Tag Archives: snakes

In Search of Biohazard Suit, Good Condition.

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*

 

 


5 Reasons Nature Hates Me

I will fuck you up.

I will fuck you up.

I’ve always had weird experiences with animals, probably because when I was a child I caused the inadvertent death of 5 baby mice.

We found them in a nest in one of my mom’s sweaters. I took great pains to place them gently into a matchbox filled with Easter grass. I spoke to them softly and I made them as comfortable as I could. Then I walked outside and very respectfully buried them alive.

What the ever loving fuck? I know. I don’t get it either. It wasn’t until much later that my mother casually pointed out that I was a killer. The entire time I thought of myself as this noble, kind little girl, giving the poor, motherless mice a dignified funeral. It would’ve been perfect, had the little fuckers been dead first.

I’ve never actually thought about the source of the enmity between me and the natural world. But now that I look back, it’s clear that I brought this upon myself.

Shit. I just remembered that I may have caused the drowning death of two hamsters. Fuck. No wonder my adult life has been plagued with snakes and goats.

Moving on.

I don’t think I accidentally injured, maimed, or outright killed any other pets until I was an adult.

Hold on, I need to go make sure my pets/children have food. And water. And air. Jesus.

You know, I started writing this to hopefully amuse some of you. Little did I know that I was going to delve into my past and learn that statistically I should probably be a serial killer. Let’s all take a moment to be thankful that I’ve always lacked ambition.

Okay, so there was the Year of the Goat. I’m not sure if this kind of goat-mayhem goes on in everyone’s life and they just don’t talk about it…or maybe it’s just me. Then there was the snake infestation which, by the way, is still ongoing. In light of my earlier revelations concerning my predilection for accidental murder, I think it’s safe to say that these snakes have been sent to destroy me.

Fuck.

I killed a bird too.

But really, it was the bird’s fault. I didn’t have my windows down on purpose so the little feathered fuck could fly in and smack against the back glass. I also had no idea what was happening as I drove down the road and suddenly my entire car was full of feathers. I don’t think this one is on me. The fact that I stopped at Sonic and gently removed the bird from my car with a pair of drumsticks ought to clear my name, I think. Maybe that bird woke up later and ordered some fries. Or maybe it was already dead and the people at Sonic still talk about the girl driving around with musical instruments and dead animals. Who knows.

Do you know anyone this lacking in common sense? Am I the only one Mother Nature has put a hit out on?

 


Safety First

Husband: Don’t go outside, there’s a big copperhead on the porch.

Me: I’ve got a big stick.

Him: No wonder the house is such a mess.

Me: ?

Him: That’s a broom.

So there was this giant snake on our porch, and by giant I mean a normal-sized snake, but it was venomous and it crept right up behind the husband. We are a little freaked out, especially since we don’t know where it is now.

Then this morning some shit happened and I ended up having to walk down the dirt road to get home, about a mile or so, and somehow I ended up with a pen in my hand. No idea.

Please disregard my hair.

Please disregard my hair.

But I was a little lot nervous about the snake and of course bears and coyotes and stuff so I was glad I had the pen. Because I’d just write them a polite note and ask them not to kill me, please. Or give them an autograph right in the eyeball. I don’t know. But it made me feel a bit better.

Now I’m home safe and sound and I’ve got the doors locked so the snake can’t get in. Because we all know how well that works.

 


5 Reasons It’s Okay To Have Rogue Snakes Loose In Your Home

This is me, looking on the bright side.  Don’t blink.

Snakes.  Snakes are lovely.

Snakes eat mice.

Snakes are…snakes.

I’m trying this bullshit thing called cognitive behavioral therapy, because as I’ve been told a hundred fucking times, what you think is how you feel.  So I am going to feel homicidal GREAT about the snake INFESTATION going on in my home IN THE DEAD OF WINTER.

Ahem.

And I'm okay with this.  Really.

And I’m okay with this. Really.  Also, I really need to dust.  Don’t judge me.  I have snakes.

Five Reasons This Horror Nightmare Guest Is A-Okay:

1.  You can save money on your heating bill in an effort to make your home less homey for heat-seeking death worms reptiles.

2.  You can break your hip tone your thighs by clomping around your house in steel-toed boots and jumping a lot.

3.  Your kids will get really good at “I Spy” and this is a skill all children should have.

4.  You can finally make use of the ridiculous amount of swords you own.

5.  You can help the local economy by paying someone exorbitant sums of money a worthwhile fee to crawl around in your attic and say, “Ye-ah, where there’s one there’s usually a bunch more.”  This is helpful to know.

6.  You can save money on your water bill when an asshole a well-meaning friend tells you that the snakes are probably getting in through the plumbing so you won’t be using your bathroom.  Ever.  Again.

I know, that was actually six reasons, but I am just so good at this positivity thing that I decided to keep going.  Also, I am still in the market for a mongoose.


Snakes. I don’t like them.

If you don’t live in the middle of nowhere, you may not be aware that deer and other wildlife have trails; certain paths that they follow, to water or possibly gatherings where they plot my demise.

I am beginning to think snakes also have trails, and that my house must sit right in their path.  Or the other animals elected snakes as their assassins.  I really don’t know much about snakes.  I do know that I don’t like them, and I REALLY don’t like them in my house.

About 10 years ago I (briefly) rented the house that we bought last year.  At that time I was the single parent of two boys.  The baby woke me up and I stumbled into the kitchen for a bottle.  In my defense, it was dark, and I was mostly still asleep.  So I saw what my brain registered as a really stretched out ponytail holder on the floor, and I (stupidly) reached down to get it.  The fucker moved and I woke all the way up pretty quick.  It was about a 4 foot long black snake.  In my kitchen.  Luckily for me, its head was caught in a mousetrap, so it didn’t really have a lot of options.  I called my mom and she appeared magically, as she is wont to do in my times of need, wearing boots and bearing a shovel.

Then I moved.  Like, fucking immediately.

Fast forward 10 years, and we (stupidly) bought this house.  Last fall we had approximately three unwelcome guests.  Baby copperheads.  In my fucking house.

After I finished having a nervous breakdown, I liberally applied glue traps all over the house.  I made my husband pull up all the trim, even though we had remodeled before we moved in, and fill up every hole we could find.  I work from home, and for a time I sat at my desk inside a circle of glue boards so that nothing could get me.

Now it is fall again, and apparently this is snake baby-time.  Two weeks ago I was laying on the couch when my four-year-old walked up and asked, “What is that?” pointing at a spot in the floor between us.  “That” was a snake stuck to a glue trap.  She may have learned a new word that day.  This snake was dead already and my husband wasn’t home, so I called on my Super Mother Powers and somehow got the damn thing out to the porch.  Where I completely lost my shit and began beating the glue trap, sticky side and snake side down, on my porch.  I did this until I couldn’t lift my arms anymore.  It’s still there.  Glue traps are very sticky.

Last night it was raining and sometimes when it rains we have a leaky spot behind the T.V.  So right before bed I went to have a look, just in case.  This is what I saw:

Are you fucking kidding me?

So, I did what anyone would do.  I called my mom again.  This time the snake was still alive and, though well and thoroughly stuck, was trying to strike.  We managed to get it outside, which was really hard because I refused to let my feet touch the floor and had to climb on furniture all the way through the house.

After we took care of that bastard, I convinced myself that there were no more because my glue trap defense is working perfectly.  Then I put out every glue board I had (about 12).  There are probably close to 50 glue boards hidden all over my house at this point.  Even I don’t know where they all are.

I’m concerned.  Fall is just beginning, and we’ve already had two invaders.  I need more glue traps, and maybe some fire.

I think there is an animal conspiracy.  I believe the squirrels started it, and they’ve coordinated the whole mess.  They want me gone.  This could get really ugly.


What? It still kind of seems like a good idea.

Conversation with my husband about glue traps:

*It might be helpful to know that the glue trap in question here is stuck facedown on my porch with a dead snake presumably still stuck on the other side.  Long story.  Suffice to say, I don’t like snakes in the house, and I make questionable decisions when under pressure.

Me:  It’s rained so much, we might be able to get that glue trap up.  But there’s still a snake under there, so…

Him:  That thing is never coming up.  I suggest we just paint over it.

Me:  Hm. (Not thrilled.)

Him:  We could just staple glue traps up, sticky side out, all over the outside of the house.  Paper the house in glue traps.

Me:  OH MY GOD! That would be good for spiders, snakes, ZOMBIES…..

Him:  (laughing)  That was a joke.

Me:   ….bees, Jehovah’s Witnesses….this is brilliant.

Him:  We’re not doing that.  You know that, right?

Me:  Hm.  (Not making any promises, mister.)

Later…..

Me:  I decided that you are right.  We shouldn’t cover the outside of the house with glue.

Him:  Uh, yeah, I thought we already decided that.

Me: (closing the cabinet door so he can see the glue trap taped to the door, and the bowl stuck on it, hanging in the air.)  No, we didn’t decide anything, but I’m a reasonable person.  I’ve thought about it, and it’s a bad idea.  (bowl hanging next to my face.)

Him:  Reasonable!?  It’s not “reasonable” when you only agree with yourself!

Me:  Hm.


I need to borrow a mongoose. Immediately.

Initially, I thought honey badger, because as we all know, honey badgers don’t give a fuck.

But apparently they are illegal in the U.S. or some shit; although, whoever is in charge of stopping me from smuggling in non-fuck-giving animals is probably out of a job right now, so I bet I could pull it off.

I’m kind of scared though.  After thinking about it (you’re welcome, Gus) I decided that a honey badger in the house might be more scary than a snake.  Or snakes.  Which is what we currently have.

Goddammit!  I live in the country because I don’t like people.  I did NOT issue an open invitation to anything poisonous, scaly, creepy, slithery, or slimy.  Basically, unless you are a dragon or a cat, you are not welcome here.

And the cat is fast wearing out her welcome.  I’d like to know just what the FUCK she is doing when she’s dashing all about the house like she’s got super important shit to do, when I’m on the couch and a snake can just blatantly slither up to me.  Where was LeeLoo The Vicious Moth Killer and Protector of the Realm then, huh?  Sitting on her ASS.  Much like when a lizard got in my bedroom, and she PURPOSELY ignored my cries for help.

I don’t know.  I’m being overrun by nature’s most disgusting creatures right now.  I need some tips, or to borrow a mongoose.


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