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.


click to see that shit in all of it’s glory

Yes, I used to have a Backstreet Boys Fan page.  I’m not proud of it.  It was 1998 and I was KTBSPA* like whoa.  The view counter is now defunct, but I think it retired at about 500 page views, 475 of which were me checking to see if I’d uploaded the HTML right, 24 were views I directly solicited from friends, and 1 was my friend Cory who logged in to sign the guest book as Howie D. 

Note the title: “Sarah and Lauren’s awesomely cool Backstreet Boys Page!” (the exclamation mark really sells it).  While other teens were chronicling their angst on LiveJournal, I was up all night on ICQ, stealing pictures from other BSB websites, reposting interviews, and thumbing through my copy of ‘HTML for Dummies’.

Some high low lights:

  • My sister Lauren and I’s crowning achievement was “The K Files.”  Combining our two great loves, the X Files and the BSB, we set up a mock investigation into the oppression of Kevin Richardson (Lauren’s favorite BSB).
  • Fan fiction.  OMFG I just threw up in my mouth reading my disgusting attempt at fan fiction.
  • Distracting background images For The Win!

The fact that I was 16 is no excuse.  That time in my life is a blur of TRL and sleep overs.  Also that one time I made a video of me fake marrying my AP History teacher, Mr. Tucker (who, unfortunately, was unable to attend the ceremony but my stuffed Little Foot was kind enough to stand in for him).

Thank goodness for my friend S, who took the BSB pins off of my purse and threw them in a puddle of Mt. Dew in the trash can during senior portraits, and then later took me to my first “barn party” where I consumed my first beer and attempted to impress him by smoking my first cigarette.  I’m not sure if he was impressed**, but the BSB curse was lifted and I moved on to the next phase in my life: a Ben Harper loving, Natty Light swilling, college freshman who hates her women’s college and escapes to Wake Forest to binge drink.

Thankfully I out grew that phase, too.

*Keeping The BackStreet Pride Alive.
**He left the party early, leaving me making out with my asshat of an ex boyfriend on the hood of ex-bf’s Camaro (barf), after which I passed out in the backseat of another friend’s car and woke up the next morning with my very first Hangover From Hell

Adventures in nature (a short story)


Once upon a time there were some Bad Mutha Fudruckers. These Bad Mutha Fudruckers had some Awesome Friends who lived just outside of town in a house right on the waterway. Mama Mutha Fudrucker liked visiting Awesome Friends because there was always boats to be ridden on and fresh fish to be eaten. Baby Mutha Fudrucker loved visiting Awesome Friends because he got to run free and roll in dead fish and crabs. The Oldest Mutha Fudrucker loved visiting Awesome Friends because Mama Mutha Fudrucker told him to and he knew what was good for him.

One day the Bad Mutha Fudruckers were visiting Awesome Friends, either laying on the grass, enjoying a beer, or drinking sea water (as Baby Mutha Fudrucker was want to do, despite the barfing that invariably followed). Soon the Mutha Fudruckers were plagued by gnats and West Nile Virus-carrying mosquitoes.

“Bug spray! Bug spray!” cried the Mama Mutha Fudrucker. “My kingdom for a can of Bug Spray!”

Mr. Awesome Friend sprinted for the house, and came back shortly with a can, which he offered to Mama Mutha Fudrucker and Mrs. Awesome Friend. The two ladies wasted no time dousing themselves with the contents of the can, making sure to cover every inch of exposed skin, and even spraying some on their hands for careful application to their faces. Mama Mutha Fudrucker thought that the spray smelled a little off, but still familiar, and so she said nothing whilst continuing to apply the bug repellent.

Sufficiently covered, the ladies handed the can back to Mr. Awesome Friend with their thanks.

Mr. Awesome Friend looked at the can, and then back at the ladies with disgust.

“Y’all, this is RAID.”

The end.