Target

Target is turning into this generation’s Wal Mart.

On my adventure to seek out a Pumpkin Carving Kit (which are, by the way, out of stock… EVERYWHERE) I encountered these horrific displays of parenting/humanity:

- A 4 year old boy pushing a shopping cart. Correction. A 4 year old boy pushing a shopping cart with the same comprehension as a 98 year old man changing lanes on the freeway. Fool cut us off twice before smacking into our cart and saying “Excuse me” until we moved. Parents? Anyone? Bueller?

- Screaming baby who hit decibels Mariah Carey couldn’t even reach in her prime. If she’s going to cry because you refuse to buy her a Barbie doll at 8:30pm perhaps you should re-think her attendance on your next run to the toy aisle of a department store.

- The man who was too busy looking at EVERY SINGLE diet supplement known on the face of this earth to realize his cart was blocking an entire pathway. It’s cool, dude. The 3 of us that had to walk completely around the health food section totally appreciated it. May your impending weight loss bring more attention to your surroundings than food cravings.

- My absolute favorite. The couple buying two things in line. With a shopping cart. And stacked so far back behind the shopping cart that no one else could possibly even unload their precious cargo onto the “let me buy this shit” conveyor belt. By the time their purchase was complete we were left with the ever-popular cashier glare from hell while trying to frantically empty our trinkets onto the moving black belt of doom.

I’m not sure if it’s the holidays that will tempt late night shopping from America’s finest. If that is actually the case, I will gladly hibernate until taxes are due.

What It Takes To Kill A Tarantula

So I get home from seeing Wall Street after a long day at work. Stroll into my room to throw on a sweater and kick off the heels. Fast forward 5 seconds to me turning around to find a spider on my wall.

Retraction: A FREAKING TARANTULA

Images in your eyeballs may seem larger than they appear.

At this point, all I can really do is stare at the thing. Halfway through deciding I'm going to man up and kill it with my boot, the little dare devil decides he's a new member of a street racing gang and takes off. Where? Oh, yes, kids... right under the bed. This is like nightmare jackpot for me. So now my best line of defense is to text my roommate while she's in class and pray to the gods of peanut butter and jelly that she doesn't have a tiny 5 year old living inside her. Much like I do.

Let's take a few steps to the future. Roommate is home. We're armed with a cutting board, closed toe shoes on our feetsies and the slight verge of peeing our pants. The little bag of douche scurries across the room into my closet. This is where we decide the cutting board is no match for this battle and step up our game with Febreze. Tarantulas are apparently immune to that shit. Next step as he burrows in a shirt on the closet floor: RAID. It's organic and for flying creatures but I figure it's at least got to slow him down. I'll spare the rest of the 15 minute saga involving a minor freakout, laugh attack, sandal, hanger and flashlight but you can all rest assured that the little son of a bitch is dead. You're welcome, society.

Kelsey and Krista: Tarantula Hunters. Check local listings for times.

My Apologies

I would like to take a moment to half-heartedly apologize to the woman currently sitting in a bathroom stall of my building. It was probably inconsiderate, and borderline rude of me to notice your situation and yet completely ignore it.

I've realized that many women in this building have a tenancy to, for lack of better words, completely destroy the hell out of our bathroom on a daily basis. I have ex boyfriends that can cause some serious damage but nothing comparable to the brick wall of putrid stank that radiates from the communal ladies room here.

So now when I enter the bathroom to fix my makeup or wash my little toddler hands only to notice a pair of feet immediately retract to the back of an occupied stall, I don't care. Go home for that noise. Work bathrooms should not be a public arena to showcase what you recently had to eat and for others to smell the way your body is rejecting it.

While my kindasorta apology still stands, it really doesn't. The bathroom smells. I saw your shoes. I know who you are. And, yes, I will be judging you until someone can top that experience you just made.

Whoa Dang

I was invited to contribute to another blog. I feel honored, scared and slightly hungry.

If you like more, random, funny nonsensical crap ch-ch-check it out over chere:

BAM!

Happy reading, kids!

Oh and I'll still be updating here. The mini road trip I took on Saturday has provided me with enough material to last at least a lifetime, should I drop dead in a year. I saw a kid pee on the lawn of an outdoor restaurant patio. Yeah, I know. And that was just the start of my day.

My Nemesis

This asshat has already framed me for three household mishaps and I've been visiting home for barely over a week. Thus far my mom thinks I've ruined the remote, broken a chair and tried to break into the house because of a FLIPPING CAT.

I'm pretty sure Knucks/Scott Baio is sleeping soundly in his kennel as this dirt bag is slumbering across the couch from me. I know he's plotting his next move... And to think this thing was a Christmas present at one point. I'm completely against animal cruelty but if Gadget were to disappear off the face of Earth I really wouldn't be all too heartbroken.

I'll most likely wake up in the middle of the night with my hair being chewed on shortly followed by crying due to the fact he hasn't been fed in an hour.

Gadget, I despise your annoying, diabetic, overweight existence. Please stop knocking shit off of every table in the house.


You. You suck.

Freal?

So I forgot what it's like to have a puppy. They're cute, charming and this one just seems to be the most adorable thing on the face of the earth.

However, I've come to find out that this little bag of fur will play with anything, and I mean anything, that wasn't purchased for the sole purpose of his teething needs. I dropped bank on treats, puppy chews and little stuffed animals with squeaky things guaranteed to drive me crazy. Alas, he just wants to chew on shit that shouldn't be gnawed on:

- Zippers, on anything.
- Blankets.
- Shoes.
- His crate.
- My computer.
- Any sort of electronic wire.
- Buttons.
- My fingers.
- The fucking carpet.
- Hair. My DAMN HAIR*

(*Only in the middle of the night while I'm invested in some glorious slumber)

I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's angry at the confusion over his name. I dubbed the gremlin Knuckles. Which then turned into Knuckles Tyrone Charles Barkley after a night of beer pong at the house. I have a roommate who refuses to call him anything but Scott Baio. There's another friend that dubbed him Cruiser. This is going to ruin my life when I take him to the vet.

***Update!
Current name: Mr. Sweatersworth Knuckles Tyrone Scott Baio Cruiser Charles Barkley.



Sorry, dude.

Your Car Has Turn Signals!

A Handy Not-Even-New Invention From The Makers Of CARS!

THEY GIVE DIRECTION!
A friendly heads up of "Oh eybrah, I'm gonna skoot right into your lane, there. Wordbrah?" or perhaps "Scuse, I'm about to shoot my stopped car off the right shoulder into oncoming traffic! Wooo!"

TURN SIGNALS ARE CONVENIENTLY LOCATED!
These little buggers are right smack dab on that little stick that protrudes from the left of your car's steering wheel. You know, that giant thing that turns your car into the lane you're about to own up? With just a little flick of a finger you can let all your fellow motorists know just where you are planning to be. MIND BOGGLING!

YOU CAN SIGNAL BOTH WAYS!
Turn signals have the handy ability to signal left OR right!

SAVE LIVES!
Not only will turn signals prevent other motorists from careening into your vehicle due to an unexpected lane change, but they also prevent the likeliness that the guy you just cut off going 75mph will track you down and beat you to a pulp! See? Everyone wins!

TURN SIGNALS ARE GLORIOUS AND YOU SHOULD USE THEM!

*No purchase necessary when operating a fully functional motor vehicle.
*Results of turn signal operation may vary. Instances such as signaling right and moving left may end in your ass getting stomped via oncoming vehicle. Leaving a turn signal on after a completed lane change may result in confusion of other drivers, erratic cut-ins from pissed off assholes and the occasional appearance of a passing middle finger.
*Oh and it's the law to use them.