Who’s having sex in my house…..

ok, now before you go getting all worried about porn or something else being displayed here, let me start by saying you’re wrong…yep, this isn’t about people sex, it’s about creepy icky bug sex. Yeah, you heard me right, bug sex.
So, now that we know that this is what it is, let me do some ‘splaining Lucy.
I have a certain fondness for lady bugs. I was always told that they brought luck to a house hold and earlier this fall I had a few around the house. Most of the time I do the catch and release method, which would make a missionary proud, but I let them live there where they chose. Fast forward to sub zero oh my god the damn rodent saw his shadow and now spring will never come moment of thought and I walk in the bathroom and there has to be at least thirty of them…..so I figure the little buggers are ,well, buggering.
So my dilemma would be, do I now throw them out in the cold to die a quick death or continue to let the cat practice for future mice killing by getting them. The ones on the ceiling I would have to help down to cat level so she doesn’t go all ninja on them and scar the painted walls for trying.
So, pondering this I figured they’d go away on their own, right? Yeah, well they can all die little buggy lucky deaths now.
I must say they fell out of favor as I sat in an hour long meeting the other day at work when I got that holy crap, something is crawling down my panties. Excusing myself, I uncomfortably ran to the bathroom where out pops this cute little lady bug. Not so cute, right?
She flew off in a graceful little arc of flight and landed in the toilet bowl. Swish….bye bye….so, I come home, wrangle the remaining bastards up and out they go. Next day, ten more….sooooooo….the lady bugs are having an orgy in my house.
I guess better them than spiders…..
Hey, maybe I can start a trend…free lady bugs to good homes, will bring joy, spontaneity and a whole lot of loving to any household….I just won’t tell them who’s getting the lovin’.


I am a writer….um, yeah…..


I know as you read this, yes you, you phantom people out there,
I know you exist and what you look like,
I’ve seen your gravitar…pretty good looking crowd out there,
And I know You think some days that no one cares,
That no one understands the need you have
To be you, to talk to the world,
Or even to talk to yourself….I often feel this way myself, then I slap myself and say oh well, so what and pretend to be the awesome creature I am.
I care, I read you, I know your secrets…..want to know what mine are? Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine….well, not all of them,
After all you don’t give it all away on the first date, right? Oh, okay……I’ll plead ignorance on that matter.
I talk to my dogs and they often look at me like I’ve hopped on board the crazy train, well, my little inner four year old sticks out her tongue, a finger in each ear going nah nah….you’ve got cooties, so there!!!!
My husband has no desire to read what I write, maybe he takes a peek when he gets up at the butt-crack of dawn, while the queen, yep, that would be me, drools on her pillow in yummy sleep-dream filled bliss. If he does, he never says. But enough about him, back to me…..
A long time ago there was a mean mommy who told her child, you are going to college and that’s that!!!! Princess looks at her with the what the hell am I going to do there look and proceed to plead her case of She wants to take a year off and figure out what She wants to be when She grows up. if you knew me at all you would realize that the statement still applies. Any how back to the college dilemma, I picked one school three plus hours away from home, sent in an application and surprisingly was accepted. Hmmmm, now what. I signed up to major in journalism, then switched to advertising,nope, still not my niche, then interior design and then finally on liberal arts basic to free me from the prison of growing up. I quit five credits short of my degree and never went back. But I did come home with a jet black Mohawk hair style, a never ending wardrobe of black goth and a crucifix earring that listed on the back I was catholic and in case of death, deal with the rest accordingly. Except I wasn’t catholic. I hung out in cemeteries writing, that was my god connect, out in solitude spilling my words on paper. I had written since grade school. I filled the endless notebooks. I did not consider myself a writer, and my notebooks were my personal shrinks, not anything of worth.
Years go by, no more punk hair style and my club days are over.
I have a gravitar. It is a dog, snoopy on his house with the starry night backdrop. I still like art, and today I will watch a lot of advertisement, my interior design skills most days encompass scraping up cat puke off the carpet and dog boogers off the windows, and keeping up on the dishes.
Some days I even have time to read fine stories from other gravitars like me,
Delving into the world of other peoples ideas, their personal shrink vents and when I finally put something down I realize, as I am sure if you’ve made it this far and haven’t called those Nasty grammar police on me, I may just be an okay writer after all. The queen of all that is my world thanks you, if you don’t appreciate this article that escaped my brain this fine morning just know, you have cooties…..and you smell funny too. Ok, you really don’t, at least I don’t think you do? I don’t know, do you?