But I Don't Like Snakes On My Head...

My office building has a small problem with unwanted creatures. The majority of the time it is limited to a stray mouse who has come inside searching for warmth or that stray candy bar in someone's desk drawer, but we also have bats who hang around in the parking garage and an occasional snake in the elevator by the back door.

However, whenever a new employee starts in our building, it isn't long before they hear THE creature story. The story that makes some rethink their employment. I wish I could say we are telling the story as some sort of hazing on the new person, but unfortunately it is 100% true. Snakes fall out of our ceiling. No, this doesn't happen everyday, but it has happened.

Recently it was time to tell the new girl about the snakes. (btw - this girl prompted the guy who sits next to me to send me an IM and ask if I was talking to Barbie) It just so happened that my very British friend Brian was standing there at the same time. So, I preceded to tell "Barbie" that we have had a previous incident of a snake falling from the ceiling and landing on an employee's desk while she was working. "Barbie" so eloquently replied, "but I don't like snakes on my head." (I'm assuming she thought the rest of us thought it was an employee perk!) Before I could think of an appropriate response, Brian, in his very proper British accent, replied, "that is why I carry an umbrella." I was biting the inside of my jaw to keep from laughing as I watched the wheels spin inside of "Barbie's" head as she contemplated walking the halls with an open umbrella. I assured her we had not experienced a snake drop in some time, but that she should keep an eye out as winter came closer. And, if the occasional one in the elevator bothers her, she should probably stick to the stairs.

I know I shouldn't laugh at someone else's expense. And really, I blame it all on Brian and his accent. It was funny though, and now the next time someone new starts and they hear the snake drop story, I'm sure someone will mention an umbrella. If I could just figure out a way to get HR to start putting them in the welcome bags...

Fears

Most people who have known me for any length of time already know what I am about to admit, but I still feel the need to make the announcement to the rest of you...

I HATE Clowns. More specifically, I'm scared of them. Yes, I realize I am a grown woman and that this is a completely irrational fear, but I don't care. I hate them and I have since I was a little girl. Their eerie white faces and big floppy feet are just not normal.

Why am I telling you this now? Because some well meaning friend just sent me a "Have A Nice Day" Hallmark card with a clown on the front. One of my co-workers almost peed himself laughing as he was able to witness my jump/roll chair back from the desk/slight scream reaction.

Go ahead and laugh at me. I'm used to it. It's not going to change my mind that clowns are evil.

And for those of you who think I've completely lost my mind, I leave you with three small words:
John Wayne Gacy

Mr. Pest

Recently we had a small ant problem in a confined area of our kitchen. It wasn't in an area where food was kept and the counter was cleaned and sanitized daily so I was a bit flummoxed as to where they were coming from. Well, after whacking away at the counter with a magazine one to many times, I called the pest control man. Of course the only time he could come happened to coincide with my husband being out of town. I dreaded this for a couple of reasons:

1) Our dog (Jake) goes looney whenever I'm home alone and a man other than Scott is in the house. (Not that I make that a habit, but you know what I mean.)

2) I'm a creature of habit and this was going to throw my schedule WAY OFF! I know, I know - get over it already.

So I put Jake outside and let Mr. Pest into the house. Now the ants must have heard me making the appointment because they are now nowhere to be found. Mr. Pest explains to me that this is the WORST possible scenario as that means they are now living inside the walls and the house will soon self-destruct from the inside out. I basically told him to stick his poison wand in the electrical outlet and give it a good squirt and I would take my chances on the house falling down around me.

Seeing as we have now discovered that the ants are building condos in my walls, Mr. Pest will of course have to spray the entire house as well as around the outside perimeter as opposed to doing a localized shot. I had expected this anyway, but by this time I was getting cranky and tired of dealing with Mr. Pest and the fact that instead of spraying he was leaning against my counter explaining proper preventative measures against roaches and other creepy-crawlies.

ANTS - we have ANTS

I was starting to weigh the cost/benefit of allowing Jake back into the house...

Finally he gets to work. Did I mention that our home has three stories? He wore a path in our stairs because apparently it is impossible to spray one floor at a time. First you spray all the NW corners of the rooms and then you circle back around and capture all the SE corners. Up and down the stairs, up and down the stairs...

By this time I was positive he was NOT a pest control man (but still quite certain he was Mr. Pest), but was in fact casing the house to come back later while I was asleep.

Time to meet JAKE!

I brought Jake in, keeping him on his leash, and allowed his death stare of protectiveness to be noticed. Mr. Pest finished up soon after that and launched into his sales pitch on monthly visits. Are you kidding me??? You have been here 3 hours (Truth!). I should have enough poison running through the walls of my house that the neighbors shouldn't even have to call pest control for the next year.

I wrote him a check and guided him firmly to the door as he continued to blather. Never again! I don't care if we become one of the lucky few in Tennessee who find snakes in their dishwashers, my husband will have to deal with it! Actually, if I ever found a snake in my dishwasher my husband would have to deal with it anyway as I would be dead of fright on the floor.

I don't normally buy into the traditional gender stereotypical roles, but of this I am now certain...the MAN should have to kill the BUG! Or at least deal with the other man who is killing the bug...

They have the same hands

I was watching my mother and my aunt the other day and for about the one thousandth time in my life, I noticed that they have the same hands. This similarity between them has always fascinated me as my hands are mine alone. They don't look like my mom's and they didn't look like my dad's. If I had a sister, they wouldn't look like hers either. The reason for this is of course the fact that I was adopted at the age of 18 days. I've always been open about that fact and have never minded discussing it or answering questions.

I tend to cycle through periods in my life when I start wondering about that "other" family that I have never met, and then not thinking about it for months. Lately though, it has been on my mind a lot more than normal. I think it came back to me the most aggressively a couple of months ago when the daughter of Christian recording artist Steven Curtis Chapman was killed in an accident. Steven and his family are wonderful advocates for adoption and had three adopted daughters of their own with Maria having been the youngest. I worked with Steven for many years, and was absolutely heartbroken when I heard the news. It is devastating when any child leaves this world too soon, but the Chapman family is strong in their faith and I knew that they would make it through and find their way to acceptance.

So now I'm back to thinking about my other "family". I use that term loosely as obviously my family is Ralph and Betty Kingery and all the aunts, uncles, and cousins that came with them, but for ease here, I will use that term. I know bits and pieces of information - she was 30/he was 35, she was English and Irish/he was Italian, she was married/but not to him. But I don't know the important things - what would I have been named, do I look like either of them, does he even know I exist? Does any of that even matter? Honestly - no. I have a fabulous family and have never lacked for love, but I still wonder some times about those missing pieces. I could have brothers and sisters in this world that I've never met. That is the one thing that gnaws at me over and over as I grew up an only child and always longed for an older brother. I've considered searching, but have always stopped myself before taking that next step.

My heart tells me that if I'm blessed with a biological child of my own that some of the void will be filled as I will be able to finally have the experience of looking at another human being and knowing my blood runs through them. But what if I don't have a biological child? Will there always be just a little something missing? Will I always marvel at the likeness of my mom and and my aunt and wonder what it is like to share that unbreakable bond? Or is that when the search for answers will begin?

I'm going to have to leave that question unanswered at this point.

My mom gave me a plaque when I was a young girl, and to this day I keep it hanging above my desk. Whenever these questions begin intruding and the confusion starts - the words always help to calm and comfort me:

Not flesh of my flesh

nor bone of my bone

but still miraculously my own

Never forget for a single minute

you didn't grow under my heart

but in it.

The Eyes Have It

"Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses"

Maybe that's true, but it doesn't stop complete strangers from commenting on them. I've had my current glasses for a couple of months now and I have been absolutely amazed by the number of people who seem fascinated with them. I am not exaggerating when I say that complete strangers come up to me and comment. I'm actually a little perplexed. Just today it happened again. I was standing in line at Panera Bread waiting for my order and one of the sandwich makers stopped what he was doing to tell me he really liked them. Granted, I love them and think they are cute and funky and match my style very well, but I still think the situation is odd. It never happened to me with any of my other glasses! I'm starting to think the blue glow has some special power over people's minds. Now if I can just decide whether to use that power for good or evil... LOL

I used to just write in a diary

I just spent the past 15 minutes writing up a new post to my blog. Hmmm...do you see it here? No? Well that is because internet explorer suddenly developed a "problem" and had to close. GRRR... I checked my drafts and luckily most of my post is still there, but I'm still going to have to recreate most of it and that isn't what I'm in the mood to do right now. The worst that ever happened when I wrote in my diary is my pen ran out of ink! The joy of technology...