THE BUG RESCUER

                In general, I am fearless around bugs; spiders, bees, etc. don’t even make me flinch. Usually, I try to “save” them if I can by gently carrying them outdoors. Recently, I saved a hurt bumble bee from a bathroom floor in my dormitory (bumble bees are just too adorable).

As a kid, my mom always told me to never kill bugs, no matter how small (this is coming from a woman who has owned 3 pythons since I’ve been alive). “It’s way more afraid of you than you are of it… unless it’s hurting you or very dangerous, leave it alone or put it outside,” she would always tell me, and that moral has stayed with me into adulthood.

I am particularly fascinated by spiders. My fiancé lives out in BFE, and his porch is riddled with giant spiders—not the friendly-looking kind, but the kind that could fuck shit up. On summer nights they have an all-you-can-eat buffet because all of the lesser bugs attack the porch lights then get caught in webs. It is really a sight to see. I appreciate spiders because they eat things that “bug” me (aha, pun). This includes June beetles (which I consider to be the stupidest bug on the face of the planet) and mosquitoes (which I am allergic to).

To me, it’s quite amusing, since I am surrounded by arachnophobia-riddled people. My dad has almost crashed his car multiple times because of spiders suddenly appearing, usually very tiny ones. I actually really want a tarantula, but my roommate threatened to drown it in the shower, and my mother claims they are too “dangerous.” Siiigh.

ANYWAY, enough about spiders…

Despite my generally badassness around bugs, I must make a confession: there is one bug that makes me rather uncomfortable. It’s the only one that makes me cringe and gives me goose bumps…

Centipedes.

(I actually got goose bumps looking up pictures of centipedes on Google images)

I’m not sure what it is about centipedes that make me uncomfortable. I think one of the main reasons is just how damn fast they are. I mean, the best glimpse you can get of a centipede is from the corner of your eye as it scurries across your floor.

I also read a story as a child about centipedes. In the story, a little boy notices more and more centipedes appearing every night in his room. Then, one night, a giant centipede comes and wraps up the little boy, like a rope. Then the other centipedes come to feed…

DFKGJDFGKDFG!

One day, I was confronted with a house centipede. They look like this:

 (scary mofos!)

 

I screamed, frozen on the spot as it ran under my oven. Despite my fear of the little things, I attempted to hold onto my morals. This left me in a state of inner struggle… do I kill it? Take it outside? Ignore it? Well, for damn sure, I was NOT keeping it in the house. It would find its way to me and smother me in my sleep, or wrap me up so its children could feed.     

I cautiously picked-up the dustpan. The centipede was fast and ran underneath the counter, right by my foot. I jumped 10 feet in the air and screamed enough for everyone in the house to hear (except I was alone, unfortunately). I gripped the dustpan tighter, flushed. My heartbeat increased, my pupils dilated, my hair stood on end… fear won over morals, and warrior mode kicked in.

The centipede had to be eliminated.

For the first time in my life, I threw a dust pan with the intent of death. An intense wave of guilt washed over me with each blow as I picked up the dust pan and continually dropped it on the centipede. “I’m sorry!” I cried out loud to the centipede, “But you came into my house! YOU CAME INTO MY HOUSE! I’M SORRY! YOU MADE ME DO THIS!” 

This continued for about 20 seconds. Then, as I went to pick up the dustpan, ready to drop it again for about the fifth time, I caught a glimpse of the centipede and paused. Enough of its legs were broken that it had slowed down, but it was definitely still alive (dust pans don’t do well as weapons—who knew?) I felt an overwhelming sense of pity and sighed. I couldn’t do it.

Using my dustpan weapon, I picked up the centipede (refusing to look at it) then threw it out my door, closing it behind me quickly. This all happened in about 5 seconds.

I didn’t have the nerve (or balls) to kill it. Instead, I disabled it then threw it into the wild. I still don’t know if that was the better option.

Sometimes, I wonder what it’s like to be that disabled centipede. I wonder if the other centipedes make fun of it. I wonder if it has a centipede family (I HOPE NOT). I wonder if it died or was eaten by another centipede.

I haven’t seen any centipedes since. I think the handicapable centipede told them to stay the hell away from the house of the crazy lady with the dustpan.

And for that, I thank thee, centipede.

CATS, PART I

I’m a crazy cat lady.

One of my favorite subjects to discuss (that also makes a great ice-breaker if you’re among other animal-lovers) is my pets. I think one of the reasons I love animals so much is because there was always at least one pet in the house when I was growing up. Usually, this was a cat—we’ve always had cats, so I’ve developed an innate fondness for them. In fact, my house is the one people bring stray cats to (whether we want it or not), because my mom and I can never deny a kitty. I used to pretend to be a cat when I was a child (this mainly involved laying on the back of the couch and licking my hands while purring; don’t judge me, I was 3).

 Very rarely, we’ve had dogs. My mother is not a dog person by any means, and the ownerships ended sadly. Our Huskie ran away, and my miniature Collie had to be given away because we could no longer keep her. Don’t get me wrong, I also love dogs (I consider my fiancé's dogs my dogs), but I'm definitely more of a cat person.

I love how cats retain some wild characteristics in them (dogs are arguably completely domesticated), and I love the distinct personality of every cat I’ve ever had. Cats are likewise drawn to me… I’ve been called “the cat whisperer,” and I once accidentally brought a stray cat to a house party because it wouldn’t stop following me (for blocks and blocks and blocks, even across busy streets).

Today, we have 3 cats, 2 snakes, 1 ferret, and 2 betta fish.  The snakes belong to my mother and brother, and the ferret belongs to my brother as well. Before I left for college, I used to keep pet rats (now I only have a fish).

Be prepared, because I’m about to blabber about my cats.

However, I promise you that they are indeed entertaining, and I’m not just a crazy cat lady with delusions of having awesome cats.

THE CAT TRIO

Jewel (the Badass): Jewel is the oldest (about eight years), and used to be my grandma’s before she passed away. We’ve had her about a year now. She’s a long-haired, silver point Siamese (AKA: she’s got silver colors instead of black). She is also the softest cat I have ever felt in my life, like chinchilla-esque.

Jewel is the badass of the group, probably because she is (the only) female and that’s how cats roll. She’s the only cat of ours I feel could handle herself outside, but she has no interest in going the outdoors. She doesn’t like other cats, especially the derp cat, because he tries to play with her and she won’t have it at all. However, she loves people and is often protective. But, like most cats, she can turn and maul you at any moment.

Lightning (the Lazy): If Lightning was human, I’m pretty sure he’d speak entirely in snarky comments. Lightning is about seven years old and was my 12^th birthday present. He’s a longhair Siamese and Ragdoll mix, as well as derp cat’s father.

Lightning is… lazy. A lot. He sleeps all day, every day. He also watches TV, and has a specific spot on the back of the couch. If you sit in front of him, he will take his paws on either side of your head and move your head from in front of the TV. He has the softest meow and is the quietest of my cats (probably because he’s too damn lazy to put effort into his meow). He also likes to claw the shit out of knees when he lays on your lap and will bite your hand if you stop petting him. Basically, he’s the slightly grumpy old man cat of the group (but he can be quite affectionate). He’s also the smartest, which makes me wonder how his son is so derp. Also, he’s allergic to fleas.

Frost (the DERP): Frost is almost two years old, and the son of Lightning and my dad’s cat Paris. He’s a Ragdoll/longhair Siamese/Tabby mix, but looks and acts just like a Ragdoll. He is probably the stupidest cat I have ever owned and, therefore, is the most entertaining.

(if you don't know what "derp" means, you lose the internet, but it's basically a way to say "duh" and signifies unimportant dialogue or stupidity)

I love derp cat. His other nickname is “SQUIRREL!” because he has a shorter attention span than a goldfish. We’ll be all, “Frost, don’t do that,” and he’ll understand for about 4 seconds, then turn around and do it again. He likes to run into walls, and his favorite mode of transportation is "swimming" across the carpet (basically, laying on his side and using his claws to pull himself across the carpet). Also, derp cat has “puppy dog eyes” and is ridiculously cute, so no matter what he does, he is innocent. He also goes through periods of extreme separation anxiety where he will proceed to follow you from room to room while yowling. After I left for college, my mom claims he was depressed for a while… then he forgot who I was.

Derp cat is my favorite to talk about because of all his quirks. He wants nothing more than to go outside. In my neighborhood, it’s really not the best idea to let indoor cats go outside (we live beside a busy road for my small town). He will wait by the door, staring at birds with a unfathomable longing.

Then give us those damn eyes.                                                              

We never let our cats out on purpose but our cats rarely listen, so they’ll wait for a door that’s open just a second too long and bolt. Lightning likes to eat grass then sit on the porch in the sun until he begs to come back in.

However, derp cat is a special case.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN HE GOES OUTSIDE.

What kind of cat doesn’t know what to do outside? He will hide underneath the porch and not come out for days. When he does move, it’s to another porch. He doesn’t hunt or eat anything… he just sits there. Under the porch. I have no idea what he’s thinking. It's very difficult to catch him because our porch is large, so by the time we are about to reach him, he's moved to another porch.

Then, when he’s in the grass, he’ll do that high-step thing that cats do combined with running, and it’s very awkward.

I’m pretty sure a bird of prey is going to snatch him up sometime soon.

UNTIL NEXT TIME, KIDDIES.

THINGS I DON'T LIKE, PART I

In general, I’m a pretty chill person. I get along with most people and like most people. But I’ll admit… sometimes I let the little things get to me, and I’m very good at ranting. Here are some things I’d like to rant about today.

LEGGINGS AS PANTS

I don’t care how fit or unfit you are. I could care less if your ass is so firm that you can bounce quarters off of it, or if arrives somewhere 10 minutes after you do. STOP WEARING LEGGINGS AS PANTS.  SERIOUSLY--I DO NOT WANT TO SEE WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE IF YOU HAD NO PANTS ON. A few times I’ve been able to see a girl’s BIRTHMARK on her ass through her leggings.  Just don’t wear pants at all, it’s the same thing. The ONLY ONLY ONLY exception is jeggings that actually have denim in them (not just the denim pattern), because those are just like skinny jeans.

CIGARETTES

I hate cigarettes. And no, this doesn’t mean I hate people who smoke cigarettes… it’s your life, do what you want. I just don’t like the idea of spending $6 for a pack of cancer, personally. I could just stand in front of the microwave for free. *

*JOKING, I know microwaves are harmless.**

**…maybe. This is up to debate according to the internet...***

***I'M NOT A DOCTOR, OKAY?!?!****

WHEN PEOPLE THAT ARE UNDERAGE TAKE PICTURES OF THEMSELVES DRINKING AND POST IT TO FACEBOOK

Sure, you have privacy settings so anyone who isn’t your friend can’t see the pictures (unless it’s your profile picture). But lemme tell you something: once it’s on Facebook, it’s always on Facebook. Seriously. Someone could easily send that picture around or save it, and Facebook has a longggggg memory. It’s not classy to take pictures of yourself holding a beer in your hand while making out with your best friend/vomiting/humping a pole (yeah, I’ve seen all of these on profiles of people I know), and it sure as hell doesn’t make you look cool… it makes you look like someone who is trying too hard to look like a “omg rebel hardcore partier LOL!!” (actually, I wouldn't advise posting the example pictures above even without alcohol or being 21 and up because you'll look like a douche). And yeah, the drinking age is ridiculous in this country, but posting pictures of yourself doing a keg stand isn't helping you "fight the power." Sure, people take pictures when they’re intoxicated and they’re funny, but it’s really not hard to remove the alcohol from the picture  if you’re underage.  ‘Nuff said.

ONIONS

I hate onions. I hate the way they smell. I hate the way they taste. I hate their texture. I hate how they are IN EVERYTHING. I hate how much everyone else loves them.  I hate them raw. I hate them cooked (unless they’re small). I hate them fried. They make people cry. This is obviously not a good vegetable. 

Until next time kids!

I LOSE EVERYTHING

Today I spent some time with my dad (biological dad, that is). Every now and then he'll come get me and we'll go on an adventure. Today involved Pizzazio's Pizza and Kmart shopping. My dad then left his keys in Kmart so we had to hunt for those. My dad is one of those people that loses EVERYTHING, and I swear it's genetic because I lose everything, too.
During school, my roommate Teagan always teased me because, not only do I lose everything, I have serious paranoia over the things I lose.
A normal person: "Aw, I lost something again. Better be rational and backtrack my steps."
ME: "OHMYJUMPINGJESUS SOMEONE BROKE INTO THE ROOM AND STOLE MY HAIRBRUSH/PILLOW PET/BOBBY PIN/SHAMPOO/SNAIL!!" 
And then, for some reason, it ALWAYS ENDS UP IN MY BED (no innuendo intended). 95% of the things I lose are in my bed or in my moon chair. Yeah, I dunno.

This paranoia mixed with an inability to admit when I have lost something is usually pretty damn funny, so I have great stories. One of the best and most ridiculous is the tale of the blue dolphin thief.

By blue dolphin, I mean those clear plastic dolphins that people often hang from rearview mirrors:

My very first car was a rust bucket of a truck. Seriously, the truck (a 1988 Chevy S-10, to be exact) had more rust than metal, and parts often fell off when I went over railroad tracks. I was desperate for a vehicle and it was cheap. What happened to that truck (named Teh Bukkit) is also a great story, but I'll save it for another time.

The previous owner had one of these awesome dolphins in his glove compartment. When I upgraded (barely) a few months later to a Buick, I kept the dolphin. He swung freely and happily from my rearview mirror for months.

ENTER: THE THEFT
One of the most awkward things in the world is making eye contact with old people at red lights. Generally, old people dig me, but occasionally I get the "disapproving" look. 
On this average day a year and a half or so ago, I happen to be at a red light when an elderly-driven (male) car with an elderly passenger (female) drove up next to me. I was in the normal lane and they were in the turning lane.
In general, the music in my car is pretty loud. This gets me in trouble sometimes (more stories for other times).
I tapped my thumb on the steering wheel, looking at my dolphin swing back and forth as I often do when I'm waiting.
Suddenly, our eyes met. Her face slowly curled into a rather disapproving look at the noise, while I noticed that she had the same dolphin hanging from her rearview mirror.

 AN ARTIST'S RENDITION ON MS PAINT.


After looking at her dolphin, I turned back to my rearview mirror to see mine.

IT. WAS. GONE.

My gut reaction: Logically, this meant that the dolphin that had been hanging from my rearview mirror was THE SAME ONE HANGING ON HERS. THAT OLD BEOTCH STOLE MY DOLPHIN!! RIGHT HERE, BY SOME FORCE OF TELEKINESIS OR BLACK MAGIC, SHE SNATCHED IT RIGHT OUT OF MY CAR!! She was obviously trying to send a message to today's youth: "Turn down your music or I'll steal... your plastic car ornaments! BAHAHA!" I was pissed. I was seriously going to start bitching, but the car sped off. 

After the initial anger wore off, I realized it made no sense. The lady wasn't that fast; it had only been a split second in between looking at mine then hers. Had some rogue stranger snatched it while I waited, oblivious as I stared at the lady? Why would someone steal my dolphin anyway?! Was there a crazy dolphin stealer on the loose?!?! Did I have a stalker taking items from me to build a shrine?!?! (Hey! Arnold style, of course).

The whole 20-minute drive home I contemplated: What was this madness?! I wondered if I was going crazy, and I mourned my dolphin. I left my car with a heavy heart and a sad glance. I could never look back.

 ME WITH A GIANT HEAD, MOURNING MY DOLPHIN.

It never occured to me that in that split second, the string holding my dolphin to the rearview mirror snapped.



The next day I found it under my passenger seat while looking for quarters.




P.S.: I really do say things like "ohmyjumpingjesus."

I GOT A BLOG, WHAT WHAT?

The facts are in... everyone has a blog (except for my mom and maybe your mom, too).

Be prepared to delve into my personal thoughts, what makes me tick, the very core of my being... okay, that was an exaggeration, but you get my point.
I don't want this to be another pretentious "emo" blog. For the most part, things will be light-hearted and filled with lulz (most of my observations about life induce teh lulz and are intended to amuse). Occasionally, I'll try to make you think, because thinking can be amusing, too.

Since we're going to be all intimate, I guess I should say some things about myself that aren't already in the tiny box to your left.
-I attend Allegheny College in Meadville, PA. It's a tiny school in a tiny town. You run into your fair share of snobs like any other rather expensive liberal arts college, but for the most part, people are nice and interesting.
-I'm engaged. Yes, engaged. Your first thought: "SHE'S 18! SHE'S THROWING AWAY HER FUTURE! DOESN'T SHE WATCH JERRY SPRINGER?!?!" And no, I'm not dropping out of school or procreating. We both agreed on a long engagement (until we're both out of school), so the wedding date has been set for 2015. And yes, he's a very good guy. (: The best guy.
-I have the weirdest yet coolest family. You'll find out about them later; I won't spoil the fun. 
-I have awesome friends. Sure, everyone has awesome friends, but I think mine are at an even higher level of awesome because they put up with me.
-I am a biology major, and I intend on pursuing a career in genetics.
-I know this blog won't make me famous :( It's just for funsies.
-I can't draw very well on a computer... but I might have some illustrations in here (or at least things I draw on).
MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT DRAWING SOMETHING IN GIMP:

Yeah, I know that was bad.
-I won't update this every day. I got stuff to do (sorta), y'know?
You'll find out more things later.


So anyway, yes, this is my blog.
And I'm Tay.

THANKS FOR READING.