Baltimore? More like Bat-imore…

Picture it…it’s 3:00 AM and you’re dead asleep in your bed when you hear some scratching sounds at your window.  You turn in your bed, open your eyes, and see two black things on the window screen.  “Birds?  At this hour?” you think to yourself.  You sit up in bed, turn on the light, and that’s when those two black things take flight – straight at you.  You scream like a baby, run down the stairs, and hide in the corner of your house while you try to figure out who the hell you’re going to call in the middle of the night to get the bats out of your house.

That’s what happened to my mom the other night.  Poor Mamacita has been sharing her lovely country home with a colony of brown bats.  Not a handful of them.  A colony.  That’s a whole COLONY of bats.  Yeah, so that’s not really awesome – and in related news I won’t be heading down to Baltimore anytime soon.  Since that first night when the two bats decided to dive bomb her in the middle of the night, they’ve removed four bats from her house.

Four different companies have come out to do assessments and give estimates.

• The first dudes jacked up the job in a major way and then over charged her.  Mainly because they’re giant assholes.  On the bright side, she can totally sue them for everything they’re worth because they killed TWO bats in front of her – which is a felony.
• The second company was kind enough to tell her that the first company did a shitty job, and then gave her a ridiculous amount as an estimate.
• Company number three sent out a dude who may have sniffed too much glue as a child.  His response was, “I don’t see any bats.  So maybe they’re gone.  Maybe let’s wait to see if you see anymore, and if you do, then we know you have some bats.”  Really?
• The final company seems to be the most reasonable.  They put all their little bat traps up today and expect the COLONY of bats to be gone within the next few days.

Who knew that getting rid of bats in your home would be so complicated?  First of all, they’re protected – you can’t kill them.  And even if you could, why would you want to?  Their poor rotting bodies would be in your walls and they’d stink up your whole house.  Second, they can crawl into a space as long as there’s a hole the size of a pen.  Do you know how many holes you have in your house that are that size?  A lot.  Good luck finding them all.

My poor mother has taken refuge at my sister’s house until the bat situation is taken care of.  A house full of bats, or a house with Damien and Lucy(fer).  Wow, that’s like Sophie’s choice right there.

I’m A Nervous Wreck

I can feel myself starting to sweat a little bit,  and my cheeks are starting to flush.  No, I didn’t just work out.  And no, I didn’t just climb off of some hot bachelor.

How on God’s green earth did I got myself into this is a mess.  Oh, that’s right, I live in a smaller town than I thought I did.  In less thatn 2 hours, I’ll be heading downtown to a party at 3D’s friends’ house-with his ex girlfriend.

When we were still together, I met a handful of his friends at a happy hour.  I imagine that after our relationship went to shit, he told them all that I was a horrible person, a crazy heartless bitch who shattered his fragile heart into one million billion tiny pieces.  Like most friends do in the midst of a breakup, I’m sure that they all agreed that I was a terrible person and swore to give me dirty looks if they ever saw me again.  This is what friends are supposed to do-take your side and always hate the ex.

Tonight I’m going to be standing in a room with all of these people.  I imagine walking into the party, the music coming to a stop, and everyone whispering things to one another as they shoot death stares my way.  Eventually the music comes back on, but I can hear people saying, “What is SHE doing here?” or “She has some nerve showing her face around here.”  Then, when I ask the hostess for a drink, I imagine her pouring me a cocktail, and then spitting into the cup right in front of me.

Thank God I’m not a drama queen or anything…

But if he walks into that house at any point that I’m there, there’s going to be some major ass drama.  And with the shitastic year that I’ve had, it’s not something that I’d expect not to happen.  That’s just what I need to end my year, a confrontation with 3D at party.

Oh, God.  I think I’d rather get struck by a bus than have to deal with that.

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An American Tragedy

Something so horrible happened on Saturday. I’m still reeling from the events which I am about to write down. It was an accident, but one of the most devastating that I have ever witnessed in my life. My family and I were at Wegmans doing our grocery shopping and having some lunch. On our way out, I was carrying my niece, and my sister was responsible for carrying my things. She put my coke bottle into my Michael Kors handbag-without checking to see if the bottle cap had been screwed on all the way. Half the bottle of soda emptied into poor, defenseless Michael Kors before I realized what was happening.

I went to put some things into my bag and realized that the inside of the bag was wet. As I began cursing at my sister-in front of everyone at Wegmans-and cleaning out the bag with napkins, I realized that something horrible was happening: the soda was soaking through the leather. The tears started welling in my eyes as I turned and shouted, “It’s soaking through the fucking leather!” Everyone began grabbing napkins and dabbing at the mess. My heart sank when I looked at the napkins and realized that the beautiful color of the leather was bleeding onto the napkins. It was not a pretty sight to behold. I was so upset that I had to step outside and go for a little walk on my own.

I text messaged Muffy, and she called me right away. The pep talk made me feel much better. She reminded me that “Michael Kors is an American Icon, and is resilient,” and that he’d pull through. I pulled myself together, and went back inside.

Upon my return, we decided to take drastic measures: back to Nordstrom to see if they could help. Sadly, they did less than nothing. My mother-the doctor-had to intervene. When we got back to her house, she took matters into her hands. It was a late night for her as she treated Michael Kors hoping to minimize the scarring. The results were better than I expected, however, the soda marks are still visible. This week, he’ll be going through a 2nd round of treatments in hopes of minimizing the scars.

Please pray for the speedy recovery of my Michael Kors handbag. These are trying times for all of us.