Why is there a deer hanging in my garage

Hellllllllllllo friends! Its been a while. I missed you, I really did. I hope you all had lovely holidays. I learned this week that it's not PC to say 'I hope you had a good Thanksgiving', and instead you are supposed to say 'If you chose to celebrate it, I hope your Thanksgiving was nice'. Apparently Angelina Jolie is boycotting Thanksgiving because it is a holiday that celebrates the decimation of Native Americans and it is impolite to assume that everyone celebrates it. She doesn't. And I say this to her: You cant boycott a holiday that centers around eating. You just cant. Also, I took a Native American philosophies class in college and my professor was Seminole and never once said anything about Thanksgiving offending him, so I will continue to celebrate it and apologize to Native Americans for destroying their culture and taking their land the other 364 days of the year. Because I really love eating and don't want to give that day up. Sorry.

Alright so 2 weekends ago my husband went deer hunting. He ended up shooting a pretty big doe. And unlike last year, it wasn't stolen out of the back of the truck while he was in the casino, so I was lucky enough to come home to a dead animal lying on the floor of my garage. Normally he would let his dad take it back and have a butcher take care of it for us and we would get brats and jerky and crap. But because my husband is awesome, and because he knows I'm a freak and really think shit is going to go down in the next few years and there will be some kind of crazy ass Armageddon Marshall law type shit happening, he brought it home so we could learn how to butcher it ourselves. Your significant other buys you flowers. Mine knows I'm insane and brings me dead animals so that when the world is ending, we will be eating fresh stew while you fight over the last can of creamed corn in your cupboard. Booyah.

This is what a dead deer looks like:

After helping my husband hang this creature from our garage rafters, I was able to get a better look at it. I haven't ever seen a deer up close before, and I had no idea they were so huge. Like, if you've ever seen that YouTube video of the dude being attacked by a buck, I seriously have no idea how he didn't die. Deers are fucking monsters. **Side Note**I'm aware you don't need to pluralize the word deer. But I like to for some reason.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnJSwBkcJ4Q

I decided to take a gander at this animal for a while, and I then proceeded to get kind of attached. Because she was in his trunk the entire ride back, she hadn't gone all hard yet, and so when you touched her, she was still soft, which was weird and made me kind of sad. So I named her Christina. And I pet her and poked her eyeball to see what it felt like and told her I was sorry she got shot.

To make a long story less long, we did our best at butchering Christina and I found myself alternating between disgust and genuine interest at learning how to prepare food that I could actually eat. Then my ADHD kicked in and after 25 minutes I was bored and annoyed to be hanging out in a freezing ass garage surrounded by blood and bones and stinky ass meat. Deer meat fucking stinks. Like, I'm fairly certain deers eat baby diapers on a regular basis.
Which doesn't make sense to me because Ive eaten free range chicken and cow and buffalo and their meat doesn't smell like an asshole and they are eating stuff out in the wild, so I really don't know what the hell deer are doing differently. Anyways, this deer butchering process took waaaay longer than I expected and stretched out over 2 days culminating in my husband bringing in bags of hunks of Christina over a 3 hours period into our kitchen to be washed and cut down and bagged and labeled all while I have 75 panic attacks at the fact that there is deer blood and bones and hair all over my counter and sink. I think I used an entire bottle of Lysol 4 in 1, and annoyed the shit out of my husband by insisting on spraying the counter and wiping the gore away every 7 minutes.

In conclusion. We learned how to butcher a deer, which is actually a pretty good skill to have. And I again confirmed that I really am the laziest pile of crap ever.

Have a lovely Tuesday. See you bastards on Friday again.

The 2011 Toyota Highlander Kid is a Major Douche

Morning you crazy sons of bitches. Im pretty fired up today. So lets just dive right in, shall we? We shall.

I'm sure you have seen Toyota's new line of commercials advertising the 2011 Highlander. If you haven't here is an example:

http://broadbandsports.com/node/40410


It's not the actual commercials I have beef with--People still say I have beef, shut your face. Its the fact that Toyota is trying to get grown ass people to buy new cars based on whether or not an 8 year old child thinks you are cool or not. Which is absolutely ridiculous.



I am of the school of thought that believes 100% that children are created for the purpose of being embarrassed by their parents. Sure, you teach them crap, you feed them, you build up their little self esteems, but you also get to embarrass them in front of their friends by dancing to "Thong Song" or wearing Zubas to parent/teacher conferences. You get to do those things because being weird and embarrassing your children is your reward for giving up so much of your own life to care for another human being. You just get to. Its the rules.

So you can understand why this line of commercials showcasing a too cool for school 8 year old with a bomber jacket, skinny jeans, converse sneakers, and super cool mussed up hair telling me that "just because you're a parent, doesn't mean you have to be lame"makes me want to slap the shit out of someone.

So. Here are the things I would say to the 2011 Toyota Highlander Kid if he were a real child, and friends with one of my children--because there is no way in hell I would allow my future kids to become such major dick weeds at the tender age of 8--Begin:

1) What are you wearing? John Mayer called and he wants his look back. You are 8. You are still supposed to be into Spiderman and Pokemons and Transformers. You aren't suppose to care about what you are wearing when you are in 3rd grade. No self respecting 8 year old boy would wear skinny jeans because newsflash, they are uncomfortable as hell. You should be requesting loose fitting clothing so you can climb trees and ride bikes and junk, not, as you currently appear to be dressed for, heading over to an on campus coffee house to discuss vague emo bands and browse on your Ipad.

2) Why don't you realize how lucky you are? You should be thankful your parents love you enough to drive you to school every day instead of making you take the bus like normal kids. Have you ever been on a school bus? They don't even have seat belts. And when the bus driver slams on the breaks, you fly into the seat in front of you which has a giant metal bar in it for some reason. Its not very fun or cool to walk into school with a chipped tooth. Lucky for you, you get to watch fucking cartoons and sit on your climate controlled leather seat every morning and afternoon.

3) Your parents aren't losers. Not all Parents are dorks. Its just that when we were your age different music and trends were cool, and we have a hard time understanding how you can watch The Jonas Brothers for 90 minutes straight without wanting to throw up. Sorry if you don't get us. We don't get you either. But we are trying at least. Do the parents a favor and do the same.

4) Was it really necessary to fold down that seat to throw your backpack in? Answer: No. No it wasn't. You look like an asshole. Knock it off. Your mom is already running late and doesn't have time to deal with your attention seeking behavior.

5) Guess What? No adult actually cares if an 8 year old thinks they are cool or not. We don't. Sorry. Unlike you, we have already been through middle school and high school and are over caring what other people think. Most of us anyway. I can tell you right now, the lamer you think I am, and the more vocal you are about it, the more I am going to embarrass the shit out of you every chance I get. Because really, your attitude needs to be adjusted and me & Cody's father will pick you up from school on a tandem bike in neon bike shorts on the days we drive carpool. It will happen if things don't change. Don't think I wont do it. I already have the bike. Its in the garage next to my 2003 Corolla. I bet that Corollas looking pretty pretty good now isn't it?

6) You are a Douche. Stop it. I'm telling you this because you are still young enough to de-douchify yourself before its too late. Really Highlander kid. You don't have to try so hard all the time. Stop caring so much what people think. Life is a whole lot more fun if you just do and wear and say what makes you happy and not worry about being cool. The coolest people I have ever met are the ones that don't give a crap about being cool. So yeah. Just let your guard down. Relax a little. At least wait until high school to start being such an asshole to your parents. You can get away with it then. But yeah. Hang in there. I know you have it in you to just be yourself. And get a haircut. Because your head is going to be really hot in the summer if you don't.

In conclusion, Toyota, your Ad Campaign has not only made me not want to buy your vehicle, it has also made me hate children. I hope for your sake, that you dont have any more recalls.

The Year of the Mice

Good Morning Readers! I have seriously missed you. Thank you for being cool with giving me a few weeks off. But I'm back, hollla.

Let's dive right in since I'm so excited. PS-I switch back and forth between tenses during this entire posting so just go with it. I tried to fix it but then I got tired and said fuck it.

Last week I woke up and walked into my kitchen only to discover what looked specks of tiny black rice in various places on my counter.
My first thought was that my husband spilled some seasoning when he was grilling the night before. Upon further inspection, I was horrified to realize that what I mistook for food product was in fact shit. Tiny tiny shit. That comes out of something with a tiny tiny butt. I immediately freaked out. **Side Note: I was raised in a household of neat freaks. Like, I wasn't allowed to hug a stuff animal when wearing my church clothes because it might get lint on my outfit. So realizing that I am now living in a home with some type of vermin induced a mild stroke.

I ran upstairs and started googling rat, roach, and mice poop. I was surprised and annoyed that google images failed me on this one, and only showed like 3 actual pictures of vermin shit, and even then its far away and kind of blurry and the rest of what came up are all random things that people have labeled as mice or rat poop which depressed me to no end since there are some pics of people and even one of 2 hot chicks and The Burger King, which really made no sense at all. I came to the conclusion that we must have roaches since the 3 decent pics of mice poop all made whatever I had on my counter look way smaller than your average mice droppings.

My husband remained surprisingly calm as I screamed at him that we need to go get some kind of trap ASAP because its fucking gross that we have rats or mice or roaches and what the hell is wrong with us why are we so gross and dirty and I clean the damn counter every day what the fuck how does this even happen??

3 Days and 7 panic attacks, and 57 more tiny shits on the counter later...

The Husband finally stopped by Lowes on the way home from work and talked to some old dude about what we might have in our kitchen. Before he can even finish the sentence "so we woke up to these little black specs" the old dude interrupts and goes "Mice. You've got Mice." He goes on to explain that for some reason, the Mice population in MN has exploded this fall, and that they have been selling 10x the normal amount of traps this season. This made me feel better. Sweet, we aren't just dirt balls!

That evening, we set the 4 traps by smearing peanut butter on them, which apparently Mice like better than cheese....so every cartoon you have ever seen is a lie. The traps are these scary looking white plastic things that are all teeth and snap shut so fast they fly 4 inches off the counter when they detonate. After baiting and positioning these machines of death, I started to feel a little bad. I know this is douchey and hippy-ish of me but keep your pants on. I just don't particularly like killing things is all. Its not that Im sad for the Mouse's soul or for his family, it's just that if I was born a mouse, and it was getting cold out and harder to find food, you can bet your ass I would be sneaking into some one's kitchen every night to pick at their leftover poptarts and tap dance on their bread. Because really, this is what I picture the Mice do at night when we are asleep:
So yeah. I kind of feel bad about killing them.

Through the course of the night, I hear 3 of the 4 traps go off. And each time it happens I wake up and cringe. In fact after the 3rd trap wakes me up, I proceed to dream the rest of the night about waking up to find 4 huge white rats in the traps and none of them are dead, they are just stuck and squealing and moving around the counter and I keep thinking in my head holy shit how long do I have to wait until these sons of bitches die because there is no way in hell I'm going down there.

So when the alarm goes off at 4:30, need less to say, I'm hesitant about going down there to see what we will see. Turns out, the Mice we have are the teenseiest little things you've ever seen. They are so small in fact, that the only thing sticking out of the trap are their teensy mice feet & tail. This is why I thought we had roaches. Because Quinn Mice are so small their shit looks like roach poop. And did you know mice have cute white bellies? Well they do. This is what a Quinn Mouse looks like in a trap:
We disposed of the small bodies and went about our business as usual. So far the death toll is up to 4.

Another trap went off last night. I wanted to write this post in memory of the Mice we have killed and continue to kill as long as they keep shitting on our counters.

Mice: I'm sorry. I know you are just trying to survive. If you were ugly like rats or roaches, this wouldn't be so difficult for me. But really, it has to be done. Because I don't go into your mouse nest and shit all over your food piles. I hope your death is quick and painless. There's no blood on the counter so I'm guessing your little neck snaps and you don't even know whats happening as you lick delicious peanut butter off your tiny paws. I'm glad your last memory is of eating something tasty. Its actually a pretty good way to die. In conclusion, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Love,
Maria