Jason has advised me to change the subject, by the way. After I got a little blubbery for what was probably the 20th time over the weekend about all the emails and comments and that rare sense of being understood (you get me, you really get me!), he gently reminded me that the Internet will turn on you faster than a...um...fast, spinning-type thing...once the Get Over It Mafia decides that it is time to get over it, and the fact that you are not getting over it suggests a calculated decision to exploit your child in exchange for delicious, life-affirming triple-digit-comment numbers.
What can I say? I have been blogging too long, and also have a very rich fantasy life. And I enjoy dipping it into some velvety paranoia once in awhile.
(Also: Using delicious, rich, dipping and velvety in the span of two sentences suggests that I am hungry, and should go make some pudding. There. You now know everything there is to decoding my psyche.)
So I sat down and tried to think of something else to talk about, and all I can come up with are the flies.
You see, we have flies. And...
The hardwood install required a lot of open windows and propped doors, so we noticed a bit of an insect problem in the immediate days afterwards. Mosquitoes and gnats and such. Possibly one bee that was the biggest fucking bee I have ever seen, and I thought maybe we had their queen (Protect the queen! Which one's the queen? I'm the queen! No you're not, etc.) and could make some demands, but Jason thinks it was some kind of burrowing bee and those are like, the worst kind of bee ever, even worse than the Africanized ones, because they BURROW and probably have OPPOSABLE THUMBS and this whole suburban jungle thing makes me miss the city terribly, and people, we had COCKROACHES and CONFUSED FLOUR BEETLES in the city, but there's something about big-ass burrowing bees that suggests that I am about to be outsmarted.
Also we saw a snake once, and a fox. We live next to a highway off-ramp. I bet if we moved a couple blocks inward we'd have a pet giraffe by now.
Anyway. We also noticed a couple run-of-the-mill houseflies got in. And we swatted at them and trapped them in between the storm windows and the screens and waited for them to die. But they did not die, but instead got it on and had babies, who are currently making sweet love to the inside-the-house-omg-side of my kitchen windows.
Several times a day I brace myself and go in there, rolled-up US Weekly in hand, and whack the shit out of them with the Bikini-Ready Bodies spread. A few things I've learned:
1) Just because a fly drops to the ground does not mean it is remotely dead. It is merely stunned -- 'tis a flesh wound! -- and when you return with a tissue to clean up the carnage it will be gone, and it will heal and learn and assimilate and you will find it later doing the backstroke in your Pinot Noir.
a) As such, you must whack the fly until it squishes.
b) Have some Pinot Noir first.
2) A single US Weekly is sturdy enough to withstand about a dozen whacks before the staples give out and your floor will be littered with Fashion Police photos of Mischa Barton, who is actually kind of improved upon when covered in bug guts.
a) As such, use Vogue. You can't afford any of that shit anyway.
3) In the end, it's pointless and futile, because the flies are here, and they are in charge, and we are all probably going to die of...whatever diseases houseflies carry. Black death? Mad Cow?
I tried Googling for (oh jesus a fly just flew right over my head, the ones from the kitchen probably sent him on a scouting mission) better housefly-killing tactics, and most of what I found involved polite recommendations to take out your trash occasionally. You know, stop living in filth. I do so love the head scarves, Edie, they're quite revolutionary, but perhaps it's time to move the rancid piles of rotted vegetables outside?
So that's it. That's my non-speech-delay-related story for you. We have flies, and they are gross, and by extension we are gross gross grossy people who live here covered in gross. We're getting our windows replaced in a couple weeks, which I'm hoping will help things (that is, if the killer burrowing bees don't get inside during the install process and take up residence under the floorboards, Hogan's Heroes style). In the meantime, if anybody has a recommendation for an effective trap or flypaper or possibly some kind of nuclear bomb (that's safe to use around children and pets, naturally), I'd certainly love to hear about it.
(Tomorrow I shall perhaps change the subject back to speech delays, but I bet y'all are fucking grateful to hear that now, aren't you? Am genius. Am goddamn blogging genius.)