ChimpsAhoy

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I’m having trouble separating fact from faux and whether or not I truly am trapped in a corner, shaking, sitting four feet away from a live cockroach.

Hold on. [check]

Yes, yes I am. That beast is going to eat my entire being, but before he does, I’d like to recall the last 12 hours that got me here. Reminisce with me, before I am slaughtered slowly by his massive brown tentacles.
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In the coldness of semester end last year, I watched my scanner light move slowly, archiving my work to the digital realm – up and down…up and down. It was about 60 degrees in the house. I chattered along with the misaligned fan in my computer. I felt a bit like Bob Cratchit, warming my hands on an electronic candle, bundled up with a coat and cap (or beanie) because Scrooge was too cheap to pay for heat.
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Insanity is contagious. Here are some pictures we took using the scanner.

Once I had a rat named Kitty. I named her Kitty because, well, isn’t it just HILARIOUSLY ironic to name a rat Kitty? Seriously… Well, Kitty was a good pet for about five minutes. Then she crapped on my shirt. The crap wasn’t bad enough so she peed on the crap. After that, I was a little apprehensive about taking Kitty out to play. Sometimes Kitty got to smelling pretty bad and I’d give her little baths in the sink with Greg’s coconut Suave shampoo. I still remember the traumatizing sensation of her darling little claws rending flesh from bone…the wails of the innocent (me) could be heard for hours.

Kitty died in the custody of a friend over the summer. I’m sure he did a good job taking care of her, but the good die young, right? I justified Kitty’s plagued existence by the fact that, well, a snake could have eaten her. What’s worse: living a life of solitary rest and dying in a pile of your own pellet-shaped waste or sliding down the pulsating, lubricated gullet of a boa constrictor and being slowly digested by acid (all the while managing to take the snake’s owner’s attention off his level 34 druid warrior with +2 to dexterity and axe mauling). Ok, so I didn’t treat Kitty right.

That’s why I feel like I have some amends to make. Thus, I bought another rat, christened him Kitty 2, and embarked on another pet adventure.

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Last weekend I had the privilege of attending a Friday night fish fry down at the local Elk’s lodge. My dad, a fine gent, happens to be a member and he invited my aunt, uncle, my fianc頡nd me. Upon learning they had beer battered fish in any quantity a food-prone lad like myself could want, I acquiesced. Let’s just say it was everything I could want…and more.

Jess and I pulled into the parking lot at about 5:45. I knew going in that this particular Elk’s lodge’s patronage was at a median age of 70 or so, but the full realization did not set in until I got out of the car and noted the steady stream of hoary headed senior citizens slowly walking toward the door…the lustful look of regular fish fry partakers sparkling in their eyes. I instantly felt out of place. “Would they welcome me into their grotto of fish consumption? Do I need to belong to AARP? Will a wild-eyed devotee of Tom ?Sexpants? Jones offer to sell me bootleg Viagara?”
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Gather around kiddies, it’s story time (and by story I mean what I did yesterday):

It was 4:30 in the afternoon on Wednesday. Kevin and I were sweating profusely since it was around 112 degrees outside. As we reached the top of the stairs Kevin tried to open the door to the apartment, but it was locked.
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“Ever wonder what it’s like to be a window washer?”

“Not really…I mean, it’s certainly not the most glamorous of jobs.”

“Well, when you think about it, it’s gotta be pretty trippy. I mean, there you are, sort of physically and emotionally standing outside of all kinds of daily situations. Sure, if you’re watching someone make out with their co-worker on the desk of their office you might start unconsciously wiping more seductively with your squeegee or something, but for the most part you should be able to remain outside and unaffected. Right? I mean, things would never get in your head, right?”

“I don’t know. Why would you think of that?”

“Because I bought a new squeegee Hal…and I’m on Red Bull.”

“Good God, Rebecca…stop coming towards me! What is the meaning of this? You can’t use that squeegee on a person. It’s too powerful. Also, you’re married. And you work for an accounting firm. It’s completely out of character.”

“Hal. You’re dirty. We’re all dirty. Only I can see. I’m the walrus. I’m the cosmos. I’m the window washer.”

“Rebecca…that’s crazy talk. You’re not making any sense. You’re a middle-aged woman with a penchant for buying Cuisinarts. You don’t want to endanger that…that DEEPLY MEANINGFUL PASSION.”

“You’re right, Hal. I’ll just smear this peanut butter on my eyelids and do pelvic thrusts to the rhythm of this Kenny Loggins song.”

“That sounds good, Rebecca. I’m calling the police.”

Author’s Warning: If you have respect for me, please stop reading.

Now that I have the attention of 95% of the chimpsahoy.com readers, let me continue. I’ll set it out straight right now: I have strange fears. Not like arachnophobia or agoraphobia. I have weird fears like my inability to drive with the car doors locked (not unlocked, mind you) or my fear of the number five or things that come in fives (fingers freak my crap out – especially when there are five of them).
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I had my daily dosage+ on DayQuil today. The side effects hit me in my Letterform class. I sat through an entire class, and I swear about four or five times someone in my group said, “What are you talking about?” or “I can’t hear you” (because I am mostly deaf). Someone was talking about their favorite movies, and I said, “Yeah, I carved pumpkins this weekend.” The guy was like, “Well that was random.” I guess I was thinking in my head:

“Donnie Darko was a movie. I liked that movie. I watched it a couple times. But I didn’t understand it the first time because I was carving pumpkins. Oh yeah, I carved pumpkins this weekend, better tell the table because this is relevant.”

It made sense to me, but he just stared at me and said, “Well I watched a movie while sitting on the couch.” The whole table had a good chuckle, I just gripped my Exacto knife and waited for a good moment to bury it deep inside his ribs. Yeah, you laugh now, but you wait. The moment you turn to sharpen that pencil, I’ll be there. When you go to your mailbox, I’ll be hiding behind that red metal flag. When you pour that bowl of cereal, I’ll be the toy that pops and and and *BAM YOU’RE DEAD!*

Waiting…patiently…stroking the cool aluminum exacto knife handle…waiting…thinking…yeah, you just wait…

Or maybe it should be *SHIV YOU’RE DEAD!* I can’t decide which sounds better. I will think it over. I have time.