My Husband Is Trying To Kill Me

It might make me sound paranoid, but I am pretty sure my husband is trying to kill me.  And it’s not paranoia if it’s true, right?

I really thought it would be one of the cats who took me out. Bellatrix takes test-bites of my nose at night to see if I’m dead yet, and Ravenclaw eviscerates everything.

It started out simply enough. Husband bought one of those plug-in air fresheners. It was fine at first. And by first, I mean for about fifteen seconds. Then my eyes began to water, and my nose felt like I’d been snorting thumbtacks.*** I might be allergic. I unplugged the thing without comment and went about my day.

When I got up the next morning, I thought someone had put a pillow over my head. I kind of wish they had. I slithered out of bed and tried to sniff the thing out. I found it in the hallway, unplugged it, and hid it on a bookcase shelf. By afternoon, the whole house once again smelled like death covered in flowers. I unplugged it and put it on the window sill behind the curtain.

The next day I came home from work, and husband had clearly tried to compromise. He had replaced the hateful fragrance with pumpkin spice. At least that’s what the label said. More like cloves roasted over the flames of hell. I ripped the thing out of the wall and screamed “Why do you HATE ME? unplugged and hid it on top of the bookcase.

And so it continues. He plugs, I unplug. He plugs, I cry. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I get it. He wants to house to smell welcoming and inviting for the guests we never have. But now he has taken to hiding the things. They look just like the motion detector lights we have for when I’m stumbling out of bed in the middle of the night to pee  checking on the kids in the dark. It sometimes takes me ten minutes to find which outlet holds the little offender.

It’s bad enough that my nose and eyes burn, but I think I am losing brain cells. This is where I draw the line. Already I could hide my own Easter eggs, and I can’t remember how old I am without calling my mom. I can’t afford to lose what little I have left.

“Oh, but Heather,” you say. “He’s not trying to kill you with an air freshener.” And you’d be right. Because’s now there’s not an air freshener, there’s TWO! Twice the fragrance, twice as many brain cells withering to dust. I should never have taken out a life insurance policy. Once you’re worth more dead than you are alive, it’s time to start sleeping with one eye open.

But it’s okay. Two can play at that game. If it’s open season on bringing home something that sends our partner screaming into the streets, I’m buying him a tarantula. This is going to be good.

 

***PSA – Kids, don’t snort thumbtacks. It might be what the cool kids are doing, but you’re better than that.

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How To Apologize Online

Your comprehensive guide to issuing an apology when you have upset someone online, be it Facebook, Twitter, or an email to dear Aunt Sally. Study it. Memorize it. There will be a test later.

Apologize? Me? Heh.

  1. Be online.
  2. Make a mistake. This is not difficult. If you have covered #1, you are guaranteed to say something stupid/misinformed/offensive.
  3. Become aware of your mistake. This one isn’t all that hard, either. If a dozen experts (or even ONE) on a subject presents a counter-argument, there’s a chance you are wrong. Maybe do research at this point.
  4. Grow a pair. Pair could refer to whatever thing you associate with courage. Could be kittens for all I care. Just get you some courage.
  5. Say these words: “You were right.” or “I was wrong.” Use these phrases together for additional sincerity.
  6. Also say these words: : “I am sorry.” Another variation could be “I apologize.” Yes. This step is necessary. I know. You already said #5. I know. Just say you’re sorry.
  7. Demonstrate that you are, in fact, sorry. Do accomplish this task, you should say, well, nothing. Don’t say anything at all.
  8. Continue to say nothing. I know. You just wanted to explain tha-

Just stop it. Seriously. Stop talking. Stop trying to make everyone understand how wonderful you are and how you are being misunderstood. Just stop talking.

9. Say even less than you did in #8. Remember #5? You were stupid/offensive/misinformed. You were. You. I’m looking at you. I know you said sorry. But sorry doesn’t fix stuff immediately. If I eat your pet canary, a simple apology doesn’t make Tweety any less dead. There will be some grief, some anger, perhaps a tiny little funeral to arrange, and it’s likely you don’t want to see me again for a while. Maybe not ever. Some stakes are higher than others.

10. Make your peace with the fact that not everyone is going to like you. Actually, this should be #1, but it’s the one we all tend to blow off, so I buried it here so you wouldn’t ignore it. I’m tricky like that. The hardest part about this one is understanding that in this case, people are in the not-liking phase of you because of something you did. Ouch. Reflect on it. Sit with it.

11. Read the responses. Not to your apology.  I mean the responses to your original mistake. Understand not just that people ARE upset, but get to the heart of WHY. If you don’t make an effort to learn the why, you are pretty much guaranteed to repeat your error, and that’s bad. This part’s hard because the instinct is to argue more or to tuck our tails and RUN. Do not attempt to answer until you are strong enough to respond ONLY with the words “I understand,” “I am sorry,” “You are right,” or “I was wrong.” You will feel like your brain is on fire and your eyeballs are melting, but I promise you will live.

12. Come to grips with the most painful realization in the world: Not everyone cares  what you think.

13. Do better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stuff My Kids Will Never Understand

Now I really do sound like my mother. But this isn’t a rant about the good old days and how the world is headed South in a Longaberger basket. That would be my great-grandmother, and I’m not turning into her (yet). I’m learning that few things make me feel older than saying “Well, back when I was a kid…” and having them stare at me, slack-jawed, eyes glazing over like a monkey presented with a computing problem. As if the minutiae of my early years isn’t riveting. It’s just kind of a shame that all of my vast life experience is fading into oblivion. Here’s the weird stuff I remember:

  • Gum. Lots of it! In the 80s, bubblegum was a HUGE thing. Our neighborhood convenience store had a 2ftx8ft section DEVOTED to gum. And I’m not talking the stuff the old ladies enjoyed in church a half-stick at a time, either. I’m talking bubblegum. Every imaginable flavor. Strawberry and banana, sure, but also blueberry and cherry and a variety of fruit punches. Bubble Yum Fruit Punch was the best ever. Gum achieved its nadir with chocolate mint flavor. Ugh. The market never recovered.
  • Because bubblegum bandages aren’t gross at all. Photo credit: Dinosaur Dracula

  • Records were the cheapest form of recording. If you wanted the album on a more portable medium, the cassette tape cost about 30% more.
  • Having to buy an entire record for one song.
  • Requiring an elaborate set-up to convert record to cassette tape. This exercise involved special cables and moving furniture around to get all the components to connect to one another.
  • Hating DJs for talking over the song you were trying to record.
  • Song Hits Magazine – It had the LYRICS, man! THE LYRICS! To the cool songs! So we knew what Cyndi Lauper was actually saying.
  • Benetton and Swatches – and don’t forget the Swatch guard!
  • Halloween, Christmas, Valentine, Last-Day-of-School PARTIES!  Like, at school. With candy and cupcakes and stuff.
  • Film strips. And the substitute teacher who was ALWAYS one frame behind.
  • Reel-to-reel movies in the classroom. In elementary school, we watched The Cat and the Hat and The Red Balloon once a year.
  • Sticker collections– mine is quite impressive. Yes, I still have it. Shut up!
  • Seeing a movie in the theater or not seeing it at all. Because once it left the theater, it was GONE. No purchasing it a few months later. Because there would be nothing to watch it ON! No DVD player, no VCR. Not even laser disc. This tidbit blows my students’ minds.
  • The Wizard of Oz came on once a year – And every year I thought the movie was broken because it started out in black and white.
  • Three channels – and all of them signed off at midnight with the flag.
  • Garbage Candy that came in an actual tiny garbage can!

Why don’t they still make this? I liked the fish skeletons the best! I think I have to do a favorite candy edition because we had the best candy!

  • Floppy Discs – It’s funny that the “save” icon is a picture of something most kids have never even seen in real life. And remember when they were actually FLOPPY?
  • Cutting edge computers with memory measuring in the kilobytes. I didn’t say ALL the old days were good ones!
  • Pong did not involve beer.
  • Saturday morning cartoons – the ONLY time cartoons were available. No Cartoon Network,no Disney Channel. Cartoons started at 6am with the old black-and-whites and ran all the way until noon with O.G. Readmore. He’s a reading kind of cat.
  • After-school TV specials – I always learned something. Or pretended to. These came about right around the time it became apparent that television was becoming a babysitter.
  • Suntan lotion and suntan oil – but no sunscreen. I had more blistering sunburns as a child than my dermatologist would like to think about because the only thing to prevent sunburn was zinc oxide, and only the dweebs used that crap.
  • Lawrence Welk – I could never WAIT for this show to be over so I could watch Hee Haw. Hey, I never said I had great TV taste as a kid.
  • Cracker Jacks – yeah, they tasted like garbage, but they had a PRIZE! And it was sometimes a TOY!
  • Cereal – like gum, cereal had its hey day. Anybody else remember when literally EVERY box on the shelf except for the high-fiber crap had something free in the box? And remember when Cocoa Krispies was represented by Tusk the Elephant?

That’s it for this edition. Now, get off my lawn, you darned kids!

What are you sorry to see go?

Notes From the Zookeeper: My Day in Pictures and a Mind-blowing video

The Introverted Activist: Things Will Get Better

I’m still tired. Are you still tired? But are you in it to win it? Yeah, me, too. Rah, rah, and all that. Did I mention I am tired?

But things are going to get better. Maybe they already are. 45’s first pick to be National Security Advisor is *poof* and the second pick doesn’t want the job. What happened to Flynn? Depends on who you ask. Fired? Quit? Abducted by aliens? Who cares? He’s gone. And the Labor Secretary? Remember him? Whatshisface Pudzer? The guy who would like to do away with a minimum wage and automate everything? He’s gone, too. And the person who has been nominated to replace him might actually be qualified for the job. Or maybe the bar has been set so low by this administration that a rabid puggle seems qualified.

I made a thing. It’s a Trumpertantrum drinking game, designed to make this administration more entertaining.

did flynn talk to Russia

But then I realized it could also be deadly. I thought I could suggest switching to water after every 2 drinks, but then there’s still hyponatremia to worry about. So I thought about milk shakes. But is there a pancreas in the world that can handle THAT much sugar? Diet soda? Nope again. An overdose of artificial sweetener can be deadly. So then I considered deep breaths instead of drinks, but then everyone would hyperventilate and pass out, maybe hitting a head on the floor and dying. And I can’t be responsible for that, so instead of drinking each time he hits one of these milestones, think a happy thought or pet a puppy. Nobody ever passed out from petting a puppy. Just be careful not to rub all its hair off. It’s going to be a long four years.

Calls and protests work, and not just for this whole train wreck of an administration. In case you have never heard of Bresha Meadows, at the age of 14, young Bresha shot and killed her abusive father. She was sent to an adult prison. An adult prison. Remember Michael Carneal? He murdered 3 students and injured 5 others at his high school in 1997. He was sent to a juvenile facility until he turned 18. But Bresha has been held in an adult prison. Until recently. Letters, protests, and phone calls put enough pressure on prosecutors that she was moved a few weeks ago to a juvenile mental health facility. Her family has to pay the cost of her treatment, so there’s a link where you can donate if you are so inclined. But she can go outside, she is with other kids, and she can get the help she deserves.

What I did this week:

I wrote a lot of letters. A lot of them. To Republicans, to Democrats. I went to a huddle at my friend’s house. We encouraged each other, and we made plans for the next four years. That feels like a long time, but we can do it.

what are people doing besides marching

This is what democracy looks like. And friendship.

I made an action plan for each week. I am going to make 5 calls a week and write 3 letters. I wrote 5 letters this week, so I am ahead of the game. I even wrote one to President Bannon.

The call I made to my Senators this week was focused on 2 things – keeping Bannon out of the situation room and keeping the Affordable Care Act intact until there is a decent replacement (and insisting that the replacement include those with preexisting conditions – an aside here, I knew a woman who didn’t tell anyone she was pregnant at her new job until she qualified for health insurance. She was 8 weeks pregnant when she got the job, and so was 20 weeks along before she went for her first prenatal appointment because she knew otherwise insurance wouldn’t cover it because her pregnancy was a preexisting condition. No prenatal care until it was essentially too late to prevent most issues. Do Republicans really want to go back to those days?)

I made plans to attend the local march on April 15 to protest Trumpertantrum’s refusal to show his tax returns.

I made plans to attend some Nashville events, too, later in spring.

I made a list of my local representatives at the state level. I am going to become quite familiar with them and their work because I have letters and calls to make there, too.

And I took some time away. Because I’m tired.

This week, why not write a letter yourself. Or show up at a local office and share your wants with your Congress person’s staff? Write a letter sharing your story and your expectations for affordable care. You can do it! We can do it! It’s already working, friends. We’re pushing a ball uphill, but we’ve learned this week that it isn’t likely to roll back over and crush us!

Need more ideas? Check here. And visit here for a breakdown of enrollment in Affordable Care Act by congressional district. Share what you find. A study this week revealed that around 30% of Americans don’t know that ACA and ObamaCare are the same thing. Republicans successfully obfuscated the issue by using the term “ObamaCare,” so be kind to anyone you encounter who might have been confused. They aren’t alone. Raise your hand if you have never been sucked in by rhetoric. We’ve all been there, done that.

Face-palm of the week: Good ol’ Betsy “Keep Bears Out Of Public Schools” DeVos is doing a spanking good job in her new post. Wait. There is no spanking in public school. A time-outing good job? Whatever. Anyway, she managed to not only misspell the name of civil rights activist, W.E. B. DuBois, she misspelled the apology, as well. Go, team! Dear Betsy, how do you spell “derp?”

Need a laugh? Download this awesome app. It’s called “Make Trump Tweets Eight Again.” And it does this:

What did you get up to this week? Have a favorite hashtag you have been involved with? Share it in the comments.

Notes From the Zookeeper: Field Work

You guys! Guess what! Go on, guess! No, I’m not pregnant. Thanks for that, though, sj. Guess again! No, I am not getting a pony. My surprise is NOT as good as a pony. Now I’m disappointed. Thanks. Oh, now I’m supposed to just tell you? Fine. Whatever.

Today, maybe even as you read this, I am going to do a little field work! I haven’t had a ton of opportunities yet. I have been to the bog a couple of times to check nests for the zoo’s ongoing bog turtle project, but that one started years before I joined the zoo (or even graduated college!). I came in just as the actual field work was winding down, so there was not much point in training me. Today, though, I have been invited to travel along with my lead keeper, Stephen, as he pulls and checks traps for his big project. He’s studying mudpuppies, and we’re going to catch some. Hopefully.

what is a mudpuppy

If you’re thinking we’re out to catch one of these, you might be a little incorrect. Just a little. We’re looking for salamanders.

He believes he has found a new species, so after filling out mountains of paperwork to get permission, he has been setting live traps for the animals in many different places. He sets traps and checks them daily for a week or so out of each month. He is hoping to determine that this is indeed a new species, or a previously described species that has never been found in the current range, which will yield information about stream ecology. Any animals that are captured will surrender a tiny bit of DNA for gene sequencing before they are fitted with a PIT tag. Basically, a tiny little transponder that is the same kind of microchip inserted into a dog or cat for identification should they get lost, is inserted under the animal’s skin. This chip will let him know if the animal is a new individual, or if it is a recapture. The Hiawasee is a pretty big place, so finding a recapture is like looking for a needle in a haystack, but Stephen has already recaptured one. This could shed some light on movement within a territory at some point, so a recapture is still a win.

So tomorrow, I meet him at an undisclosed, top-secret secret meeting location. Like maybe the Bat Cave. Or the zoo.  I am not at liberty to say.

Oh, man! The only thing that could make fieldwork cooler is if we could meet at the Bat Cave! Maybe Stephen really IS Batman. But even if he were, I couldn't tell you.

Oh, man! The only thing that could make fieldwork cooler is if we could meet at the Bat Cave! Maybe Stephen really IS Batman. But even if he were, I couldn’t tell you.

Then we’re going to drive to his trapping site, which is about an hour away. We’ll jump in his boat and paddle out to pull the traps. If there are mudpuppies in them (please, oh, please!), he’ll show me how to take genetic samples, record weights and measurements, and how to insert a PIT tag. Then we’ll let the little rascal go and move on to the next trap. A good time will be had by all.

I won’t have my camera because water + clumsy = disaster. So I will draw pictures for you next week to show you what I saw. In the meantime, I pack. What do real scientists take on trips into the field?

  • Snacks – We’ll be gone several hours, and no food makes one zookeeper very cranky.
  • A change of clothes – we don’t want to expose our captive zoo animals to diseases and parasites they may have poor resistance to, so we will change clothes from head to toe before returning to care for our animals. You’d be surprised what kind of yuck can be carried in on shoes.
  • A second change of clothes – for when I drop the first set in the water
  • Cool tunes – we have an hour of driving each way, and we need something to listen to. I’m thinking “Hamilton,” or maybe “Les Mis.” Anybody know the official soundtrack of field work?
  • Book or e-reader – again, an hour drive each way. I have to do something, right?
  • Barf bag – I get sick when I read in the car. But 2 hours seems like a lot of time to NOT read.
  • Water shoes – we’re going to be on the river, and maybe IN it. Most likely in it. Because it’s me.
  • Water-proof notebook – who knew they made such a thing, but they do.
  • Towel – Because if when I fall in the water, it would be nice to be able to dry off a bit. 50 degrees is chilly even when you’re DRY!
  • Water wings – Field work is sink or swim, and I am allergic to sinking to the bottom of the river and dying.
  • Plastic-coated form of ID – Because when I get swept away in the current, hit my head on a rock, and forget who I am, the authorities will know whom to call.
  • Adult diaper – The sound of running water + a bladder the size of a Lego brick+ the sheer terror of being in a boat (I had red beans and rice for dinner. What if I lean over to quietly relieve a little, um, pressure, and capsize the canoe?)
  • Rubber duckie- all work and no play, ya’ll

What’s exciting in your world this week?

 

 

Lost In Translation: Parenting Edition

Though I know it is hard to believe, the occasional miscommunication happens in my house.

 

What I say: Clean your room.

What they hear: Play with your Nerf blasters.

What I say:  Dinner is ready.

What they hear: I’m serving you PopTarts. If it’s not PopTarts, demand them. Loudly.

What I say: Until you room is clean, you may not play with the cat.

What they hear: Touch the cat. Touch all five cats. Touch the neighbor’s cats. TOUCH ALL THE CATS! Right now!

What I say: This room isn’t clean.

What they hear: Your socks and dirty underwear are invisible to the naked eye.

parenting fail

What I say: It’s time to make your lunch.

What they hear: Play with your Nerf blasters.

What I say: Quit playing with your Nerf blasters. You have things to do.

What they hear: Play more. Never stop playing! It is your JOB to play! FOREVER!

What I say: Done cleaning? I’m coming in to check and make sure.

What they hear: I have the vision of an earthworm. I will never notice that you have not done the first thing.

What I say: Let’s get your homework out of the way. It won’t take long.

What they hear: It will take you the rest of your life.

What I say: If you just focus on the work, you will have it done in 10 minutes.

What they hear: Please flop in the floor like a speared fish. It makes both of us feel good about ourselves.

 

What I say: I made your favorite meal for you, now eat it.

What they hear: I dropped it on the floor, and then I spit on it.

What I say: But you LIKE this food.

What they hear: Just kidding. You hate it.

What I say: That’s a small wound. You’re fine.

What they hear: You’re probably going to die. Run around in a circle screaming. It helps everyone involved.

What I say: Go wash your hands for dinner.

What they hear: Walk to the bathroom, count to four, then turn around and come back.

What I say: Please get dressed for school.

What they hear: Make sure you wear your Darth Vader cape. Without it, you might as well be naked.

What I say: When I was a kid…

What they hear: Blah, blah, blah, hard times, blah, blah, blah.

 

 

Notes From the Zookeeper

I’ve decided to add a regular feature on this blog. My topics bounce around a lot from work to cats to kids and back again, and I’m okay with that. But I thought it would be fun to add a weekly feature and give you a peek behind the curtain. I will primarily stick to my department, but there may be times that I branch out. Because I’m a giver. I put way too much thought into whether to set this thing down on a Monday or a Friday. But Friday is technically one of my Mondays, and that just got confusing, so I went with the real Monday. Consider it a tiny pat on the head to ease you into the work week. Unless you’re like me and you’re already into the work thing by Monday. In that case, forget I said anything.

I have thoughts and ideas of what I want to show you, like how we work venomous animals, the key to breeding certain species, and anything new that has hatched. I invite you to share in the comments anything you’re curious about, too.

In my last post, I covered some of my goals for the new year. Most of those were personal . I have set some goals for myself at work, too.

Neon Day Gecko Hatchling

Neon Day Gecko – Phelsuma klemmeri. This new hatchling is under an inch long.

  • I’m hatching these things left and right. I want to set up at least one new colony by dividing up the current two. Okay, really I have three. These are Neon Day Geckos from Madagascar. As adults, they are only about three inches long. They were first described only about 25 years ago, and they are considered endangered because their range is confined to a pretty tiny part of Northwest Madagascar. They live in dense colonies. Most recommend only one male per enclosure and several females, but I have had success keeping two males with a single female.

There’s a level of parental care that is not typically found among lizards. The babies that are hatched and reared in the same enclosure as their parents seem to grow more quickly than the juveniles that I pull to raise on their own. And these animals are fascinating. They move at a frequency that is much faster than our eye can register. It’s akin to watching a reel-to-reel from the 1920s, all jumpy. And babies are tiny. If there’s an opening larger than a millimeter, you can pretty much kiss a hatchling goodbye!

My goal is to study them for another couple of generations and possibly report some of my findings in a journal somewhere. I also want to get more practice at determining males from females. Boys have femoral pores that look like tiny braille dots, but when I say tiny, I mean tiny. It’s hard to tell. I want to get good at it.

Breeding pyxis arachnoides

Northern Spider Tortoise, Pyxis arachnoides brygooi

  • My second goal is to breed more of these guys. Some years are good years. 2015 was a decent year. I hatched all three sub-species of Spider Tortoises in decent numbers – a total of 15. 2016 wasn’t great. Like, at all. I hatched 6 Northerns, and that was it.  The trouble is, the eggs that hatched in 2015 were actually laid in 2014. With a 9-month span between laying and hatching, it’s a little hard to pin down the problem. Were the eggs not incubated properly, or were they not fertile to begin with? So many moving parts.

I’m going to start, though, by building an outdoor pen for my pairs of Northern Spider Tortoises to see if natural sunlight can improve egg-laying. The other subspecies go outside already, but not these guys. I also separated boys and girls for winter dormancy. I turned the heat lamps off on Christmas eve, and they won’t go back on until March. In April, I’ll put the boys back in with their ladies. Sometimes absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

That orange streak in the middle is its belly button. In a few days, it will close up and disappear.

That orange streak in the middle is its belly button. In a few days, it will close up and disappear.

  • My third goal is to complete my venomous training. I’ve already got a copperhead in my section, and I am training on Helodermas (that’s Gila Monsters and Beaded Lizards). Soon I’ll have one of those to care for, as well. We take safety seriously, so training is slow and methodical. It’s a good thing.
  • Angolan python - my first successful snake breeding

    Angolan python – my first successful snake breeding

     

    I also want to breed Angolan Pythons again this year. I have paired my male and female, after setting temperatures down to a chilly 84 degrees. But after the first night, I have seen no evidence of breeding. I am afraid my good buddy, The Professor, has been relegated to the Friend Zone. Or the female is too fat to breed.

  • My last goal is to get some weight off of that female python. If she does lay eggs, she’ll go without eating until May, which will help. If she doesn’t lay eggs, she needs some exercise. Angolan Pythons are adapted to a really harsh environment and don’t need to eat all that often. Turns out, every two weeks is too often. So I’m going to set her up on an exercise plan, maybe build her a snake gym to crawl around on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What would you like to know more about?

Goals For The New Year

I decided not to make resolutions this year, mostly because it’s too hard to spell. I made goals instead. It’s a tip I picked up from a co-worker. She is so wise!  A resolution can die a sad death within seconds of the clock striking midnight on January 1. A goal is a year-long kind of thing. I like the idea of something I can’t screw up the first day.  Win! I have all these grandiose grand schemes, and mama needs to get these bad boys off the ground.

In 2016 my goal is to:

  • Hatch more of these:
  • Take up a new creative hobby. I’m thinking of knitting or crochet. Anyone want to teach me?
  • Drink more water. 20 ounces when I first wake up.
  • Pee more. Also counts as a hobby, so double win!
  • Eat better quality food. No more eating chocolate that I found on the floor. Unless it has been there for under five seconds because there’s no sense in being wasteful.
  • Be more organized. No more storing shopping lists in the sock drawer.
  • Bring home fewer of these:

    resolutions, writing, new years, cats

    But… so cute…

  • And fewer of these:

    Hillary and Humperdink. My new Nelson's Milksnakes. They are tiny and perfect and so sassy!

    Hillary and Humperdink. My new Nelson’s Milk snakes. They are tiny and perfect and so sassy!

  • Quit referring to husband as “Grouchy kill-joy who doesn’t want me to have lots of cool pets or be happy”
  • Spend less money on frivolous things. Everyone knows that Funko figures are a necessity. I’ll cut out some of the extravagances like heat. My kids are so spoiled on warmth. We have five cats. They can use those as personal warming devices.

    Surprise birthday Funko figures! I live in a world where Newt Scamander and Picket exist!

    Surprise birthday Funko figures! I live in a world where Newt Scamander and Picket exist!

  • Eat less fast food. One  fewer Sonic burger is less.  I’m perfectly happy to cross one off on a technicality.
  • Read more. With all that water I’m drinking, I’ll be spending more time staring at the walls in public restrooms.
  • Write more. See above. Also counts as creative new hobby if I use a sharpie and sign my name to my work. I’ll be the Banksy of public toilets.
  • Make my mark on the world. Again, sharpie.
  • Take the boys on another vacation. And remember this time to apply the sunscreen at effective intervals.

    humor, writing, zoo

    They’re not sunburned. They’re doing an impersonation of flamingos. And look at that balance!

  • Learn a new skill. Maybe peeing standing up? Or finally learning to program the VCR.
  • Find constructive ways to deal with my anxiety. Hitting bricks with a frying pan sounds kind of awesome.
  • Take Christmas tree down before Easter. Eh, who am I kidding?

Did you make any goals or resolutions this year? Or break any? I’m not here to judge.

Breitbart Got It Right

I like to spend time each evening reading pieces that make me think. Since someone stole my People magazine (You know who you are! Don’t even!), I was at a loss as to what to do. I could have borrowed a book, I suppose, but Goodnight, Moon frustrates me, and the politics in Peter Rabbit is too intense. So I did what normal people do. I turned to the internet. I found this one article, and I found myself nodding in agreement. They are so right!

breitbart

No pigtailed girls are ever allowed in science and math! But her glasses and hair ties and shirt all match! SO CUTE!

Now, I have never read anything on this site before. This article/post/thingie was written by a guy named Milo. I’m not 100% positive, but I am pretty sure it’s this guy:

Milo is the cat. I couldn't find anything written by the dog, which is too bad. It's understandable, though. Everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs.

Milo is the cat. I couldn’t find anything written by the dog, which is too bad. It’s understandable, though. Everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs.

So in case you don’t have time to read for yourself, I’ll summarize. Men sometimes drop out of science and math mid-career, but only, like, 48% of them. Women hit the road running WAY more often. Like, 52%. So it makes perfect sense to Milo the cat AND to me that women should only get maybe 10% of the spots in STEM programs. Because 52-48=10 women who stick around, and those girls are mostly dried up old maids who never had a date in high school.

Women don’t like science and math because people are mean, and math is hard, and we’d rather be curling our hair and painting our nails and biting each other in the back and stuff like that. I’m so, so lucky that I fell into herpetology as a career because that’s, like, not real science at all. Herpetology is basically Home Economics.

Like, we work with these totally endangered species, but incubating the eggs is really just baking.

Ignore that data sheet-looking thing next to the eggs. I don’t know what it’s for. It just makes me feel smart to have it. I sometimes write the mommy and daddy on the paper with little hearts.

Animals need good nutrition to grow properly, and you and I both know that’s just cooking.

This mush goo they're eating is made of grass. I think. It might be oatmeal. And everyone knows that oatmeal sticks to your ribs like a hair in a biscuit!

This mush goo they’re eating is made of grass. I think. It might be oatmeal. And everyone knows that oatmeal sticks to your ribs like a hair in a biscuit!

And sometimes we breed snakes, but that’s basically like making spaghetti. Throw a couple of noodles together, and then wait a while. Pasta takes FOREVER to cook. Don’t you hate that?

Snakes don’t eat oatmeal, so we have to feed them icky mice. SO GROSS! This job would be easier if we had a hair dryer for the mice so we don’t have to dry them with paper towels. And everyone needs a blowout to feel their best, even a dead rat. I need to ask Santa to bring me a hair dryer for Christmas.

This is a Black-Headed Python (Aspidites melanocephalus). We know how to deal with blackheads, right? Facial, anyone?

This is a Black-Headed Python (Aspidites melanocephalus). We know how to deal with blackheads, right? Facial, anyone?

Sometimes we work with the Chinese Alligators. Here I’m helping the vets do a check up, and that’s just like taking a kid to the pediatrician.

It's mouth is shut using vet-wrap because it's a girl and is very much into back-biting.

Its mouth is shut using vet-wrap because it’s a girl and we ALL know how bad girls are about back-biting.

Sometimes we have to clean up after the animals. I learned all about cleaning in Home Ec. Thanks, Mrs. Binkley!

I'm cleaning windows inside the Chinese Alligator exhibit. You know what does a GREAT job on windows? Vinegar and newspaper. NO STREAKING! No, I'm not kidding!

I’m cleaning windows inside the Chinese Alligator exhibit. You know what does a GREAT job on windows? Vinegar and newspaper. NO STREAKING! No, I’m not kidding! Try it! You’ll be amazed! I don’t have any tricks to help with the turdballs in the drain, though. Sorry.

And we have a greenhouse to maintain. But knowing which plants are non-toxic and safe for tortoises to eat is a piece of cake.  Green is green, so it must taste good and be good for them.

Home decorating. A man's home is his castle, even if he's just going to eat it.

Home decorating. A man’s home is his castle, you know, even if he’s just going to eat it.

Sometimes we have baby animals. Who doesn’t love wittle bitty babies? They can probably eat what the grown up ones eat. I guess. Who knows? They’re just so cute!

Radiated Tortoises (Astrochelys radiata). See that red mark? That's nail polish! Girls are gonna be girls, amirite?

Radiated Tortoises (Astrochelys radiata). See that red ID mark? That’s NAIL POLISH! Girls are gonna be girls, amirite? It’s sparkly, too, so this little tortoise is ready to go out on the town!

And sometimes we have to feed the Komodo Dragon, but that’s mostly like walking the dog. Or watching Game of Thrones.

Her name is Khaleesi. Feeding her is a lot like walking a dog. You don't expose your Achilles tendons when you feed a Komodo Dragon. you wear kicky boots! And they're black. They'll go with anything!

We don’t expose our Achilles tendons when we feed a Komodo Dragon. We wear kicky boots! And they’re black. They’ll go with anything!

I don’t bother with things like spreadsheets to keep track of growth and breeding groups and the like. They make my tiny little woman brain hurt. But if it’s sheets that interest you, I can fold the fitted ones like nobody’s business!

I definitely don’t read scary old textbooks into the night because reading math science-y stuff will make my uterus fall out. I also don’t keep any kind of computer records or work with any complicated programs, either at the Zoo or in the computer classes I teach. I mostly just bang my fist on the keyboard until something breaks, or until my tears bring the nearest male running to rescue me.

It’s no wonder girls drop out of science. It’s tough on the ole noggin. They should all come into my line of work. It’s easy, and we can braid one another’s hair and bake cakes and stuff like that. Come and join me, girls! Herpetology is women’s work. Talking cats are never wrong.

 

***I am lying. I can’t fold a fitted sheet. I just wad it up and stuff it in the back of the closet.