So I’m sitting in the old family study just chilling and wondering what I should do. And to be honest, there’s a whole crap-shizzle of stuff that I could rock. I mean, I could just hang and watch the Wolves get rolled by the Warriors, do some reading, take a dump, you know, anything. But I feel like doing some writing. Why? Because blogging’s awesome. As long as you can do it without being a complete toolshed. There’s far too many people these days that take waaaaay too many liberties with all these social networking devices. With this in mind, what follows is a list of pet peeves in relation to said idea:
1) People who update their Facebook status every 15 minutes. I don’t care that you just had chicken tetrazzini for dinner. I’m sure it was delicious and that you’re a better person for having eaten it, but still, stop it.2) People who feel compelled to write mysterious/cryptic statuses. Oftentimes this is done by women who (possibly subconsciously) are fishing for some compliments from random dudes in order to raise their self-esteem a bit. An example of the aforementioned would be something like the following: “Margaret Thatcher is sick of it all and can’t believe that it had to happen like this.” *shakes head*
3) The guys who respond to those statuses. “Really?” “What’s wrong?” “You know you can always talk to me about anything! :-)” Of course, I’m giving far too much credit toward spelling and grammar, but you get the point. If you’re really concerned with what’s wrong, call the girl. Or text her. Or send her a message. Don’t comment on the status.
4) Twitter. *see first point*
You know what else I don’t like? People who make lists about things that they don’t like. So with that being written, I apologize for that rant. But point is, I’m going to try and update this crazy blog of mine a bit more often, but I’m also going to try my darndest not to be an attention-craving fool about it. Basically, if I think I can write something moderately comical and/or somewhat interesting, I’m going to do it. HOPEFULLY it comes off as such. *crosses fingers*
But that brings me to the topic at hand. Well, not really, but I’m going to go for it anyway. So I went down to the basement last night to hit my standard Tuesday workout. Things were going as solidly as ever when I noticed a little something-something resting not more than two feet from one of my weights. A mouse.
I stared at the creature briefly before taking a couple of steps toward it to see if it would react or not. I quickly ascertained that the creature had passed into the great unknown when it didn’t respond to any of my actions. So of course I did the only thing that any self-respecting man would do in this situation. I tried to resuscitate the creature. I flipped his tiny little body over and started pumping his chest. But even my greatest efforts weren’t enough to bring the valiant warrior back to life. He was gone.
Ok, so that part probably didn’t happen. Probably. What I did do, though, was put it out of my mind as I went back to listening to High School Musical 3 and finishing my workout. Ain’t no dead mouse stopping me from doing my thang, son! But after I finished I decided that I should probably take care of the topic at hand. So I went upstairs, threw on my coat and grabbed a couple of paper towels before heading back down to attack the matter.
I reached out to his tail with the paper towels to bring the cute rodent a bit closer. I must say that I was a bit taken aback when I pulled his tail off. How long had this guy been dead for? Are mouse tails supposed to come off super-easily as some form of self-defense? *checks Wikipedia* Apparently not, so then for what length of time had this small mammal been dead in our basement?
I shook my head and reached for his body. But that was to no avail either as it was STUCK TO THE FLOOR! What?! I pulled a bit harder and with a clearly audible sound, he popped off the ground. I looked down to where he’d been and saw a bunch of fur still on the ground where he’d rested. How very odd. He must’ve been dead for some legit length of time.
But what kind of superpower cloaking device did this mouse have? I’m down in the basement three times a week doing all sorts of crap, and this cat… err… mouse was less than two feet from some of my weights. Some of the weights that I use ALL THE TIME. How the heck-diddily-iddily didn’t I notice his feeble little self just chilling there and FUSING to the floor? Not to mention that Larry had been down there quite often recently as he was mounting deer and sharptail grouse from our recent hunting excursions.Now I know what you’re thinking. Mouse poison of some sort. That could cause some sort of recent death that might lead to the guy sticking to the ground, right? Well… honestly, I’m not sure what kind of poison Larry uses on mice. I know there’s some down there, so it’s quite possible that that was the cause of death of the thing, but I’m not sure that would cause him to just stick to the ground like that. Especially considering that it was just fur and stuff that was stuck. Not like, you know, guts and whatnot.
Hmm… maybe the mouse messed himself and that caused the stickiness. Gross. Perhaps, though. Point is, I don’t know. And even though these possible explanations sound a lot more plausible than my just not seeing it for who knows how long, that’s the one I’m going to go with because it’s more entertaining to me.
Anyways, with mouse in hand and coat already on, I headed back upstairs and outside in order to properly dispose of the fearsome beast. It was about 2 below at this point (2:30 or so in the morning), and I was only wearing shorts, a thin zip-up sweatshirt, and an unbuttoned coat, so I didn’t want to be out there for very long. I quickly went over my options before decided to just launch him across the street and hopefully into the field over yonder.
I walked along the path that Larry had snowblowed for himself and the mailman/letter carrier/whatever you want to call him/her while carrying a mouse wrapped in paper towels. I hopped off the little walkway and onto the street since I didn’t feel like traversing through a bunch snow (since the path doesn’t end on the same side of the street as the field). I stopped once I got parallel with the end of our yard, looked around to see if anyone was watching me, and launched the creature toward the field.
Fail. The paper towels acted like some sort of sideways parachute and the whole thing just stopped midair about halfway across the road and crashed to the ground. I shrugged my left shoulder, turned around, and headed back toward the house.
Here’s a fun and helpful diagram of everything that I just made in Paint in order to help quell any confusion you readers may be having. It’s a rudimentary map of the area surrounding my house, so have at you, stalkers and mortal enemies! :p But you can see my house, the path, and all sorts of other goodies. You’ll notice the yellow which marks a school bus (yep, that’s a bus station across the street from me), a Norwegian flag which symbolizes our fantastic neighbor Norm (or Mr. Norm as we like to call him); this representation is due to the fact that he actually flies one of these crazy flags in his backyard, the last item of irregular interest is the snowman sporting a sign that reads “I’ll be dead soon;” this is reference to the GIANT blowup snowman that our other cool neighbor Esther always has in her yard come Christmas time. Of course, the picture of me denotes where I stood when I threw the mouse (the look on my face clearly implying deep thought on where to toss it), and the pic of the dead mouse noting where… well… it landed.
But anyways, that’s the story of the dead mouse and the subsequent disposition of him. What did I do when I got back inside my house, you ask? I did what any person would do in this situation. I ate a cookie.
