Out With the Old, In With the New

Friends, you might recall that my car had a few issues.  Along with the Malfunction Indicator Light that had been on for several months, the muffler had also fallen off, it was rusty and dented, the door lock on the driver's side could only unlock the other doors but could no longer lock them automatically, the cassette player was broken -- just to name a few things.  Plus, I was told it probably needed a front-end alignment and at least one new tire.  My baby had some issues, and it was due to be inspected at the end of August.

Seeing as those were going to be some pretty expensive repairs (which is why I had been putting them off), I decided the better move might be to get a new car.  I mean, was the car even going to be worth as much as all of those repairs would cost?

You're still beautiful, Shelly!  Don't listen to any of the bad things.

So I did it.  I went and looked at new cars, feeling as if I was betraying my car the whole time.  We've been together 8 long years, and had some epic adventures. Until very recently Shelly has never had any real problems, and has kept it together even through the last few months.  

What cars did I look at?  There was really only one I wanted to test drive.  I've been eyeballing these since I got hooked by the commercials.  (I also love hamsters.  I secretly got one in college as a pet. My roommate helped me pick Webster out, so it was cool, but was also very much against the rules. Shhh.)

The hidden power of hamsters to market a car.

Last Tuesday I went and drove one, loved it, and bought it.  Just like that.  The people at Romeo Kia in Kingston were awesome!  Bill Martini, my salesman, was great.  I would recommend him to anyone looking to buy a car.  George in financing was really nice too.  Not that I've bought a ton of cars in my life, but it was hands-down the best experience I've ever had at a dealership.  

Wednesday evening was a little sad, cleaning Shelly out and making her as presentable as possible. My baby is still a very good car with low mileage.  A little maintenance love and she would make a kick-ass first car for someone.  She might not sound awesome at the moment, but I wanted her to make a good impression.

I'm sure my neighbors really love this!  And my friend might have had to explain the noise to her HOA as well.  Makes my car memorable!

What fun things did I find in my car?  Lots of stuff.  Eight years worth of stuff, some of which I'm pretty sure belongs to my niece.

We'll start with the boring stuff first, okay?

-- one emergency kit

-- tire changing tools

-- 3 different ice scrapers/snow removal tools

-- various towels for wiping condensation off of the windows.  

-- two sun shades

Now we get more interesting, kids:

-- 2 umbrellas

-- a bottle of body spray that has been under the seat for I don't know how long.  Not sure it's even mine.

-- two books, one of which has to be my niece's

-- a hairbrush, which I believe also belongs to my niece as it was full of blond hair

-- a charm bracelet, also my niece's

-- a little pink, plastic football charm, still in the bubble it came in from one of those 25 cent prize machines...going to assume that belongs to my niece as well

-- a mirror...which might also belong to my niece

-- winter gloves

-- 6 pens

-- sunglasses

-- the head of my Dismember Me zombie doll, which is good as the rest of it is on my desk at work looking really sad without it's head

-- and $14.31 in loose change

Thursday morning I traded Shelly in for my new car.  I was a little sad to part ways with my baby, and worried that she would go on to a glorious new home and not the scrap yard.  Shelly was worth $500 trade-in value. George, the finance guy, said that my car would probably go to Bulgaria.  I thought he was joking and had just picked a random place to say that my car would end up.  No.  He was serious. Apparently they sell a lot of older cars to some place in Bulgaria, as they have lower (or no) emission standards, and the older cars are less computerized and it's easier to bypass the emission systems.  Who knew?  Shelly will be going abroad, and traveling more of the world than I have.  Safe travels, baby!  I hope your new owner loves you!

And then I got my new ride...

They  call this color Inferno.  I'm a speeding ticket just waiting to happen!

It. Is. Awesome.

I went from a car with a broken cassette player to one with Sirius, that can sync to my phone, and can play the music from my phone via blue tooth.  I don't even have to plug the phone in!  My mind is blown.  I'm so high-tech now I don't know how to handle it.  I can call people by pushing a button on my steering wheel and just talking.  I haven't tried calling anyone yet -- but I could!  

Love it!  Although it would be cooler if it had come with a hamster.  Just throwing that out there, Kia. And yes, I did tell Bill the salesman that as well.  

In closing, I shall leave you with the immortal words of Phineas and Ferb.

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.