Husfriend: The Moth Huntah

Husfriend: The Moth Huntah

Husfriend is The Moth Huntah.

(As you read that, picture me looking like a sexy beast of the wilderness and with a too-hot-to-trot Australian accent…it’ll make this post heaps more entertaining.)

I am programmed to loathe bugs entirely. The flying kind, even more so. The flying wannabe, beautiful butterfly kind, the most.

We entertained friends for dinner last night (yay!) and when 9pm rolled around and every. last. one. of us was shoving toothpicks into our eyelids, because, “When the hell did we get sooooooo oooooooold?!”, it was time to bid our guests a sweet farewell.

Dead bolt, undone. Door, unlocked. Hugs, distributed. Knucks, pounded. Then, right then, it happened…

What appeared to be something Bastian Balthazar Bux would be clinging to for dear life in 1984, flew through the front door like it owned this joint. To which I naturally reacted with an, “OH DEAR LORD! THAT IS A MOTH!” Sparing the world of one more use of The Contraction, not to mention I was feeling extra intellectual since we had just entertained guests for dinner, I opted to emphasize the seriousness of the situation with a distinguished, “THAT IS”. P.S. Sorry to our guests for the door slamming closing gently on you after my fear cry.

At this point, the poor excuse for an insect, has situated himself (because really I’m certain all disgustingly, terrifying insects are A-sexual males. girl bugs would never be such assholes) on the ceiling of our two-story high living room. How am I expected to enjoy trashy television or multiple, mind-numbing Sudoku puzzles when THERE IS A MOTH TWENTY FEET ABOVE MY HEAD?! I expressed an outward calm, as to not further frighten Nugget, nor feed into Husfriend’s blackmail material that, at this point, was growing by the minute. That man has accumulated nothing short of an arsenal of material over the past three and a half years. I can’t wait for the PowerPoint presentation at our mother of mercy when oh when eventual rehearsal dinner. Slideshows are lazy. Fly from right is where it’s at, yo. Fade.

About fifteen minutes passes and, by George, Husfriend has a brilliant idea. Now seems about the perfect time to pop a cap in this moth’s backend. I suppose he was pretty gangster, what with the whole breaking and entering business. Tisk, tisk. The weapons of choice: ball pit ball and Nerf dart, sans gun. Oh right, there was a dish towel hanging out of Moth Huntah’s back pocket, just in case our tiny convict was in close enough proximity for the age old “Towel Snap” method. I must have missed the part where we were all drunk on spring break at a wet t-shirt contest, or that it was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

While the Nerf-dart-sans-gun was remarkably unsuccessful at reaching the culprit cause of my increasing heart rate, the ball pit ball was a success…until the moth flew down to about the eight foot level of the room. I’m shrieking, SHRIEKING, in a pitch I didn’t even know was humanly possible while taking cover in the most nonsensical fashion on the floor, Nugget is now crying, “Night-night,” with the streaming tears and the most pouty bottom lip to boot. Husfriend, you ask? He thinks he has killed the moth. THINKS, people! While all of this thinking-I-am-moth-killah-hear-me-roar is carrying on, his little brain brews up an ingenious prank that involves a gasp, a toss of a pillow, and the subsequent horrified/angry/hilarious scream laugh that made him fear for his life. If just for one tiny moment in time. That man was sure that very day would be his last. Needless to say, I am still tending the side-split of the guffaws.

Fast forward to about ten minutes ago. I situate myself in front of the desktop computer, not to be confused with the make believe desktop computer, to write this here slice of magic, when, out of the corner of my eye, I spy a sonuvabitch. The moth that someone supposedly totally killed last night, is IN. MY. OFFICE. With a holler for help from beneath my desk (yes, I’m that quick to practice my disaster drills, ehem), The Moth Huntah reappears and smacks the thing dead, square on my wall. Not without a terror soundtrack to really set the mood for the kill. You’d think we were filming a second rate horror flick with how blood-curdling my screams are over a damned moth.

I’m going to attribute my mottephobia to that one time my dad towel-snapped a “hummingbird”, trapped it under the mop bucket, slid said bucket to the front door, lifted the bucket to free the bird, and…

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Everybody needs a little sunshine today.

Everybody needs a little sunshine today.

In the essence of The Universe being a royal asshat for myself and a gaggle of my dearest friends the past week or so, I’m outfitting today’s post with the best outlet of happy juice.

Sunflowers.

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How I Work

How I Work

I’m not the typical bandwagoner candidate for meme’s, but this one struck me, partly because we’re in the midst of a major thrust into the 21st century in terms of the office (and the technology therein), but mostly because I haven’t used my snazzy new camera since BlogHer and that’s just bad camera juju.

So here’s the tour, the inside look, the sneak peek, the bonus* track of my creative space.

The walking into space, more commonly referred to as “the doorway”. But I’m not common, and neither shall my space be defined as such, yo.

Please note the rarity of a small human being (who at the snap of this shot, had just run out of frame in the bottom left corner there) not perched in that corner chair with Agnes, hurling, slingshot style, angry creatures of flight at robust, snorting pork beings.

Ah, let the sun shine in, will ya! This is my Mecca for all random craps to be placed. It’s still organized chaos, but a far cry from my typical anal retentive habits for things on things where YOU CAN SEE THINGS!

Elves, Audrey, chocolate, business cards (yes, I take so many, I use a mail organizer for to stash store them), checkbooks, reading materials, viewing materials, audio materials, coins, candle holders, and don’t even get me started on the contents of those six drawers. Two of which? Won’t even open they’re so Thanksgiving-turkey-stuffed, yet far less tasty because there is no StoveTop involved. Well, there might be a box in there somewhere…

Every second of your “fashion” life Sometimes you need to indulge in fashion tips. Other times you need to reality check yo’self before you wreck yo’self with greed. Most of the time you need to experience the enlightening that comes from taking a peek inside the passion that drove others to success. In all fairness, it really boils down to memorizing the inflections of magical trains, taking a break to laugh your ass off to one of the best seasons of an extinct sitcom, and keeping your intimidating and ultimatum-ing skills fresh.

Ying Yang Twins, business cards, yarn, checkbooks, harmonica in C box lid, and a capo, naturally.

Now, toss two pennies in the “Grow A Family’s Peace of Mind” pot and get your earworm on.

Acoustics, and Collections, and Vinyls…OH MY! Probably one of my most favoritest corners of the office.

The boring-ish part. The work** part. The stereo, flashity-flash drives, mini speakers, Street Sweeper Social Club, files, files, files, and all adjacent to my stash…

…of cookies that are less of a hindrance and more of a delicate reminder, when reaching for an envelope or USB cord, to take a break for the enjoyment of their spare tire contributing goodness. Because, don’t kid yourself, you’ll end up eating six. (notice: almost void state of said cookie container, shall be void by completion of post) I’m certain this is the manufacturer of shelving unit accessories’ intention for hanging side baskets, by the way.

The factory. Where gold is churned and mostly misplaced because something crashed, something burned, something dumped and somehow I ended up over in this corner, rocking slowly in the fetal position, with crusty vomit in my hair and fear lasers shooting beams of hatred from my eyeballs. We’re obviously making a replacement to my technology parts. For now I rock the make believe desktop and outdated mouse pad, from radio days of yore, like a pair of jeggings on a Friday night. Awwww, yeah!

The crack pad. Always close by is the mighty Crackberry. Here she lies surrounded by AMPAD’s aplenty. It’s like Fred Flintsone meets Lady Gaga. Where’s my chisel?

The wall. The dripping with greatness, wall above all other walls. Literally, it’s on the second floor of the house so it couldn’t be more up there without technically being a ceiling. Cards and jokes and pictures and big clocks and bitch citations and memories and it has only just begun.

 

Now pardon me while my pantsless camera operator and I get our client video creation on using our makeshift green screen while our legitimato bad boy is in the hands of a dreamy UPS delivery man. The penguin will not be harmed in the filming of this short. There is simply no place for teetering penguins in Arizona real estate.

How do you work?

 

*Bonus: I usually do not sport this “bra” women who leave the confines of their homes speak about so lowly. You’re welcome for that post-baby, pancake boob mental picture.

**It’s not really work if what you do is sorta, kinda, like your mistress and stuff.

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Wordless Wednesday: Sweet Chariot

Wordless Wednesday: Sweet Chariot

Join the Wordless Wednesday fun and link up with Angry Julie Monday.

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Yesterday we did fun stuff.

Yesterday we did fun stuff.

In celebration of the Do Fun Stuff record, Nugget and I are taking a dose of inspiration from Ryan’s mad video skills and making tiny snippets of us doing some of the stuff he loves to do to the amazing music found on the album.

Last night, after a whirlwind day of stuffing our faces with pancakes and being strapped in a straight jacket car seat all day, Nugget’s fun stuff of choice was a combination of Angry Birds, Pacman, musical chairs and boogie time.

Take the time to #dofunstuff, kiddos or not, we’re all far too busy these days.

Do Fun Stuff Day One from Shuggilippo on Vimeo.

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