Get home from the movies.
Flip open the computer, check email.
No death threats for not giving Studio 60 an "A". Good news.
Turn on iPod. Continue to ravage the Hedwig soundtrack and covers album.
Start to write a blog entry about immature boy movies and the cuties who co-star in them.
Turn my head to the right, for no practical reason at all.
See squirrel twitch its way across my kitchen floor.
Look back at my computer.
Check to make sure I'm not dreaming, as this is an actual nightmare I've had. Many, many times. Squirrels in the house.
Not a dream. Squirrel in the house. Just...there.
Book out of the living room so fast, wantonly disregarding the welfare of my iPod (thanks be to god we're in the carpeted room).
Slam the door of my bedroom shut.
Realize I left my phone in living room.
So, yeah. There was a squirrel in my house. Where squirrels don't belong. We've been having remodeling done on the bathroom downstairs and the workers -- despite being told several times -- have insisted on propping the doors open pretty much all day. My main fear was that a bee would fly in, wait until I fell asleep, and sting me on my eyeball. I have such a thing about bees. Those are the nightmares I have when it's not squirrels.
The next half-hour included: yelling; door-slamming; quarantining the offending beast in my sister's room, where it could safely hide beneath the mountains of laundry; phoning my cousin the dispatcher to see if they could spare us a cop...so they could shoot the damn thing, I don't know; calling the rodent control guy (yeah...proud day for the Reid siblings) and getting his voicemail; calling Tara to apologize for cutting her off on IM, then answering no less than three times that, yes, I said "squirrel in my house"; considering opening the bedroom door and chasing the little critter out with a mop; recalling that scene from Christmas Vacation where the squirrel flies out the Christmas tree and latches onto Chevy Chase's face; thinking better of it; hanging halfway out my own bedroom window, trying to puncture a hole in the screen of Squirrel Room's window, hoping it'll just leave on its own; seeing my Dad try to climb out a tiny window and onto the roof; arguing over whether my sister -- if she made it onto the roof -- would get spooked by the beast, lose her footing, and fall to her death; a heated debate over whether she actually saw the squirrel scamper out the window and back into nature where it belongs, or if she was just hoping she did; scouring the apartment several times to see if Rocky there bit into anything with its dirty rabies teeth; and the every-hour-on-the-hour recurrence of the hibbity-jibbities, because there was a squirrel in my house!
Here's the deal, nature: STAY ON YOUR SIDE! I'll take the part with the linoleum and laptops and plumbing and microwave ovens. You take the part with grass and rain and birds and shitting on the ground. There's way more of it for you than there is for me. You get, for example, the entire ocean! I only get my house. Please allow me to keep that without having to resort to sleeping with a tennis racket in my hand. Because I will Sharapova your ass so fast, I swear to god. Grrr, nature! One of these days!