every creature in the world emerges sneakily during the first sniff of a warm day. I've seen them crawling. I've heard them buzzing. Don't think I haven't killed at least seven of them already. We can't avoid them so we just suck it up and get on with our lives, right? Yeah, no.
Scarlett and I have shared many a session of outdoor play before the height of hatching season. I enjoy bringing her to various playgrounds and especially the beach. Sure, I am most comfortable dressed head to toe in fleece romping around in the freezing cold snow where you can't find an insect with a chisel. I'm also quite popular during the Fall months, ya know after those initial overnight cold blasts exterminate the yard naturally. May is probably the scariest month of the year. Flowers popping up everywhere - not to mention weeds and pollen galore. You can't focus your eyes on a blade of grass without seeing at least six nasty wigglers crawling around from your peripheral vision. And, if you're my neighbor, you can't grill a burger from your deck without seeing me flail and hearing me shriek at least once during your meat flips.
I tried today. I didn't feeeeeeeeeel like going out in the yard. I was crampy and bloated, I had a slammin headache and swollen glands (allergies). And honestly, I'd have rather just taken a walk around the neighborhood in my beekeeper suit. But I feel so guilty keeping Scarlett inside. I know that we'll get ninety other beautiful days but today is kind of a true gem. Plus, she has only used her sandbox once since we bought it and I knew I'd have to conquer that bastard eventually. So I put on my brave face, lathered her up with sunscreen and we headed out.
First, we tried out her new bubble mower... which she made abundantly clear that she hated. Awesome. Next stop was the sandbox. My heart was pounding as I got closer to it. The lid was just covered in leaves and little floofy things that had fallen off the tree. {I reeeeeeally didn't want to put the sandbox underneath the tree but it's the only logical place to put it when it comes down to Scarlett's sun-safety and Gregg's yard work}. I somehow managed to take off the lid and not ONE leaf/floofy thing fell off of it. That grossed me out... why are they stuck to it????? Then I eyeballed the sand. Holyyyyyyyyyy ... really?? Like nine florescent green worms are crawling around in there. Then I see a frigging sand-colored (camouflaged???) spider with like a weird bubble-stomach. I really almost vomited. Various dead gnats or whatever spotted the rest of the sand. I immediately grabbed her sifter and sifted every little asshole out of that box. I dumped them into the gravel and tried to crush what I could. She played for about five minutes until I decided that my heart was about to burst into flames and we were going for a walk.
So hours later here we are... sitting in the upstairs den. She carefully chooses colored blocks from a pile and drops them into a pillowcase. The rest she fits interestingly into the lid of a box. She "reads" her favorite Mickey Mouse Clubhouse books. She does somersaults, runs down the hall from room to room, works her puzzles and plays the xylophone. I think we're okay here. She's being creative, getting exercise, learning and playing. I'm calm, my blood pressure has returned to a safe level and my headache has even disappeared.
I will not deprive Scarlett of the joys of being a kid, playing outside all day and night -the way I always did before I became a ridiculous, irrational maniac. I will, however, pick and choose the time and place and possibly the pill prescription for myself.
Spring time. Some wait all year long for it - daydreaming of ice-cream trucks, children on swing-sets, flip flops and open windows. Others (myself exclusively) want to hibernate from it while mentally taking a brown crayon and coloring the entire neighborhood barren and still asleep. I'm not ignorant. I know that nearly every creature in the world emerges sneakily during the first sniff of a warm day. I've seen them crawling. I've heard them buzzing. Don't think I haven't killed at least seven of them already. We can't avoid them so we just suck it up and get on with our lives, right? Yeah, no.
Scarlett and I have shared many a session of outdoor play before the height of hatching season. I enjoy bringing her to various playgrounds and especially the beach. Sure, I am most comfortable dressed head to toe in fleece romping around in the freezing cold snow where you can't find an insect with a chisel. I'm also quite popular during the Fall months, ya know after those initial overnight cold blasts exterminate the yard naturally. May is probably the scariest month of the year. Flowers popping up everywhere - not to mention weeds and pollen galore. You can't focus your eyes on a blade of grass without seeing at least six nasty wigglers crawling around from your peripheral vision. And, if you're my neighbor, you can't grill a burger from your deck without seeing me flail and hearing me shriek at least once during your meat flips.
I tried today. I didn't feeeeeeeeeel like going out in the yard. I was crampy and bloated, I had a slammin headache and swollen glands (allergies). And honestly, I'd have rather just taken a walk around the neighborhood in my beekeeper suit. But I feel so guilty keeping Scarlett inside. I know that we'll get ninety other beautiful days but today is kind of a true gem. Plus, she has only used her sandbox once since we bought it and I knew I'd have to conquer that bastard eventually. So I put on my brave face, lathered her up with sunscreen and we headed out.
First, we tried out her new bubble mower... which she made abundantly clear that she hated. Awesome. Next stop was the sandbox. My heart was pounding as I got closer to it. The lid was just covered in leaves and little floofy things that had fallen off the tree. {I reeeeeeally didn't want to put the sandbox underneath the tree but it's the only logical place to put it when it comes down to Scarlett's sun-safety and Gregg's yard work}. I somehow managed to take off the lid and not ONE leaf/floofy thing fell off of it. That grossed me out... why are they stuck to it????? Then I eyeballed the sand. Holyyyyyyyyyy ... really?? Like nine florescent green worms are crawling around in there. Then I see a frigging sand-colored (camouflaged???) spider with like a weird bubble-stomach. I really almost vomited. Various dead gnats or whatever spotted the rest of the sand. I immediately grabbed her sifter and sifted every little asshole out of that box. I dumped them into the gravel and tried to crush what I could. She played for about five minutes until I decided that my heart was about to burst into flames and we were going for a walk.
So hours later here we are... sitting in the upstairs den. She carefully chooses colored blocks from a pile and drops them into a pillowcase. The rest she fits interestingly into the lid of a box. She "reads" her favorite Mickey Mouse Clubhouse books. She does somersaults, runs down the hall from room to room, works her puzzles and plays the xylophone. I think we're okay here. She's being creative, getting exercise, learning and playing. I'm calm, my blood pressure has returned to a safe level and my headache has even disappeared.
I will not deprive Scarlett of the joys of being a kid, playing outside all day and night -the way I always did before I became a ridiculous, irrational maniac. I will, however, pick and choose the time and place and possibly the pill prescription for myself.
March 28, 2012
Pests
This is a post that I originally wrote in 2009 and have selected as my favorite post to link up to
Alison (of Mama Wants This) and Ado (of Momalog)'s First Blogoversary Blog Bash.
I've chosen this post because it is just one of the best glimpses of me that you'll ever get. It's all true. It showcases my ridiculousness. I can't help but to write about myself a lot of the time simply because it's what I know best. Those who know me know that I'm a stubborn, sarcastic, little whippersnapper but this post will show you the vulnerable side that I often try to keep hidden.
Pests:
When I was a little girl I really enjoyed living in the "country". For the first six years of my life my family called Richmond, Rhode Island home. We had it all: the poison ivy, the blueberry patch, the gypsy moths, the neighbors who made moonshine and conned people out of money with a cleaning products scheme. Ahhh, it was bliss. Being young and carefree, I didn't mind the snakes or the bugs ... or even the constantly flooded basement (my parents hogged up all the "minding" on that one). But for some reason, as I grew older I grew less fond of things that slither, buzz, crawl and creep.
One of the first insects I learned to LOATHE was the almighty cricket. These terror-evoking creatures would ninja around our basement and plant themselves somewhere super scary so that when my guard was down they could scare the shit out of me. I would be "studying" for school exams (listening to my headphones and reading Teen Beat) and see one sitting on the end table. Heart attack. I carried aerosol cans of Lemon Pledge with me so that I could spray the last breath out of them. It caused them to turn white and slide off the table. And I will never, ever, ever, EVER forget 'bare-footly' slipping on my little, white Chuck Taylor's to find that horrifyingly unpleasant, squishy surprise. I ran, like my life depended on it, straight to the toilet and gagged my guts out. In fact, just writing that now forced a full body shiver and facial expressions that should probably be mocked on You Tube.
There were dozens if not hundreds of times that I called for my mother to kill a spider or a bee. She would take off that classic "mom slipper" and smack them dead for me. One night, or more like early morning, I woke my father to kill a moth that was aimlessly zipping around my bedroom. He couldn't find it and groggily assured me that it was gone. Well that was clearly unsatisfying to me. There was no way in hell I was getting any rest. So there I sat, on my bed with a can of Lysol in one hand and the vacuum attachment in the other. I waited him out. He never showed. I ended up finding him months later, dead, behind my bookcase. Why I almost never cleaned my room is a story for another time.
The glistening cherry on top of my paranoia sundae came when I had the joy of experiencing the House Centipede. I won't even attach the link - just Google it if you've never seen one. Vomit town. The horror took place in our first apartment and we had lived there only a few weeks when I saw the first dirtbag. I had just put my yoga mat on the floor for some Pilates when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurrying like it's ass was on fire. The shape and color petrified me. A jillion-legged, antennae-clad, beer colored demon bug. It came out from under the television and sprinted across the room. My heart stopped. I had NEVER seen anything move that quickly. Frozen, I called Gregg's work - begging for them to put him on the phone. I called my upstairs neighbor leaving a message so tragically hilarious she played it for everyone at work the next day (and weekly for years after). I called my mother pretty much insisting that she should take the twenty-five minute drive and save me from this sinister creature. But I was left alone on this one. Grabbing my trusty can of green apple Lysol, I inched my way back into the depths of hell. Roughly twenty minutes passed before I mustered the courage to start spraying him. I DRAINED that can leaving a puddle about the size of a Papasan chair cushion in the center of the living room. This was the first of MANY standoffs. It got to the point where I became so terrified of them that I wouldn't enter a room without scanning the walls and floors first, clutching Hot Shot Kitchen Bug Killer (which didn't repel them but would inevitably kill them when sprayed directly on their nasty asses). I also wore shoes all the time, refusing to walk barefoot. This horrific time in my life actually caused some permanent damage. If I notice so much as a tiny piece of a leaf or even lint on the floor I immediately assume it's a scary bug. A simple hole left by a nail or tack, a scuff mark or ANYTHING out of place on the wall triggers instant panic. And just yesterday, happily picking apples with the family, I was a flailing, yelping mess as "things" buzzed by my cranium in the orchard. I'm a broken woman.
Final thought - Please note that I do realize that not only am I a rotten human being for killing off scores of innocent, disgusting creatures but I also know that I am single-handedly ruining the environment with chemicals and aerosol death spray. You're welcome, everyone.
May 29, 2010
... bugs, sweat and tears ...
So, whilst on vacation this week, Gregg agreed to fix up the front yard. We have been wanting to do it for 3 years now but there never seems to be enough time. We decided to start on Thursday. We put a game plan together, set our goals and suited up for the task at hand. Let me just say this - had we known it would take us 3 days to actually get it done I think we would have declined and chose to spend those days doing something we enjoyed. Sure, we wouldn't have then had the satisfaction of the beauty for years (or at the very least - months) to come but there would have been a LOT less complainin'. Ohhhh the horror. The BUGS. The sweating. The aches and pains. The sunburn. The BUGS. The blisters. The filth and dirt and grossness. THE BUGS. I started off by having mini panic attacks as each spider crawled by, each slithery thing slithered, each daddy-long-leg stilted around, each fat, nasty worm wormed and each "bug" crossed my path. By day two I had calmed down slightly - still shrieking at the sight of each insect. And by day three I was slinging worms across the yard on sticks. It was magical.
Our mission:
Front yard foundation clean-up: Rip out 2 shrubs/bushes, 2 trees and stumps, rake out gravel and shovel it away, rip out all roots and make nice nice with the soil - even out, edge the beds and line with stones, blanket the beds with weed prevention roll thing, plant beautiful goodness and top with mulch.
Sounds easy enough right? We were thinking a day ... maybe a day and a half. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ignorance was bliss.
Day one: Trees and bushes ripped out, cut down and bagged up, beds full of gravel and nonsense... in need of a good raking
Note for future: always buy way more mulch than you think you'll need
The creature on the foundation was just one of my many foes...
Such a big help... watching from the window all day
All cleaned and lined... guess who's in the window...
Well doesn't this look like crap?
Much better...
After two very long and very tiring days of hard work we finally reached "the fun part"- or so I thought. We headed out to buy some grasses & flowers with a list of a few must-haves but mostly we were wingin' it. We clearly had no idea what we were up against...
oVeRwHeLmEd...
There were just so many adorable choices it was very hard to settle on anything - we chose a few favorites along with our list-makers and got out of there in just over an hour
Now comes the placement... it's just like page layout!!
We agreed on our layouts and started diggin'.
It's hilarious that I thought it would be fun to plant the flowers. I guess if our bodies weren't broken from the 2 prior days we would have enjoyed it much much more.
I think we did a decent job considering we have no clue how to garden. We read the care instructions and all that but I'm sure we did a few things wrong ... and who really cares? It's only a few flowers and if they die we'll rip them out and put a friggin pot in their place. Hahaha just kidding (not really) - but it definitely looks more inviting and home-sweet-homey - which is what I have wanted all along. Trial and error, kids, trial and ERROR.
I hate the dirt. I hate bugs. I hate being dirty and I hate sweating. But I did torch a ton of calories and manage to get a base tan so I guess those are two pluses. Blisters and aches and pains will go away but the satisfaction of completing this project will last ... well at least for another day or two I'm thinkin'.
Here is the humble, little transformation:
BeFoRe...
AfTeR...
Motrin. Motrin. Motrin.
September 21, 2009
pests...
When I was a little girl I really enjoyed living in the "country". For the first six years of my life my family called Richmond, Rhode Island home. We had it all: the poison ivy, the blueberry patch, the gypsy moths, the neighbors who made moonshine and conned people out of money with a cleaning products scheme. Ahhh, it was bliss. Being young and carefree, I didn't mind the snakes or the bugs ... or even the constantly flooded basement (my parents hogged up all the "minding" on that one). But for some reason, as I grew older I grew less fond of things that slither, buzz, crawl and creep.
One of the first insects I learned to LOATHE was the almighty cricket. These terror-evoking creatures would ninja around our basement and plant themselves somewhere super scary so that when my guard was down they could scare the shit out of me. I would be "studying" for school exams (listening to my headphones and reading Teen Beat) and see one sitting on the end table. Heart attack. I carried aerosol cans of Lemon Pledge with me so that I could spray the last breath out of them. It caused them to turn white and slide off the table. And I will never, ever, ever, EVER forget 'bare-footly' slipping on my little, white Chuck Taylor's to find that horrifyingly unpleasant, squishy surprise. I ran, like my life depended on it, straight to the toilet and gagged my guts out. In fact, just writing that now forced a full body shiver and facial expressions that should probably be mocked on You Tube.
There were dozens if not hundreds of times that I called for my mother to kill a spider or a bee. She would take off that classic "mom slipper" and smack them dead for me. One night, or more like early morning, I woke my father to kill a moth that was aimlessly zipping around my bedroom. He couldn't find it and groggily assured me that it was gone. Well that was clearly unsatisfying to me. There was no way in hell I was getting any rest. So there I sat, on my bed with a can of Lysol in one hand and the vacuum attachment in the other. I waited him out. He never showed. I ended up finding him months later, dead, behind my bookcase. Why I almost never cleaned my room is a story for another time.
The glistening cherry on top of my paranoia sundae came when I had the joy of experiencing the House Centipede. I won't even attach the link - just Google it if you've never seen one. Vomit town. The horror took place in our first apartment and we had lived there only a few weeks when I saw the first dirtbag. I had just put my yoga mat on the floor for some Pilates when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurrying like it's ass was on fire. The shape and color petrified me. A jillion-legged, antennae-clad, beer colored demon bug. It came out from under the television and sprinted across the room. My heart stopped. I had NEVER seen anything move that quickly. Frozen, I called Gregg's work - begging for them to put him on the phone. I called my upstairs neighbor leaving a message so tragically hilarious she played it for everyone at work the next day (and weekly for years after). I called my mother pretty much insisting that she should take the twenty-five minute drive and save me from this sinister creature. But I was left alone on this one. Grabbing my trusty can of green apple Lysol, I inched my way back into the depths of hell. Roughly twenty minutes passed before I mustered the courage to start spraying him. I DRAINED that can leaving a puddle about the size of a Papasan chair cushion in the center of the living room. This was the first of MANY standoffs. It got to the point where I became so terrified of them that I wouldn't enter a room without scanning the walls and floors first, clutching Hot Shot Kitchen Bug Killer (which didn't repel them but would inevitably kill them when sprayed directly on their nasty asses). I also wore shoes all the time, refusing to walk barefoot. This horrific time in my life actually caused some permanent damage. If I notice so much as a tiny piece of a leaf or even lint on the floor I immediately assume it's a scary bug. A simple hole left by a nail or tack, a scuff mark or ANYTHING out of place on the wall triggers instant panic. And just yesterday, happily picking apples with the family, I was a flailing, yelping mess as "things" buzzed by my cranium in the orchard. I'm a broken woman.
Final thought - Please note that I do realize that not only am I a rotten human being for killing off scores of innocent, disgusting creatures but I also know that I am single-handedly ruining the environment with chemicals and aerosol death spray. You're welcome, everyone.
One of the first insects I learned to LOATHE was the almighty cricket. These terror-evoking creatures would ninja around our basement and plant themselves somewhere super scary so that when my guard was down they could scare the shit out of me. I would be "studying" for school exams (listening to my headphones and reading Teen Beat) and see one sitting on the end table. Heart attack. I carried aerosol cans of Lemon Pledge with me so that I could spray the last breath out of them. It caused them to turn white and slide off the table. And I will never, ever, ever, EVER forget 'bare-footly' slipping on my little, white Chuck Taylor's to find that horrifyingly unpleasant, squishy surprise. I ran, like my life depended on it, straight to the toilet and gagged my guts out. In fact, just writing that now forced a full body shiver and facial expressions that should probably be mocked on You Tube.
There were dozens if not hundreds of times that I called for my mother to kill a spider or a bee. She would take off that classic "mom slipper" and smack them dead for me. One night, or more like early morning, I woke my father to kill a moth that was aimlessly zipping around my bedroom. He couldn't find it and groggily assured me that it was gone. Well that was clearly unsatisfying to me. There was no way in hell I was getting any rest. So there I sat, on my bed with a can of Lysol in one hand and the vacuum attachment in the other. I waited him out. He never showed. I ended up finding him months later, dead, behind my bookcase. Why I almost never cleaned my room is a story for another time.
The glistening cherry on top of my paranoia sundae came when I had the joy of experiencing the House Centipede. I won't even attach the link - just Google it if you've never seen one. Vomit town. The horror took place in our first apartment and we had lived there only a few weeks when I saw the first dirtbag. I had just put my yoga mat on the floor for some Pilates when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurrying like it's ass was on fire. The shape and color petrified me. A jillion-legged, antennae-clad, beer colored demon bug. It came out from under the television and sprinted across the room. My heart stopped. I had NEVER seen anything move that quickly. Frozen, I called Gregg's work - begging for them to put him on the phone. I called my upstairs neighbor leaving a message so tragically hilarious she played it for everyone at work the next day (and weekly for years after). I called my mother pretty much insisting that she should take the twenty-five minute drive and save me from this sinister creature. But I was left alone on this one. Grabbing my trusty can of green apple Lysol, I inched my way back into the depths of hell. Roughly twenty minutes passed before I mustered the courage to start spraying him. I DRAINED that can leaving a puddle about the size of a Papasan chair cushion in the center of the living room. This was the first of MANY standoffs. It got to the point where I became so terrified of them that I wouldn't enter a room without scanning the walls and floors first, clutching Hot Shot Kitchen Bug Killer (which didn't repel them but would inevitably kill them when sprayed directly on their nasty asses). I also wore shoes all the time, refusing to walk barefoot. This horrific time in my life actually caused some permanent damage. If I notice so much as a tiny piece of a leaf or even lint on the floor I immediately assume it's a scary bug. A simple hole left by a nail or tack, a scuff mark or ANYTHING out of place on the wall triggers instant panic. And just yesterday, happily picking apples with the family, I was a flailing, yelping mess as "things" buzzed by my cranium in the orchard. I'm a broken woman.
Final thought - Please note that I do realize that not only am I a rotten human being for killing off scores of innocent, disgusting creatures but I also know that I am single-handedly ruining the environment with chemicals and aerosol death spray. You're welcome, everyone.
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