Things have never seemed to go my way. All my life, from being a small child, to the present day, I’ve wanted to be an artist. If you’re considering that career – turn back. Stop. Do something else. One of my earliest recollections as a child was being in kindergarten and having the teacher draw the entire class’s attention to my drawing of a house. That was our assignment for the day. Draw a picture of a house before nap-time. On cue, we were to add a tree, a lawn, a birdbath, the sky… etc.
I was applauded for my study of a fantasy building that rivaled the ‘Breakers’ in Newport, and then simultaneously scolded for not following the instructions in lock-step. Apparently I was supposed to be adding the tree and bird-bath as commanded, and then the lawn and the sky. I don’t think that way. So I was being praised and chastised all in the same breath. Little has changed ever since.
I worked like a demon on my WinnieToons website, and did my level best to monetize it so I could try and get off unemployment. As soon as I received figures announcing a whopping $3 to $12 per day, I filled out forms and sent them to unemployment informing them I‘d started a small side business to supplement the pathetic, below-poverty checks I receive. I always try to play by the rules, (a bad family trait) but either I don’t understand the rules, or I’m the only fool following them. Google pulled all my ads and whatever paltry earnings I might have made, and placed my (under $300) earnings in limbo – indefinitely. I’ll never see it.
Unemployment has since dropped me because they now consider me to be self-employed, So I have NO INCOME AT ALL. Why do I try? I’m doing my level best to hang onto a house wrongfully placed in foreclosure — which further happens to be completely infested with mice.
Welcome to Autumn. Autumn is vermin season. Spring is ants and flies. My house is almost 200 years old, and who knows what leakage allows the unwelcomed to enter?
No one in their right mind wants to live in a 200 year old brick trinity in Philadelphia in the dead of winter — nor the dog-daze of summer. But, as a glutton for punishment, I only hope to hang onto the place long enough to celebrate it’s 200th birthday in 2012 – at which time all of my worries will be over, as the Mayan Calendar has us all incinerated by then. Problem solved.
|For no logical reason, I once decorated a chicken’s egg to resemble Joan Crawford.|
The neighbors and I have talked about getting kazoos and pop guns and doing a little razz-along-pop-gun ensemble to a recording of the 1812 Overture during cocktails. We’ll see if it happens. Almost no one showed up at my last ‘Feast of the Circumcision party’ where I served fried onion rings and calamari. People are so picky.
Calamari not withstanding, I pride myself on being an animal advocate who is burdened with a battery physicians and nutritionalists, all of whom tell me, my rarefied IBS body-chemistry is better suited for me to be a meat eater. Salads make me violently ill, although I love them.
I went so far as to give away my Dolce and Cabana leather pants. And I try my damnedest – (God/Jesus/Allah/Buddha/Zeus) – YOU NAME it – to be vegan…
But now there’s blood in my eyes…
I have the WORST mice infestation I have ever experienced – EVER…!!!
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel sorry for them, nor do I find them cute. While I’m on a tear here, I don’t think the squirrels chewing at my wiring are “adorable” either – especially when the fire department needs to be called — I just want the little bastards to go infest the House on “C” Street, and leave me in peace. I’m covering the dog food when Winnie isn’t eating. I’ve transferred everything into containers because I hate seeing gnawed-at cereal boxes — it makes me loose my appetite. Well that and the plethora of mouse turds I’m finding EVERY FUCKING WHERE I LOOK…!!!
Mice carry Hansa-virus, and I have a number of friends with HIV who don’t need to be exposed to this merely because I have a gentle heart for animals. Something needs to be done. Apparently the primary entry is the broken flue in my 2nd floor fireplace. But I don’t have the $1500 to repair it.
But today was the final straw. I went to put on my pants to take Winnie out for her morning walk — following a sleepless night of listening to the little rodent-pests making noises I couldn’t locate — I lifted my pants off the dressing room hook, and MICE jumped out of my pockets. I keep treats in my pockets for Winnie. And here I thought I was the only one climbing the walls in this house…
To add murder to the dark-light burgeoning behind my eyes, MICE are eating my remaining collection of rare architecture books. Chibbles of brittle antique paper are everywhere.
THIS WILL NOT DO…!!!
I store everything that truly matters to me in my townhouse-dollhouse on the 3rd floor studio of my home. If you ever want to rob me blind of what little I have left, ransack the dollhouse. Absentmindedly I put my cash, keys, cell phone and a bag of doggy treats given to me on the street as a promotional handout — IN the attic of the dollhouse.
This morning the front door was open, and the entire contents of the dollhouse were ransacked and filled with crumbs. I’ll do a flier for your lost pet. I’ll sign petitions to save wolves and bears (silently hoping they’ll agree to eat Sarah Palin) – but today I put down glue traps.. I don’t care if they gnaw off their legs to try and get away. I WANT THEM DEAD…!!!
I have no mercy left. I’ve come to think of mice as reincarnated right-wing republicans. Screw ‘em ! Like the GOP, they don’t care a rat’s ass about me either.