Bonjour maggots, we meet again

Engarde! Monsieur Maggot!  We meet again... and this time there is no mercy my friend.  Yes, sadly (AGAIN) I am dealing with maggots within my lifetime.  Once more than I would have liked to of course.  The problem lies within a party host, who is not very good with details, and forgot to line the trash bins with liners.  "So what?", you say?  Sure... probably not a big deal if you are disposing of plastic, or random beer cups.  Unfortunately, our waste was the result of a Hawaiian pig roast, and the remnants of said swine and a plethora of accouterments into the garbage can (all unlined).   Corn, beans, pork, seasoned ribs, potato salad, salad, etc.

As soon as I was approached during the party, by a few guests, what were they to do with said garbage items, I looked to the host(s).  One, who was more than a rock star, suggested one of the items on the co-host's list was the garbage and he had nothing to do with it - fair enough.  It just happens to be that the co-host responsible for garbage is also family to me... and I know what their follow through is on minutia, and especially garbage detail.  *Sigh*.  After multiple neighbors convince me otherwise (what were THEY thinking???), I decided to reject the idea of immediately taking the pig and resulting garbage out of the bins in my full Hawaiian dress at 11:30 at night.  This, I fear, was a huge mistake.  Not the drinking too late into the evening, nor the tomfoolery (or cacophonous noise I was making or other things not worth mentioning), just the garbage was the most evident mistake. 

I warned, nudged, pleaded, nagged "please, please, please take the garbage out and put it into separate bags, don't leave it un-bagged in the bin!"... nothing budged said partner to change the scenario outside - even after several days post party.  His reasoning?  "It takes a week before maggots show up.  It will be fine."  My response?, "Fine.  When the maggots show up - you're dealing with it, not me."  He agreed.  Finally, two days after, he moved AT LEAST the swine into a bag.  But, alas, nothing else... so basically it did nothing for the result I was looking for (no maggots).  I come out three days post party (fully knowing what to expect) and of course, as predicted - full on maggot infestation.  Laid bins out for trash pick up, felt like an a**hole towards the Garbage men, and waited.  Please GOD, take these bins. 

So, back to today... I come out to see if the bleach I poured onto the bins last night worked in terms of the infestation reducing.  Nope.  There is this little pile of maggot worms laying at the base of each bin.  OMG, I want to projectile vomit out my eyes.  At LEAST 100 lying there, and more squirming out the sides.  This is like a Wes Craven Horror movie.  BARF.  I am PRAYING that the men take these bins.  Especially since I had gone out last night in a fit of despair, and doused the bins with bleach - no dice.  The little worms of horror are invincible.  It's unbelievable.  Eight O'clock comes around... They took it - phew.  I had been watching feverishly through the window the whole time the men took the bins.  Images of holding back barf were flowing through my mind.  I couldn't BARE the thought of what it would be like taking care of this myself if they refused it, carrying those bins in the back of my perfect Tahoe.  Then the HORRID realization comes to me.  Husband: Just. Can't. Deal. With. The. Aftermath. Of. Cleanup.  F*&$.  OK, I get that he has a shiza load of responsibility on him right now, so do I, but what happened to the "man's work"?  I'm now doing both the man's work and the woman's work?!?!?!?  GRRRRR...

That's it.  It's four days post party, and I've had it with patience.  Someone needs to do this, and I guess it's going to be me.  I pull out every frigging bin and container I have of Vinegar and environmentally biodegradable bleach (this type of bleach breaks down to salt water - like the kind you use to clean your deck), and I SOAK the suckers.  I have full on plastic gloves and am spraying the wet, maggot infested garbage down, and just dousing the disgusting awfulness that this is.  Then I have to pick up the wet maggot garbage and reload it into new garbage bags.  VOMIT fest.  For a sensory sensitive person like me - especially olfactory like mine - this is the worst job you could possible hold in the world.  Never-the-less, it has to be done, by someone, and STAT.  Neighbors are walking by, moms are instructing their kids not to breathe, people are walking to the other side of the street - its bad.  But after one solid hour of this hell - we're back BABY!  Clean bins, smelling like Lysol bleach and vinegar fresh, at least for the time being.  I think I may have to re-bleach the bins... and there were a few extra "worms" hanging around I didn't catch from my relentless hour long power spray from the hose throughout the colonoscopy of the garbage bins I performed... but WTF?  I sprayed until the potential thunderstorm lightening bolts above my house were right above my garage.  I did my part, and THEN SOME.  Hubby asks if I took care of it when I walked in...  Is it wrong to want to slap him in the face?  :-/

No words, my friends, no words, just a nice strong martini and maggot free garbage cans at the side of my house.  Also, VERY happy crows (and neighbors)... side note: I kind of like crows more now? 

Stalagmites are good teddy bears

...When you are living in a cave.  At least that is what I assume, and also I'm sincerely looking forward to snuggling with them.  Since my next place of residence will be a dark secluded cave as far away from human existence as possible, and without any direct human interaction (outside of controlled response internet) what so ever.  I'm looking forward to getting to know more about my mineral based calcified rock friends - seriously. 

Some bonuses to that relationship:
They don't look at you awkwardly when you say something off key. 
Stalagmites don't want to avoid you if you come across weird. 

There are many things that make me adore the idea of Stalagmites as a teddy bear... but mostly those above items.  Frequent delivery of pitted Kalamata olive jars in the cave would be cool, but still - the location of the cave needs to be far away, so that may not be possible.  The notion of living in a cave is WAY better than the realism of interaction I get now, which is the head-jerking-back-rolled-eyes-freakish-glare look I presently receive when just about anything comes out of my mouth.  Sigh.  It's so hard sometimes to be abnormal, and pretend to be NORMAL.  I joke about how fun it is being weird... and sometimes it really is fun!, but most times it's just sad.  Sad, like in a way that you wish your dog had a play friend and wasn't depressed all the time, sad.  On the whole, though, it's just incredibly isolating.  One bad comment from me leads to a slew of other people's judgements, and then you try to make up for that comment by digging yourself a bigger hole through explaining yourself with other comments that backfire (come on, people just don't get you already!, why keep trying?!?), then the blank listless stare from your listening party ensues... this is horribly bad.  This is the worst sign that you are the biggest loser ever.  Ugh.  The icing on the cake is when you hear the tell tale sign (and from a close friend), "You're weird!"  This, unfortunately, is what I get A LOT.  It's enough to want to make me curl up in a fetal position, with a bottle of VERY good Grey goose, a couple of lemons, and a snuggly blanket - all in a cave of course with a horror movie.  FAR AWAY from society.  Away from all the non-understanding stares regarding the verbal diarrhea that comes out of my mouth.  I can't help it sometimes the verbal gook that just vomits out under stress or anxiety fueled times.  It's compulsive.  I abhor it, but it's true. 

This is what makes me different from most.  I have no filter.  I have no ability to discern others emotions whilst in the throws of the conversation.  I can read faces, but I don't *really* get it - until its too late.  I can't say or suggest things without having an air of efficiency and logical distinction.  It SUCKS.  Why am I so weird?  Anyways... back to my Utopian condo nestled in the volcanic mountains of nowhere... I can't wait to make a dirty martini and play with the Dolphins... outside of mating season of course, because they're awfully aggressive during that time.  But seriously, I can't wait to find my own "Nim's Island".  Maybe then, on my island of "nowhere", I won't be seen as a social abomination, but a master mind of brilliance. 

"So, I have that going for me, which is nice." - Bill Murray, Caddy Shack

My ghosts are lazy

OK, so after all that serious, spine chilling, Alfred Hitchcock-esque talk about weird paranormal experience and other strange happenings in my house, I decided I should lighten up a bit.  After all, this is supposed to be a funny blog, with real moments only sporadically.  Pfft.

I got to thinking in the shower the other morning, I do my best thinking in there, and I believe my friend had the right idea.  She suggested that I need to put the ghosts to work and then maybe their presence wouldn't be so awful.  What could these ghosts do to make me feel better about them being around all the time?  Interesting question to ask myself, but I actually came up with some great answers... I hope they're listening.

Things my house ghosts could do to make our coexistance better:

1. Fold my laundry. 
I mean really.  There are, like, literally mountains of unwashed, and washed laundry.  I SERIOUSLY hate folding laundry.  If they're going to be up all hours of the night, folding a few loads isn't too much to ask, is it?

2. While we're on the laundry topic, why not run a load in the washer for me? 
If they can lift crap off the shelves, then they certainly could lift a pour of Oxyclean and Tide into the washer, at, oh, say 1 AM?  Make your poltergeist activity work for YOU.  Ghosts, if your feeling naughty, maybe iron a few shirts too?  Just sayin.

3. Wash all the dishes and clean the kitchen at night. 
You know what nights I am talking about.  Those nights where your meal has created a mountainous volcano of dishes - ready to erupt onto your floor - and you're starting to notice goats roaming around your perimeter.  Those nights it would ESPECIALLY fantastic if the ghosts would just take care of that for me. 

4. I really don't like pulling crab grass from the garden. 
As much as I love playing tug of war with a rhizomatous chlorophyll beast, I REALLY don't like all the spiders in the bushes I need to brush up against to do it myself.  Clearly ghost weeding is in order.  Benefit for the ghost?  It could get all that pent up otherworldly frustration out in a healthy manner... instead of, oh I don't know, throwing my clock off the wall.

5. Massage my feet?
Instead of wasting all that manifestation power with pushing down on  my chest, flipping my arms out of bed, or paralyzing me with fear, why not just do something nice for a change?  Massaging my feet would help bring our relationship to the next level and simultaneously bridge the gap that is our lack of trust with one another.

Obviously, there are so many other things that the ghosts could be doing to make my life better, but this is a start.   Once I feel like the above have become an effortless routine for my spooks, I might actually be able to overlook the damaged clock and my worn out pscyhe.