Where's Sam Jackson When You Need Him?
I believe that I mentioned before how my house was constructed by a madman. Not raving mad, using bonechips in place of ten penny nails (I'm suddenly curious if ten penny nails are, indeed, used in framing a house and such), but still not 100% functional. I believe he was a great-great-uncle or somesuch.
I say this because right-angles are mythical creatures in my house.
There are other irregularities in the house, but many of those are due to the fact that the house now contains a number of features that weren't available when the house was built.
For instance, our toilet is inside.
As such, some things may not necessarily be up to code. I can live with this. However, that means that living, in general, requires a bit more caution than one might normally find necessary in your average home. It's always important to check and make sure a dead (or live) bug isn't in the glass you just pulled from the cupboard, no matter how recently it was washed. 15 seconds, 15 months, makes no difference. This isn't because the house is dirty. Well, not completely. I mean, when you live a busy life and spend most of your freetime painting a bedroom, certain things, like that pile of dishes in the sink, become less pressing.
Washing as you need them is a completely valid method, I say.
Of course, other times, the eccentricities of our house require more than just caution. For instance, the night before last, I had just fallen asleep when my wife, who was doing some reading for a class before falling asleep, woke me. I was not pleased by this, but what are you gonna do? She tells me that something black fell from behind this picture we have framed on the wall. Half out of it, I stand up and stumble around as I make my way to her side of the bed. Indeed, there was something on the ground behind the rack where she keeps her shoes (directly beneath the picture). I had an inkling of what it might've been, but my brain didn't want to believe that inkling, so I cautiously moved the shoes from the bottom row so I could get a better look.
Unfortunately, the inkling was right.
Curled up behind a pair of my wife's shoes was about 12 inches of unhappy snake. I don't much care for snakes when they're content, much less when they've just fallen 5 feet out of a crack around an electrical box. My initial plan of action was this:
At this point, my dog, and I use the term "dog" loosely, is thoroughly confused by what's going on. It seems that not only has she failed to learn to utilize her sense of smell to locate things like bits of food that we throw to her, but also her sense of hearing to alarm her when something is happening nearby. Her bed was about the snake's length away from the snake. As I begin to think of alternative methods of ridding our room of the snake, I put the dog outside, since she's obviously not up to the challenge when it comes to avoiding the possibly poisonous snake. Then, I use the next, most obvious weapon in the (non-lethal) war on snakes.
I go to the kitchen and grab some tongs.
Steadying my nerves, I try to push back the thought that these tongs were apparently made for some small child's play kitchen, as they are a mighty four inches from the grips to the...claspy parts at the business end, and not for battling the serpentine menace. This thought in mind, I have to reassess my plan of attack. On the one hand, I can hold the tongs comfortably in my right hand, which has all the speed and coordination. This seems good. On the other hand, though, I could use my left hand and, if it gets bitten, at least it wasn't my right hand, which has suffered enough already. I decided that my right hand was probably quick enough that I could beat the snake's bite and not getting bitten at all beats getting bitten in my off-hand.
I kneeled down, once again, by the shoe rack and begin to pray that Daniel-san still has beginner's luck. The snake was no longer sitting with it's head up against the wall, as if to say, "Please, sir. Help me leave a snake-shaped impression in the sheet rock with your size 12s." Instead, it had its angry face on, which is to say that it was coiled and appeared ready to strike. I believe that it sensed that our final battle was nigh. I made a slow movement forward to see if I could appear non-threatening with my tiny tongs. As its head darted forward, I realized that this was a bad plan, and quickly jerked my hand out of the way. I realize it was time that I tried speed.
No, not the drug. Swiftness, people! Remember, I'm trying to get rid of the snake so I can go back to sleep! Geez.
Anyway, my hand flies in toward the snake. If I miss its head, I'll not be getting to sleep until after I leave the emergency room, which is generally rather slow. Sadly, the snake has no idea what'll happen when I grab it, so its not taking any chances and begins to lurch forward.
Right in between the tongs as I snap them together.
Let me tell you, a trapped snake is an unhappy snake. There is no contentment when your thinky parts are pinned between two pieces of metal coated in plastic. I was pleasantly surprised and certainly pleased with myself. I took a moment to congratulate myself on a job well done. It's not often that Beta males such as myself have to conquer a wild beast. Even if it is just a foot long. The thing had fangs! And poison! Maybe. I'm not up on my snake identification, really.
Anyway, the snake decided that whatever was going on, it still had use of its tail, which it quickly wrapped around the tongs. My exact thought was "Crap. I catch this thing only to have it bite me as I release it." Grumbling, I walked to the front door and did my best to fling it off the tongs and into the bushes. Because of its grip on the tongs, it went about three feet.
"Good enough for me," I thought, and slammed the door. Once again, I was feeling rather good about the whole thing.
Then, as I climbed in bed, Andria asked me, "Did you kill it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Turns out, dead is ok, so long as its not in the bedroom.
I say this because right-angles are mythical creatures in my house.
There are other irregularities in the house, but many of those are due to the fact that the house now contains a number of features that weren't available when the house was built.
For instance, our toilet is inside.
As such, some things may not necessarily be up to code. I can live with this. However, that means that living, in general, requires a bit more caution than one might normally find necessary in your average home. It's always important to check and make sure a dead (or live) bug isn't in the glass you just pulled from the cupboard, no matter how recently it was washed. 15 seconds, 15 months, makes no difference. This isn't because the house is dirty. Well, not completely. I mean, when you live a busy life and spend most of your freetime painting a bedroom, certain things, like that pile of dishes in the sink, become less pressing.
Washing as you need them is a completely valid method, I say.
Of course, other times, the eccentricities of our house require more than just caution. For instance, the night before last, I had just fallen asleep when my wife, who was doing some reading for a class before falling asleep, woke me. I was not pleased by this, but what are you gonna do? She tells me that something black fell from behind this picture we have framed on the wall. Half out of it, I stand up and stumble around as I make my way to her side of the bed. Indeed, there was something on the ground behind the rack where she keeps her shoes (directly beneath the picture). I had an inkling of what it might've been, but my brain didn't want to believe that inkling, so I cautiously moved the shoes from the bottom row so I could get a better look.
Unfortunately, the inkling was right.
Curled up behind a pair of my wife's shoes was about 12 inches of unhappy snake. I don't much care for snakes when they're content, much less when they've just fallen 5 feet out of a crack around an electrical box. My initial plan of action was this:
- Move the remaining shoes.
- Take one of the shoes.
- Beat the snake until it is an ex-snake.
- Scoot pile of shoes out of the way (my shoe needed a bigger hole to swing through).
- Take my shoe.
- Send the snake to join the bleedin' choir invisible.
At this point, my dog, and I use the term "dog" loosely, is thoroughly confused by what's going on. It seems that not only has she failed to learn to utilize her sense of smell to locate things like bits of food that we throw to her, but also her sense of hearing to alarm her when something is happening nearby. Her bed was about the snake's length away from the snake. As I begin to think of alternative methods of ridding our room of the snake, I put the dog outside, since she's obviously not up to the challenge when it comes to avoiding the possibly poisonous snake. Then, I use the next, most obvious weapon in the (non-lethal) war on snakes.
I go to the kitchen and grab some tongs.
Steadying my nerves, I try to push back the thought that these tongs were apparently made for some small child's play kitchen, as they are a mighty four inches from the grips to the...claspy parts at the business end, and not for battling the serpentine menace. This thought in mind, I have to reassess my plan of attack. On the one hand, I can hold the tongs comfortably in my right hand, which has all the speed and coordination. This seems good. On the other hand, though, I could use my left hand and, if it gets bitten, at least it wasn't my right hand, which has suffered enough already. I decided that my right hand was probably quick enough that I could beat the snake's bite and not getting bitten at all beats getting bitten in my off-hand.
I kneeled down, once again, by the shoe rack and begin to pray that Daniel-san still has beginner's luck. The snake was no longer sitting with it's head up against the wall, as if to say, "Please, sir. Help me leave a snake-shaped impression in the sheet rock with your size 12s." Instead, it had its angry face on, which is to say that it was coiled and appeared ready to strike. I believe that it sensed that our final battle was nigh. I made a slow movement forward to see if I could appear non-threatening with my tiny tongs. As its head darted forward, I realized that this was a bad plan, and quickly jerked my hand out of the way. I realize it was time that I tried speed.
No, not the drug. Swiftness, people! Remember, I'm trying to get rid of the snake so I can go back to sleep! Geez.
Anyway, my hand flies in toward the snake. If I miss its head, I'll not be getting to sleep until after I leave the emergency room, which is generally rather slow. Sadly, the snake has no idea what'll happen when I grab it, so its not taking any chances and begins to lurch forward.
Right in between the tongs as I snap them together.
Let me tell you, a trapped snake is an unhappy snake. There is no contentment when your thinky parts are pinned between two pieces of metal coated in plastic. I was pleasantly surprised and certainly pleased with myself. I took a moment to congratulate myself on a job well done. It's not often that Beta males such as myself have to conquer a wild beast. Even if it is just a foot long. The thing had fangs! And poison! Maybe. I'm not up on my snake identification, really.
Anyway, the snake decided that whatever was going on, it still had use of its tail, which it quickly wrapped around the tongs. My exact thought was "Crap. I catch this thing only to have it bite me as I release it." Grumbling, I walked to the front door and did my best to fling it off the tongs and into the bushes. Because of its grip on the tongs, it went about three feet.
"Good enough for me," I thought, and slammed the door. Once again, I was feeling rather good about the whole thing.
Then, as I climbed in bed, Andria asked me, "Did you kill it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Turns out, dead is ok, so long as its not in the bedroom.
Labels: Life
posted by Noise Monkey at 9:49 AM
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