It's Full Moon Friday!

There is weirdness afoot.  It started off at Weight Watchers this morning, where a senior citizen dropped trow so he could be weighed in all of his SILKY BOXER GLORY! 

Despite not tracking my points and eating poorly, I lost a little bit of weight this week, so I left WW feeling not so bad.  Then my weight Watchers buddy, Stacy and I went to get coffee. Once there, we noticed a couple in Starbucks with us.  

Him- kinda douchey, too much gel in his thinning hair and full of himself, probably late 30's- early 40's. 

Her- HUGE, bulbous, fake boobs, canary yellow lace top and skin tight jeans, both probably straight out of the Frederick's of Hollywood Catalog, probably in her late 40's- early 50's.  

They were glued to one  another, a little too much PDA for morning in the coffee shop. They were making a bit of a spectacle of themselves. Stacy & I were both trying to stifle our giggles at the plastic cougar/douche make out session going on in our little 'bux in the burbs. 

We got our coffee, visited a little and then I went to my car.  Douchey dude is standing behind my car looking at my bumper stickers.  

Him: "I gotta ask, are you a supporter of Obama"? 

Me: "Proudly.  I take it you're not"?  

Him: "No. I was just curious because you have this 'I support perineums' sticker too". 

Me: "That's because I help deliver babies".  

Him: "Oh bless you. You have quite a collection of stickers here". 

I knew what this guy was up to.  I was not having it. I had not even taken a sip of my coffee.  The layers of my caramel macchiato had not even been mixed up yet.  I was not going to let this right-wing-nut-job 'educate' me.  

Me: "There are a few I still have to put on.  I need to apply my 'I stand with Planned Parenthood' sticker, my 'I support Marriage Equality' sticker and my 'I'M A GUN-TOTING LIBERAL DON'T FUCK WITH ME' sticker".  

(I don't really have the last sticker) He looked a little shocked and just mumbled "Have a nice day" and got into his car.  

Based on his drawl, I could tell this dude was a tourist.  I know I am not supposed to fuck with the tourists in town.  Our town's economy depends on them.  But if you are going to stalk my vehicle and then try to start something with me about how you think the president is not a citizen, is a socialist or give me shit about my "Choice" sticker, I am going to make sure you know that I am not going to take any shit from you.  I have a sharp wit, a sharper tongue, a BIG husband, a little gun and a lot of ammo.  DON'T FUCK WITH ME, TEABILLY.  

Twammogram, The Turd...Ahem, I Mean, The Third Times a Charm?

It's been six months, time for me to take my abnormal boobs back to the Women's Imaging Center for the third installment of "Twammogram: Live-tweeting my mammogram".  

I had to go again because my boobs are weird.  The saw the same thing on the second mammogram that they saw on the first.  Nothing new appeared, nothing grew, nothing disappeared, nothing looked cancerous.  These every 6 month check ups are basically 'cover your ass mammograms'.  My doctor's secretary is really good about caling me the minute it is time for me to do my follow up.  She makes me call her back when I have my appointment to let her know when I am going.  She is very persistant.  I made my appoinment and let her know.  Then I let Twitter know.  

When the day arrived, big news was breaking.  It looked like the President of Egypt was finally stepping down.  Great news for the citizens of Egypt, not so great as far as getting folks to pay attention to my tweets and raise awareness about annual breast cancer screenings.  But I just went with the flow and tweeted merrily along.  I have done my best to put these tweets in order.  You will notice that after the news hit that Mubarak was not stepping down, the tweets got funnier and the conversation went a little off topic.  I was laughing so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I had to share it with you.  

FOR SOME REASON BLOGGER ATE THESE IMAGES.  I WILL TRY AND FIND THEM AND REPOST. 

So there you go, if your name is Tits Pervert, Tits McGee, Chesty LaRue or Busty StClair or even if it isn't- if you are over 40 (or have a family history of breast cancer) make your appointment now for your mammogram!  It's lots of fun!

Thank You Michele Bachmann (video)

Here are my tweets (and others) preceeding, and during, the Tea Party response to the State of the Union. Video of the short speech is at the end of this post. Enjoy. 

RT @Ali_Davis: OK, giving in and switching to Bachmann. Preparing for armpit noises. #SOTU

RT @gigibsohn: You know how far CNN has fallen when you wish that Michelle Bachmann would hurry up and speak.#SOTU

RT @joanwalsh: Bachmann's speech delayed while she learns about the Civil War, which side won, and that George Jefferson was NOT a founder

RT @elonjames: I'm expecting all sorts of crazy person magic from Michelle Bachmann... #SOTU

I'm pretty sure that this is going to be my favorite part of the night. Moonbat Bachmann, please don't disappoint me.#CrazyTrain #SOTU

This already has the aroma of infomercial. #CrazyTrain

RT @emokidsloveme: Oh dear, Michele Bachmann took the smokey eye and set it to raccoon. #Crazypants

CHARTS! GRAPHS! CRAZYPANTS! #ShadesofPerot

RT @KeithOlbermann: MICHELE! Hey! Yoo-hoo! CONGRESSWOMAN! We're the ones in the MIDDLE #sotu#InsaneClownResponse

RT @DustyTrice: Michele Bachmann Translation: I'm so important. Look at me. Here's a chart. Obama is Hitler. I'm using a teleprompter.

RT @txvoodoo: Oh, Michelle Bachmann - shine on, you crazy diamond.

RT @delrayser: There is clearly something shiny just to the left of the Tea Party camera. #bachmann #magpie

RT @PFTompkins: Are her eyeballs CGI? They're not quite synced up with her faceplate.

I CAN'T STOP FUCKING LAUGHING. I'M LAUGHING SO HARD THE DOGS ARE HOWLING! OMG!

RT @owillis: please have bachmann respond to every obama speech. i will donate to ensure she's on every channel.

YOU GUYS I AM LAUGHING SO HARD. I CANNOT STOP. SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE HER STOP. IT HURTS.

RT @DaveHolmes: This is like Sunday School and I'm in trouble but the kid to my left is not.

RT @emokidsloveme: She just mispronounced Iwo Jima.#Teabags #GirlStop

I think I have to rewind that to watch it again. That was so awesome. I have tears I was laughing so hard.

RT @lid86: Omg, we should always have a comedy show following the #sotu. Thank you, Michelle.

I can honestly say I didn't understand a word she said because I was laughing so hard. Just watching her sent me into fits of laughter.

RT @delrayser: No no, God bless YOU, crazy lady who just made my night.

I am writing to my congresspeople tonight to demand that Michele Bachmann respond to every speech POTUS gives from now on. #LovedIt

Michele Bachmann is a lovely gift to America.

I need a link for Michele Bachmann's speech. I want to watch it when I'm feeling sad. That shit is better than Prozac!#CrazyTrain

RT @shannynmoore: I feel like someone is sneaking up behind me after watching Bachmann. Who was she looking at and does he have a big knife?

Rep. Bachman, Thank you. I have not laughed that hard in a long time.  Your performance was awesome. Please do that every time President Obama gives a speech. 

How Paul Became Mr. Misha.

Okay, so there have been some requests to hear how Paul became Mr. Misha. I wish I could find our emails that we exchanged...they are truly hysterical. But alas, after transferring my documents from computer to computer over the years and also going from PC to Mac...some stuff has been lost. I will try and do my best to give you a taste of what transpired. Here goes:

I was cruising around match.com looking for my future husband. The pickings were a little slim within a 50-mile radius of Napa. So, I widened my search. On the list, was a guy with the display name of "Pete Moss". He had a devilish grin and his quote was something like "my mama raised me right". I read his profile and thought, "This guy has potential.” Match.com had just come out with this new thing called a wink. You could wink at someone and let him or her know that you were interested in him or her. It is a way to communicate your interest without composing a witty email. 

So I winked at "Pete Moss".

I expected him to email back or ignore it. Paul didn't email me- instead he winked back. What I didn't know is that it was 4 days after payday and Paul was broke. Paul will tell you himself, he is the richest man in the world for the first three days after payday and the poorest for the next ten. I was a day late. I was a little annoyed; I had just worked 4 nights in a row and wasn't feeling particularly witty. He was forcing my hand. So I wrote back and called him a stinker.

While I was calling him a stinker, Paul was trying to borrow enough money to renew his lapsed membership. 

Paul found the money and wrote me back. He wrote that he had done some Internet searching and found out that I had witnessed "a whacking in Cotati". He wrote that I would be going into the witness protection program, would soon be taken to a desert island and the FBI needed some information on my likes and dislikes to make my stay more comfortable.

I can't remember all of the questions, but here are some: 

10 favorite movies, 

10 favorite TV shows,

10 favorite books,

10 favorite albums, 10 favorite foods. I wrote back and explained to him that when I was in Cotati, I was a drunk bridesmaid and that I was rolling around on the pool table with the bride, reenacting the "Like a Virgin" video. I could barely remember the name of the groom the next day, let alone testify about a whacking. I went ahead and answered his questions. I found out later that he was a little hesitant to continue corresponding with me, because I was "A Reader". 



We emailed back and forth for about a week and then progressed to telephone calls. He was cracking me up. I was really digging him. We finally agreed to meet and he volunteered to come up to Napa for our date. 

I was house sitting for a nurse colleague of mine. So, I felt pretty safe having him come to HER house.

I had my chaperone all set up but Paul foiled my plan. He was FOUR HOURS LATE! He kept emailing and messaging me to let me know he was going to get there eventually. 

When he finally arrived, all forlorn and apologetic, I couldn't find a chaperone. So, I risked it and went out to dinner with him.

He seemed nice, but he wouldn't look me in the eye. He kept averting his eyes when he would talk with me. I didn't know what was up. I thought maybe he was trying not to stare at my chest. 

After dinner, we went back to the house. We sat in the living room and talked, for hours. Paul fell asleep, mid sentence, around 4 a.m. I woke him up and put him in the spare bedroom. There was no way he could drive back to San Jose. I went to the master bedroom, locked the door and went to sleep. 



About 6 hours later, I hear a knock at the door. It is Paul, with coffee and donuts. So, we sit out in the backyard, drinking coffee, eating donuts and smoking' cigarettes. His phone rings, it is his mom. She asks him how his date went. He tells her "I am still on it, Mom". He then holds the phone so I can hear her reply...in her thick Polish accent she says, "Pawel, you were gentleman, yes?” I almost snorted coffee out my nose. Paul reassures his mother that he was a gentleman and slept in the spare room. Paul tells his mother he will call her later and hangs up. 



We spent about 4 more hours together. We drove to the house his parents owned in Napa when he was born. He made fun of my laptop and tried to make it run faster. He still never looked me in the eye.

I Should Have Gone To Spin Class.

A long time ago, I joined match.com. (It's how I met Mr. Misha) Some of my family, friends and coworkers were worried that I would get killed by a psycho or sold into slavery by a man I met on the Internet. My argument was always, "Yeah, because psychos and slave traders NEVER hang out in bars! ".

Match.com was a good place to meet men. I work in Labor and Delivery; I certainly wasn't going to meet any single, unattached men that I would date there. I worked in a bar during nursing school, not necessarily the best pool of men to choose from. My friends were not introducing me to anyone, so why not match.com? You could screen the guys...Pick their (reported) ht, wt, body type, hair style, eye color, salary range, religion, educational level, if they wanted kids..........and many other descriptors. You couldn't do that in a bar!

Dating while at times somewhat depressing had its benefits. It made me more fastidious in my personal care: I went to the gym, had regular appointments for hair cuts/colors, facials, manicures and bikini waxes. I wore something besides sweats and scrubs. I ate at some really good restaurants. I actually traveled outside of Napa. Heck, it got me out of the house and away from the TV. But the biggest benefit, aside from meeting my husband, was the hilarious stories it provided. After each date, I would get at least 5 phone calls from friends/coworkers who wanted to hear how the date went. I knew that they secretly were hoping it was a strange guy...they wanted to hear the funny story!

I went on a LOT of first dates. In fact, I can count on one hand how many guys I actually went on 2nd (or more) date with, one of which is now my husband. My match.com mentor had given me a set of rules to follow. I agreed to them, but added my own. I always had a chaperone, it was a covert chaperone, but I was never really alone. I never had a hard time finding someone to "go" on my date with me. The married/couple friends liked the date night. My single friends did it so I would reciprocate as their chaperone. Most of the time, my chaperones remained anonymous. Every once in a while, I would "fess up" and let my date know we were not alone. The guy was usually a good sport about it. They understood that a girl needed to be careful and were impressed that my friends were supportive of me.

The chaperone thing worked out well, most of the time...There was this one time where the funniest part of the story was not the date, but the chaperones.

I had started talking to this guy. He was nice, smart and in his emails and phone calls, absolutely hilarious. He looked nice in his picture, a little on the skinny side for my taste, but nice enough. After talking/ exchanging emails for a while, we arranged to meet. I picked one of my favorite places to eat, Bistro Don Giovanni. I had no problem finding a chaperone for the night. My friends, Deb and Brenda loved to eat there, so they eagerly volunteered.

Date night arrived; Deb and Brenda got to the bistro first and were seated in the main dining room. They had told the maître d' what was up, so they assumed that he would seat my date and I close, but not to close. Well, that didn't happen. I met the guy in front; we went inside and were seated in the patio area. I was not able to see Deb and Brenda, so I knew they would not be able to see me. I was a little worried that they were going to make a scene, a la Lucy and Ethel, in order to check on me.

Anyway, I sit down with this dude and we start to talk. It is then that I realize that he has gross teeth. Not just snaggle toothed, but funky colored too. I started to get a little nauseated. They dialogue in my head went as follows: " Crap, he is so funny! I was really digging him before I saw those teeth. How did I miss that in his pictures? There is no way I am going to be able to get past his Appalachia hillbilly teeth. Maybe, I could get him to get his teeth fixed. No, that won't work. A man won't get major dental work done for a girl unless she is screwing him. I cannot kiss a man with those teeth. I can't screw him without kissing him. No way to get him to fix his teeth, SHIT. Hey, he has a good job with benefits (He worked for the federal government)...why hasn't he fixed his teeth? Now I am a little pissed at him!"

Now don't get me wrong, I am not a teeth-ist. I understand that there are many factors why people may not have perfect teeth. Lack of health benefits, health problems, fear of dentists/pain, I personally am a complete weenie when it comes to the dentist and require anesthesia for anything other than a routine cleaning. I do not judge any other person by their teeth. The only reason this guy's teeth were under scrutiny is because I was on a date with him. I only am judgmental about the teeth in the mouth of someone I could potentially French kiss.

The date goes on...he is so funny and I am cracking up through the whole thing. We are sitting at the table and this man, probably in his 60's, keeps looking at me. I just ignore him, but it was a little creepy. Then all of a sudden, the man comes up to our table and yells "MISHA!” Everyone on the patio is starting at us and my date looks a little pale. The conversation was as follows:

Man: You were my daughter's nurse! You delivered my granddaughter!

Me: Oh, I did? (I have no memory of this family)

Man: You were the best nurse. You were great.

Me: How old is your granddaughter now?
(I am hoping to narrow down the 100+ babies I deliver a year)

Man: 9 months

Me: What did your daughter name her?
(Still trying to figure out who this family is.)

Man: Ashley. She is a beautiful baby. Is this your husband? (Pointing to my date)

Me: No, actually we are on a first date.

Man: (now looking at my date) She is a good woman, you would be lucky to get her. We love Misha. She is a very special woman!

Me: Well, it was great seeing you again. (I still have no idea who this man is) Tell you daughter I said hello and give Ashley a cuddle from me.

Man: Oh I will, Misha. It was great seeing you. Bye.

Now, I get recognized all the time. I can't go into Target without having someone yell my name and thrust a baby in my arms. I think that some of the Target employees think I am some kind of plus size stripper, because moms, dads and grandparents are often shouting, "I almost didn't recognize you with your clothes on!" My patients see me in the middle of the night, in scrubs, my hair in a ponytail or bun and no makeup. I look different outside of Labor and Delivery. My husband thinks it funny when it happens. If I am with my mom, she usually cries. I am used to it.

But this grandpa had made a bit of a scene. My date was a little shocked. I apologized and explained that this doesn't happen all the time, but it is not unusual. He seemed a little leery. The date ended. I knew we were not going to have a second one. I couldn't do it. I thanked him for dinner, he walked me to my car and that was it. I drove off to meet my chaperones at the designated "debriefing area", it just happened to be a local dive bar.

I sit down with Deb and Brenda and start to tell them about the date. I am going on and on about how heartbroken I am about his teeth. "He was so smart and funny, but there is no way I could kiss him.... blah, blah, blah.". They are not really paying attention. They both have these stupid grins on their faces. They wait for me to finish complaining and they say "Well, did anything else happen?". I tell them "No, he was a nice guy. Not weird at all." They keep pressing, "Are you sure nothing else happened?". I say "Oh yeah, I forgot. One of patient's Dad came up to me, a little drunk and loud and made a scene about me delivering his grand-baby." At this point, both of them start cracking up. They are turning red; tears are going down their cheeks...hysterical. When they settle down a bit, I ask them, "What is so funny?”

That is when Deb says to me, "That was my Spin Class Instructor! He is gay, doesn't have any kids and has never met you. We bought him a couple of lemon drops and got him to go check on you."

Sometimes, your friends are goofier than the date!

My Date With A Skunk

It was the year 2000.

I was single after being in an on-again/off-again 9 year relationship (I was a slow learner in my 20's) with a very unpleasant man named Steve.

I had not dated anyone for about a year.

I had just started a travel assignment at a county hospital.

Most of the PM shift nurses were married. One of the single ones was on match.com and she kept bugging me to join. I refused, thinking it was a great way to meet a serial killer or pervert....not my next boyfriend. She would not take no for an answer and using her own credit card, signed me up and set up my profile.

I was wary. She sat me down and gave me her rules for dating in the 21st century.

1) It is a numbers game. The more you date, the sooner you will find the one nice guy out of the bunch of players, dorks, perverts and assholes.

2) A girl has got to eat. Even if the date sucks, at least you got to eat a nice meal.

3) It takes 3 dates to rule a guy out. If he doesn't scare you, creep you out or make you barf on the first date.......you should have another one. If you are not into him by the 3rd date.....set him adrift.

I made my own 4th rule

4) Never go on a date alone. I would have one of my friends make reservations at the same place I was meeting the guy. They could watch from a distance and make sure I didn't get abducted or something. My married/coupled friends liked it. They got a date night out of it and they could check out who I was dating.

So, with these rules in mind......I set out into the dating world. I had my personal criteria in mind. I wanted someone tall, chubby, bald, goatee wearing, smart and funny.


So, I just hung out and waited for guys to contact me. Not the best decision. With my "covert chaperones" in tow, I proceeded to go out with a string of weird men. None were as weird as Paul, or as I like to call him, ESL Paul.

It started like this......
I get a message from this guy named Paul. It is obvious from his email that English is not his first language. I cannot tell where he is from from his profile. He writes in his "About Me" section, "I am not fat or bald. I want woman who know what she want". I am trying to keep an open mind, so I email him back. We exchange emails for about a week and I agree to talk on the phone with him. That is when I find out where he is from...............FRANCE. We talk and he seems nice. Smart, Funny.......okay, I set up a date. I get my friend Brenda and her boyfriend to be my chaperones. Her boyfriend is an ex-cop, so I am feeling pretty safe.

I am standing in front of the restaurant.......very nervous and I hear it.....My name in French. "Meeshell, is zat you?" I turn around..............this dude LIED in his profile! He is about 4 inches SHORTER than he said he was.......not a good first impression.

We get to our table and I notice his HUGE, BUSHY UNI-BROW. My inner voices starts, "For cripes sake, how many of these dates am I going to have to go through? The food better be good at this place!". I try to quickly recover. "This is not who I am, I don't want to write this guy off just because of external things........"

So I try to forget about his LIE about his height, his uni-brow and continue with the date. His accent is pretty thick. I can usually understand accents better than most, but I am used to Spanish and Chinese accents. French is less familiar, so I am really concentrating on what he is saying, so I can understand him.

Then I start to notice.... This guy is really smart. This guy is funny. This guy has a lot of money. This guy POLISHES his nails! Jesus! Why would a guy polish his nails? Then the wheels start turning.....if he polishes his nails, I could probably get him to wax his uni-brow. Yes, he is short.......but that means I will never have to wear high heels again!!! According to rule #3, I have no reason to not go on another date with him.

So dinner is over, I had a pretty good time. He walks me to my car.......my friends are already in their car doing surveillance on the "good-bye". I tell him I had a nice time, I tell him to give me a call. I give him a hug. I just can't shake someone's hand after a date. I figure a hug is good if I am considering a second date. If you stand there all awkward, they might try to kiss you or something. If you hug them......they can't kiss you. I am thinking it's all good. Then he looks at me and says: "What? No keess?" I think to myself "oh, he is French! They do that kiss on each cheek thing!" So I give him an "cheek kiss type thingy" on each side, thinking that is what he meant. I mean, I am trying not to look like a hick american chick. He then looks at me and he says " I want you to keess me with passs eon!" He then proceeds to grab the lapels of my coat and pull me so close to him that he practically smooshes my boobs under my armpits and up to my chin! It takes me a second or two to regain my composure but I regroup, look at him and say " I am not gonna light the fire, if I don't plan on cookin!" (not very cosmopolitan, but I could barely breathe with my boobs all smushed up, let alone think of something continental to say!) He still hasn't released me from his grip! Instead he says "What do you mean? I deed not say anysing about cooooking".

I wiggled out of his grip so quick! I jumped into my car, waved goodbye and took off. As I was driving off, my friend Brenda calls on my cell phone. She and her boyfriend are cracking up. They try and act concerned and ask if I am okay. I tell them I am and they reply "Dude, you looked just like that cat in the Pepe le Pew cartoons!"

UB40 Wrote A Song About This. (Profanity)

My nights and days get all screwed up after I have worked a few nights in a row. I try to stay awake when I get home in the morning and just take a nap in the afternoon. Then when Mr. Misha gets home from work, we can have dinner and spend the evening together before hitting the hay, thus...turning my internal clock back to "dayshift"

Sometimes, it doesn't work. I will go to bed with Mr. Misha and wake up at 3 or 4 am, WIDE AWAKE. I try and quietly do things in the front of the house to allow him to get some sleep. On one particular morning, I decided to cook. I had purchased a bunch of ground beef. I was going to brown it all, separate it into 1lb increments and put it in the freezer. When I needed it, for tacos (my husband likes tacos), or some other ground beef meal, I could just pull it out of the freezer and "Viola!"

So, I am in the kitchen, browning the meat. Our cocker spaniel, Mimi, is sitting at my feet praying to her little dog deity that I will drop all 10 lbs on the floor. While standing at the stove, I hear the doggie door open. I can't believe that Mimi has left her post! I look down, she hasn't! I walk towards the dining room and there I see it! It is a FUCKING RAT! A FUCKING RAT has come in Mimi's doggie door!

I must digress a bit.

I pride myself on being a cool chick. I can usually do most things myself.

I know how to: change my oil, find a stud in a wall to hang a heavy mirror, pitch a tent, drive a 4WD, change a tire, shoot a gun and Bar B Que a nice steak.

Things I want help with: reaching things on the top shelf, killing spiders bigger than a nickel (the squish grosses me out), opening jars, lifting the couch so I can vacuum under it.


The ONE thing I WILL NOT DO.........deal with fucking rodents!

So here it is, 4:30 on a Sunday morning and a FUCKING RAT is in my dining room. What do I do? I run screaming into the bedroom. I am running around the room like a fart in a windstorm screaming "THERE IS A RAT IN THE DINING ROOM. GET IT! GET IT!" I keep yelling this until he wakes up (if you know my husband, you know this takes a long time). He wakes up and sits straight up in bed and says, "What?" I repeat "THERE IS A RAT IN THE DINING ROOM. GET IT! GET IT!" He says, "Huh?" Again, I scream "THERE IS A FUCKING RAT IN THE DINING ROOM. GET IT! GET IT!"

He jumps up, puts on his boots and coat, and grabs his car keys and LEAVES THE HOUSE!

I barricade myself and the dog in the bedroom. I am wondering where my husband went and trying to figure out how to sterilize the entire house. I am sure that the whole house is now infested with the Hanta virus. Just then, the phone rings, it is Mr. Misha. I answer it and he says, "What am I doing?" I repeat, but this time I don't yell "There is a rat in the dining room, you have to get it. Go to the store and get something to get the FUCKING RAT out of the living room." He says "OK'" (Mr. Misha is not a big talker when he first wakes up).

For what seems like an eternity, Mimi and I stay huddled on the bed. I am imagining that my entire kitchen, dining room and living room are being over run by Ben, Wilbur, Templeton and any other celebrity rat I can think of. I am looking through my public health nurse textbook to see what diseases I am going to contract from this FUCKING RAT.

He finally returns. His shirt is buttoned wrong, his shoes are untied, and the hair on his head is sticking out and up, Bozo the Clown style. In his arms are three bags of various contraptions to catch a rat. He spent about $60.00 in Long's. He starts pulling out extension cords and hooking up all these ultra sonic rodent repellents. I am skeptical. I am not satisfied. I ask him to lift all of the furniture up and make sure that the rat has left. Of course, I am scared that the rat will come after me when he lifts the furniture up..............so, back to the bedroom for Mimi and me.

Finally, Mr. Misha gives me the "All Clear". I finish browning my meat; I put in the individual bags, place them in the freezer.............and start to sterilize the house.