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2004-06-19 @ 10:48 p.m.
the squirrels at assumption get more than I do

Anyone know how to get snake poop out of your clothing? Ok, it was entirely my fault. I admit it. After I went to see “The Stepford Wives” today (which had some really funny lines in it but was ultimately disappointing), I decided to go for a walk along our local canal system. It was a nice day. A little humid perhaps, but any day without snow, is a day worth walking.

So I was walking along and suddenly I see a snake slither by. And when snakey saw me, he started slithering like he was at the Olympic snake slithering try-outs. And then he abruptly tucked himself into a nearby rocky crevice. Unfortunately snake eyes aren’t so good, because his whole lower half was sticking out in plain sight, and I’m one of those girls who are totally fearless around snakes so I leaned over and pulled him out saying, “Oh, what a cute snakey. Hi honey!”

Well I guess me standing over it, and this giant hand reaching out of the sky was about akin to a Monty Python animation, because snakey truly got scared, and abruptly pooped and peed all over my pants, arm and hands. Ok, I totally deserved that. A giant hand coming out of fucking nowhere... AHHHHHH! I would be scared too.

I’m afraid of lint.

But the damage was done, so I decided to hold the snake from just slightly behind its head and stroke its belly really gently. ”Hi mr. snake. Hi! And then about every 23 seconds, it would try to bite the hell out of me. Its funny how wide a snake can open its mouth.

I used to have a snake when I was a kid. Just a little garter snake. His name was Mockaloo. He didn’t mind being picked up. We’d bring him to the dinner table and my mom would open her mouth really wide, as if to show him how to do it, and then the damn snake would imitate her. IT WOULD...HONEST! And then I would just be sitting there looking at my mom and looking at the snake, with both of their jaws nearly unhinged, thinking “Of course all mothers show their snakes how to eat dead flies at the dinner table.”

I did finally put the little fella back by the creek. But that snake pee...freakin' hell, it smelled like rotten gym socks that had fermented inside a casket. I had tried to wipe the poop off with a leaf, but it had the consistency of clay, so I merely smeared the whitish chipmunk remains across the bottom of my blue tank top. Yay for me.

And then I had to stop, rather ironically, at the Dollar Store, to get some toilet paper and while I was waiting in line, I could barely stand the smell of myself. Naturally I was behind Mr. and Mrs. Harley J. Davidson. The guy was skinny and veiny with a Harley Davidson t-shirt and a motorcycle chain attaching his wallet to his jeans. I was like duuude, I doubt if there’s more than about $20 in there and a few rolling papers, why the chain? And his girlfriend, who was also deeply tanned and leathery looking was buying some filmy lingerie...at the Dollar Store. The clerk had to hold it up to remove the sensor tag on it (heh, heh, sensor tags on lingerie at the Dollar Store. Ok, maybe only I think thats funny). The lingerie was like some ultra-cheap Frederick’s of Hollywood knock-off twelve times removed. But I’m sure the Harley guy was getting a hard-on just looking at it.

Good times tonight, baby, good times tonight!

So I was standing there with my toilet paper...a twelve pack. And as you know, you can never go to the Dollar Store and just get one thing. So I was also holding a gallon of car windshield washing solution, a litre of Diet Coke, a roll of paper towels, and some M&M’s

...and reeking of snake piss.

Gee, I wonder if anyone else is noticing this? And naturally Mr. and Mrs. Harley in front of me had a lot of stuff. How many people do you know go to the Dollar Store and spend $65? I finally had to ask Harley Dave if he could move his skinny, leathery ass out of the way so I could set some stuff on the counter, because between holding 10 pounds of Dollar Store stuff and smelling snake piss, I felt like I was about ready to faint. So he did so obligingly. Maybe he got a whiff of Wit.

Finally got home, literally threw all the bags all over the floor and ran into the bathroom and stripped naked (finally a valid excuse!), threw my clothes into the laundry, and washed my hands and arms like I was preparing for brain surgery down at County General.

Man, that’ll teach me to pick up snakes.

After dinner I took a walk down at the local cemetery. I used to love walking in cemeteries when I was younger. I’d bring my camera along and set up spooky time lapse photographic scenarios. You had to do this at night of course. I’d put my camera on a tripod, leave the lens open and then my friends and I would stand very still behind tombstones for like a minute and a half, and then we would run out of the frame and I would close the lens. And then when you would get the photos back it would look like transparent ghostly figures standing there. Bwaahhahhha!!!!!!

But tonight I was just walking. This cemetery is really huge, and mostly filled with Eye-talians. If your name doesn’t end with an “A”, an “I” or an “O”, you’re probably not planted there. It also seems like all the women are either named Rosa and Carmella and the guys are either Frank or Anthony. I do have one relative buried there. I’m not really sure how they got in, since we’re not Eye-talian. My uncle Junior is there. Its funny, we never called him by his real name, which I believe was Lee, just by Junior...kinda like in the Sopranos, except we’re not Eye-talian. Hmmm.

And there were certainly a lot of squirrels running around there. Lots of places to bury your nuts so to speak. So I was looking at the tombstones. And looking at the squirrels playing. And looking at the tombstones...Oh another Eye-talian named Rosa, how unusual...And looking at the squirrels...WTF?

I looked over and the two squirrels who had been chasing after each other amongst the tombstones were suddenly engaging in what could only be described as illicit activity.

Squirrel Sex. Like right in the middle of the cemetery. Like right between Frank and Rose’s religiously inspired hand carved memorial. The one festooned with pink plastic roses.

And then FWWWOOOOOOMMMMPpppPP!

Suddenly I was eatin’ grass. I had tripped over one of those nearly flat headstones and fallen face first into the newly mown grass at Assumption cemetery. Fruck.

Of course the squirrels didn’t notice. The squirrels at Assumption get more than I do.

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