centipedes

Today I'd like to address the vile nuisance known as the house centipede:

Anyway, back in lovely, vile centipede-less South Carolina, I was oblivious to the fact that such a thing could, and would infest my living space at some point in my life. I mean, bugs I can usually deal with. Spiders are gross but manageable, roaches are disgusting...but manageable. This thing? This thing I can't handle. Lucky for me it's so bloody common in households across America that it warrants a name like "House centipede" which I think is deceiving. Other creatures that have names that accurately anthropomorph-ize them are:

• HOUSE cats
• LAP dogs
• SEEING EYE ponies (yes, they really exist, maybe cute enough to warrant a separate post)
  

Actually, I couldn't really think of that many examples of anthropomorphic animal monikers, but the point is, all of those things are cuddly, and respond to reason and affection, and most importantly, DON'T HAVE FIFTY SPIDER LEGS.

I looked them up on the website, and it says that they are "harmless nocturnal predators." Forgive me, but you don't often see the word "harmless" cuddling right up next to "nocturnal predator." Who trusts everything they read on the internet anyway? This bogus piece of fiction had lots of comments on it about people that welcomed house centipedes into their house, even one guy that found one in his bathtub, and instead of smashing it into a zillion atoms like a normal human being, he laid the beast out on a paper towel and blow-dried it until it came back to life. That's right, that asshole gave him little centipede CPR and released it back into his home.

To make up for douche-bags like that, I always give them the violent, merciless death they obviously deserve. I would rather have pregnant spiders released into my home than these little shits.

Sometimes choir makes me want to stab myself in the throat...

...but then I remember that I really do love to do this. Just not with 50 other pan-diocesan church ladies who want to be sopranos but can't so they're stuck in the alto section, croaking away. This does not inspire me to "lead the section," rather it inspires a sort of sleepy, lackadaisical approach best summed up as "lead yourselves, dammit."

Ok, this makes me the worst section leader ever, but I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way in dio choir, judging by the fact that I'm one of the only section leaders who actually shows up for dio choir. It's just that when its nine forty five and some church lady raises her hand to ask why measure 67 was conducted in six eight and not three four, i want to throw her into the pits of hell.

That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point.

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Also, I'm distracted by my messy house, of which cleanliness is is no way affected by the three boys that currently live here. I'm hoping Downstairs Dan (DD) will help me lay the smack down. He likes clean things, right? The problem is that the house has to be immaculate for the coming of Daniel's Mother, Southern Woman Extraordinaire (DMSWE). This means she has about the equivalent of 12 times the amount of housewife points as any woman west of the mississippi. Or the appalachians. Or really, Charleston SC.

So please no one tell me that it doesn't matter if my baseboards are dusty or I might have an aneurysm. Me and all my pets will probably get cancer from coming in contact with so much Scrubbing Bubbles, but I don't care.

BITCH AWARD, MAY 2008: Some guy let me cut him in line at the grocery store because I was carrying an eye dropper and he assumed I "had a sick baby at home." I should have said "no, this is just to feed my god forsaken baby PARROT, so you can go ahead and buy food for yourself" I'll let you guess what I actually said. Still can't guess? Well, it was something along the lines of:

"Oh, thanks, thats really nice of you *insert worried mom face here*"