The People Who Choose To Love Me

The People Who Choose To Love Me
This is my family. Watermark and all.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

The Unmistakable Stench Of Death

We have six people, a Mastiff, and now two Great Danes living in our house. Laundry is a never ending spin cycle of mundane torture around this joint. I hate it. I hate it with a white hot hatred of a thousand burning suns. Coming from a lady who is practically see through, that should mean a lot. Because I also hate the sun.

I just googled, "six people, a mastiff, and two great danes," and my search turned up zero pictures of anyone as idiotic as I am for allowing this to happen. But, there were lots of ads on the sidebar for booze and insane asylums. Score.

Sounds cozy!

My mother-in-law posted this on my Facebook page tonight. I love that woman so much.

Ok, back to the post, I guess. I am even procrastinating when it comes to writing about laundry. That's how much I hate it. Between things my dogs have drug across the yard, a not-so-potty-trained toddler, three girls who are huge fans of midday costume changes, and the two adults in the household, there is a shit ton of laundry. And, no one likes to do it. I binge wash everything in the house about once a week that I have let pile up in the laundry room. And, for about ten minutes every week our laundry room is sparkling clean. 

Well, awhile back, we all noticed a smell coming from the laundry room but everyone assumed it was layers of wet things baking in the room that conveniently has a door on it so we can try our hardest to just shut it out of existence. The room that shall not be named.

I want this poster for the laundry room (shit, already blew it)...
I mean, the ____ ____ door.

Anyway, the stench that was coming from the _____ _____ was so bad. So, so bad. My husband swore there was something either dying or dead in there. We washed everything in the ______ _____. I bleached the washing machine's innards. Then, I used apple cider vinegar in a hot, empty cycle. Then, I bleached it again. Still, the smell was all consuming. It wouldn't stop smelling. 

The only adjective I can really use to describe the smell so that you'll understand what I'm talking about is "barf-o-rama." 

Man, I really loved the movie Stand By Me. Remember the lady who barfed in her purse?? 

After awhile the smell faded and we didn't want to pour gasoline on the stacks of pee pants and blankets so much anymore in the _____ _____. We went on about our lives and nobody barfed on anyone or anything for a long, long time. 

Until yesterday.

 If you're having a hard time figuring out what this shriveled little son of a bitch is, it's a snake.





Even though I'll never sleep, do laundry, or go barefoot anywhere in my house again, I am thankful for three things after knowing about this jerkwad's existence.

1. I held off doing laundry for so long that my husband had to wash his own clothes and he was the one who found the snake. 

2. It was dead. 

3. It will ALWAYS be dead. 

These are the three things I am not grateful for, in no particular order.

1. It existed. In my home. 

2. My middle daughter will also never sleep again.

3. It was a baby and all I can imagine is a thousand other baby snakes roaming behind things in the house, growing, waiting, slithering...

Oh, and a fourth thing I am grateful for is a super amazing, awesome family who totally gets me. Right after my husband found this creature born to torment me, he said, "Hey, you should totally turn that into jewelry!"

And, when my daughter got home from school and I showed her the lifeless reptile, she said the same thing. We rock this family unit business. I think I'll stick to good old sterling silver jewelry if I want to wear a snake, though.

 If you are my husband and you are reading this, this necklace is bookmarked for Xmas purposes.
You're welcome.


  1. OK, I know this was my reaction to your spider post, but I can't help it that it's exactly the same. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! *runs around with arms flailing*. You know what-- I thought the scorpion infestation in our house was bad when I lived in Tucson, but you know what. YOU TOTALLY WIN THIS FUCKED UP CONTEST! Oh my God. I just.. I can't... words fail me. Snakes should live OUTSIDE. What the fuck was it eating when it lived in your house? Why didn't one of the dogs sniff it out and kill it? So many questions. And no answers. All I can say is that I'll pray for you.

    1. I'm flailing around at a loss, too, Gina. No. Words. I'm not totally sure how it even got to where my husband found it. It was on top of a 7 foot tall cupboard. So, that leads me to believe that it could also fly. And, scorpions would totally freak me out even worse than a dead snake. I think I'll just start duct taping all of my windows and doors now and pay my Netflix for the next 50 years in advance. I'm done with the outside world. Especially when it comes inside to my little world. Everything must die in fire.

  2. If I haven't already told you that at least once a year my neighbor calls me over to catch the snake in her garden then at least once a year my neighbor calls me over to catch the snake in her garden. My services are available cheap, and my motto is Bare feet are a terrible thing to not have in your house so don't worry about that snake because I'll get rid of it and take it somewhere else.

    I'm still working on the motto. But on the bright side the snake died. And the smell of death was in The Room That Must Not Be Named long enough that any other snakes that came around all said, holy shit, stay away from there.

    1. I want someone on call to watch every entry to my home with a .45 in hand. Screw spraying. Shoot them. Shoot them all. But, if one ever does decide to come into my house while my dad is here I can help him cook it up. He says rattlers taste good.

  3. I once dated a guy that had a turtle as a pet. Which is kinda weird but okay. Not until our third date, did he tell me he also had snakes. As he proudly showed them to me, all I could think about was getting out if that house, and away from this freak.

    1. I don't mind snakes if they are behind glass. That is behind steel. That is submerged under water. Good gut instincts, Twerla!