Damien, the Creepy White Squirrel

Last week, my friend Haddie arrived for an afternoon visit.  It was a mild (for Southern Connecticut) late autumn afternoon.  We decided to step out onto the deck and enjoy a bit of sunshine.

As we chatted, I noticed one of the Bubble’s dumb white squirrels about 50 feet away. (I call it dumb because it waits until the dog is six inches away before running up the tree.) I pointed it out to Haddie.  She had never before seen a white squirrel in person.  We continued to shoot the breeze.  After less than five minutes, we noticed something move to the tree adjacent to the deck.  It was the white squirrel.

Haddie and I laughed a bit and made mildly aggressive gestures toward the squirrel figuring it would scurry away.  It did not.  Rather, it seemed encouraged by our movement and crawled closer.

This creature continued to approach us in a manner we soon deemed to be threatening.  The curious and formerly cute squirrel was firmly in the no-longer-funny zone.  At the corner of the deck, there was an empty planter leftover from summer habanero gardening that had about a half dozen wooden stakes leaning inside.  I grabbed a stake and started banging it between the slats of the deck hoping to startle it away.  No such luck.

The white rat got closer still.  Haddie and I nervously giggled, but it was apparent that we would not be surprised if this thing launched itself at our faces.  I threw the stake in my hand toward the squirrel.  It made contact.  Not a full clunking head hit, but it was definitely felt.  What did the *&$% do?  It came closer.

Haddie picked up a wooden stake and tossed it for a near hit.  The squirrel got even closer to the deck, preparing to jump.

We promptly ran inside and closed the deck slider door.

Normally the wiener dog turns into a whirling dervish when a rat b*stard squirrel lands on her deck.  For some reason, she never saw this exchange.  I was too horror-struck by the fearlessness of this demonic rodent to even think about Phoebe.

Minutes after Haddie and I escaped to indoor safety, Damien the Satanic Rat jumped onto the deck and began to approach the glass slider we secured ourselves behind.  He struck a pose in front of my grill.

By this time, I’ve started banging the glass with my forearm.  The rodent was no more than two feet from the glass and he didn’t even flinch.  He simply moved in for a close up.

After about 15 minutes, Damien appeared to have left.  We stepped back outside to the deck looking left, right and, more importantly, above.  Haddie and I were certain this thing would descend from a tree limb.  Thankfully, the area seemed to be clear.  Later, we did however see Damien sitting on a rock, staring in our direction.  We got the message and retreated indoors.  This thing was not to be messed with.

I’ve not seen the creeper since Haddie left on Thursday.  Tomorrow, however, she is scheduled to come over and help decorate my place for the holidays and bake some cookies.  I expect Damien, the Sequel.

The spiders continue to haunt me…

This has been constructed on the lamp post at the end of my sidewalk at least three times in the last week.  The rain comes at night and beats it down, but then the next night it’s back up.  Must be a good hunting ground.

Actually, even the nights when it doesn’t rain, the web seems to be gone in the morning.  Can anyone tell what type of spider it is from the photo? Should I be more frightened than I already am?

Nut up, Betty

This afternoon I went down to my basement to transfer a load of laundry from washer to dryer. On my approach, I stopped dead in my tracks because I saw this gigantic spider parked in front of the dryer.

If you’ve read some of my earliest posts, you know that I fear spiders.

I looked around for weapons of defense and my hockey stick seemed that it would give me the best distance to beat the crap (sorry Hipster Dad) out of it. But I feared it might retaliate and decide to come after me if I missed it.

It was quite a dilemma. Transfer the towels that had already been left in the washing machine for at least 12 hours or take a chance that my middle-aged eyes would provide sufficient hand-eye to club the spider. I decided to take the wiener dog for a walk to see if I could entice a helpful neighbor to kill it for me.

After only five minutes of wandering on the hill with Phoebe, my neighbor the Navy man drove up. SCORE! I knew he wasn’t afraid of bugs because of our on going involvement with fake rats, snakes and most recently cockroaches. After quite a lull in snaking and ratting between our two condos, I recently dropped a rubber cockroach on their doorstep thinking that I’d catch Lola’s mom with it on her way home.

Lola’s dad (the Navy man) actually discovered the rubber roach before Lola’s mom came home and laughed off my pathetic attempt to scare them. He acknowledged that yes, snakes would make him jump…possibly the fake rat (which his daughter was the one to add to the game)…but bugs? Nah, those didn’t get him.

So when this brave defender of the United States stepped out of his vehicle, the wiener dog and I approached. I asked, “are you afraid of spiders?” Of course he asked why. I explained that a particularly large spider was preventing me from transferring laundry from washer to dryer. I hoped that he would volunteer to come slay the invader.

His reply to me? Nut up. Do you have a can of Raid?

We are both fans of Zombieland (me, thanks to Thoughtsy and Hipster). So I knew what he was saying. But I still considered whether I had other options. Dad? No. I knew he wasn’t available. My sort-of for-lack-of-a-better-word boyfriend? No. He was supposed to come by earlier but had been hit with a shit storm of work and kid issues.

Time to nut up or shut up, Betty.

I went down the stairs to the basement. Grabbed my hockey stick (thank you, Jeffrey, circa 1990). Unsure whether the reader glasses would give me a better view, I left them on and pounded it twice. It twitched. Then I wrist-shot it into the wall, away from the dryer. She shoots, she scores!

The laundry is dry. But I still have to find someone to come over and remove the carcass.

Turning 50: No Expectations

As I find myself approaching the big 40-10 (which sounds much more agreeable than 50), I’m filled with deeply conflicted feelings about certain things in my life, but I’ve also just enjoyed the best year of my entire life. Ever. Seriously.

I’ve always felt that the older I get, the more I enjoy life. Never has that been more true than the last year. At the over-the-hill age of 49, I finally started living for myself, not others’ expectations. And that’s the philosophy that’s made my life so wonderful in this last year: no expectations. I’m finally comfortable in my own skin and I’ve developed relationships in my life that fulfill me beyond any expectations.

That’s why it’s so puzzling that the number 50 is freaking me out so badly. I’ve never hit a milestone birthday in my life that’s troubled me. Not 30, not 40, nothing. In fact, over the last several years if you asked me my age, I’d have to stop and think about it. Age was never something that impacted my life.

So why does the number 50 bother me?

Image via stoners.com

Damned if I know. All I do know is that I don’t want to acknowledge this birthday in any way, shape or form. Therefore, I have decided to leave the country to decrease the instances of having to gracefully accept birthday wishes from well-intentioned friends. Grace is not one of my strongest suits and I don’t want to sound like a nasty bitch.  While great, the last 12 months haven’t been completely annoyance-free. I’ve had some practice whipping out my nasty bitch self.  And I often feel as if I’m 49-going-on-15 as I frequently spout the immature, “DUH” (mostly when interacting with certain men, but not to their faces.)

My destination of denial is an island in the Caribbean. Yeah, I know it’s not the ideal season for the destination (hurricanes) – but you wouldn’t believe the great prices!

I plan to enjoy a beautiful beach, ponder life, read several novels, listen to music, enjoy spa treatments and consume rum beverages (not necessarily in that order) over the span of several days on either side of the actual date of the dreaded milestone.

I hope to gain some clarity on certain aspects of my life and, most of all, to disconnect. I haven’t done something like this in…well…ever. But one philosophy I won’t rethink is “No Expectations.” I strongly encourage this for everyone.  Live for yourself, make yourself happy, and I believe it helps everything else fall into place.

The Reason Rubber Snakes Exist

Back in the early 90s, I was sent on an extended business trip through Europe. During a stay somewhere in Germany, I came across some sort of chocolate covered insect that I bought and shipped to a friend/colleague back in the US. As I had hoped, they creeped her out (I can’t remember what sort of insect, but it was an intentional selection on my part, I knew it was a particularly disturbing species for her.)

I returned to the office two months later. As I settled back into my office space, I discovered her revenge: a strategically placed rubber snake. This snake bounced between our two offices in various hiding places for the next several months until she left the company. I then decided to initiate the snake into my personal life.

For the past 17 or 18 years, this snake has traveled among a few households of family and friends. After you receive the snake as a victim, the key is to hold onto it for several months until the other participants simply forget its existence, then make your move. There is no particular order for victim selection. The more random, the better.

This snake has popped up in countless “hiding places.” It could be boxed within a victim’s Christmas present, coiled inside a pot in a cabinet and, of course, between sheets. Although between the sheets does create the desired horror, it’s a common location that generally hits the same day you happened to have visited the victim’s home. It’s always good to select a hiding spot like the pot in a cabinet because it could be days or weeks after your visit that the victim makes use of the pot.

I came across the snake in my closet about a week ago. It wasn’t the “plant,” I had found it months earlier but had simply put it away to ponder the next victim and destination. I was leaving the next day for a trip, so I pulled it out of the closet and just hooked it over the railing of my staircase. This way, I’d be reminded to get working on it when I got back from my trip.

The problem is, I forgot that my cleaning people were coming in while I was traveling. As one of them started up the stairs to clean the bedrooms, this is what she saw:

Apparently her biggest fear is snakes. The email she sent me today had me crying with laughter – I’m still crying. After reading today’s Blurt, I fear that revenge is on the horizon for me. If so, I can take it because the housecleaner experience epitomized what rubber snake pranks are all about. I’m only sorry that it happened to an uninitiated, but otherwise the best rubber snake prank. Ever.

The official appetite killer of Lithuania

I come from a fractured family, so holidays are often just my parents and myself as well as any friends or neighbors (theirs or mine) we’d like to spend time with. Some remain on the scene through multiple holidays (like June B. Stewart), while others (like Thursday’s guest) will hopefully quickly rotate out.

Thanksgiving.  The best food holiday of the year, yes? Due to the “national dish of Lithuania“, here’s what I was able to eat: two bites of turkey and one forkful of mashed potatoes. Then it all went horribly wrong.

I wanted to hurl

A first time guest to my parents’ holiday table was a neighbor of theirs who is very proud of her European roots – mainly Lithuania, secondly Germany. Let’s call her Babs. To demonstrate her appreciation for the Thanksgiving dinner invitation, she proudly contributed the pride of her heritage: Kugela, known as the “national dish of Lithuania.” The ingredient list reads potatoes, onion, and bacon.  I know what you’re thinking: how could this go wrong?  That’s exactly what I’d like to know.

Even though it was somewhat redundant to bring a big ass potato pancake to a Thanksgiving feast (hello? mashed potatoes? stuffing?) having the ancestral blood from Poland and Germany running through my veins, I looked forward to trying it. Thursday’s lesson? Don’t mess with tradition.

I don’t know what on earth Babs did to potatoes, onion and bacon to make it smell the way it did, but the aroma just made my stomach seize. Not only did I have a generous serving of kugela on my plate, but the overflowing serving dish was situated about 14 inches from my nose.

It was so nauseating, I couldn’t even stomach a slice of pie for dessert. Another glass of cab, please!?

I’ve never had a Thanksgiving buzz kill like that. The fact that I couldn’t control the menu myself from the beginning (my mother’s a little sensitive to my ‘control issues’ that she can’t imagine where I get them), as well as being on the verge of hurl-dom from Thursday through yesterday, led me to buy and cook a turkey breast all for myself today. It’ll feed me and the wiener dog for several days but it doesn’t replace that ‘open the jeans zipper’ feeling that is a Thanksgiving requirement.

As an American national holiday, I propose that all foreign-food contributions be banned in perpetuity from Thanksgiving dinners. All in favor?

Repulsor Returns to the Bubble

Before I started to write this post, I thought I should google the word “repulsor” to see what references might come up. Apparently there is a Repulsor associated with Iron Man’s armor and it might possibly be something cool, if you’re into the Iron Man-type thing. I wondered if I should change the name of today’s target but since I’ve referred to him as such for several years now, it won’t be the same if I rename him. I just want to make it clear that there is nothing remotely cool about the cretin who is the subject of this post.

It's not about this Repulsor

I moved to the bubble nearly ten years ago. About a year after I moved in, my beloved mini-dachshund joined the household. By virtue of walking her, I met dozens of other dogs and their owners in the community. Initially I kept one such dog and owner at a distance. The fierce looking Rottweiler intimidated me and, at the time, my dog weighed only three pounds.

Eventually Joel (the human) asked why I wouldn’t bring my dog over to say hello to Milo (the Rotti). He explained that Milo was actually quite fond of small dogs, but a bit of a chicken when it came to large dogs. Another lesson in, “don’t judge a book by its cover.” Phoebe approached Milo and eventually their relationship developed to the point where Phoebe would roll onto her back when Milo approached and he would proceed to, ahem, lick her. Joel and I would chuckle with embarrassment when cars would go by and suddenly slow to check out the soft-core doggie porn.

After a short time, Joel and I discovered a common background and other mutual interests. Always purely friends, I would have been interested in more but I guess I just wasn’t his type. No big deal. I’m not the psycho-stalker type and I’m happy with the friendship. Through my contact and friendly relationship with Joel, inevitably I met his long time roommate, Repulsor (I didn’t think of him in those terms for the first couple of years I knew him. And I’m going to give you a visual right now. Picture the lead singer from the band Loverboy as he looked on one of those “list” specials on VH1 a few years ago) and I’m serious about the headband, he used to wear that as he’d power walk around the complex:

Repulsor's Doppelganger

While Phoebe and I would be visiting Joel and Milo, Repulsor would lurk in the kitchen, inserting himself into the conversation, but keeping himself separate while he would simultaneously do shots of vodka, drink beer and smoke cigarettes. The disturbing thing is, it didn’t matter if it was 3pm on a Tuesday, 7pm on a Friday, or 10am on a Sunday….he’d stand in the kitchen shooting vodka, beer and marlboro lights.

Oftentimes, I’d be out walking my dog and Repulsor would arrive home (the building housing Joel and Repulsor is about 50 feet from my condo’s building.) He’d invite me in for a beer and, with my semi-interest in Joel, I’d accept with ulterior motives. Although I hate this expression, what fits now is, “My bad!” I should have known better. Repulsor interpreted my interest to be in him, not an opportunity to visit Joel.

As a relationship-impaired person, I also cluelessly buried myself once when wishing only to reciprocate Repulsor’s invitations to his and Joel’s place for a beer, I invited him to my place for a drink. And here’s where he earned the name, “Repulsor.” First off, it was a Sunday evening, maybe 7pm. I was feeling what most people feel and do on a Sunday night: wearing sweats, zero makeup and, in fact, at the time I was wearing invisalign (this will be relevant in the next paragraph or two). To look halfway decent, I really need to pump up the clothes and makeup. So when I’m not trying, you’d have to be pretty desperate to hit this.

Apparently, Repulsor was.

Not long after we entered my home and I poured us both drinks (he opted for straight vodka), we settled on the sofa and started a DVD that I had borrowed from Joel, Paul McCartney in Moscow (probably not the exact title.) As I sit with my dog on my lap and Repulsor two or three feet away from me on the sofa, he suddenly leans over, grabs me, and plants one on.

First of all, Phoebe’s about to rip out his throat. I’m repulsed not only by him, but by the fact that he doesn’t even seem to register that I have the Invisalign device on my lower teeth. I push him off. (And want to turn my head and vomit.) Because I was giving much resistance (“Get OFF me,” “Are you out of your mind,” “Leave me alone!”), if I had a gun, I suspect I could have been justified.  Especially since he then said to me, and I’m still in shock nearly four years later so I wouldn’t dare to try and attribute a direct quote but, something along the lines of, “Hey it doesn’t matter to guys what a girl looks like if she’s giving him a blow job, why can’t you just let me have at it and you can pretend I’m someone else?”

HO-LY CRAP. Is this supposed to be a turn on?

From that day on, I ignored and avoided him at all costs. This went on for nearly a year. Then, after more than 18 years of Joel and Repulsor rooming together, Joel did the unforgivable (at least as far as Repulsor was concerned), he met, fell in love and married a lovely woman. And Repulsor held on. Joel’s new wife knew she was marrying into a long-term relationship when she married Joel. Over the nearly two decades that Joel and Repulsor had roomed together, they did have assorted girlfriends on and off, but never anything long term. While Joel is a normal guy, I truly believe that Repulsor would have been happy to continue toward octogenarian bachelorhood with Joel.

After a few newlywed months, eventually Repulsor gave up. He reluctantly searched for a home of his own.  Although I’d like to think that I was the happiest person  on the planet on the day he moved, I’m pretty sure that the happiness of Joel and his new wife far exceeded mine.

Ahhh….all is good in the bubble. Repulsor is gone. Betty’s happy for her reasons…Joel and wife happy for theirs. But it’s not over, oh no.

For the last 18 months, apparently Repulsor has been shopping the condos available in the Bubble. Not sure if I’ve mentioned exact size before, but we’ve got more than 300 units here. That means, in the last 18 months, no fewer than 50 units have gone on the market. Granted, because this complex was built in the late 70s, there’s a lot of Brady Bunch material out here. But there are also a good number of beautifully updated units that have come and gone in the market.

None of these have interested Repulsor.  Until. The unit RIGHT NEXT DOOR to Joel and his new wife became available. Repulsor bought it after less than two days on the market. I approached the seller and asked if they would consider allowing me to pay their mortgage for the next 4 months if they would just consider holding out for a buyer other than Repulsor. Unfortunately, no deal. I would, however, place money that Joel and his wife will put their place on the market in the next few months.

And I go back to playing “dodge the repulsor” when walking the dog…..

I might never sleep again

Most nights it’s a struggle for me to stay up much past 10:00pm. You see, I awake each morning around 5:30, both midweek and weekend. On Monday nights, however, when the new season of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations rolls out, I do everything in my power to stay awake until 11:00pm to watch a new episode.

Last night I had no problem keeping my eyes open. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I did fall asleep around 9:45pm. The lights were off but I had the television tuned to the Travel Channel. For some reason, I woke out of a dead sleep at 10:15pm, looked to my right where I have a mirrored jewelry cabinet mounted to the wall and had the shock of my life. Running up the mirror was the biggest goddamned spider I’ve ever seen in my life.

It seemed to be the size of a tarantula, although not as fat and hairy. I searched the internet high and low this morning and this is the closest I’ve come to what that motherfucking monster looked like:

Yes, I swear it was that big. But just as quickly as I saw it, the thing disappeared. Did I imagine it?  I will admit, my vision without corrective lenses is 20/400, but I could swear I heard its legs clicking as it ran up the mirror. Within seconds I was out of bed, lights AND eyeglasses on. However, I could not find it. (Admittedly, I did not try very hard. Couldn’t decide if it was worse to confront or worse to go insane.) The jewelry cabinet is just a few inches from the window with its curtains and blinds. So I began hitting the curtains with my slipper. Of course, it also could have disappeared into the jewelry cabinet, so I started pounding on that. I’ve not yet had the nerve to open it.

Again, I have to wonder, did I imagine it? I was absolutely not under the influence of anything last night (unless you count chocolate – I did have two of those little Dove dark chocolate squares.) On a positive note, for the first time in recent memory, I had no problem whatsoever staying up for the entire episode of No Reservations but my eyes barely registered the tv screen. I spent the next several hours scanning every inch of wall around me. When I eventually closed my eyes, I didn’t really sleep, so I’m running on empty right now.

Does anyone know anything about spiders in New England? Is it even possible that this thing was real? And where/how will I sleep tonight?