Sunday, December 9, 2007

Ever feel like you're in a bad live-action Disney movie?

For the last week or so, I've been battling a pest that has been harrassing me day and night. Somehow, a mouse found his way up to my bedroom on the third floor and cannot seem to find a way to get his mammalian bum back down to the mainfloor. I don't know why he came up here. There is no food beyond the smudges of peanut butter on the mousetraps I set in the 7 corners of my room (yes, there are 7 corners, feel free to come visit and count them if you're skeptical about this heptagonal-shaped room of mine). He certainly isn't up here for the company, unless he gets somes sort of sick satisfaction out of waking me in the middle of the night with his mousy little scratching sounds against the carboards boxes that used to be stacked in one corner (I've since burned the boxes so my mouse has nothing to play with). I thought about trying to befriend the little guy, but he's a rough city mouse, not the well-mannered country mouse that might make an alright friend. No, this mouse has an attitude and needs to go live in someone else's house.

I've tried poison, sticky traps, voodoo curses, psychological warfare, and the time tested dress-a-stick-of-dynamite-up-like-an-attractive-female-mouse* tactics, but nothing seems to work.

*NOTE: the last one is an obvious exaggeration. If you believed me, then you've never tried to rent an apartment in a large city. Apparently there's some sort of standard lease provision against possessing dynamite for the purpose of extermination in a residence that you do not own.

If anyone can think of a way I can rid myself of my mouse, please don't hesitate to throw a comment up on the 'comment' page.

I should be doing work right now, so this post ends here. Sorry crazed fans, you'll have to wait until I have more time to make up stories about Baltimore to cover for the fact that I"m actually living in the garage at my parents' house. I MEAN...damnit.*

*NOTE: I really do live in Baltimore. If you don't believe me, buy a ticket, fly out here, call me, and I'll pick you up at the airport. We'll go out for a dinner of assorted shellfish if that's your thing, or perhaps just find a greasy Pizza joint then you'll get a tour of the 7 cornered room before I send you back on your merry way. I'd invite you to stay but there's no telling what that angry little House Mouse will do when his date doesn't end with the right sort of bang.

Shout outs and Hellos:
M.: I'll take middle spoon if that option is still available.

J Bo: I want to record a song but I cannot play guitar. Wanna be my band?

Elise: Honeydogs. You'll understand what that means soon...

Tom: Yes, that was a very good song.

Jennifer: Operation Hoopoe Bird?

Koelbl: Aw Deesch

Chanti: Send me a photo

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