Category Archives: nature hates me

July 16, 2018

Hobbies Include: Reading to Mystery Animals in the Dark

By Steph

I haven’t posted here since APRIL? Damn.

Anyway, I’m getting off track. Listen. I am in a full-on panic. Like, I just looked at my keyboard to see if there was a button to record. Video. Of myself. Freaking out. That is so far from something I would EVER do, let alone today, when I’m post-3-days-sick and look it, and also losing my shit so completely that I’ve even wondered if I’m tripping. (I’m not.)

*deep breath*

*another, because omg, y’all*

Fuck. Okay. So. As mentioned above, I’ve been feeling pretty shitty for a few days. Maybe I’ll get into that later. (I really should, I know you guys are just dying to know. *laughs and then cries and then remembers I have a point here*)

Dammit.

I’ve been waking up pretty early, around 4 in the morning, and it’s still really dark here at 4 a.m. because normal people are asleep in their beds at that ungodly hour, and not outside discovering all the reasons they should be INSIDE FOR THE REST OF FOREVER.

No, seriously, I didn’t decide that until just now. And it’s 12:30 in the afternoon.

My first visitor was adorable:

 

RFox2
RFox1

I even slowly walked towards her to get better pictures. The video is really shaky, because I was excited/prepared to run and also my body just does whatever the fuck it wants to now, whether I’m into it or not. (I’m not.)

The next morning it was earlier, and much darker, so I was on the deck sitting in the (presumably) safe glow of the motion light when the fox literally walked right the fuck up to me on my damned deck.

She and I noticed each other at the same time and had about the same reaction, except after I turned and ran I came back.

This morning, just as I opened the door, I spotted 8 or so Mystery Animals trundling across the driveway and into the woods. One was an adult, I think, followed by a bunch of little rolling-walking babies. I couldn’t see them clearly (which should be obvious following that description) but I could tell they walked funny. Maybe really fat racoons? I don’t know.

After all that, I decided I was being too quiet out there. The reek of sick human and cigarette smoke wasn’t working as a wild-animal-repellent.

So that’s why I read the news out loud this morning. And that’s why I was totally shocked when I looked up and saw that the baby deer and his mom, who are pretty much always somewhere around, were Right There, so close they could’ve eaten my flowers had they not already done that.

Throw in the bobcat my son and I saw a couple weeks ago, and I was starting to feel like an R-rated Disney princess. Of course, there’s no way Mother Nature was gonna let that shit stand.

I was almost finished catching all my new friends up on the news, when Something Very Rude made a scary huffy-growly sound and, I mean, it was a heartbreaking article about Lithuania, but don’t bite the messenger and all that. Story hour ended very quickly, and I did not go back outside until daylight.

And here we are. I’m feeling a bit better since my complete and total freak out above.

After all these recent encounters with wildlife went smoothly, I should’ve known shit was about to go down. But I did not. I was even singing and wearing headphones outside. It’s like I have a subconscious desire to be maimed or at least very worried by something sneaky.

This is how it happened: We have an above-ground pool, and I have to stand on my tip-toes to see over the side and into the water. Which is what I was doing when I saw a mutant creature from outer space swimming in my pool.

You have to understand, I hired people to literally dig out part of my yard so I could have the pool placed in that very spot. It gets sun most of the day, so it’s always warm-ish. With all my various conditions, I can’t hack cold water for more than like 2 seconds. I have enjoyed the shit out of that pool. Even though we’ve had problems getting the chemical levels just right, because we are pool-care virgins, I’ve been in and out of it multiple times a day.

I also have 9 Highly Suspicious Bug Bites. A normal person would probably have gone to the doctor, but I didn’t because ticks have already royally fucked me and I already have All the Things.

It did not occur to me that anything in my pool had the ability to bite me. I mean, what the fuck? Even though I put the damn thing kind of near a hickory tree that may or may not be purposely thwarting my leaf-removal efforts, the pool is still cleaner than the river, right?!

River Bird 2018

Just making sure I had the correct fingers raised. (I did.)

I was not attacked then, and I laid right there, in the river, just like that, for the majority of our “float trip.” But a swimming pool full of chlorine and all sorts of other chemicals I can’t figure out and don’t really want to? Why wouldn’t there be a prehistoric, should-be-fucking-extinct-ass-bug in there swimming laps?

UPDATE: This morning I inspected the pool from a safe distance and there wasn’t a single living creature in it. So, I’m pretty glad that I didn’t set it on fire like I wanted to yesterday. Also, Google and my husband both assured me that Ed (the dangerous dinosaur bug) was not responsible for my bites.

 

 

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in fire, Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

January 18, 2017

And This is Why I Carry a Sword

By Steph
I have a long and extremely fucked-up history of being plagued by random creatures, living and/or dead. It would take way too much work to fill you in on all the things, so I’ll just remind you that I probably brought this on myself because of that one time when I gave my mom dead hermit crabs for Christmas.
(If you just can’t help yourself, you can find most/all/at least some of that shit around here somewhere.)
Recently, a black cat showed up at our house. (Not Suzanne, for those of you who remember that psycho.) He just made himself right the fuck at home and irritated the shit out of me from the get-go. Then he started killing rodents, which were apparently also living in our yard. THIS ISN’T A FUCKING HOSTEL, ASSHOLES.
Anyway, his sadistic tendencies instantly ingratiated him with my husband, who would pet him and tell him how wonderful he was every time he produced a corpse. I, on the other hand, being a normal human being, would either scream and run or freeze and be trapped, depending on my proximity to his dead rat/squirrel/mouse/whatever he found to murder that day. Lately I’ve spent a lot of time crouched in a chair on the porch, whimpering, “GOOD KITTY NOOOOO GET IT THE HELL AWAY FROM ME OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP JUST GO!”
He loves to torment me with dead things, but he is absolutely joyful when his victim survives until he finds me. Then he can toss whatever it is up in the air while running around me in circles until I die.
So I migrated to the deck because it’s less accessible to my enemies.
I spend a lot of time out there at night, because I don’t sleep well and I haven’t quit smoking for the 6th time yet and at least it’s not heroin, okay? Fuck.
There are a lot of noises out in the woods, but mostly I just worry about squeaks or cat footsteps because the Murder Cat is one sneaky sonofabitch. I can tell the difference between a deer and a possum or a ninja by the sounds they make while blithely trespassing in my yard. (Ninjas sound like silence but when they jump it’s with purpose and cunning, unlike armadillos who can’t seem to control themselves and just leap into the air over any damn thing.)
Early one morning, around 3 o’clock, I heard the sounds of a fierce battle coming from under my trampoline. It sounded like a dragon fighting a goat, but a dragon would have trouble fitting under a trampoline and surely I’ve had enough goat issues to last a lifetime.
It should be a surprise to no one that I ran.
I woke up my husband and told him about the dragon/unicorn/goat fight going on 10 feet away from me and waited for him to be relieved that I escaped unscathed, but apparently 3 a.m. is too early for feelings and he sucks so he just stared at me like I was crazy.
The next time I went outside, there was a deer standing closer than usual to the house. (And they aren’t shy; they get pretty damn close anyway.) It stayed and stayed and stayed for days and days and days and I thought it loved me and wanted to be my pet forever, but then I realized it had a messed up leg and probably couldn’t leave because hobbling is hard in the woods. I guess.
So I forgot all about everything because that’s what I do, but then another time I heard something big-sounding in the yard in the middle of the night and I was in a really bad mood so I yelled, “GO AWAY I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” Instead of being scared and running away because I am scary and wild animals are “more afraid of us than we are of them,” (this is a lie) it ran toward me. It sounded like thunder would sound if it had feet and was barreling towards me at a ridiculously high rate of speed. This was definitely not a unicorn. Dragons aren’t that fast, plus a dragon would probably just do that fire breathing thing because dragons don’t give a fuck about Fitbits or steps or whatever that weird counting shit is that people are doing these days.
It should be a surprise to no one that I ran.
I didn’t bother with my husband because he “seriously doubts” there was any kind of beast-fight in the yard and he doesn’t know shit about shit.
The very next day I miraculously remembered the events of the previous night, so naturally I decided that I was as good a tracker as the next guy who claimed to be able to track things because, fuck, I can read and I know stuff and also I have a sword. This was brilliant because these creatures don’t come out in the daylight (duh) and even if they did (it would be just my luck for that fucking goat/unicorn to be some kind of anomaly that does whatever the hell it wants, rules of the wild be damned) then I would just brace myself with the sword held out in front of me and let the creature impale itself. Like I said, brilliant.
I immediately found Large Piles of Animal Shit. (I told you I could track like a mofo.) I took pictures even though that meant I had to put down my sword for a minute, because bravery is one of the things I’m known for.
Googling “Dragon Poop, Unicorn Shit, and Goat Crap” cleared up exactly nothing about this mystery, but I did scar myself for life and now there’s a sticky note on my laptop that says, “Be wary of Googling feces.”
Anyway, eventually I found matching shit pictures and it wasn’t a unicorn or a goat or a dragon. IT WAS A WILD BOAR.
I know, right?!

only-not-a-bear

Seriously, I mean, there was a bear here recently (truth) and there’s this humongous coyote with absolutely no fear of automobiles and I think it’s because he’s actually a wolf (werewolf, duh, that’s obviously why it’s not scared of cars and I don’t know why people don’t just listen to me). But even though I know all this, a wild boar still seemed a little unlikely. Nevertheless, I employed my sweet-ass wildlife tracking abilities, albeit from my car because hello, I’m not insane and I’m not fucking with a boar. Driving slowly down the road I decided, based on absolutely nothing, that the boar lived in an overhang near the shit piles.
Armed with my poop pictures, I felt like I had enough evidence of Wild Hog Activity to tell everyone I knew that there was Definitely Absolutely Without a Doubt a mean pig living in my woods. There was skepticism because people are dumb and maybe because my first theory (dragon/unicorn/goat) was a little off.

BUT THEN.

My son revealed that while riding a 4-wheeler he saw approximately 10 baby pigs. (Fucksake, they’re called piglets have you never seen Winnie the Pooh?)
Boom. Wild boar. Go fuck yourself. I know things.
(I did not ask him if he saw them before or after he wrecked the 4-wheeler and sustained a serious concussion.) (I know it was serious because on the way to the ER he told me I smelled good and that’s the first nice thing he’s said to me in 13 years and he’s 14 now.)
We needed to do something immediately, because I can handle a lot of things (no I cannot) but not a feral-ass pig. Especially one with piglets (boarlets?) because then they are vicious motherfuckers. (I already knew this from my research, but also, my daughter decided to be super helpful and, while at a wildlife conservation place, she told the Animal Police about my sword plan without mentioning the fucking sword, but they said it was A-Okay, which is good because what the fuck child, do you want me to go to jail?
Because my body is a bitch and never lets me do anything fun, I had a migraine and was not available to help track this animal. So of course they didn’t find it. Hello? Who knows what they’re doing here, me and my sword or you with your “hunting experience?”
That’s what I thought.
It’s been weeks since there’s been any suspicious activity, so I guess the beast-pig realized that I was no regular human, but a mighty swordswoman and dangerous adversary, and made the logical choice Not to Fuck with Me.

Or it was just a lame-ass wandering farm pig. BUT HOW LIKELY IS THAT?

 

 

32 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, random bullshit, total chaos

November 17, 2015

Oh. Deer.

By Steph

When I was born, my family lived here, in rural Arkansas. Shortly after that, my Dad joined the Army and away we went. I spent around 9-10 years on Army bases, then we moved back home when I was in the 5th grade. This is important to note, in light of what I’m about to tell you.

I’m not against hunting; I’ve just never really been interested in it. There were no “youth hunts” on Army bases.

The first post-hunted deer (I’m trying to save your sensibilities here, people) I saw was in the back of my uncle’s truck, and I was about nine. I cried. I petted its nose, and whispered prayers and apologies, and wouldn’t speak to anyone the rest of the day. (I TOLD you guys, I’ve ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS.)

I didn’t come in contact with another deer until I was about 17. This time I was running in the dark and ran INTO the carcass of the deer, which was hanging from a tree in our yard. I feel like that’s something you really ought to mention to people. “Hey, there’s a giant dead thing with horns around back.” Or something.

Anyway. So I’m not a complete moron about guns. I like to target shoot. (I am good.) (Well, I’m okay.) (I’m not terrible, jeez!) I just don’t really even think about deer season except to tell the kids to wear orange if they go in the woods.

Well. I know that my 13-year-old hunts and fishes with his dad and grandparents at their place. Long as he’s safe, have at it, right? They know what they’re doing, my son loves it, so it’s cool.

Then last weekend I got a Very Excited call from my son–he’d shot his first deer. I was really proud of him and it was awesome to hear the story of his amazing shot and how much fun he’d had. It really was. It’s always great to see him joyous and happy. Then I hear, “You better get ready for a lot of deer meat headed your way ha ha ha.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

To me, this meant, “I hope you have room in your freezer for a few prepackaged select cuts of deer meat.”

So I said, “Ha ha ha, well, okay, but I can’t eat it and I don’t know how to cook it, so send instructions! Ha ha ha!”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Then I get a text as they are on their way to bring Thing 2 home.

His Gram: “A lot of meat & the head coming your way. The head needs to be hung up high in a tree. I’m sorry, he wanted to bring it home!”

Me: Oh shit.

Her: “The meat needs to soak in plain water overnight & then packaged & frozen then I will find you a couple delish recipes.”

Me: OH SHIT.

Her: *laughing her ass off* SORRY! Who knew he would get one?! HAHAHAHAHAHA *laughs forever.*

Me: Oh…shit.

So, at this point, my main concern is that my husband isn’t home, it’s dark, and there is a HEAD on its way here that I am going to have to somehow, someway, get up a tree.

To prepare for this, I put on my boots and paced, thinking furiously. I came up with zero ideas. None.

20151116_201208

Maybe because I have the wrong kind of boots?

Anyway.

They got there and my son was all, “LOOK! LOOK AT THIS! DO YOU WANT TO TOUCH HIS TONGUE?”

And I was all, “That’s so awesome pleasepleasegetitawayfromme.”

Then they were like, “So, do you have any rope?” and I was like, “OH! Good idea! Yeah! Rope!” Then I ran in the house, did a few circles chanting “rope, rope, rope” and then went back outside to do the same thing out there.

Thankfully, Thing 2’s Papa is a Good, Good Man and he found something that would work AND found a tree (not the tree by where I drink my coffee, THANK YOU SO MUCH) and he and my son hung the thing up. I basically just stood there, wringing my hands and nervous talking.

THEN comes the transfer of the meat. Thing 2’s Gram was snickering at me. SNICKERING at me! It was a loving snicker, but a snicker nonetheless.

They have a big plastic tub, presumably full of meat. When I saw it, my eyes lit up. I had visions of never opening that tub. Then she said these horrible words: “I need to take this with me.”

Shit.

We trooped into the kitchen for the big reveal. My son started pulling meat out of the sack like he was some sort of, fuck, I don’t know, a hunter I guess.

Once the sink was full of meat and my son was done shoving body parts in my face and his grandma was almost done laughing, I received my instructions for the next day. How To Package The Meat.

The following morning I was dismayed to find the deer still in the sink. There are no such creatures as Deer Fairies, in case you were wondering. I prepared myself for the job ahead.

By “prepared myself” I mean “looked everywhere and found nothing in which to wrap this meat.”

I had to improvise. In my defense, I WAS NOT READY FOR A….I don’t even know what this is called. I’ve got A LOT of learning to do before the zombie apocalypse, I’ll tell you that.

Anyway. So I used three coats of plastic wrap, two of wax paper, and then wrapped it all in duct tape. Seemed legit to me.

Because he told me it was a tenderloin. I think.
Because he told me it was a tenderloin. I think.
20151109_092453
Big Fatty Thing.
Possibly a butt.
Possibly a butt.
Really Big Thing
Really Big Thing.

I really want my son to be happy, and if he likes to hunt and fish, that’s great.

But I’m making a rule RIGHT NOW that I am not ever, ever, EVER duct taping a deer’s ass again.

Ever.

35 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, parenting, total chaos

September 20, 2015

It’s Slug Season! Yes, that’s a thing.

By Steph
Slug Season is a thing.

This is not a slug. This is a snake looking in my window. But if you think I’m going hunting for pictures of slugs, you don’t know me very well.

In honor of Slug Season (that’s a thing. A thing I just made up), I decided to revamp this post from a million years ago.

We have a large wooden deck on the back of our house. We also have a drainage problem. And a slug problem. I’m not positive these things are all related, because I’m not a fucking scientist, but I suspect they are.

A few days ago I went out and saw a big fat gross slug on the deck.

Me: Ewww! Did you see that thing?

Husband: No, what?

Me: THE GIANT SLUG RIGHT THERE!

Him: Shit, is that why my shoe is so sticky?

Me:..

Him: *He heads back inside*

Me: Watch ou—

Him: SHIT!

Yes, the big idiot stepped on it again. Then presumably tracked slime all over the house, I don’t know.

So this story is about four years old, right after we moved into this house.

I woke up early and first thing let the dogs out. I’m lazy, so instead of turning on a light or possibly paying attention to what I was doing, I just stuck my hand out in the dark to get the water bowl.

I didn’t look at it until I realized that my hand felt….slimy. My only defense is that I hadn’t had coffee yet. And that I am an idiot.

There. Were. Baby. Slugs. On. Me. MANY TINY SLUGS TOUCHING ME. TOUCHING ME!

This was when everything started to get a little blurry.

The dish was no longer in the house, so I can only assume I threw it.

My robe was in the hall floor.  I vaguely remember ripping it off and sprinting into the kitchen while my ever-so-helpful husband just stared.

He says he thinks I was gagging.  I really couldn’t say.

I do know that while I was in the kitchen scrubbing vigorously at my gooey hands (OMG, I might barf and this was like 4 years ago) he widened his stupid eyes and pointed at my back.

I very rapidly became naked and then equally rapidly became violent, once I realized he was a lying shit.

After I felt relatively clean, I calmed down to a state of shock, just staring blankly and mourning my lost innocence.

Him: *trying not to laugh, but not trying very fucking hard*

Me:.

Husband: *snicker snort* So. What are you doing to do with your robe? *innocent face*

Me:.

Him: You just going to leave your shit laying there in the floor so all those slugs can just wander off all over the house?”

Me: *glares the glare of a thousand deaths*

Husband: *does not die or even be mildly injured*

He was clearly not concerned about my safety, sanity, or aversion to animated slime.

Me: Obviously the only logical thing to do is burn the robe.

Him: I KNEW you would say that. It’s not a fucking vampire, Stephanie.  You don’t have to cut its head off, burn it, and bury it wrapped in chains.

Hmmph.  I guess it’s just as well I didn’t tell him my whole  plan, which was to burn the robe and then the front porch.

This is war, motherfucker.  My perimeter has been breached. 

20 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, random bullshit, total chaos

May 7, 2015

In Search of Biohazard Suit, Good Condition.

By Steph

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains. To get to my house you have to travel over five miles of pitted, rutted, washed-out, tire-slashing dirt road. That’s after you’ve made the 50 mile journey from the nearest town that boasts a stoplight.

I like the seclusion. I like the beauty of the woods and the mountains. I like the silence and the wide open sky at night. I like to hear the frogs in the pond and the coyotes in the woods.

I like to be able to wander around my yard dressed like a hobo or a hooker and not worry that people will see me. I like to be able to puke outside when I’m sick because I don’t approve of putting my face close to a toilet. I like to turn my music up really loud and sing even louder.

I even like watching the wildlife. From a distance.

I do not like any living creature to be in my house without my express invitation.

© Copyright Abactus and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

© Copyright Abactus and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Tolerable Inside The House:

1. My kids.

2. My husband.

3. My cat.

4. My ferret (although he’s pushing his luck).

Tolerable Outside The House:

1. Birds.

2. Deer.

3. Cows.

4. Horses.

5. Squirrels (although those sneaky bastards bear watching).

6. Anything else that doesn’t try to come in my house.

INTOLERABLE IN MY HOUSE:

1. Your kids.

2. Probably your husband.

3. Maybe you, depending.

4. Snakes.

5. Scorpions.

6. Slimy things I can’t think of the name? Right, slugs.

7. Spiders.

8. Mice.

9. Birds.

 

That last list may actually be longer.

You probably think I’m overreacting.

I’m thinking that houses just aren’t built like they used to be.

Obviously, I’ve written about my horror upon encountering uninvited guests. I’m beginning to think this is some kind of hang-up of mine; like arachnophobia, only it’s all-living-thingophobia. Or something.

Anyway, yesterday I was getting ready to take a bath. My bathroom has a walk-in closet, so while the water was running, I was looking for something that might fit me.

I found a big plastic tub (sealed, mind you) labeled “summer clothes.” I was thrilled to find some shorts that looked like they would work, but I wanted to be sure before I washed them, so I tried them on and looked in the floor length mirror.

They were a little tight, but I was confident that with hard work and a healthy diet luck they’d be fitting better in no time.

I was smiling at myself in the mirror when I saw it.

It crawled out of the waistband of the shorts and down the front as I stared, paralyzed in horror.

It had gone the length of the shorts and was headed toward my bare leg when I finally sprang into action.

By “sprang into action” I mean “threw my hands up in the air, screamed, jumped around frantically, and ripped the shorts off.”

I saw it scamper under the bathroom door and into my bedroom, which I COULD NOT ALLOW. I threw the door open, grabbed the first thing to hand (black Converse), and began tearing my room apart to find the dirty creep who sneaked into my pants.

I didn’t catch him insomuch as he caught himself. In his haste to escape the swift justice of my Chuck Taylor, he ran right onto a glue trap.

Which was when I stood up, triumphantly wielding my shoe of destruction, and realized that I was standing directly in front of the large, wide open windows in my bedroom. Completely naked.

 

Have you ever experienced anything sneaking into your pants? *she says with a completely straight face.*

Do you live in a bubble or wish you did? Are you like me or do you keep creepy-crawlies as pets? *shudders*

 

 

38 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, random bullshit, total chaos

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