When in Rains...
I'm expecting one more thing to happen since bad things happen in 3s. While I'm grateful that the bad things are crazy and not long lasting (unless my hand falls off), I could have still done without.
It started yesterday with a bowl of cereal. Innocuous, I know. I came home from work and decided that a bowl of cereal was what I needed. I had some cinnamon toast crunch knock off with milk. I noticed that my milk was not freezing cold as usual. In itself, that was weird, but not a big deal. I ate the cereal. I decided to clear the fridge out of the bad food since trash day was coming and I noticed something...wrong. I couldn't quite put my finger on it until I realized: the fridge wasn't cold. When my roommate confirmed, the mass, frantic exodus of food began. Everything that could survive outside the fridge was put on the counters (so it looks like we're cooking) and the perishables were evacuated to the half working freezer. I spent the night playing Russian roulette with food poisoning trying to eat things so they wouldn't go to waste. I made it through half my cooked chicken before I began to get suspicious and half way through the leftover quarter of bastard lasagna before I bit into a funny tasting spinach piece and got paranoid. I dumped the rest and lived.
Tonight, the fridge still hasn't been fixed, but I made a meal out of some frozen food and was quite content while watching the premier of Breaking Pointe which I got roommate Scott and roommate Scott's friend Rob sucked into. Ha. I decided to take out the trash tonight because it's been a struggle for me to wake up this week. When i get outside, I hear the trash settle. It's a bit odd so I take off the trash lid and i hear it settle some more and think that's really creepy. So I shake the trash can. This time, nothing happens. At all. I wait and still nothing. I get over it and start dragging the trash can to the curb. Now see, this was one of the trash cans without a handle so I had to grab the side of the bin to drag it. I found out later that I made it half way across the back patio before the rat leapt out of the trash, grabbed my hand for purchase and flew by me. I did what a normal person would do in the dead of night when encountered with a startling and mildly painful event: screamed, dropped the trash, and ran back inside. At this point I'm shaking a wee bit in the back stairs and doing that scared laugh thing when Scott comes ripping downstairs to see if I'm alright (re: burglary). That's right. I screamed loud enough that he heard me in the backyard from his room in the front of the house. The scratch was shallow with no bleeding and I was assured that after 2 washes, burning my hand in some extremely hot water, then pouring alcohol on it, I should be fine. Be that as it may, I then had to go back out and take out the trash. Oy. You can bet I kicked the crap out of every one of those trash cans before touching it.
I prefer the situation with the bat.
SSDD
It started yesterday with a bowl of cereal. Innocuous, I know. I came home from work and decided that a bowl of cereal was what I needed. I had some cinnamon toast crunch knock off with milk. I noticed that my milk was not freezing cold as usual. In itself, that was weird, but not a big deal. I ate the cereal. I decided to clear the fridge out of the bad food since trash day was coming and I noticed something...wrong. I couldn't quite put my finger on it until I realized: the fridge wasn't cold. When my roommate confirmed, the mass, frantic exodus of food began. Everything that could survive outside the fridge was put on the counters (so it looks like we're cooking) and the perishables were evacuated to the half working freezer. I spent the night playing Russian roulette with food poisoning trying to eat things so they wouldn't go to waste. I made it through half my cooked chicken before I began to get suspicious and half way through the leftover quarter of bastard lasagna before I bit into a funny tasting spinach piece and got paranoid. I dumped the rest and lived.
Tonight, the fridge still hasn't been fixed, but I made a meal out of some frozen food and was quite content while watching the premier of Breaking Pointe which I got roommate Scott and roommate Scott's friend Rob sucked into. Ha. I decided to take out the trash tonight because it's been a struggle for me to wake up this week. When i get outside, I hear the trash settle. It's a bit odd so I take off the trash lid and i hear it settle some more and think that's really creepy. So I shake the trash can. This time, nothing happens. At all. I wait and still nothing. I get over it and start dragging the trash can to the curb. Now see, this was one of the trash cans without a handle so I had to grab the side of the bin to drag it. I found out later that I made it half way across the back patio before the rat leapt out of the trash, grabbed my hand for purchase and flew by me. I did what a normal person would do in the dead of night when encountered with a startling and mildly painful event: screamed, dropped the trash, and ran back inside. At this point I'm shaking a wee bit in the back stairs and doing that scared laugh thing when Scott comes ripping downstairs to see if I'm alright (re: burglary). That's right. I screamed loud enough that he heard me in the backyard from his room in the front of the house. The scratch was shallow with no bleeding and I was assured that after 2 washes, burning my hand in some extremely hot water, then pouring alcohol on it, I should be fine. Be that as it may, I then had to go back out and take out the trash. Oy. You can bet I kicked the crap out of every one of those trash cans before touching it.
I prefer the situation with the bat.
SSDD