Thug Squirrels

Friends, you probably don't remember, but I have squirrels that moved into my garage over the winter.  I wasn't really convinced they were there at first, just heard the scrabbling sounds without ever seeing them.

Then my father spotted one, and his war against the squirrels began.  I didn't see what the problem was -- it was so cold last winter and I didn't want the little guys to freeze to death. I understood more when I was shown where they were chewing on my garage roof.

As far back as January he began his opening salvo in the war against the squirrels. Preliminary move?  Moving the bird feeder.  Sadly, that did not deter them.

Earlier this Spring, he went around and closed all points of entry the squirrels had made for themselves.  That did nothing, as they simply popped the places back open again.

I should also mention that I seem to have thug squirrels in my neighborhood.  They are not the cute little guys you see serenely hopping across a park, carrying a little acorn.  No.

You know those wire-cage suet feeder things?  I went through 3 of those before I got smart and relocated it.

1) They are smart enough to pop it open.
2) I watched them snap the chain and drag one onto the garage roof!
3) The third time I thought I was smart, and took someone advice and closed it tight using twist ties on the latches.  I found that thing bent to hell, thrown into the middle of the yard, twist ties still in place and suet gone.

These squirrels are hardcore.  I'm pretty sure they would have no qualms in trying to take a person out.

My father seems undeterred by the menacing abilities demonstrated by my garage squirrels.  This evening he took his game to the next level.

Bonus!  I'll also be protected if a very lost armadillo should wander into my yard.

Supposedly this stuff won't actually harm the little guys, just smell really bad so they won't want to hang out here any more.

Let's take a closer look at those ingredients.

WTF?

--Dried blood?  Dried blood of what?  Where did this blood come from?  Am I now going to attract vampires instead of squirrels -- cause that seems like a bad trade.

--Putrescent whole egg solids.  Rotten eggs.  Lovely

--Garlic oil.  Well, guess that will balance out the blood as far as vampires are concerned.

My Dad, bringing the war to the squirrels.  Hitting 'em where it hurts!

I can attest to the bad smell.  Even though it was only applied inside the garage, where the squirrels have been making their nests, I'm pretty sure my entire yard is now protected.  That stuff stinks to high heaven!  I honestly don't know how my Dad was able to stay in there long enough to spray it all. I was outside, and I'm pretty sure I watched 2 bumblebees flee the yard when the smell wafted in our general direction.

Fancy garage decor from a previous owner.  No wonder the squirrels like it here so much!

As mentioned, I was outside for the majority of the application process.  In return for the protection from the thug squirrels and lost armadillos, I offered freshly picked raspberries from my garden.  I think it's a fair trade.  We operate on the barter system.

Tasty and delicious!

After the trade deal was complete, my Dad decided that we should leave the doors closed and locked, but leave the squirrel access points open so they can get in there and see how nasty it is and realize they don't want to live there any more.  

While contemplating that decision, I noticed something hanging out of one of the access points.  It looked like....rope?  So I asked my Dad if he had shoved it in there to try and deter the squirrels at some point.  Nope.  It was a purloined treasure the squirrels had dragged back to use in their nest.

It's a basketball net.  A perfectly round, somewhat worn, basketball net.

This just proves my point that my squirrels are some bad-ass motherf$%kers!  None of my neighbors have basketball hoops in their yards.  These squirrels had to literally drag this thing for at least half a mile from a school -- the closest possible point from which they could have swiped a basketball net.  It weighs more than a squirrel!  Maybe it was a group effort.  Maybe my squirrels have organized into a squirrel mafia, or a gang. 

Honestly, I don't know if this stuff will work or not.  I don't want my garage to be destroyed, obviously, but I'm picturing various outcomes from this action.

Scenario 1: It works.  The squirrels leave, and my garage is safe.  It only lasts for 2 months, so hopefully it makes a big enough impression in their little squirrel brains that they never want to check back and see if the smell is gone.  Also, armadillos won't want to chill here if they are lost.

Scenario 2:  It doesn't work.  The thug squirrels are too tough for any of this nonsense.  They stay right where they are, forcing my father to even more drastic measures.  What that might be I don't know, but I'm sure a next step will come.

Scenario 3: Whether it works or not, the thug squirrels are pissed and want revenge.  Maybe they destroy my bird feeder.  Maybe they bring in their larger cohorts and destroy my garden.  Perhaps they will throw bricks through my windows.  I put nothing past the thug squirrels at this point.  *I realize that this will probably never happen outside of my imagination.*

The salvo has been fired.  Now it becomes a waiting game.

In Which We Go to The Fair

Friends, I haven't gone to the County Fair in ages.  I think the last time I went was with a friend, maybe when we were in middle school.  I remember we were there at night, trying to find my friend's parents to go home.  It was really exciting and pretty at first, and we felt so super-cool and grown up being on our own.  Then we got into the area with the rides and games, and there were a lot of drunk and seedy looking people, and it scared the bejesus out of us.  Haven't been back since.

Until today.

I had the day off, my best friend had the day off, and we decided to get our Fair on.

Let me just start by saying: heck of a lot different than I remember it being!  Much more family-friendly, Disney vibe than I remember, and no drunk people.  Of course, we were also there during the day when many families were around, so that could be part of the difference.

Do you want to see pictures?  Hope so, because I took a lot of them!

We started with the gardening/horticultural displays where the theme this year was Lights, Camera, Action!

This might be the closest I ever get to the Hollywood sign.

Olaf and a Minion

We wandered through the games and rides.  We tried to win a prize and lost.

Most of the time, we wandered around checking out all of the animals.

Word of advice:  you don't really need to walk through the cow barns.  Their heads, for the most part, are facing out.  You will just get to see a lot of cow derrieres.

The sheep had some interesting outfits.  The sign said it was to keep them clean.  

There was a giant pig, which we did not go to see.  We were afraid the poor thing was being force-fed to get that big, and we weren't about to give money to support that.

 We watched the pig races. (Hand-raised by the owner's children.  You could even meet them after the race.)

We watched some of  the practice session for the Dock Diving Dogs

 I don't know which pig this is, but I just loved that their names were Sassy and Big Momma.

We saw cows, sheep, a camel, llamas, goats, and a horse.  Honestly, that sheep (bottom left) only loved me enough to let me capture that picture because I had just fed it.  I've got nothing on the girl kissing the horse -- don't know who she is.

I do know, however, why the horse was there.  He was one of the horses who would be involved in a very special event.

We tried to make friends with one of the pigs.  

It was a little warm, and he/she was one of the few pigs who was even up and moving. I kept calling the pig Buddy and Bud.  Don't know why.  Apparently that's what I do when I meet a pig.  My friend went with "Piggy Wiggy".

We also watched the Pot-bellied Pig Races.  Not a fast race, but cute!

And we met a robot, who was messing with a guy in front us, and then decided to take a cute picture with a little girl.

We ate some fair food, but nothing crazy that you need to see in pictures.

And, of course, the only time I saw anyone I knew the entire time was when I was buying alcohol. To be fair:  the Lavender Hops cider from Awestruck was delicious, and I needed a bottle to take home. Consider it a grown-up "souvenir" from the fair.  

Now, I must make treats for my book discussion group at work tomorrow night.  Go back to your busy lives, people.  Nothing more to see here.

Oh, Monday!

Friends, this will not be news to the majority of you, but Mondays kind of suck.

It's the beginning of the work week.  You're getting back into the swing of things after the weekend. It seems like there are always more problems that have to be dealt with on Mondays.  No matter how positive you start out, Monday is most likely going to be the day that tries to destroy your spirit.

Generally, or maybe I'm just lucky, you can find at least one of your friends that seems to not be having a shit day and talk to and/or text with them.  They can cheer you up, talk you down, give you advice -- whatever you might be needing at the time.  Maybe you just want a like-minded soul to commiserate with and discuss how things seem to be bad all over.  Hopefully you have someone to fill that role in your life.  Sometimes just getting it out of your system is all you need to do to feel better about the state of your little corner of the universe.

Today seems to have been a little rough for a lot of people. I'm basing this on the fact that every one I heard from made reference to needing to acquire and/or consume beverages of the alcoholic variety after the day they had.

That sounds bad.  I should clarify that I am not a lush and my friends are not alcoholics.  No one was in a happy place.  That's the main point.

I feel the need to somehow try to make everyone's day a little bit brighter.

How do I propose to do that?  By sharing some super-awesome poems and artwork that I created when I was 8 years old. My mother kept everything my brother and I ever did in Memory Boxes, and gave us each our respective boxes once we were adults.  Please allow me to share a couple of my newly recovered masterpieces with you.  These were included in a year long project, under the title "Poems".

Check out that unicorn!  Poor thing didn't even get a nose or mouth.

Unicorn

Long horn

Is make believe

He lives by the trees to

He lives by the trees of the elves

Stars

Not so much a poem as a random bunch of words strewn about.  I do love that I felt the need to label the unicorn as such in blue crayon, just in case the teacher couldn't tell what my creation was meant to represent.

My second offering:

Gnomes -- complete with the back-end of the unicorn jumping into the poem.

Gnomes

Small men

Small men with beards

Small men like little elves

Gnomes give presents to people

Gnomes

I must have been reading a lot of fantasy books when I was eight.  I think I might have had them confused with Santa's elves, as I cannot think of a story where gnomes willingly give gifts to people.  I also notice he lacks a beard, although I did specifically mention that in the poem.  Good thing I once again labeled my fine work with blue crayon!

It also reminds me of the time my nephew forgot what elves are called, and referred to them as "Santa's midget clowns".  Granted he was five, but it was so cute, and I still refer to him as my midget clown.  Can a general confusion about elves be hereditary?  

Did I manage to cheer you up? Maybe you cracked a smile? If nothing else I hope your day is at least infinitesimally better than it was before you read this.

Happy Monday, Friends!

It's Just Hair

Friends, I dye my hair.  If you actually know me that should not come as a big surprise, as the hues tend to vary over time.  I started going grey when I was 21, and it was right in the front of my hair -- thanks for those genetics, Mom!  I'm all for aging gracefully, but 21 is too young for grey hair.  It is especially noticeable when you have naturally dark hair and it is right on the front of your head.  So I started dying it.  I've been dying it ever since.

I think the craziest color I ever went for was burgundy, and it was not nearly as bad-ass as you may imagine.  It basically looked dark, and in certain light I had kind of a purple glow around my head. Normally, I stick fairly close to my natural color, but a bit darker.  There is good reason for going darker.

I won't mention any names, but back in the heady days of youth, when we were about 13, a friend decided to trying lightening her hair.  The product of choice?  Sun-In Hair Lightener.  She had naturally darker hair like me, so I was intensely interested in how this came out.  It came out orange.  Orange.  Not beautiful blonde or coppery highlights, freaking orange.  I knew then that I would never try lightening my hair at home.

I've also had two professional hairstylists have issues coloring my hair.  Apparently I have a lot of red highlights, and my hair takes the color red really easily.  They did not even let me see what it looked like before they started redoing it.  They told me about the red problem like it was just an interesting fact, and then said they had to "do some adjustments".  The more helpful of the two told me that when I dye my hair at home I should always go a shade or two darker than my normal hair color, and try to opt for hues without a warm base to it, as my hair is going to pick up the red anyway.  Good to know!

The problem with dying your hair darker, or at least my hair, is that it builds up after a while and it starts looking really dark, especially on the ends.  There's not much you can do at that point.

1) Keep dying it dark, for all eternity.  Eventually it will be black, and may look very, very fake.
2) Get it professionally bleached and colored again.  $$$$
3) Grow it out, and eventually dye it lighter, resulting in multi-colored stripes around your head
4) Cut if off.  Go short and start fresh again.

I've been getting bored lately, and the idea of going for a lighter color or just chopping it all off has been kicking  around in my head.  I do this.  I grow it out, get bored, chop it all off, and then grow it out again.  I've done it my whole life.  It's just hair, after all.  It will grow back.

This was all floating around in my brain the other night as I was watching television, when I saw a commercial that fascinated me.  It was for Color Oops.

Can remove permanent and semi-permanent hair color?  Let's just see.

I was intrigued.  I mean, even if it didn't actually work it was still a heck of a lot cheaper than going to the salon.  Worst case scenario: I end up getting a hair cut, which I had been considering anyway.  

And then it hit me: why not document the process?  Whether it works or not, other people who aren't quite as laid back about the state of their hair might be interested in knowing.  Or maybe you don't give a crap, in which case you might want to stop reading now.

Still here?  Excellent.  It's going to be fun, I promise.

First I suppose you need a "before" picture.  I'm not really keen on the whole selfie thing, but I suppose in this case it is kind of required.

I woke up like this

Well, not quite.  I've got my contacts in, as trying to dye your hair while wearing glasses is a recipe for disaster.  Just trust me on that one.  Messy.  Also, not flawless.  I'd like to thank Beyonce if you actually finished that caption with that word.  If you actually meant it, then you are a sweetheart.  Delusional, perhaps, but sweet nonetheless.  

As you can see, I have a shit-ton of hair (technical measurement).  I bought 2 boxes of Color Oops to make sure I had enough to cover all of it.  I did not want to look like some strange patchwork quilt of hair colors because I did not have enough to get even coverage.

This is what you get in the box.

Honestly, I thought it would be a little different.  This looks pretty much like hair dye, which makes sense.  The big difference?  This stuff is runny as all get out.  It is nowhere near as thick as hair dye.  Do not wear anything you value while using it.  

They also give you this stylish cap to wear while it sets.

Seriously.  They call it a f%^king cap.  It's a weirdly shaped bag, and it could barely contain all of my hair.  It's made out of the same stuff as the gloves they give you, and feels less sturdy than a sandwich bag.  Also, a slightly troubling moment: the stuff smelled an awful lot like Nair for a few minutes during application.  I may be very willing to experiment with my hair, but I don't want to entirely remove it.  That was never part of the equation.  

That's the cap in action.  Notice my hair trying to break free.

Now you get to sit around for 20 minutes while it processes.  They are very clear about not going any longer than 20 minutes.  Oh, and you also have to, "Be certain that the room is NOT cold and be certain that you are not sitting near a vent blowing cool air."  

So I've got to sit around and wait for a bit.  Time to multi-task!  I'm having lunch with some friends tomorrow, and I am in charge of making dessert.  I had decided to make peach and nectarine crisp -- even went to a local farm and picked the fruit fresh with my own little hands. I might as well make corn muffins too, since I think we are going to attempt to barbecue.  My hair is going to take time, and baking takes time.  Why not do both at the same time?  

This will either be a stroke of time-management genius, or a train wreck.  Possibly on multiple fronts.

The hair?  What a pain in the ass! The Color Oops was runny before, but now that crud is running and leaking out from the edges of the cap.  Keep some tissues nearby if you do this, as you will be wiping gunk off of your neck and face repeatedly. My shirt may never be the same.

Bit of a digression here to say:

WTF Jiffy?

Yeah, I bought the "vegetarian" version on purpose, since someone who will be eating them is vegetarian.  I have to wonder about the other box that wasn't labeled vegetarian.  What the hell was in that stuff?  It's corn muffin mix.  Shouldn't it be vegetarian to begin with?  

Back to the hair.  

I really should maybe have read all of the directions before jumping right in and pouring this stuff on my head.  The next part of the process is "Rinsing", and it is time consuming.  You know the lame excuse someone gives in a television show about not being able to go out with a guy because they have to wash their hair?  It would be a legitimate excuse if they were using this stuff.  The next step is is going to take you about an hour, no lie.

Transcribed below, for your reading enjoyment

Rinsing:

• Rinse with warm water and shampoo, then rinse for 15-20 minutes.
• Shampoo again and rinse for another 5 minutes.  Repeat two more times.
• Additional rinsing is needed for longer, thicker hair.
• This step is very important for desired results.  The more your rinse the better your results.
• Apply a conditioner.

As a bonus, if that didn't remove the color as much as you wanted, you can repeat the entire process 2 to 3 more times.  What fun!

I wasn't about to repeat this whole thing.  It either worked or it didn't.  I can tell you that after shampooing and rinsing for an eternity, my hair felt like straw.  I've poured many a chemical on my hair, and it has never felt like this before.  I've screwed up before with a poor color choice and had to dye my hair twice in one day (which you should really never do, for the record), and it still didn't feel this dry and frazzled.

In the directions it says that before recoloring, which you can do the same day, you should check your hair and you may need to do a deep conditioning treatment first.  No shit.  My hair feels like straw.  I don't plan on dying my hair again today unless this goes horribly wrong, but my hair definitely needs help.

I don't have any deep conditioner, so I decided to use my regular conditioner, and leave it on for another 20 minutes. I had an extra little cap since I used 2 boxes, but that thing barely fit the first time.  Screw it.  I'm using a Walgreens bag.  It will work just as well and it will hold all of my hair.  

 I'm looking so classy in my Walgreens bag!

My conditioner, just in case it is going to make a difference in the final result.  I know you care.

My conditioner kicks ass!  My hair felt so much better after doing that.  No more straw.  This is what it looked like fresh from the shower.

Dark hair is dark.

To be fair, everyone's hair looks darker when it is wet. Can't really judge how well it worked at this point, although it does appear to be a bit lighter on top.

And now you, Friends, get to fast-forward in time and skip the drying process.  I don't own a hair dryer.  Try not to die from the shock.  I mistreat my hair enough as it is without adding on the torture of a blow dryer.  Plus, it still takes a ridiculous amount of time to dry it, and it just makes it too fluffy. Volume is never something I need to worry about adding to my hair -- it's fluffy enough all on its own.  

For those interested, I spent the drying time making the fruit crisp...and then I had a beer (Oculto is delicious!) and watched the sun set.  I figured I might need a drink before I saw the final result.

I won't drag this out and bore you any further, assuming you are even still reading at this point.  Here is the final result!

Voila!

Somewhat anti-climatic, but there you have it.  It's obviously much darker on the ends than it is on top.  I don't think it had to do with the application being uneven.  My best guess is that the ends have just been dyed so many times that even Color Oops couldn't get it out. Maybe I should have repeated the whole process again.  Honestly, I'm kind of impressed with the fact that I was still relatively close to my natural color.  It kind of does a slow fade to a darker color on the ends, but I don't mind it.  I may change my mind about that in the morning, but as of right now it's not bad enough to make me want to dye it again immediately.  Maybe I will just get the ends chopped off.  

Aside from the straw feeling, and that worrying moment where it smelled like Nair, I'm actually amazed this worked as well as it did.  Messy?  Hell yes.  But it actually worked like it said, and if it can work on my hair that has been colored many, many times that should give you some confidence using it on your own head.  Good job, Color Oops.  I went into this with low expectations, but you surprised me.  

P.S. -- the baking is done!  I am a time-management ninja!  Train wrecks avoided in all areas!

I Feel Like My Childhood Has Been Defiled

Have you ever seen something that, no matter how hard you try, you can't forget? Oh, there are times when you forget for a while, happy to have it pushed out of mind.  There are also times when it seems as if the universe is conspiring against you, oblique references to it dragging the memory back into your brain.

I'm talking about fan fiction, people.  Get your minds out of the gutter....well, not too far as this story is going to spiral it right back down in that general direction.

This is not intended to bash people who write or read fan fiction.  I think fan fiction is a great creative outlet for people to express themselves and an excellent way to improve their writing skills. Anything that helps to improve literacy is a plus, in my opinion.  I can understand becoming attached to a book, movie, or television show that you love and wanting to take those characters and explore other adventures.  Imagination is a beautiful thing and should be embraced.

I actually ended up in a conversation with someone about the whole fan fiction phenomenon back when 50 Shades of Grey was first published .  I didn't realize quite how popular fan fiction was.  I had just assumed that the stories all sort of continued from the way they were in the original source.  I had no clue how far afield people had taken it.  That conversation was the first time I heard that 50 Shades of Grey had started off as a fan fiction story based on Twilight.  I was also informed that back in the pre-internet days, there used to be mailing lists where people could submit stories and have them sent out to other like-minded individuals.  Interesting little bit of fan fiction history.  I had assumed it was a more recent  development.  My point, and I do have one, is that there is all kinds of fan fiction out there.  Take a look at all of the terminology for categorizing fan fiction.  If you can dream it, you can probably find it somewhere on the internet.

Until a few months ago, I thought there were really only two things about fan fiction that bothered me:

1) Some of it borders a little too closely on plagiarism to me. It's just wrong to steal someone's work. If you're just writing for fun with no intention of making money, that's a little different.  It's a fine line between wanting fans to be active and engaged with a world they love and theft of creative property.

2) The stories that are not about the characters, but about the actual people portraying the characters -- the actors and actresses.  I had no idea that people had even gone there until I looked at that terminology list.  I can't imagine what it must be like to find out that people are writing stories about you yourself, not the character you are embodying.  That's got to be a trippy mix of both flattering and slightly creepy.

Recently, I was introduced to another kind of fan fiction that I don't like:  the kind that makes me feel like my childhood just got defiled.

I was at work, and a patron asked for help with their computer.  I assumed that they meant the public computers, but it was a problem with their own laptop.  I'm by no means a tech expert, but I was willing to give it a try.

The patron said he was having trouble getting a website to load properly. There was no way to really help the person without having to look at what website he is on: Fanfiction.net. Okay, seems easy enough.  Let's try just refreshing the page.  Maybe the connection timed out or something.  It looks exactly the same to me.  He scrolls down and tells me that it still doesn't seem right.  I have no idea what it's supposed to look like, but now I am obviously going to have to look more closely at the screen.

I don't know how familiar you are with that website.  They give you the title and all sorts of other information right at the top of the page, categorizing it so people can easily search for the stories they want to read.  I glanced at the information long enough to see that he was reading a story about Alvin and the Chipmunks.  Aw, that's so cute!  I remember watching the cartoon when I was little, and I still love the Christmas Song.  He must be having a bad day and needs a little nostalgia to cheer up.  Maybe he has kids, or is a teacher, and he is finding more stories for them to read.

I asked him why he thought it wasn't right, and he said the story just stopped.  It was written like there was supposed to be more, but then the page just ended.

Huh.  Well, reloading should have solved that problem.  Now I have to really look at this and....

What the hell kind of story is this?

Why am I reading a sentence about Simon jerking off in the shower and Alvin getting turned on by it?

I scrolled back up to the top of the page with a quickness.  Time to actually look at all of the freaking information there.  This is not the kind of story I had assumed, that much is obvious.

It's a romance.  Between Alvin and Simon.  Rated M for Mature.

And now I feel like my childhood has been defiled. 

Beloved characters from days of yore are not supposed to be in smut stories!  They are innocent little chipmunks who are supposed to cause tomfoolery that is all resolved at the end of the episode.  It wouldn't make a difference if it was Alvin and one of the Chipettes -- just, no. The Chipmunks from my childhood memories do not get involved in such activities!  At least they seem to have left poor little Theodore out of it.

I tried to explain to the gentleman that the story was only two chapters long, that it said so right at the top of the page.  Nothing else was written, so there was no more to load.  He didn't seem to believe me, like I had some sort of secret control over the website and was purposefully keeping the story from his eyes.  I wish I had such computer skills, but sadly I do not.  It ends where the author stopped. 

Then he wanted to know when it was going to be finished.  I pointed out that the story hadn't been updated in about a year -- also information that was easily visible right on the top of the page.  It was probably as finished as it was ever going to be.  

He wasn't pleased.  Didn't I know how he could make the author finish it?  Uh, no.  I know this is a library, but we cannot make authors write whatever we want, whenever we want it.  We are awesome and all, but we do not have the power to control other people's minds.  I suggested that he use the review box at the bottom of the screen to tell the author how much he enjoyed the story, and that he hoped they continued writing it.

And then I excused myself as quickly as possible, as he said he would just go read some of his other stories.  I don't even want to know.  I don't need to find out that Strawberry Shortcake or the Care Bears have been given the same treatment.

I've been trying to forget I ever read that sentence since the moment it happened. Trying to forget is harder than you might think.  I heard more references to chipmunks in the next few days than I have heard in years, I swear.  I listened to a woman in the grocery store yelling at her son whose name was Alvin.  It's like the universe does not want me to be able to wipe the memory from my brain.  

I just want to be able to listen to the Christmas Song this December without having it pop into my head.  Is that really too much to ask?

 

Spiders: I Hate Them.

WARNING:  If you hate spiders as much as I do, you might not want to read this.  I'm also sharing a scary spider picture which you might not want to see, especially if you plan on sleeping any time soon.  There are also going to be a few expletives along the way as I tend to have a bit of a potty mouth when freaking out.  If that is going to upset your delicate sensibilities then do us both a favor and look away.  You've been warned.

I hate spiders.

I cannot state that clearly enough.  I. HATE. SPIDERS.

Let me fill you in on the backstory so you can truly understand why I flipped out so badly before work this morning.

I was a naive little child, and for many years thought spiders were some sort of "outdoor" bug, much like butterflies and inchworms, and they would never be found in the house.  I didn't have a problem with them.  They did their thing outside, made pretty webs, and lived their happy little spider lives.  Spiders were nice, helpful creatures like in Charlotte's Web.

One night I woke up to find a spider creeping along on the pillow next to me, about 3 inches from my face.  Spiders and I had a bit of a falling out after that.  Not only would they dare to come in the house, into my bedroom, but I was pretty sure it was going to try to crawl on my face.  Not cool.

Not too terribly long after that first traumatizing discovery, I learned my next spider life lesson:  they will not only violate the sanctity of your home, they will lay their eggs in it.  How did I learn this? Why, hundreds of tiny baby spiders were crawling all over my bedroom ceiling.  My parents got them exterminated, of course, but the damage was done.  For years -- literally -- I could not go to sleep without checking for spiders.  I would lie in bed and study every inch of each ceiling tile for any signs of movement.  Even a dusty cobweb was enough to keep me from sleep until it was annihilated.  If I lost my place while scanning?  Nothing to do but start over again.

And then there was my darling brother.

I honestly don't remember its origin now, but he somehow managed to acquire a large, rubbery, jiggly, fake spider.  Why my parents ever thought letting him have possession of such an object was a good idea is beyond me.

Friends, do you have any siblings?  I hope so, because you will totally understand this next part.

For months (although it seems like years in retrospect), he would ambush me each night with that damn rubber spider.  It was that special form of love and torture known only to siblings.

One night I would go to flip on the lights in my room, and the giant spider would fall off of the switch and onto my hand.

The next night it might be balanced precariously -- just in the right spot -- on top of the bedroom door so it would fall on my head.

The next?  It might be between the sheets in my bed, waiting to attack my feet as I slipped under the covers.  Underneath the pillow was also a popular spot.

Some nights it wouldn't be there at all, leaving me to wonder where the fucking thing was and when I was going to get ambushed by it.

He got me every. single. time.

I would scream bloody murder, and he would start laughing his ass off, running for the safety of his room.  I, of course, would chase him threatening imminent pain.  My parents would break up the chaos before any bodily injuries took place, and tell him not to do it again.  Like that was going to happen.  He was having way too much fun to just stop.  I also got the classic advice, "Just ignore it, and he'll get bored and stop.  You know he's going to try and get you, and when you don't react it won't be fun anymore."  Sure!  I'll just ignore the giant phobia attacking my person -- that will be easy!

So now, maybe, you understand why I hate spiders as much as I do.

This morning I was in the bathroom making a last attempt to tame my hair against the humidity before leaving for work.  Out of my peripheral vision I noticed some sort of movement in the bathtub. I figured something must have tipped over, or maybe Jazz-kitty was behind me and had flung her toy-of-the-moment into the tub.  I looked into the tub to see what was going on, and I saw this giant spider crawling the rest of the way out of the drain.

Beast From Hell.  Fuel For Nightmares.

Holy shit!  OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod.

It was probably about 3 inches long, and that fucker was moving fast!

How the hell did that even fit in my drain?  What if it was in there when I was showering?  It could have attacked my toes!  WHAT IF IT HAS FRIENDS?!

I seriously considered calling my parents, to see if my father would come over to my house and kill it for me.  Yeah.  That's the next-level type of "I fucking hate spiders" I'm dealing with, people.  Sadly, it would not surprise my parents in the slightest to receive such a phone call.  

No.  I realized I couldn't do that. 

A) That would be seriously pathetic on my part,

B) That thing could wander off to parts unknown before backup arrived, and

C) I could not leave for work knowing that thing was creeping in my house, winding up who knows where.

It had to die.

My preferred method of spider killing is to have someone else do it.  I do not want to get remotely close enough that it could in any way touch me, or jump onto me.  That option was out, as I live alone.  Next best method:  smash the shit out of it with a shoe -- an enclosed shoe (sneakers or boots are best) that I can stick my hand inside for extra protection from the spider. This thing, though, was way too big and too fast for the shoe method.  

I was somehow going to have to handicap it first -- take it out at the knees, so to speak.  No way was I getting within striking distance until I was sure it wasn't going to be able to strike back. How was I going to do that?  I scanned the bathroom.  Hair spray?  Sunscreen?  No.  That might just piss it off, and I don't need a giant pissed off spider in the bathroom, out for my blood.

And then I had an epiphany.

You might not be a wasp or hornet, but I bet this stuff will bring the pain -- from far, far away.

Truthfully, I have never been more delighted that I have wasps that occasionally think it would be a good idea to set up shop along the back of the porch.  

Before I put my plan into motion, I took the above picture of the spider.  If things went bad and it bit me I wanted a photo to show the hospital staff.  Yeah.  I was going into this battle giving us 50-50 odds on winning.

I snuck back into the bathroom, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible so as not to alert my foe.  Honestly, I considered leaving the door open for a quick escape route, but I didn't want the fumes from the Spray of Death to get into the rest of the house.

There it was, chilling in the corner of the tub.  I seized the moment and sprayed the hell out of it. Take that, creepy ass spider!

It took off -- pissed off and running toward the other end of the tub.  I sprayed that creature for about three minutes, chasing it back and forth around the tub without it seeming to be bothered in the slightest by the foamy Spray of Death raining down upon it.

And then came the moment when I ran out of Death Spray.  I knew there hadn't been much left in the can, but I thought it would have been enough.

Shit.  

Now I've got a foamy, pissed off, fast giant spider in the tub.  What if this stuff just made it stronger in its spider-fury and awakened its blood-lust?

There was a tense stand-off as it headed back toward the shower drain, not going to lie.  Thankfully, the Spray of Death had kind of puddled there a bit.  My nemesis ran into the puddle, and then he slowly began to collapse.  Ha.  Ha!  Who's smarter now, giant spider?  You just ran into a Puddle of Doom!

I wasn't taking any chances though.  No way was I going to assume it was near dead.  It might just be gathering its reserves of strength for an assault.  It was still moving, dragging itself around.

Time for the Sneaker of Victory to make an appearance.

I beat the crap out of the thing.  No way was it coming out of that tub alive.  If there was even the slightest visible twitch, I hit it again.  

Eventually, there was stillness.  Also, I was kind of hacking up a lung from being in the fumes of the Spray of Death at that point.

I gathered far more toilet paper than was remotely necessary, and removed my foe from the field of battle.  He might be dead, but I am not letting his spidery body or guts come in contact with my person.  

Just to make abso-fucking-lutely sure that it would not make some miraculous recovery, I flushed it down the toilet.  I flushed multiple times to speed it on its way.  Burial at sea for you! (Well, probably more like Burial-in-the-sewage-treatment-plant, but that sounds nowhere near as poetic.)

My mission accomplished, I cracked open the bathroom window to release the Spray of Death from the room, but I still closed the door.  I don't need the cats getting sick from the fumes, and if that thing somehow managed to survive and climb back up the plumbing it was not going to be given easy passage into the rest of my house.

This epic battle probably took all of about 10 minutes.  I don't even know that my two cats realized that a life-and-death struggle was taking place beyond the bathroom door.  Did I panic and freak out?  Obviously.  But I won!  

In your face, spiders!  Now maybe you will stay outdoors, or in the cellar where you belong.  (I ceded most cellar rights to the spiders when I bought the house.  I keep nothing down there.  We worked out a deal:  I will only go down there if I need to do something with the furnace and/or the hot water heater, and in return they will not enter any other parts of the house or they die. Violators will most definitely be punished.) 

After that, I left for work.  I honestly didn't care what my hair looked like at that point, no way was I going back into that bathroom right away.

Yeah.  I really hate spiders.

Adventures With Google Maps

I know I've said it before, but I like Google.  A lot.  Probably more than anyone should.  They know all the sordid secrets of my search history, and could probably own my soul if they so chose.  That's why I find it so frustrating that Google Maps seems to hate me so much, or just plain goes out of its way to make my life far more interesting than it needs to be.

You would think I would learn that Google Maps seems to like to screw with me sometimes, just apparently to amuse itself.  Let's count the ways Google Maps has messed with me so far this year, shall we?

1) I'm still cutting them some slack on the walking directions in New York City, since they are still in beta, but that situation was ridiculous. How could it not keep up with the speed of people walking?  I still think that might be more of a problem with my service than Google itself.

2) They got me again when I needed directions to a park that I have been to many times before, but I was coming from a different area and didn't know how to get there. For whatever reason, Google Maps decided to take me to the back of the park, to an entrance that has been closed for so many years I had no idea it even existed.  I ended up having to follow signs to get around to the actual entrance.

3) I used it on vacation, when my mother and I took my niece and nephew to Great Wolf Lodge in Massachusetts.  It got us close to the destination -- sort of. It just randomly stopped us in an area and told us we had reached our destination.  Ummm, no.  This is like the middle of a freaking forest, not Great Wolf Lodge.  We had to pull into a state park and get new directions to actually reach our destination.  So, I guess it really did get us there, eventually, but just with an interesting scenic drive as a bonus.

On a normal day, Google has no trouble telling me exactly how long it will take to get to work in the morning -- even when I did not ask it, nor tell it where I work.  Kind of unsettling, but they are usually accurate.  Obviously Google knows my location.  Every time I need directions, however, it tells me -- without fail -- that my destination is 3 hours and 42 minutes away, and I need to get on the New York State Thruway.  Why, Google, why?  You know where I live.  Why do you suddenly think I live in New York City or Long Island?  I've learned that I will always have to remind it of my current location.

You might be wondering, "If you have had so many problems using Google Maps, why do you keep going back?  You must be a glutton for punishment."  Maybe I am, or maybe I'm just really stubborn. Maybe I just hope that Google Maps and I can learn and grow together to overcome these issues. Also, I don't have a GPS, so Google Maps is my option.

Which leads us to this weekend's adventure.

I will admit that it may have been kind of stupid to head out on my own to begin with.  My car is still not right. In fact, I just celebrated the 3 month anniversary of driving around with my "Malfunction Indicator Light" on a little while ago.  The car is so loud that it sounds like a damn motorcycle or airplane when I'm driving.  (It does have to get inspected this month, so one way or the other this will have to be addressed at some point. I'm just procrastinating.)  So, maybe not the wisest of ideas to head off into the unknown.  Whatever.  Car seemed to be running fine, so off I went!

My destination:  The Dover Stone Church.  It's only about half an hour drive, so not a terribly big adventure.

Who's riding shotgun with me on this little adventure?  You know it, baby: Google Maps.  One day my blind faith and trust in them will be rewarded, I hope.

The directions looked pretty clear-cut in the brochure (see the link above), but I'm not all that familiar with that part of the county, and I wasn't about to keep my phone open trying to read that brochure while driving.  That way lies accidents.

Everything was going swimmingly until Google Maps told me to take a right onto a street that I was pretty sure hadn't been mentioned in the brochure's directions.  Maybe I do have too much faith in Google, or maybe I am just incredibly stupid, but I made the turn.  Why not?  Granted, my car is a bit dodgy in the maintenance arena at the moment, but I had a full tank of gas and I was on an adventure, so why not?  I thought maybe Google knew a shortcut to my destination.  Why they would know better than the town the destination was located in never crossed my mind at that point.

There we were:  Google Maps and I were on a lovely drive, down a winding country road.  We were travelling past farms and meadows -- a very bucolic and idyllic scene.  We were happily driving along for a while, and I assumed that eventually we were going to come into town.  The brochure said parking was near a pizza place and an elementary school.  At some point we had to be near a more populated area.

And then it happened -- the moment when I knew, once again, that Google Maps had betrayed me and was taking me to some untold destination.  It tells me to take a left onto another road.  WTF? Google, my dear, I don't even see a road to turn onto.

I slowed down to take a better look.  Is that...?  Is that what Google is calling a road?  Honestly, it looked like someone's driveway.  It was a dirt road, with a very faded sign at the end.

No.  Just, no. There is a limit as to how much of an adventure this is going to be, and you have just crossed that line, Google.  This seems like it could be the plot of a horror movie.  Lone female, out in the country, driving down an unfamiliar dirt road.... Blam!  Zombie attack! Serial killer!  Aliens! Pick your poison.

Ignoring my overactive imagination and getting back to reality, there were some very real reasons not to go down that road.

--I know there is an area out here, somewhere, that I don't want to stumble into.  Maybe the urban legends about it are true, maybe they aren't.  Maybe they are just really nice people tired of dealing with other people's bullshit and attitudes.  Either way, I don't have any desire to find out.

--This totally looks like I am going to drive down the road and end up at the front door of a farmhouse.  I do not need to make a random appearance in some poor unsuspecting soul's yard.  My car isn't exactly quiet.  No need to scare the shit out of anyone.

--I am not driving down a dirt road, in the middle of nowhere, in a car that may or may not fall apart completely if banged around too much.  If I actually have a muffler left on the car at this point, I'm sure I won't after bouncing along that road.

Not happening.

So I pulled over to the side of the road, without turning down the dodgy dirt road, and decided to change directions.  I put in the name of the pizza place that was in the brochure as a place that you could park.

Boom!  Instant directions, which did not include the dirt road. In fact, they sent me all the way back in the direction I had just come.  I got to the pizza place only to find all sorts of signs saying that the parking was for the restaurant customers only.  (I think maybe the brochure needs to update that fact.) I remembered from the map in the brochure that the entrance to The Stone Church should be just a little ways down the road, and the elementary school -- the other suggested parking location -- should be just on the other side of it.

And it was.  There were several other people walking along who had obviously parked there for the same destination.  Thank you helpful brochure!  I was really getting tired of the driving portion of the adventure at that point.

One turn, Google Maps!

That's right, folks.  The entire trip should have been going straight and making one right turn.  I have no idea where Google Maps was trying to kidnap me to, nor do I care to find out.  Maybe it was taking me to the wrong side of the park once again. Maybe it was lonely and wanted to make our trip special with a scenic drive. Maybe it was luring me out to a shack in the woods to meet my demise.

I don't know, and I don't care.  I sure wasn't going to use it on the way home.  I can handle making a fucking left turn by myself without navigational assistance.

At least the Stone Church was pretty cool, and worth the effort to get there.  I took some pictures.

Marker to explain where you are.

Entrance/Exit path to the park.

The Stone Church, as seen from the trail.

The view in the cave.  There is a waterfall in there, but I couldn't get a decent picture of it.

Looking back out at the entrance and the trail.

Will I be using Google Maps again?  Yes.  I still don't have a GPS, and 90% of the time they are really very accurate.  I still don't understand how it can give me perfect directions to get from here to The Wild Center in Tupper Lake, yet a destination in Dutchess County just boggles its little electronic mind.  

Consider it a lesson not learned, if you must.  Chalk it up to me being an idiot to keep trusting it.  I don't care.  I choose to think it makes my adventures more interesting, and maybe one of these happy little mistakes will lead me to something awesome one of these days.

**Also, as I discovered on the way to work this afternoon, I think my car may really have lost whatever bit of muffler it had still possessed.  It is exponentially louder now, and the whole car freaking vibrates from it.  My neighbors are going to love me!**

The Taylor Swift Concert

**This should really be called The Taylor Swift Concert: With Several Mentions of Heffron Drive.  My niece has fallen in love with them  (particularly with Kendall Schmidt), and everything in the universe gets compared to them.**

I'm terribly overdue with this, I realize.  It's been a month since I surprised my niece by taking her to the Taylor Swift concert at MetLife Stadium, and I'm only just now getting around to discussing it here.  My niece and nephew were here for about 6 weeks visiting, and all of my time went to hanging out with them, as it should.  You, Friends, got put on hold.

First, I totally surprised her!  I did not tell her about it until the night before the concert.  For all of the elaborate plans I tried to come up with, I ended up just giving her a picture from a magazine and telling her it was a clue to her surprise.  Watch the reveal here!  (If you're wondering about the hugging comment, I had already taken her to see and meet Heffron Drive, and Kendall stole her heart.  There's a blog post.)

I had mentioned in a previous post that my friend was also coming to the concert with us.  We headed out to her house, as we had a car take us down to the concert. Honestly, that was probably the best possible way to get there.  I would, no doubt, have gotten lost trying to follow the GPS, and we didn't have to worry about parking.  We just got dropped off and picked up.  It also meant that I only had to do a short drive when we got home around 2:30 am, which was awesome.

The surprise twist to our concert adventure was that my friend was now on crutches.  She was such a freaking trooper through the whole thing!  The staff at the stadium could not have been nicer from the moment we arrived -- they got us a shuttle to the stadium from the drop off so she didn't have to walk, we got an elevator up to our floor in the stadium, they kept offering her a wheelchair -- they really tried to make it as easy on her as possible.

Remember how I was worried that we would be in the nose-bleed section and Lili (my niece) would be disappointed?  We so totally were, but she was too happy to care.  I actually think it was pretty cool.  Granted the stage looked tiny from where we were seated, but they have the big screens to watch.  However, we could pretty much see the entire stadium.  It really gave you the feeling of just how enormous the place is, and how many people were there.  Also, no obstructed views from that height.  We were literally 7 rows from the top of the stadium.

That's right, folks -- seven rows between us and the top!

Beautiful day with a nice view.

I will say this:  I don't know that anyone with a fear of heights would be remotely comfortable sitting up there.  You can kind of tell from the picture of the seats, but it has a pretty steep pitch.  I can see it freaking people out, thinking they would fall over the edge.  The stairs also made things interesting for my friend and her crutches.  She actually had to go back down to the floor before the concert ended as she was worried about negotiating the stairs in the dark with people crowding to get out when the concert ended.  I think that was a wise decision.  

And then the concert finally started!  

First up: 

I tried to get a picture of the stage, but we were way too far away for that to come out clearly.

Lili freaked out, and immediately started messaging her friends.  Apparently one of them loves Shawn Mendes a lot.  He was really good, and Lili was singing along with the songs she knew.  

Next up:

Vance Joy

Lili:  Aunt Tammy, is he going to play Riptide?

Me: I'm sure he will, Lil.  It's a big hit.

......

Lili:  Okay, when is he going to play it?  It's been like 2 songs now!

Me:  Calm yourself.  You should know this song, it's on the radio too.  I'm sure he'll play Riptide at some point.

......

Lili:  *practically spazzing at this point*  What if he doesn't play it?  I love that song!  When is he going to play it?!

Me:  I'm not psychic, Lil.  Just chill out.  He's probably saving it for the last song -- go out with a big finish.

.....

Lili:  Riptide!!  YES!!!!!

At this point, I was kind of floored by the number of seats that were still empty.  

Those are a lot of empty seats, and they weren't cheap.  The whole floor area looked like that, even while Vance Joy was performing.  

Maybe all of those people were coming from work, stuck in traffic or something.  Maybe they were off getting food or souvenirs.  

I don't get it.  To me, if you are going to a concert, you go to the concert.  The whole thing.  It's fun! You get to hear the music, see all of the performances.  Why the hell would you spend the money and not be there to experience it?  These are pretty big name musicians who get played on the radio all of the time!  Why would you miss out on the opportunity to see them live?

Maybe they only wanted to see Taylor Swift and didn't care about the opening acts.  If that's the case, we obviously do not dwell in the same financial bracket.  My tickets were not cheap -- I can only imagine how much it cost to sit that close to the stage.  If you are willing to drop that much cash and then only show for one act?  I can't relate.  

Also, I think it is kind of rude to the musicians who are performing.  The stadium is huge, and even with all of the visibly empty seats, there were probably hundreds -- if not thousands -- of people there at that point.  (I think the news said later that it sold out to 60,000 people.)  I just think it must be a bit disheartening to go out on stage and see all of those empty chairs.  

Not that it is a remotely comparable situation, but I can remember playing a marching band competition in high school at Giants Stadium.  It was so exciting to know that I was on the same field that I saw on television during football games.  We were always in the last group to go, late at night, as we were one of the biggest (size-wise) bands.  I can remember looking at the stands thinking there was really no one there, and it was disappointing.  I found out later there were a few thousand people there, but it looked like nothing compared to the number of empty seats.  Yeah.  So, not at all the same thing, but it made me feel bad that there were so many empty seats during the first two performances.  I hope they didn't feel that way when they were on stage. It was probably a much different perspective from their point of view.

But I digress.  End of rant.

Next to take the stage:

Haim.

I enjoyed their performance.  I had never heard any of their music before, but they were good.  That didn't seem to be the feeling shared by most of the people in my section.

Lili:  They said it was going to be a jam session.  What's a jam session?

Me:  It's when musicians get together and just rock out, just see where the music takes them.  It's not necessarily individual songs.  

......

After about 10 minutes....

I see Lili getting out her headphones.

Me:  What's up, Lil?  

Lili:  Yeah, I'm not feeling this.  I've got my headphones.  I'm just going to watch and listen to Heffron Drive until Taylor Swift comes out.

Me:  Okay, honey.  Do what you have to do.

There was a little girl with her mother and grandmother sitting in the row in front of us.  She was there as a surprise for her birthday.  (We'd been chatting earlier.)  The girl was sitting on her mother's lap with her hands over her ears.  Many other people were just sitting and talking, taking selfies -- not a lot of people were paying attention to the band.

They were good.  I don't mean to sound like I am bashing Haim at all.  I really enjoyed their performance.  I don't think they were successful with the younger part of the audience.  Their sound is very different from the previous artists.  

On to the main event:

First song of the evening

When we entered the stadium we were given these white bracelets.  We had no idea what they were for, and were joking about them tracking us so no one got lost, and generally wondering what purpose they served.  Turned out to be a really cool purpose.  As you can see in the video, at times the whole audience seems to flash white.  They bracelets were synced up to the concert, and would flash different colors during Taylor Swift's entire performance.  

That's Lili, rocking out with her bracelet all aglow.

Our view of the stage.

She brought out a surprise guest in the middle of her set!  I was excited, and Lili about lost her damn mind.

Yeah, that's right.  Awesome!

Taylor Swift was incredible!  She was on stage for at least 3 hours.  She brought out the Women's National Soccer team, fresh from their parade in NYC that morning!  She had some of her friends from her Bad Blood video on stage during the song -- in the costumes they wore in the video!  Part of the freaking stage spun around at one point.  

Pretty impressive view from our seats!

There was one point in the evening where I got worried for a moment.  When she started to sing Blank Space, people lost their damn minds!  They were jumping around and dancing so much that the entire freaking section we were sitting in was vibrating and shaking -- more so than at any previous point.  I remember thinking, "We are seven rows from the top of this fucking stadium.  This is not going to end well if the damn thing collapses."  I had to remind myself that many other events had taken place here, and everything was fine.  That the stadium was designed and built to handle this kind of thing.   And then my brain, being the slightly warped creature that it is, felt the need to point out that we were only seven rows from the top, and we would be a lot better off than the people below us who would be getting flattened like pancakes.  I'm just a ray of freaking sunshine sometimes.  Obviously, since I am here writing this and there were no reports on the news of a tragedy occurring at the concert, everything was fine.  If you had felt that thing shaking and vibrating like that?  You might have had a moment of doubt, too.

And then it was over.  It was a fantastic experience!  Taylor Swift puts on one hell of a show.  As we made our way back home I tried to get a picture of the NY skyline.  Our driver was so nice, he even pulled over so I could get a better shot.

The view was much better in person.

It was the perfect end to a great night!

We got home around 3am.  Everyone had a good time.  

Lili was thrilled.  She even made a playlist of all the songs from all of the performers at the concert.

I have to say though, as much as she loved it, Heffron Drive was still her favorite concert.  I had bought her an autographed cd at the concert, which she made us listen to any time we rode in the car. She also has it on her iPod.   My nephew, who is 8, now knows the words to all of their songs.  He even has opinions on them, although he is far too smart to say anything that will piss his sister off too badly.  It leads to moments like, "I like Passing Time.  Logan sings it better though, no offense."  Of course Lili got all offended, and I had to point out that Austin (my nephew) was entitled to his opinion too.

The tl;dr version:  Taylor Swift is a hell of a performer.  My niece had a good time.  Did it make me the coolest Aunt ever?  No.  I already managed to do that when I took her to see and meet Heffron Drive.

But I got to have two wonderful experiences with my niece, and that is priceless.