Oh, how boring

See, I'm a tad bit anal. But only about certain things. I don't need things to be clean in my home or in my office, but I do need them to be put in the correct place. I think this skill (oh, and it IS a skill) comes from growing up in a tiny house with a mother who couldn't throw anything away (cough, still can't, cough).

Organization. It gives me a freakish high. I love moving into a new place. Why? Because I get to figure out where to put a million little things! What's better than that? I hate to lift boxes, but put them in a room and I'll put everything away for you. I love helping friends move for this very reason. The kitchen is my favorite part. Figuring out what's used frequently and what's not and determining what cabinet will fit all the plates, spices, fancy glasses, pots and pans, and pantry items. My little slice of heaven.

Ok, I swear this is one of my only quirks. For your boredom, allow me to show you an example of my organizational skills.

Spice drawer after my husband has messied it up for a couple of months.


Spice drawer after my beautiful touch.


"A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING IN IT'S PLACE" - Some guy who probably didn't want to be known for that quote. No, I take that back. It was definitely a woman.

Bugs...A hate story.

Bugs. They're ugly. And crawly. And creepy.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy neat bugs. I enjoy them at the zoo. Behind glass cases.

When we moved to Kentucky last summer, I suppose it was just too late in the summer (mid-August) for the bugs to...bug me. Because over the past month, I've had a few too many run-ins with bugs.

This little guy seems harmless. My friends in the Entymology Department at UK (website) confirm this. But he's scary. He's scary when he shows up on the wall. He's scary when Max chases him. He's also scary when he shows up IN THE SHOWER. I'm sure Max & J were both wondering what the heck was going on when I dripped all over the bathroom screaming (yes, now you're thinking about me in the shower).

I also had the scariest encounter I've ever had with ants a few nights ago. It was late (those of you who know me know my nocturnal hours) and I took Max out for a bathroom break before bed. I was outside a total of 45 seconds. When I walked back into the apartment, I felt something on my foot. I looked down and I had about 50 ants crawling on my ankles and feet. Of course, I screamed, shook, stomped, and slapped the crap out of my legs. J thought I was on fire. I still have no idea how that happened.

My last negative encounter with bugs came when I went to refill Max's food bowl and noticed a trail of tiny ants. Yes, I realize ants are generally tiny. But these were super tiny. Maybe baby ants like puppy food? So of course, I had to wash down the area (tip: vinegar worked!) and move Max's dining room to the other side of the kitchen.

When did I become so squeamish about insects? I used to pride myself on being the girl who would bravely grab that crawler and place it outside. Or, walk over and stomp that cockroach with a flimsy flipflop.

Every time I scream, a little piece of my tomboy childhood dies. Every time I call for my husband, a little piece of my feminist, independent spirit dies.

But this story has a happy ending. Earlier this week, I was driving to school and noticed that a spider had built a little web from my rearview mirror to my driver side door. Spidey was quickly trying to make it back to the little gap between the mirror and the plastic doohicky that surrounds the mirror. I found myself picturing Spidey as Charlotte, desperate to save herself and her eggs as the 40 mph winds whipped by. So I slowed down. And Charlotte made it back into her cave. EB White saved your life bug. Now make a web that says, "MERCIFUL" and dedicate it to me.

Who could have thought that I could spend this much time writing a boring post about bugs?