That Ain't Mud In Yo Bed

There are few who have been privileged enough to wake up next to me in bed. They can (and will if they know what's good them) attest to the fact that I look splendid in the morning. Hair perfect, makeup crisp, breath still fresh from the night befores brushing. I am gorgeous.

Do you smell smoke? *sniff sniff* Oh yea, that's me. My pants are on fire.

I am not gorgeous in the morning. My hair is terrifying, my mascara usually has taken up residence somewhere other than my eyelashes, and my breath is not so great either. I am not gorgeous. I require a cigarette and a cup of coffee STAT. Oh and don't bother speaking to me before 7AM if I don't get those two requirements. Lest you find yourself verbally beaten and sitting in the corner in the fetal position sucking your thumb and asking for your mommy. I am a bitch.

I may be terrifying in the morning but nothing can be more terrifying than what I woke up next to this morning.

I got up, grabbed a smoke and a cup of coffee and positioned myself back in bed for a good 20 minutes of morning news watching. I was sipping my coffee when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. It was a spot on the bed. A dark spot. My vision was still a little fuzzy seeing as how I had just woken up so I rubbed my eyes and looked at the spot again. When I saw it I was horrified.

It was a spider.

A big, black, fuzzy spider.

On my bed.

Next to me.

O
M
G

I jumped out of bed and looked down at it again. It seemed to be dead as it was kinda balled up and it's legs were all twisted. I imagined that at some point in the night it had crawled up on my soft sweet pillow and decided to nap a little when I, in a fit of sleep, slammed the hell out of it and killed it dead. Either that or my breath did.

I disposed of the corpse and did a bed check for anymore of his little friends that may have taken up residence on my bed. The coast was clear, for now.

Snakes on my patio, spiders in my bed, and a dog that won't stop barking - I'm thinking it's time to move.

Slowly Going Insane

I've lived in this apartment, the one I am currently sitting in, since May 23rd. In that time I have become well acquainted with a tenant who lives on the third floor. I wish I could say that I know the person who actually lives and pays the rent there but I cannot. I only know his dog. Why do I only know his dog, you ask? Because his dog barks. Constantly.

I've contacted the management several times but it does no good. Apparently there are rules about not leaving your dog on your patio and rules about not letting your goddamned dog bark while outside at all hours of the night, but nothing can be done about this.

This is the only time in my life that I have wished actual harm to come to an animal and I would personally like to be the one to do the harming.

I lay in bed at night and pray to anyone who will listen to just shut the dog up for JUST A LITTLE WHILE so I can fall asleep and be a productive member of society the next day. Some nights my prayers are answered, some nights they are not.

Maybe it was the rum and Diet Dr. Pepper, maybe it was the fact that I am delirious from lack of sleep, or maybe I'm just feeling a little bitchy and passive-aggressive because I just taped this to his freaking door:

Doubtful it will do any good but damn do I feel better.