My Office Was Raided, But At Least the Buzzing Stopped

Remember a couple of years ago when I had a bug infestation in my office and pondered how they arrived, what they wanted, and if I would survive the horror movie my professional life had become.

I survived.

Two years later, a different office, a corner office and guess what? I have flies. FLIES! I noticed this yesterday when I spotted a huge horse fly perched on my desk lamp eyeing me evilly.  We are on the third floor. Even higher up this time.  I quickly sent out an SOS to my colleagues.  My one coworker thought it was her fly from the day before.  She refused to take it back.  I mostly ignored it and swatted at it occasionally.  I only grumbled under my breath when me and another associate attempted to discuss a case while swinging our arms wildly.  

Then it landed on my FACE!

source

I found an office fly whisperer who came and scooped the fly out of my office with her bare hands. I suggested she put it in the stairwell so it could find its way out of the building.  It did not.  It multiplied.  Are flies like rabbits?

Today I found two on my window. I went to find the person in charge and found him simultaneously talking to a client on the phone and swatting his window with a magazine. I sought out the fly whisperer again.  She declared too many flies and left.  Apparently they were all hanging out in my heating vent. ALL FIVE OF THEM! What the hell?

I complained.  Someone asked me if I was scared of flies.  Um, no, but does that mean it is okay for them to live in my office, glare at me and land on my face? I didn't think so.

The problem was mostly solved by a manic Raid wielding partner that sprayed so much in my office that I almost got high. Or died.  I still am not sure. He used so much in his office, he fumigated himself out and had to leave.

Good news - no more flies. For today.

In other news, the fly whisperer told me that when she went to release yesterday's fly into the staircase, the fly was buzzing a lot and tickling her hand, so she opened the door and threw it in the staircase.  And there was a person out there talking on his cell phone.  I can imagine what his blog said last night:

Today was the strangest day. I was just minding my own business, taking a personal call in the stairway, when some crazy girl bursts out of the door and flings a fly right at my face!

Give that man some Raid!

Sex, Marry or Kill - Dexter Edition. Which Would You Choose?

Hey Dexter fans!

Tonight is the season premiere, in about a half hour.  I, sadly, will not be watching it with you as we are in a fight with our cable company and the end result so far is no Showtime.  Go figure.  Luckily, I was asked to write an advance review for Daemon's TV and was able to watch the first three episodes of this season.  You can read my review here.

I think this is going to be a fantastic season. I liked what I have seen so far.  If you watch it, come back and tell me what you thought or leave a comment on my review.

On to more pressing matters...

As I was watching the new episodes, I kept saying to myself, "I LOVE Dexter." And I do. But that got me thinking - could I REALLY love Dexter? Like LOVE, LOVE? As in 'til death do us part?

Here's the thing. He is a serial killer.  But he only kills bad people?  But he loves doing it. And he only kills bad people because he was told that is how he should do it to avoid getting caught. If not for the code, wouldn't he just kill anyone without a second thought?  Therein lies the conflict.

Could you be with a killer if you knew he/she would only kill those that truly deserved it? Could you trust that person?  Would that person make you feel safe or terrified? I have my own thoughts, but would love to hear what you have to say.

So, let's start it out this way.  If you HAD to choose one, which would you choose to do with a serial killer?

1. Have sex
2. Marry
3. Kill

For the ladies, it is Dexter or someone like him. For the men, it is the female version of Dexter who is smoking hot.

Take it away...which would you choose?

And then check out what Daemon's readers would choose here.

You Know It Is Going to Be a Bad Day When You See a Werewolf Walking Down the Street

Today has been a strange day. First, B found our back porch motion light on and deemed it "suspicious". Then later when I took Jersey out for the second time, her floating dummy was lying at our back door like some offering. I deemed that "spooky." Jersey just peed and went about her business.

Then I drove to work figuring all would be well. Until I saw the werewolf. Seriously, I looked over at something walking down the street and said, out loud in my car, that's a werewolf! Of course it wasn't really a werewolf. Turns out it was a guy with a very shaggy long beard and shaggy unkempt hair under a Indiana Jones' hat. Did I mention that his shirt was ripped wide open? Well, maybe not ripped, but open. It was 7 am!

That is when I knew there must be a full moon.

Look it up, folks. Full moon September 23rd. I knew I wasn't crazy. Actually I thought I might be going crazy, but that happens often.

By the way, if you try to look up images of werewolves on photobucket you will inexplicably find a picture of a dog that looks remarkably like your own. Then you will think about how your dog is not a werewolf, so why would this one be? Then you will realize "werewolf' is probably the dog's name.

Now that's a mouthful to yell out.

Oh, and if you go tell your husband that you were looking up pictures of werewolves and found one that looks like your dog. He will:

1. Roll his eyes at the fact that you just used "looking up pictures of werewolves" in a sentence.
2. He will then attempt to look up werewolves himself
3. He will completely disagree that the dog named werewolf looks anything like your dog named Jersey, despite this evidence:

They could totally be twins.  I hope that doesn't mean Jersey will be up howling all night tonight though. 

I need my sleep. 

When It Rains, It Pours Yogurt a/k/a If Life Gives You Yogurt, It is Probably Because You Dropped It

Things have been quite busy here in the Riddler household.  Life at the office is scary busy.  The trial did not help in the bit, especially when it took 7 days when it should have taken 2.  And I didn't win, so there is that.*  Grrr.

Also, I have been writing more reviews for Daemon's now that fall TV is picking up. They are also letting me review DVDs.  That makes for fun, but busy times.

So it really was no surprise to me that eventually I would be moving too fast to not pay attention to what was going on around me.  That was the other day.  I like to call it Raining Yogurt Day.  I was in a hurry, of course. Did you not read everything I wrote above?  So I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge before sending Jersey to her resting place. No I didn't kill her! Her crate. HER CRATE! Geez, people.  Well, I missed with the whole grabbing-the-yogurt thing and it fell to the floor. I picked it up surprised that it hadn't broke and threw it in my bag.  Then I noticed it was leaking. So much for the no breaking thing. I grabbed another one and took Jersey out for a final pee. No, I didn't kill her! Final pee until we returned home.  You people are very suspicious.

I thought it was strange that she was running around and licking my pants until I realized they had yogurt on them. Nice.  So I spotted them with a lot of water and was off to work.  Yes, I probably should have changed pants, but I am BUSY.  Of course that resulted in my turning on the heater in the car to get the pants dried, but I was awfully proud of myself because you could not tell what happened.

Yeah, right.

After running into the ladies room before hitting the office, I happen to catch a glimpse of something pink in the mirror.  YOGURT. ON MY SLEEVE. And when I mean on my sleeve, I mean covering it. Covering the jacket. Inside on the tshirt. How could I have missed this? And so I scrub and wet and all is right.

Until right before I get home and see more yogurt on my pants.  Seriously, I don't even think that all of the yogurt I found could even fit into the container that I dropped.  How do I consistently have these problems with food? 

I blame YOU mother. Maybe you should have spent more time teaching me how to eat instead of teaching me to read at 3. Priorities!

Speaking of priorities, Jersey sure has hers:

Yes, that was a rather lame segway to show you a picture of my dog. Were you expecting something more?  Look how comfortable she looks jammed up against that bookcase. I would break my neck. Of course, that is mostly because she had just gotten down from laying completely across me with her head backwards and in the crook of my neck forcing me into some weird C maneuver with my head in order to still watch TV. Yet, I didn't move.  Who owns whom again?

In other news, her legs still seem awfully long and I fear she is not done growing. 

I guess we will keep her anyway.

Today is our big block party in our hood. Stay tuned for an update. Actually, I don't think I told you about last year's party, so stay tuned for a double update. And when I say "stay tuned" I do not mean tonight.  Two blog posts in one day is a bit overreaching for this blog, peeps.

Happy Block Party Day, bitches!

*Well the Plaintiff only got half of what she was asking for, so that is kind of a win. It is not a victory.

The Art of Laboring, Rescuing and Discovering

Well, it is Labor Day. The day you celebrate all of the hard work and labor everyone does by not working.  Wait. Isn't that every holiday?  We are certainly practicing holiday living over here.  Some more so than others.  This is what I came downstairs to find:

Why, yes, that IS every single animal we own lying on B.  B seems pretty happy about it right?  Care to take a closer look?

Chester wants to help him play video games.

Jersey cannot really fit on B but she does a damn good job of taking up most of the rest of the couch!

And see that one right there? The cute little fuzz ball all curled up under B's arm?  Also known as Brad?  Yes, he ESCAPED AGAIN THE OTHER NIGHT.  Escaped. Again.  Is escape the right word when he basically walked through an open door?  Maybe not.  However, B found all three of the cats outside and managed to get them all (Chester ran right inside without any real prodding, Mooch was found under the car), except for B who made a mad leap on to a fence which he then used as his own vaulting mat to sail off into the front yard and disappear before B got there.  

Why, yes, B was not thrilled to be awakened at 3:30 a.m. that night, two hours before he awakes for work, to hear my flying down the stairs screaming "I WILL SAVE YOU BRAD!!!".  What can I say? I heard a major streetcat fight and my little B was not going to get hurt.  

Never did find the cat fight. Or a flashlight for that matter.  Brad, however, was sitting on the steps when B awoke in the morning.  Is there such a thing as a cat crate? We need a cat crate for that one.

A family reunited.

In other news, B was late coming home from work today because he found a gun in the street. Yes, a GUN just lying in the STREET.  A gun with a full clip.  We are so gangsta' around here that we use words like "clip."  So he dutifully took it to the police station who asked him why he didn't call 911.  Can you imagine that call?

B: Yes, I would like to report a gun in the street.
Police: Is anyone holding it?
B: No, it is just lying there.
Police: Is anyone dead.
B: Not that I can see.
Police: Well, just bring that shit in.

Happy Labor Day everyone! May your animals remain prisoners and may your streets remain free from guns!

UPDATE: For those inquiring minds, B would like to report he is not a dumbass. He picked up the gun with his sweatshirt and the clip with his hat. No fingerprints.

Sometimes the Cruelest Jokes Are the Accidental Ones

So, if you know me, you know I like to win prizes. I really like to win prizes that are delivered to me by UPS. So thrilling.

You can imagine my excitement then yesterday while I was exhaustedly slumped over my keyboard trying to come up with an interesting or witty post, but instead coming up with this, when I distinctly heard the UPS truck. My head snapped up and my ears perked up, much like Jersey's do when she hears B's car.  

I ran over to the window and, sure enough, there was the UPS truck parked the wrong way in the street in front of the house next to ours.  I thought to myself "I will give you a pass for parking the wrong way, if you bring me a prize Mr. UPS Guy."  Okay, so I might have said that out loud.

The UPS driver got out of the truck with a big box that looked like it contained, well, a big box of prizes and headed my way. I jumped up and down and began screaming like a girl.  I ran down the stairs to get my prize as Jersey was running upstairs to save me from some insane intruder that would dare to make her master scream.  So I shouted, "Outta my way, baby girl.  OUTTA MY WAY THERE IS A PRIZE" and ran toward the front door. Jersey immediately changed direction to follow me toward what could only be the insane attacker.

As I smiled at the UPS driver upon opening the door, Jersey let out the meanest bark and tried to get out the front door.  So there I am jammed between the big front door and the screen door, trying to grab my box and trying to prevent my dog from escaping all the while ensuring the poor UPS guy that my ferociously barking dog just wants to lick him.  Luckily, he was an animal lover and in no time, the two of us managed to get my box and get the dog safely back inside.  

I turned around murmuring to Jersey about how she was such a good protector and her bark was so fierce when I read the label on the box that clearly said:

TO B

You have got to be kidding me! The box wasn't even for me.  I might have yelled that out loud too.  I may have also dropped the box right where I was standing and stalked upstairs to pout.  Jersey tried to cheer me up, so I hugged her and told her she was the best prize a girl could have.

Yeah, I lied.





*Jersey really is the greatest gift and I enjoy each day with her and love coming home to her.


**I still want a prize delivery though.

Dog Days of Trial Are Over. I Have Not Yet Recovered.

That is what a dog looks like after spending 8 hours at doggie daycare.

That is what Dani feels like after spending 8 days in trial.

We both need more of this.