Epilogue.


This image that looks like a cuttlefish with a bobby’s hat on is a giant pee stain burned into the top of my bureau courtesy of Bedroom Squirrel (BS for short). I also have a loosely-buttoned-up giant hole in the wall next to my bed.

While I consider myself fortunate that my bed and mattress weren’t defaced, I’m still completely pissed (lame pun) because this was almost completely avoidable—no, no, COMPLETELY avoidable.

If the hole in wall and cage were somehow contained by SOMETHING, chicken wire, tarp… ANYTHING, BS would not have had the run of my bedroom for more than 12 hours. If a smaller hole was cut and the trap set directly in front of the hole, maybe he would’ve at least had the thought to go into the opening.

But no. A hole big enough for a raccoon to crawl through was cut into the wall and a way-smaller-than-the-hole trap was set a distance away with the opening facing in the direction he wouldn’t even pass. For over 12 hours, he had enough time to do whatever he wanted. So in that sense, I’m fortunate that he didn’t do more.

The fact that he’s a flying squirrel explains why I could hear rustling on one side of the room, then a bang and rustling on another side of the room.

Despite having a dozen projects due yesterday, I left work halfway thru the day yesterday to come home when Mike got here to steam clean my carpet. I wanted to make sure it was done to my liking. Everything at this time is still out in my vestibule, dining area, and living room. I have a giant bruise on my right shin from where I repeatedly kept walking into my small bedroom table on the way to the kitchen.

I got home a little after 1:00pm to see the building in pitch darkness. They were working on the power this morning which I knew, but was told it would be done by now. I use my phone to find my way to my front door. My computer crapped out earlier today and with no power thus no wifi anyway, I took a nap. On my couch because my room is still contaminated.

Power came on eventually and Mike came by at 3:30ish and went to town cleaning my room. When that was done, I washed my bag of extra dirty laundry and sheets and promptly jammed the washing machine. Called him back over and he reset the machine. While we’re both in the laundry room, I’m like, “Any word on any other squirrels in the building?”
Mike: “Nothing yet.”
Me: “So are you going to have to cut holes in everyone’s wall who has a squirrel?”
Mike: “No, it’s really not recommended that you cut holes in walls in these situations.”

[facepalm]

Me: “I’m glad that’s over with. Really, my main concern was flea or bug infestation.”
Mike: (laughing) “Well, don’t worry about that. There’s nothing we can’t take care of.”
(That’s what I’m afraid of.)

Now I’ve gotten almost everything back in my room that was there before. It’s like I’m moving. Like the process of moving, this has made me purge bags upon bags of stuff. So that’s something.

And it’s good to hear if I get another squirrel, they’ll try to figure out another way to take care of it other than all out demolition.

Pee-Wee’s magic word of the day

So today I added a word to my vocabulary. “Episiotomy.” What does it mean? It’s when a woman is giving birth and the baby doesn’t fit out, the doctors cut a larger hole down to your anus, in short, tearing you a new A.

Maybe I’ve led a sheltered life, but I’ve NEVER heard of this before, let alone that there’s a name for it. I’ve heard of some pretty horrific things about birth but never this. Today, some people were talking about it at work and I just listened in disgust.

Why would anyone want to put themselves thru this. God-forbid I ever fell on my head and suffered permanent amnesia and suddenly wanted a kid, I’d totally go in the C-section direction, ’cause it’s rhymey for one thing. But also because it’s pretty much predictable, you know how long approximately you’re delivering for as opposed to 12+ hours maybe of labor, less after effects, and now, no episiotomy.

I hear it’s 6 of one, half dozen of the other. Yes, with a C-section you have the pain of operation recovery and a huge cut across your stomach, but if chances are you get cut either way, I’d rather have the cut on my stomach where I can treat it easier than it being where the sun don’t shine and effecting my natural bodily functions. I also heard that when they rip your butt open, they don’t even give you a colostomy bag to do your business while you heal. You have to subject the incision to passing crap. Doesn’t that sound healthy? And then you have to deal with the hemerrhoids that normally come after natural child birth.

How ’bout no to all of that. After all, one has to keep one’s butt in tact incase one wants to become a spy someday.

The Bathroom Diaries. Part Deux.

And I’m on my second week streak of odd bathroom findings. First was the enema. <shudder> Now this discovery doesn’t really have to do with the cleanliness of the establishment. More like just an odd thing to see.

I’m at North Station about a half hour early to catch my 9:30pm train. To kill time, I go pee. One of the things I don’t really care for is that instead of having a covered container to put pads and what not, they have just an open trash bucket, like the kind that would be in someone’s cubicle. No one cares to see that stuff. I don’t know why they don’t cover it. On the other hand, if it were covered, I wouldn’t have made my discovery.

So I’m in one of the small bathroom stalls and before doing my business, something large and dark catches my eye in the bucket. What was it already? PORK LIVERS. Yes, someone threw away an unopened package of pork livers in the bathroom stall. So first thought was, “Ewwwww,” cause livers just look nasty. Dunno who could ever eat them. Second thought was to hurry and get photos before crowds start coming in. So I shoot and then pee. Of course, by this time a horde of people come in line to use one of the three stalls in the restroom just to see someone occupying the middle stall with their feet facing the wrong way and a flash going off about 6 times. It’s clear I’m not going to get out with no one seeing me so I sheepishly gather my things and leave the stall and wash my hands. The things I do for the LJ.

So here you go. $1.19 pork livers, unopened and not yet expired. Sad thing is I know enough people who would’ve found this as a treasure and taken it home as a free meal.

I’m not lovin’ it.

This is a bit late, but I finally got the card reader driver loaded so I could load the picture.

So, last week, against my better judgment, I ate at McDonald’s. Actually, it’s was Elenora’s choice.

(Sidenote here: Elenora is deaf-blind. Deaf-blind means you touch everything. You touch EVERYTHING. If you remotely know me, you can probably guess how much I like this :/ )

Back to the story. She wants nothing to do with Boston Market. Because it’s dirty? No, no. Because they ran out of a certain dish an hour before they closed last time she was there. For that they are the devil, and for that we have to subject ourselves to the pit that is McDonald’s.

So I order my fries (only small thank god). I finish my fries. Lunch is over and Becky, who has the endurance of Job, takes Elenora to the bathroom where she can touch everything in sight and then touch her. I did it once. Any guesses why that was my only time? The best thing is that you have to touch her in order to tell her not to touch you.

Anyway, as Becky is waiting for her, she glances into the waste receptical. What does she see but an opened enema box!!!

THIS MEANS:

  1. That SOMEONE administered their, or lord help us, someone else’s enema in a Mickey D’s bathroom. A MICKEY D’S BATHROOM!!!! Of course, I assume the worst. It was probably an employee who forgot to wash their hands and I just finished eating. (Excuse me while I hurl at the thought.)
  2. That Person X carries around enemas incase of emergencies.
    Now, I’ve heard of people carrying around Tums, asprin, pads, what have you incase of emergencies. But ENEMAS? Who here carries enemas with them? And a three-pack at that?!?! Any hands? I didn’t think so. From what I gather, they aren’t exactly purse-sized. Person X carries around a three-pack of enemas. Person X has issues.
  3. Another distinct possiblility is, notice the Walgreen’s box. (Nothing but the best for her butt.) Perhaps she took a quick run to Walgreen’s around the corner, found the nearest McD’s and emptied all three.

Whatever the scenario, they’re all equally disgusting.

For all my homies who are taking notes, this is the McDonald’s on Broadway in Malden.

Oh… and yes, I had to go back in again with my digital and record it, hoping people didn’t think I was crazy.