Why I need a blow-gun, and other news

Today ended in typical Monday fashion, with me trudging maggot-covered trash from bin to curb. For those of you unfamiliar with my past rubbish debacles, I have a garbage can whose lid mysteriously disappeared several months ago. Since then I have had some troubles. Firstly, the absence of lid is practically an invitation to flies to deposit their disgusting offspring near what is apparently a tasty meal of leftovers, and assorted other nastiness. Secondly, I have also had to contend with pesky passers-by tossing their gas station debris loosely in MY garbage pail. One might say “Gee Jennifer, what’s the big deal about a few extra slurpy cups”? Well, I will tell you what the big deal is all about. As my small town lives in an era where mechanized trash pick-up remains a misty dream in the far off future, we are restricted to only placing bins on curbs that have less than a 40 gallon capacity (for those of you on the metric system, sorry, my lousy degree is in Liberal Arts, so you’ll have to do your own conversion here). Unfortunately, hubby and I had missed that handy piece of fine print when we purchased our 50 gallon container. That being said, we must individually place bags at curb (if trash output exceeds two bags, we must pay for additional tickets which must be then affixed to any extraneous trash bags). It is very irritating when, safely garbed in rubber gloves; I must collect other’s soggy, larvae-covered junk and properly place it in bags. This leads us to my third garbage problem. Lately, a pack of ravenous somethings has been mucking about in my bin. For those of you who have yet develop a murderous rage for unseen assailants, let me tell you how it feels. Oh… how ever lovely is it to pick up (again with the gloves) what you believe to be a firm and solid bag of refuse only to have the bottom of it erupt all over your freshly washed, indoor/outdoor, hard-to-find, butchy ladies’ slippers (why they were recently washed is a another story all-together)! Me thinks I would like an aboriginal blow-gun equipped with deadly poison tipped darts. That-a-way, I can stake-out the bin after a particularly odorous batch of trash has been put out. For those of you who would pity any poor, cute, and neigh, cuddly creature, driven by hunger to invade my garbage,… balls to that! I would shoot my poisonous dart in to the furry bottom of any kitty, possum, raccoon, or random homeless man who would dare make an appearance. Anyone know where I might get a gun like that?
In other news, we got carpet. YES, fuzzy, cushy, just plain awesome carpet! You see, due to some poor animal control on the part of previous tenants, we were left with stripped hardwood that some poor idiot though might fare well with a coat of cream-colored paint. The brilliance of this plan faded mere days after our move-in. Our downstairs is rather large (upstairs fared better and was allowed to have replacement carpet instead of paint from the get-go) and with two dogs, a long-necked furry creature, two children, and plenty of visitors, the shiny veneer of this paint job was quickly tarnished. Additionally, anyone who has ever tried to sweep dog fur off of painted hardwood can tell you its sorta like a three-legged dog trying to catch a squirrel. So today, as the three of us are sitting on the stairs watching the carpet men perform their wondrous magic, eyes tearing up with sheer joy (carpet men must have wondered if we were refugees from a fundamentalist cult, never allowed the pleasure of plush flooring), it occurred to me that I will need to have my German shepherd de-clawed. Again, any suggestions as to where one might get this sort of procedure would be kindly appreciated. The carpet men were also amused by my recent attempt at bathroom décor. I’ll be sure to let you know how that goes

I designed and posted this picture behind my toilet in an effort to direct the peeing efforts of both literate, and illiterate males.