Yesterday was a rough day, which consisted of the following:

1. IUD insertion

Yep, that about sums it up. It ended with a wheelchair trip to my car and about 6 hours on the couch. Of course now that I have it inside me, all I can find on the internet are horror stories about it. I guess that's the internet for you. I HOPE thats the internet for you. Anyway, I would regale you with the entire gruesome story about how it was inserted and why it hurt so bad but I'm of the mindset that your blog should never contain the word "cervix" in reference to medical procedures that you have recently endured. Maybe not even then.

So thats my excuse for not updating yesterday, the other days I have nothing to offer except that my life isn't that exciting.

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Yesterday Jess called to ask if she thought she and I were "high maintenance." Initially (and reflexively) I said "Of course not, we are the perfect girlfriends and any man would be lucky to have us." That's what you're supposed to say, right? But then I got to thinking, and halfway through our ranting and raving about how low maintenance we are I realized the following:

There is no way we are low maintenance.

Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Nope, Jess and I do not belong in the Complete Low Maintenance Woman aisle at the woman store. Heres what happened to me on Wed. which confirmed this forever and ever amen:

• C wanted to go grocery shopping instead of getting a pumpkin from the quaint and charitably oriented pumpkin patch at the local Lutheran church and instead of being cool and all "oh ok, I guess we dont really have food and the DO sell pumpkins at the grocery store", I cried. CRIED. "ONLY PUMPKINS GROWN AND HARVESTED BY NAVAJO INDIANS WILL DO!#$!@#$"

I'm sure there are some examples of how she's HM as well. Probably something to do with needing her space and insisting that she spend all her money on shoes and demanding that her landlord do silly things like fix her heat. Silly landlords. Maybe I'll call her tonight and ask for some examples.

Me, I'll chalk it up to hormones, that usually does the trick.

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OK, this blog entry gets longer and stupider by the minute, so I guess that means it's time to go home.

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.