Blog Reunion, of sorts

I make it a habit to regularly check the blogs of friends to see what they are up to, what their kids' latest adventures are or their commentary on a variety of subjects. Every now and again I will pop over to other websites/blogs to kill some time and goof off.

One such site is Tomato Nation (http://www.tomatonation.com/). I used to read it semi frequently (thanks to Niki's link) but have since forgotten about it for, like, a year. Today, for whatever reason, I clicked on over and was reminded of why I liked it so much two years ago.

Sarah (Sars) lives in New York City and will post movie reviews, advice or just short stories. I found this entry and laughed and laughed. I actually laughed until I cried, more than once. I'm not sure if it is truly that funny or if I was just on a hormone high, but either way she's got a way with words.

Lifted from http://www.tomatonation.com/:

Buggin'

[about two weeks ago]

Eating lemon sorbet at my desk, straight from the pint with a serving spoon like the classy dame I am, I drop a nickel-sized blob of sorbet next to the keyboard. My desk is actually not a desk, it's unfinished lumber laid on top of two bookcases, so I can't really wipe up spills; I blot them and try to forget them. Usually.

[about ten days ago]

…But not always.

My fridge gets a little overeager at times and just straight-up freezes everything — better that than the alternative, I suppose, but it's a bit difficult to see the bright side when you've just sprained your wrist trying to cut an onion-sicle. After dressing a salad with some vinaigrette cubes and eating in front of the TV, I settled back at my desk with a (frozen, unbeknownst to me) can of Diet Coke, which promptly [chonk!] convexed on the bottom of the can, [spenk!] convexed on the top of the can, [fffffsssss!] announced its displeasure with this room-temp state of affairs, and then [fsshhplap!] Bellagio-fountained the left side of my desk with ice chips and denatured aspartame. Three hectares of paper towel later, I settled back at my desk again, with a glass of lime seltzer this time, because of course that was the last Diet Coke in the refrigerator. Explody little bitch.

[Sunday before last]

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like an orange cat doing the hokey-pokey. I closed my eyes for a moment, reminding myself that while I do have an orange cat, he does not dance, and perhaps I should think about getting more sleep, but when I re-opened my eyes, sure enough: you put the left paw in, you draw the left paw back, you put the left paw in, then you pat the floor nine times, you do the Hobey-pokey and you pounce on bits of lint, what is that all a-bout.

Well, he'd found a very very tiny ant, is what, and the two of them were locked in a pat-pat-pat-pat-pat/play dead/run off/pat-pat-pat-pat-pat paw de deux, which went on for another twenty minutes, at which time I couldn't take it anymore and blew the ant under the TV.

This may have been a mistake.

[six days ago]

"Oh, hello, ant."

[five days ago]

"Beat it, ant. [flick] Beat it, other ant. [flick] You too, other ant…s. [flick flick]"

[three days ago]

I got to my desk and found two ants standing on the site of the sorbet blob, shooting the shit. I mushed them both; minutes later, another ant crossed the keyboard and over my hand to get to the blob. After snacking on the blob for a few seconds, it strolled over to a former Diet Coke puddle. "I have ants," I said, to no one. "Faaaaaan-tastic. Not." The ant zipped behind a brass bookend and out of sight.

I cleared off the desk and Lysoled the hell out of it. When I could kind of breathe again, I Febrezed it for good measure. I put everything back on the desk. The next ant is apparently hoping for a career in show business, because with perfect comic timing it waited exactly three beats after I'd sat back down, then made its entrance from behind a Bill Bryson book.

An hour and a half was then wasted trying to arrange a Post-It that says "FUCK OFF, ANTS" on it next to the sorbet blob, then waiting for an ant to walk in front of it so I could take a picture.

[two days ago]

I cleared everything off the bookshelves. It was a dusty, shoulder-muscle-twanging pain in the ass, but I knew this would not end until I flushed out the queen and flattened her with a vintage dictionary, so into the breach I went with Swiffer sheets, soapy water, and the righteous rage of a woman who has excused her horrendous housekeeping failures for years on the grounds that at least she never had insects.

On the plus side, I forgot I even owned that biographical dictionary of film. On the minus side, many sneezes and no queen. It is true that I did not see any ants on the desk afterwards, but I did see one on top of a picture frame on the living room table, carrying a tiny set of surveyor's equipment and wearing a tiny tinted visor. I leaned down to the ant: "You tell Big Mama that when I find her, she's toast." The ant was like "whatever man" and then I was embarrassed because I tried to threaten an ant, and it didn't even work.

[also two days ago]

It was nighttime; I had plans later, but right then I was chilling on the couch paying bills and watching Rocky IV on Spike. The cats, typically, remained quiet and unobtrusive throughout the relatively dull "Apollo, I must warn you for the purposes of dramatic irony that this fight with Drago is a bad fucking call" lead-up. Nor did the scuffling start during the interminable James Brown performance (but how awesome is Apollo's short-sleeved sequined Star-Spangled Banner tailcoat? In fact, how awesome is Apollo Creed? Can someone please start a band and name it "Apollo Creed's Restless Ghost"? That guy is a honey-baked ham. What ever happened to Carl Weathers, anyway?). No, they waited until the climactic moment of the exhibition match when the Cold War is punching Apollo in the head, to death, to come barreling out of the bedroom all scrambly pouncy, and Hobey's tail was so fat, he looked like a beaver, but it's not like that's anything new.

The cats chasing a beetle the size of a baseball? Yeah, that's new.

I have never seen a creature like that in my life. It looked like a toy, or a beetle crafted by the effects department for a movie about…I don't even know. Baseball beetles from outer space. And where did the cats chase it? Straight at my legs. That thing was fast, too. I think. It sounded fast. The sound of its hooves on my wood floor sounded pretty fast to me.

So, it ran under the couch. Terrific. I assume it's still under there, snacking on a mastodon leg or whatever it is prehistoric carnivorous beetles who owe me fuckin' rent do in their spare time. I promptly packed up my bindle and went over to Skyrockets's house, and the cats followed me to the door all "you're going to leave us alone with that thing?" and I was like, "Nice knowing you, bye," and ran away.

The SIZE of a BASE! BALLLLLLL! Gee-ROSS!

I will not sit here and tell you I don't eat on the couch, drop crumbs on the floor between the table and the couch, and leave the crumbs there for a couple of days until I get motivated to sweep. I will not sit here and tell you that I pull all those board games and books and photo albums and dead labor leaders out from under the couch every time I mop the living room, either, because I don't, because it's a pain in the ass. And I will not sit here and tell you that I'm going to start now, because the Beetletron 3000 is under there, and if I scare him out, he's going to Drago me.

But I have to. Otherwise the next chapter in the saga is going to involve coming home from work and finding rats trying on my shoes.

Why now?

OMG! Did you laugh as hard as me?! Maybe it's funny to me because we are currently fighting an ant war at our house. Sorry bastards. No beetles, however, thank goodness (keeping fingers crossed)!