The continuing adventures of Rat Girl!

rat girlHappy Mutha Fudruckin’ Tuesday morning, Internets! 

Thanks for all the good Hemo vibes.  She still hasn’t shown up, despite a late-night bout of paranoia during which I turned the house upside down to make sure she wasn’t locked in a closet or in a drawer somewhere.  She wasn’t, but I did freak myself out checking out the dryer.  My hand brushed against something suspiciously Hemo-like.  I screamed and for a split second I imagined her, very fluffy but decidedly dead, amongst my clean laundry.  For good or bad, it was just a warm, rolled up pair of socks.

Hemo Watch continues.

Which reminds me of the time a rat ran up my mom’s arm when she was grabbing clothes out of the dryer.  We were living in Hawai’i and our washer/dryer hookup was in the carport.  Hawai’i has kind of a big rat problem*, despite the efforts of the hard working mongoose, and the rats really like to build nests in the warm dryer vents and occasionally run up unsuspecting women’s arms at night as they attempt to change out a load of laundry.

Remember this post?  Where I talked about how disgusting rats are?

Let me sum up:  rats are disgusting.

So anyway, after I finished writing yesterday’s post and trying to not cry as I broke the Hemo news to my old roommate, I decided I needed a treat.  An I’ve-made-it-to-4:45-without-stabbing-anyone-in-the-babymaker treat.  So I got a Coke from the vending machine.

Oh dear, sweet, delicious caffeine in a can.  Why haven’t more sonnets been written singing the praises of your syrupy goodness?**

I opened my eyes mid-swig and I noticed some black stuff all around the lid.  All the middle-school horror stories of cockroach eggs and rat turds came flooding back to me. 

Holy smokes I am drinking from what recently served as the platform for an unholy rat/roach orgy of filthiness.

But then the wise words of Kanye West came to mind, “That-that-that-that don’t kill me, can only make me stronger…” so I finished my Coke and waited for my mutant rat powers to manifest themselves.  I haven’t noticed any yet but I’ll keep you posted.

* at least it did when my family lived there about 15 years ago
** Debra, get on it.

The jig is up

Egads! They’re on to me!


Just kidding. *phew*

I’m still safely employed and the dogs’ bowls are still (usually) filled. Which brings me to a sad update…

…Hemo has flown the coop.

Always a bad ass, Hemo has been MIA for the past two weeks. Neither hide nor hair has been seen of her. I don’t know if she’s gone to the great cat box in the sky, or if she’s taken up with a new family, but she hasn’t graced the Mutha Fudruckin’ Household with her presence for a couple of weeks. Please keep her in your thoughts and send whatever Higher Power you believe it your prayers or prayer-equivalents. I don’t want to start tearing up at work, so that’s all I’m going to say about that.

The dogs are doing well, except that Dexter’s inappropriate chewing fetish now rivals Ernie’s panty crotch addiction.  WTF am I going to do with these sons of bitches?



It’s enough to drive a girl to drink.  It doesn’t take much, but these bitches sure aren’t helping.

P.S. I know I am an awful, slack-ass, lazy blogger.  In an attempt to make it up to you, may I present this:

steve's mohawk

Yes, that is Steve, and yes, I am responsible for that butchered mohawk.  Enjoy, and I’ll see you tomorrow.