Last month I started the Rat Chronicles, a tale of terror. It has been so long since I blogged, I know most of you probably forgot what happened, Quick run down: I found poop in the floor, and I googled it, and it was a rat, and I tried to buy traps but I couldn’t find any for giant rats (They are so huge!)
So, after one night of sleeping in sheer terror, we call the landlord and he sends out the exterminator. The exterminator tells us that it is indeed a rat, and sets some traps. We are so confident that we are going to find a rat, I’m checking the traps every few minutes
I wake up the next morning to find…POOP ON THE FLOOR AROUND THE KITCHEN!!!!!
He’s a genius! So I name him Barnabe
We realize that he is eating the dog food. So, the next night, we put the dog food up. No poop in the kitchen, but Barnabe pooped around the traps! Then I put dog food around the traps. Barnabe eats the dog food, poops and doesn’t set off the traps. Then I get serious, I vow to emotionally destroy this rat!
I start doing things to him like, sneaking into the kitchen at night, while it’s totally dark and just screaming “Boo!” Then I start talking about him really loudly so that he can hear it and feel bad about himself. (Don’t think that matters? Well, roomie found out that rats are as cognizant as a five year old. So it totally matters) I also sang him a song about how he should leave, and…It worked!
(Ok so the exterminator came back and sealed up the spot where he was coming in, but I’m pretty sure it was my song that did it) So, no more rat. We will miss Barnabe, but not really.
In other news: Remember that grown up job I mentioned in my last post? Well, after 5 long weeks, the office ladies decided that they couldn’t take my Angry Birds phone case, the way I packed my lunch most days, and the way I didn’t feel I needed lypo. They sat me down and told me that I “Wasn’t professional on the phone,” “Didn’t fit in,” and “They had a feeling I wasn’t enthusiastic about my job” (enthusiasm is vital to being on hold with an insurance company for 3 hours of the day. Without it, office moral would be down…I mean if anyone talked to me, they could have seen that I was not enthusiastic and that could have pulled down office moral) In general, Shu Shu (Yep, that’s the name) had some very good reasons for firing me. (NOT) So, for 3.5 weeks I was stressed and depressed, then I got a telemarketing job. Where I have been told I am “professional on the phone” “Fit in,” and “boost office moral” Yeah so…they’re stupid and Taylor Swift writes songs about them.