Saturday, October 30, 2010

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.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

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.