This is why I love Google sometimes.

Because when someone googles "why kleenex is necessary" they are directed here.

Of all places, here.

And if they search "pee like seabiscuit" they end up in this back-alley dumpster wonderland.

I'm super classy.

Now for an actual post:

I really don't like bugs. Really really really really really absolutely do not like bugs at all. I mean city bugs (I've said this before and I'll say it again) because they get all up in my grill, buzzing in my face like "Ohai! Can I touch your eyeball??? Or plant my eggs in your mouth or ear or nose???" and I'm flailing and shaking my hair out and squeaking. Now, it's getting sort of cold here (like it should have been a month ago) and you'd think the evil bastards would be going into hibernation or whatever the eff they do when it's cold. Die, drop, die, whatever, I don't care. I prefer they die. BUT NO. Because of Global Warming (rant rant rant) it's still hot out sometimes (like it was today - 80 degrees in the middle of October in Colorado) and there are hornets hanging out on our balcony and making me duck and screech every time I walk out there. Which is a lot.

And the moths. My God, the moths.

They were gone all summer. All. And then in September they starting coming out... one by one... And I would walk up the stairs and be assaulted by one and yelp and run and flail and curse them in my head. And then I mutter bitterly, "Just when you think they're gone..." AND one was in the house not too long ago. I was like WTF? because I'm pretty sure no one invited it in, but the screen door was open (ahem, Parental) and it was trying to finagle its way upstairs. But instead it went behind a picture frame. And we don't know if it's still there, and of course I'm the only one who is concerned with moth whereabouts because Parental could get her arm stolen by a zombie and still not be freaked out or scared. She has sniffed the ground to see if it's pee or just something else. I don't know how she does it because it will be a cold day in Hades before I smell anything that hasn't been previously identified. She was raised on a farm, so she's always saying "I woke up to milk cows" and other stuff because I refuse to touch a dish that isn't clean. That crap is nasty.

ANYWAYS, the moths are still here and yesterday there was one trying to get in here, but insects don't understand the concept of glass. Oh, and I saw an ant on the counter and I just about simultaneously peed my pants, fainted, and bombed the kitchen. I multitask like a friggin pro. I smashed it dramatically and wiped off the spot where I murdered it and started yelling and shouting about "ANTS! ANTS! I SAW AN ANT! IN THE KITCHEN! FRIGGIN ANTS!!! I CAN'T DO IT AGAIN, PARENTAL, I JUST REFUSE!" I was gesturing wildly with my arms and pacing the floors because a week or so earlier, there was an ant on our windowsill, near where they first invaded, and I freaked the crap out.

Parental told me it was probably stupid Oslow that put the ant up there, that on one of his many many oh so delightful trips to the counter to eat our last stick of butter, he probably had an ants ticking to him and that's how it got up there. I wanted to throw Oslow out the window, but I refrained because I'd rather not go to jail, despite the hilarious stories my mom has told me about it. I suggested we move, but nay she said.

Whatever. I'm probably going to keep posting about my dumb dog's misadventures because the past month, he has been jumping on our counter and eating our bagels, butter, and pretty much anything we leave there that's edible. Then he rubs his butt on the concrete outside and I comment on how charming he is when other people walk by, but hey, at least he's not rubbing his butt on my shoes. I might have to draw and quarter him if he did (I got that from Hyperbole and a Half, which is uber funny). So we've been threatening him every time we take him somewhere that we really are going to give him to a hobo this time, but obviously, we don't. Sigh. Maybe we'll sell him to a sketchy restaurant.

*hanging sign that reads "No, I swear I'm a chicken" around his neck* What?