"I think I have mouses..."

In the last month or so my apartment was somehow taken over by a mouse. Initially, when I spotted him darting across the living room, I had a good old fashioned freak out and proceeded to text Julie messages like "MOUSE. I HAVE A MOUSE!"... which was followed up with much saner messages like "MOUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE. I AM LOSING MY SHIT." I saw him often enough in the last few days, that I took to stomping around the apartment in my Ugg boots every night when I got home from work. I looked like Atilla The Tall Dutch Hun. Finally, this past weekend I dragged The Uncle to the hardware store. After consulting with our local Sears Consultant we went old school, and bought a set of six bait'em and squish'em traps.

Theoretically, I was relieved to finally be dealing with the mouse issue. While stomping around the apartment does have its own entertainment value, consistently freaking the hell out every time something darts across the room, does not. Also, that little sucker ate my cashew nuts thereby forcing me to toss the whole bag. For anyone who reads this site but does not have the pleasure of knowing me in real life, it's safe to say that you do not want to get between me and my snacks.

Yesterday morning I checked all the traps and sure enough, Fivo was there staring back up at me. I disposed of him and proceeded to make gaggy faces for the next half hour. THEN last night in the middle of the Gossip Girl finale, I heard two traps go off in the living room. Two traps. In the room where I was sitting. Internet, I do not consider jumping up to stand on the couch while yelling "Ewwww. Ewwww. OH LORD IT'S STILL WIGGLING!!!!!!!!" an overreaction. I dare say it was tame, because I swear on snacks and everything else that is good and holy, I have never wished for a boyfriend more. So I did what all single girls do when they live alone, and are faced with things that should be handled by those without a gag reflex. Chugged a beer and edged it into a dust pan. This morning there was another one, which leads me to believe that Fivo did not in fact go west, but instead invited the whole damn clan up to my place for a party. I'll keep you all posted, but in the meantime I'll be the one stomping around 1R in her boots.
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Edit: Unfortunately, the title of this post did actually come out of my mouth. I said it yesterday while riding in the car with The Uncle, only to glance over and notice him staring at me, like "Woman, I'm about to beat you with a Websters and I won't even feel bad. Your parents will thank me." So, I stared back and stated as eloquently as I possibly could, "I write good." In my family, it's not so much a function of being right all the time, as it is pretending like you are even when you know the facts are stacked against you. Because facts? They are just small, insignificant details standing in the way of you winning an argument.

the secret

Yesterday my coworkers and I got into in-depth discussion of The Secret. Which led me to conclude, without having ever cracked the cover, that it's some kind of new age tripe that begs to be made fun of. I happily obliged them.

Not believing it, hasn't stopped me from having conversations with the universe. Last night, after stepping on my new sunglasses and getting another parking ticket, I stood in the middle of my kitchen and was all "Listen Universe, I just don't think today was your best work, dawg. I mean, you've got 13 billion+ years of practice, I expect more from you at this stage of the game. Today just didn't do it for me."

Apparently, I DO believe that conversations with Universe require channeling Randy Jackson. Who knew.

i'll bring the sweatbands

Granted, this is the lazy approach to posting. BUT, emails like these provide insight into how this mind of mine works. Also, let's all just take a brief moment to acknowledge that my friends are incredibly patient people when you consider that they have to put up with obsessions like these:

"...secretly I've been wanting to go on a Richard Simmons cruise. Mostly because I think it'd be hillaaaaaaaarious. The only problem is that I bet said cruise involves significantly more effort and significantly less eating than I'd like. These are only minor details, my friends. Just imagine, the OPPORTUNITY to see Mr. Simmons in his trademark shorts. Is there anything more fantastic in life? I think not. Someday, those shorts will be dipped in bronze and labeled as the 8th world wonder."

I'm so classy

The following conversation took place after some magic that involved layers, masks, and a little sumptin' sumptin that we like to call adjustment filters. Hot.

Sarah: not to be cocky, but I just totally rocked photoshop's world.

Jay: oh yeah?

Sarah: CS3 now feels the need to smoke a cigarette and thank me for a job well done.

Jay: oh wow.

Sarah: that's what it said.

second guessing pre-coffee wardrobe decisions

This morning after noshing a bagel and tossing back about a gallon of coffee, I looked down and thought "hum. I may look a weensy bit like I dressed for the set of a 1980's dance video today.

In my defense, the forecast this morning was 60 degrees and sunny. I had also just finished doing laundry last night which means the options were endless. My creative juices were flowing, the limitations of dirty leggings, pants, underwear, etc. were GONE. I felt unfettered. I also apparently, felt like I could dance on through my life.

And because these situations deserve to be mocked, even at one's own expense, behold the bodaciousness that was the 1980's:

(note the shirt which is ALSO a skirt. Rad)