Exercise, house and home, How To, humor, self-help

Centipede Defense Team


First, the vinegaroon. Now a centipede.

This time… In our bed.

You want to sit around. Watch a movie with your family. Maybe eat some popcorn. But,  a centipede is intruding via hair follicles.

*____________________ insert screams of horror here*

The centipede was literally hanging onto a mane of hair. How it even got there. No one knows. (Quite possibly from our brief need of oxygen escape from dad’s barking tarantula?) Nevertheless, it creepily crawled off and roamed on over to my hunny bunny’s hand and began nibbling. He jumps up. Followed by the rest of us hopping up. Screaming. In horror.

“Something bit me!” pexels-photo-1000529

What? No way!

It’s a centipede. Oh God.

Stunned, with everyone posted up on the back of couches, benches and ottomans, there’s a panic. Where’d it go?  (more horrified screaming)

Aren’t they poisonous? No.

Is it going to kill you? Not likely.

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Either way, I’m not sleeping in this bed until the centipede defense team comes and kills that bastard.

pexels-photo-459719.jpegShake out all the pillows. Check.


Sheets and blankets. Check.

Still nothing.

Under the bed?


At least, nothing at first glance anyway…

After trolling around with a flashlight in tow, there’s no sight of this little f***er and we’re all starting to worry even more because, there’ll definitely be no sleeping with that creepy crawly moseying around all willy nilly.

Check toward the headboard.

It scuttled across the floor… into my slipper.


No dice. Upon being whacked with a can of Hot Shot bug spray – that was clearly not being used properly and additionally using the lid of the ToGo cup to try to guide it… uh… anywhere – it was flung back under the bed.

More screaming.

I drop to my stomach by the foot of the bed, with the flashlight and am scoping hard for this vermin. And there he was. Climbing alongside the inside of the bed frame. Gosh, that IMG_8398thing moved so grossly.

Find a stick. Fling him off again.

We could lose it forever. Let’s think more clearly.

We grabbed a straw from a to-go cup. Good choice!

Oh geez. 

Well, we didn’t have a stick anyway. So it’s kicked off with the straw and crawling around for dear life. He crawls back toward the darker corners of the bed, near the headboard. Lost him again.

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  • 1. 2. 3….. group effort. We pull the bed away from the wall.

Where the hell is it?



Sneaky little nuisance….

BAM. Got eyes on it.

Pull the bunk further. Check.

pexels-photo-260397.jpegNow, we got it. Hot Shot spray can device, stat.

Oh dear God, it’s still moving. With high intensity intention.

Time to use the Hot Shot can’s alternative use, and I bet you didn’t realize until today…

Is now a baton in which we came down on that bugger with the rim of the can’s bottom.

Oh my goodness. It’s still moving. And now there’s two separated parts of it moving. In opposite directions. Do these things multiply and clone? Freaking out!

Seriously. Why won’t this thing die.

We then proceed to use the bug spray for it’s intended use and drizzle the poison at the centipede. Well, both moving centipedes now, until it – I mean, they – seem to slow its pace. We grab our handy dandy insect transporter – the aforementioned ToGo Cup – and scoop that thing into it. Finally.



For whatever reason, and I’m not a centipede/bug expert, this thing keeps moving inside our insect transporter for another hour or so.

One of the kids says, “hey, let’s feed it to the Vinegaroon! These are the kind of bugs they eat.”

Um, well, the centipede is now soaked in a deadly chemical. I like where you’re going with this… but, let’s scratch that thought.

Maybe not the best idea to feed the arachnid scorpion eater with a toxic centipede.

Moral of the story? Theres a moral? Not likely. Anyway, the bugs here are out of control but there no match for my band of super heroes….

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The Centipede Defense Team. *cue introductory super heros music

Oooo! And I think we should make some shirts… or, Oh! Oh! Matching uniforms out of lycra and spandex! You know…

Like The Incredibles!

*slaps forehead


humor, technology

Mario Kart Cramps

Suddenly, I have found myself in front of gaming systems. Really….pexels-photo-442576.jpeg

Game boxes?

Video cartridge thingies?

Right. So, I’ve never really been a gamer. As a kid, I was only able to play the original Nintendo because I hid out at my neighbors house before the search party came looking for me at dinner time. i.e. my father.

Once I beat King Koopa, and saved the kingdom from his evil horny toad reign, I was over it. I saved the princess and she was super glittery grateful and bestowed upon me….  was nothing.

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After that climactic vibe of disappointment, I hadn’t returned to video games since.

Until now.

pexels-photo-929831.jpegLast week, my friends, during a boring day pre-spring, sat me down, threw a headset on me and told me to shoot. I was taking the place of an m.i.a. operative in the game, “The Division.” So, said operative was probably out for some hot cocoa or something and naturally, since they needed another person to complete the mission… I was the obvious option.

And by obvious option, I basically mean I was available and not doing anything constructive.


It was fairly entertaining. I began shooting “bad guys” on purpose and I wasn’t getting nauseous from the artificial television movement but I did begin to cramp up.

My hands. Completely cramped up.

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Apparently, this is a thing. Like an athlete? Um…

Well… yes. I guess? Although, I just don’t consider gamers athletes. After a while I feel like one of the people from the movie Wall-E who never move and haven’t walked in so long, they forgot how.

Hey, to each his own but it’s clear for me that I’ll just never really be into gaming. My pexels-photo-236229hands cramping, my butt fell asleep and I forgot to eat for way too long that I lost weight. And the reality is that I can accomplish all that just by productively editing videos, and writing music/books. I forget to eat all the time when I’m in that zone of wake.

Funny thing is, I don’t remember getting cramps in my hands when I played Mario Kart.

Mario Kart Kramps.

It’s a real thing.

And it’s just my luck.

humor, self-help

The Wedge Incident

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I’m a girl that will strut heels on any surface. In any place.. and naturally, at any time.


Yet, without regard for natural land mass; i.e. dirt, hills, rocks and the like…

I have basically – and most accidentally – tried to kill thine self via high heeled wedge.

Uh, what?


So, here I am taking a quiet summer in the country. Which has proved to be quite a challenge since it’s literally been eons since I’ve lived in anything remotely considered a “countryside.” Like, Ohio? Right.

And I’m wandering around in my cutest onesies and summer outfits and dawning quite a confident sashay until I roll my ankle and quickly recover from the meddling pebble that tried to annihilate me.

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You think I’d learned my lesson. Fields abound. Dirt walkways. Cactus. Wait.. did you say Cactus? 


pexels-photo-952628.jpegAnd Nope, this girl did not learn her lesson. Shocker. Hey, I’m a fan of the most scenic routes in life. And, yes, I seem to find them all… serendipitously!

The next day, I was helping to move things across hilly dirt that I proposed – wearing my cutest wedges – would be a breeze. It was only a couple of items so I wasn’t as worried a mishap would occur. At least, not two days in a row.

I was wrong. Not only did I encounter such a deja vu; but, I went head first toward a piny needled tree inappropriately named a sweet tree. Now, I don’t know if this is just ironically named by its owners or if its a real tree species. All I know is this thing tried to take a piece of me and keep it.
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So, this city girl has to now acclimate to her new environment.

NARRATOR: Will she succumb to flip flop life?


NARRATOR: Is she going to have to swallow a tennis shoe pill on the daily?

Hush, you.

NARRATOR: Time can only tell; but, as long as a Ross Store is nearby, there’s a good chance that there’ll be some sneakers and flops could be ordained with glitter all over them.


Fine, narrator in the sky. You got me there.

In which case, I could scoop them up.pexels-photo-681995.jpeg

Who would’ve thought that moving to a wedge would still be a sore move. It’s that high heel thug life or death.

Anyway, let’s put ice on that list.

If I’m going to die by the heel, I’m going to need it.


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