Jim vs the Water Possum

On Thursday night Mike and I went out with Mike's friend Jim. As we walked to Pizza Shuttle to get some dinner, he told us that he read my blog and that he liked Mike's plan to dump the water possum in the river.

I was extremely pleased that he used the phrase "water possum" because I think it's catchy, and I made it up myself. For the rest of the night we talked off and on about the water possum and possible ways to dispose of it. After dinner we came back to the apartment and Jim saw the possum for himself, and agreed that there would be no convenient way to dispose of it. As we were walking to his car so we could drive to the bar, Mike mentioned, "Too bad we can't just pay someone twenty bucks to get rid of it for us."

Jim perked up. "I'll do it. Twenty bucks? I'll do it."

With that he turned around and marched purposefully back to the apartment. "C'mon," I said, grabbing Mike's hand and pulling him back to the apartment. "Let's go see if he's really going to do it."

When we got there Jim was squaring off with the trash can, deciding the best way to proceed. I was giggling uncontrollably and Mike asked me to go to his car and grab a flashlight so he and Jim could see on their trek down to the river.

Jim tried to lift the trash can, but it was quite heavy. After all, it was three-quarters filled with water. He decided that he wouldn't be able to carry it all the way to the river, so he'd better dump a little of the water out first.

Unfortunately, along with the water came the possum. It was no longer entirely solid, so it kind of gooshed over the side.

Mike and Jim used their Boy Scout experience to verify that the water did, indeed, smell remarkably like a latrine. Since the possum was on the ground they decided to just dump out the rest of the water and place the can over the possum. Jim offered to spray the trash can out with water, but Mike assured him that we'd never use the trash can for anything. Ever. Not even garbage.

We gave Jim ten bucks because he didn't make it to the river, but he did change the resting place of the possum somewhat.

Last night Mike and I related the story to my friends Ross and Meghan as we watched a band performance outside in a park. I think they had trouble relating because things like that never seem to happen to them, even though they own a house.

So now we have a possum under a trash can, and our plans are getting more desperate. Ross suggested that we wait until winter when the possum is just a block of ice. Mike said that maybe if we left the possum exposed, pigeons would eat it. I hoped that if I paid a group of under-agers a case of beer, they'd at least fling it into the neighbor's yard with a shovel.

All I know is that the score currently sits at Humans 0, Water Possum 1, and I don't like being beaten by something that's been dead for a month.

The Adventures of Night Spider and Water Possum

Y'know, for an apartment in the city this place of Mike's (and mine) has an awful lot of wildlife. Animals are all over the place. And I don't mean the cute type of animals that are around my parents' house in the country, either...these animals are menacing.

Outside our front door are two spiders that are somewhat unique in that they only come out at night. I have no idea where they live during the day which kind of freaks me out, but I do know where they sit after dark. One lives below a mailbox, and the other has its web strung across our front window. I've taken to watching it at night, monitoring it, really, and I swear it's getting bigger. Mike says they puff up right before they die, but I think he's telling me fibs.

Now, I hate spiders. I hate them so much. And normally Mike is my willing spider assassin, but this time he seems reluctant to squish the things. I'm not sure if he's genuinely attached to the spiders or if he thinks I'll just get over my aversion if I can get used to them, but either way he hasn't offed them yet. He's even gone and named them. Peter and Paul. I've decided to just not go in or out the front door after dark.

Normally that wouldn't be a huge deal since we have a back door to our apartment too, but I don't want to use that door either because of the water possum.

To be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure that it's a possum out there. I just know that a couple of weeks ago something fell into our rain-filled trash can and drowned, and is now floating there, face-down. I saw it once and since it was gray and vaguely the right size, I figured it was a possum. It could be anything though...it could be a stuffed animal, or a huge rat, or a bad toupee, or a terrier. I suppose we'll discover what it is when the trash can gets dumped out. And, to be completely honest again, I don't think that's a discovery we as tenants should have to make. This is why God created landlords. Mike, however, feels that since our landlord lives in another state he shouldn't be called about this, especially when Mike can take care of it himself.

Mike has formulated two plans to deal with the water possum:

1. Put on gloves and one of the gas masks*, carry the trash can into the river, and dump it out there

2. Dig a big hole, dump the contents into the hole, let the water seep into the dirt, and then shovel the dirt over what's left - the water possum

Neither of the plans is foolproof, though, so Mike's going to keep thinking. Whatever he comes up with, I want to help him, since it is such an unpleasant task. Unfortunately I'm very squeamish, so the only help I can be counted on to give is standing back from the thing and saying "Ew!" over and over.

I'm telling you people, it's a jungle out there.




* Yes, we have more than one gas mask around here

Oh, maturity!

Yesterday I nearly got into a flicking war with my sister while we were with my mom in the middle of a JoAnn Fabrics store. She flicked me with her finger, so I started squaring off with her, even starting to chase her a little, in an attempt to flick her back. Then I realized that we were in public. And, uh, not six years old.

I'm astonished that my mom goes anywhere with us ever.

Yours, Mine, & Ours

I've begun the slow process of moving into Mike's apartment. I don't have many boxes, so last night I took some things to Mike's place to unpack so I could bring the boxes home again to reuse.

Tomorrow someone's coming to look at the place - someone who, hopefully, will take it for the month of July so I can be let out of my last month of rent. I'm trying to make the apartment put its best foot forward by cleaning and spackling tonight. The place is getting that depressing, half-empty look that apartments get when you're moving out. At least I'll probably only spend two more nights here - tonight and Thursday.

Last night Mike did a good job of putting up with me as I unpacked, urged him to clean, and put about 10,000 nail holes into his walls. It always feels like home to me when my things are on the walls, and Mike had encouraged me to decorate the living room, kitchen, and bedroom in any way I wanted (and I encouraged him to retain custody of the computer room...after all, he should get a room too).

One thing that trips me up, and probably will for awhile, is the concept of his vs. mine vs. ours. He's slipped effortlessly into referring to everything using the plural possessive, but I'm having more trouble. Whenever I use phrases like, "your computer room," or "my books," he smiles and says, "Our computer room. Our books." It'll be awhile before that's second nature, just as it took awhile for the phrase, "I have to talk it over with Mike before I decide" to become automatic. After four years of living by myself, making decisions by myself, and owning all my stuff myself, it's quite a change. Not in a bad way, either. It's just hard to change your language use, and now I'm getting a taste of what I ask my kids to do every day.

I should get back to cleaning and packing. I want this place to scream, "Live in me! Love me!" tomorrow.

Weekend Update

I haven’t been writing lately because I’ve been busy. Well, I guess I’ve been busy. I certainly haven’t been productive…on Friday it seemed that Mike’s place was no cleaner than it was last weekend, and my apartment was no less packed up, and those were the two major things I wanted to accomplish this week. But I must have been doing something all this time, ‘cause it feels like I’ve been running around like a crazy person.

I had a nice weekend. Mike and I both had Friday off, so we spent the day hanging around his apartment, trying to do some cleaning. We also took his cats to the vet to make sure they weren’t harboring any germs that could set off my poor little FIV+ Rusty. The vet put up with my feline hypochondria very well and reassured me that his cats were the picture of health. Mike was gloating for the rest of the weekend about what good cat parents we are.

Yesterday we spent most of the day at an engagement/marriage workshop put on by our diocese. It’s a requirement for anyone getting married in a Catholic church in southeastern Wisconsin. Although I had fairly low expectations for the thing, it was actually pretty interesting. Mike and I had to talk about all kinds of things that we hadn’t considered before, so it was pretty good. We got big, thick workbooks to go through and we decided to save them for car trips.

After the marriage workshop we went box hunting (alas, we only got one free box!) and went to Michael’s so Mike could lust after wooden boxes. I picked out a little rubber heart stamp. This is the stamp it makes:

I’ve read a lot about themed weddings, and making everything look uniform. I’m too lazy for that, but I figured that if I used this stamp on our website, our invitations, our programs, and on other stuff like place cards then it would look unified. It would like I made an effort. Plus, since our wedding colors are red and white I can just get cheap white stuff and a red ink pad and it’ll all look the same.

<>I wonder what would happen if I used my intelligence for good instead of for laziness?

Today we went to church and I came home to pack, pack, pack. My apartment is starting to get that depressing, halfway-vacant look that places get when you’re in the process of moving out. I’m glad that I’ll be spending a few nights in Mike’s apartment this week – I always hate being around during this period of moving.

Tonight I shall journey to Walgreens to get a prescription and a magazine for my mom. It’s such a glamorous life.