With a court date for the split of the century looming on this morning's horizon, I found myself struggling to calm my mind last night. This lead to being on Facebook WAY TOO FUCKING LATE. To those of you who kept me up chatting...shame. Ok not really. You know I love you! :) XOXOX
Hold the phone...I have to back up. Yesterday, I had a shoot...possibly one of my last paying gigs but I wont get into the bullshit that surrounds that train wreck of epic proportions. It was a 1st communion for a family that uhm...doesn't speak much English. I...speak no Spanish. My loving sister, was supposed to be there to sort of kind of oh I dont know...translate...but she failed to board her plane home from Florida the night before. Awesome.
You know its going to either be a great day or a horrible day, when you arrive at a photoshoot and the 1st thing they do is hand you food with habaneros in it (fucking awesome food) and a margarita...before you ever even get your camera out of the bag. The shoot was great, I shot a TON of photos of one of the most amazing families I have ever been blessed to meet...and left there feeling like Mt. Vesuvius was rumbling in my belly. Hours later, upon arriving home...something just seemed...not right in my house.
Around 9, I heard noises upstairs. No bullshit, I thought someone was in my house. So what do I do...I put on my cowboy boots (because clearly, they would protect my feet from a rapist/thief/serial killer) and donning my lead weighted baseball bat...make my way not so quietly up my creeky 156 yr old stairs. I should have just shouted "HEY...I'M FUCKING COMING UP THERE SO YOU BETTER NOT BE AN INTRUDER!" Of course...being that said...I bolted into room after room, back to the wall, baseball bat ready to be swung all NCIS style to find...nothing. Weird. What the hell were those noises? Perhaps I was losing my mind. Maybe the margaritas were laced. I had no idea.
Midnight rolls around and I had to force myself off the computer and to bed for the sake of my poor little mind that had to be court ready by 6am. Not cool. In my normal style, I found myself a wife beater tank top and pair of shorts and flopped into bed. I flopped into bed. I flopped the fuck into bed WHICH resulted in the bed collapsing under me. OH YEAH. Nothing says "HEY FAT ASS...TAKE IT EASY ON ME!" like a collapsed bed. Fuck you bed. I've lost 65 lbs!!! To be honest, this is my husband's fault. See, years ago we removed the headboard of this cheap "free with purchase of mattress and box spring" brass bed because it was uh...banging holes into the wall. The problem is, the headboard really served as a shim for the frame. As a result of our rowdy decision to go headboardless for the sake of our room's paint job...the frame was NEVER really tightly bolted after that. One rail squeaked and rattled and was loose from then on. He always said he would fix it, clearly...that never happened. Over the last few month, it has loosened up even more and last night, it bent far enough that the casters on the ends of the legs snapped; sending me into a world of pissed off that I can't even describe.
I tossed my mattress and box spring aside, yanked the cheap metal frame out from under them, threw it up on its side and slid it out to the porch. While pulling this queen sized monstrosity through my door, the screen door...which doenst stay open on its own (and shall be referenced again in this story) fell shut on the bed frame smashing it into me and ripping a hole in my side...which I would soon forget about in my exhaustion...but not before picking the frame up and chucking it out into the middle of my front yard.
Sleep came easy. Until about 3am. I woke to noises that I was not familiar with. The dog was pacing frantically. Again, I was certain someone was either in or trying to get into my house. I shot up like a lightening bolt and rushed out of the room, wielding my trusty baseball bat. Because ya know...wielding my GUN would be so unreasonable with an intruder. Again, I found NOTHING. I looked all around the house, heard no noises, saw no signs of forced entry or anything of the sort. Gave up, went back to bed. 1 hour later, shit hit the fan.
The dog was going ape shit, I heard this chattering noise I had never heard before in my life and I was shocked to consciousness from a dream featuring my favorite member of law enforcement, a set of cuffs, and a saddle. Ok, maybe not a saddle. In a split second I realized that the noises I had heard earlier had not been someone talking quietly...there was a fucking animal in my house...and I dont mean me, the dog, or the cat. Something wild. Again, I don't mean me. I jumped up in my tiny booty shorts, wife beater tank top and did the only logical thing I could do. Put on my cowboy boots!!! WTF else would stop a critter from eatin my legs?!? Baseball bat in hand...yes, again...I stumbled out of my room, into the living room and could ascertain from the chirping/screaming/chattering that whatever didn't belong in my fucking house, was cornered by my German Shep...and PISSED OFF about it.
I was certain that one of the many squirrels living in my hollow tree next to my house had finagled its way in the dog door while I was at my photoshoot that day, somehow miraculously escaping death at the jaws of both my 100 pound dog and my 25 pound cat. Clearly, this would be difficult to catch. As I drew nearer the corner, the chattering stopped. Looking back, I should have probably taken this as some sort of warning sign. But 4am makes you retarded and not in an insulting way, just literally slower than normal. And I was moving at the wicked speed of molasses. I took one last step forward and like a ... I dunno, some animal that's cornered and scared for its life...it lunged at me!!!
No. It didn't lunge. It FLEW at me. Before I realized what I was doing; I ducked, covered, and screamed "FUCKING BAT! ITS A FUCKING BAT! THERE'S A FUCKING BAT IN MY HOUSE!!!!"
Just ya know, incase my 18 month old...or one of my pets who were clearly already on top of this situation...were not aware of what was now doing figure 8's around my living and dining rooms.
It's amazing what 4am does to your mind. This bat was HUGE. FUCKING HUGE. 9-10 inch wing span...body the size of a rat. Not a mouse...a RAT. I narrowly escaped stroking out and either out of instinct or desperation and fear of it latching onto my neck and turning me into Bella's long lost twin (BTW, I havent read or seen any of those books/movies so yeah...if my reference is off, suck it.)...I began swinging my baseball bat wildly at the Ozzy Osbourne snack circling my small abode.
My screaming had woken the baby who was now sitting at the door of my bedroom (which thankfully I had been smart enough to close) pointing at the bat through the glass French doors...and giggling. The dog, who is half blind from what you will all remember, is a disease called PANNUS not to be confused with Panis which you can order pills online to increase the size of...was jumping into the air like some sort of strange fucked up dolphin trying to reach a fish that the zoo keeper was taunting it with. God love my dog, she really tried to catch that batty little fucker, she just couldnt see him very well. Meanwhile, the cat had decided to join us and was sitting on the banister swatting at the bat...clearly not all that interested in catching it.
Here's the thing about bats...they have radar or sonar, or some kind or AR and they can SENSE a baseball bat being swung at them, even when the person handling the bat is wearing protective cowboy boots. Who knew?
At this point I decided the best course of action would be to sprawl myself out marathon runner style, one leg stretched WAY back to hold open my god damn door that wouldnt hold itself open, while the other was balled up under me so I could hide behind my dining room table and swing awkwardly at the bat with my bat when it came by...because clearly...any intelligent creature would risk being hit with a Louisville Slugger to get past me and out the door. Again...4am. Thinking...not so clear.
After, I shit you not, 40 minutes of this, I gave up as did the dog. I scurried on all 4's past the still flying rat with wings and into my room to ... yes ... call my mommy. She giggled, then gave me some ideas for catching it including using a blanket and throwing it over it...ya know...all Great Outdoors/Blacksheep style. I have deduced that if I had John Candy, David Spaude, or Chris Farley here with me, this would have worked. Prior to many failed attempts to blanket this beast...I noticed in the mirror that the side of my tank top was ripped and bloody. HOLY FUCK! The god damn vampire bastard got me!!! I almost fainted! I was sure I had rabies and was going to die. Does rabies cause lock-jaw because I couldnt un-clench my teeth! Would rabies REALLY be like becoming a ravenous zombie like I've read?? What would become of my child and pets when I became a rabies zombie. 4 am, is nothing short of awesome.
Now I was pissed. How dare this thing attack me, especially without me noticing it. Sneaky fucker. Now I was freaking out. I did the only sane thing to do. I called my husband, from whom I am currently separated. Yeah. He was THRILLED to hear from me. And of even less help that my mom. I cried "but it scratched or bit me, I'm going to die if I dont catch it and get it tested" to which he responded by telling me to call someone. Uhm...duh...that's what I'm doing. I'm calling you. Come save me and YOUR SON! That didn't work. I hung up. Fuck it. The blanket attempts were a total fail. A call to a friend in town provided minor amusement when (sorry doll, you know I love you) her husband showed up smashed to try to help me catch a bat that he was certain was only a figment of my imagination. Trust me. It wasnt.
At this point, I had to be up to get ready for court in 45 minutes. I was punchy, dizzy from lack of sleep, unsure of where this tiny flying freak had hidden itself, and ready to completely melt down. I didnt want to leave my pets here with it, but I had no choice. I prayed it had found its way back into the attic whose access was cracked open. I pulled that shut and took off for a long day of court and doc apts.
To be perfectly honest, my day wasnt bad. It was somewhere around lunch time that I remembered my tangle in the doorway with the bed frame. A short burst of hysterical laughter rang out from my lips when I realized that my husband who wants so badly to not care about me so he can be strong enough to walk away from me...thought I had been attacked by a rabid bat when in reality, I had been attacked by remnants of my former sex life with him. Ah, there's some irony in there that my sleep deprived brain is missing. But I'm sure, its a freaking riot.
Upon returning home, I had a new attitude, new strength and had been filled with the power of knowledge about bats...and a Wilson tennis racket. See, the radar-y fuckers can sense baseball bats, but not the netting of a tennis racket. This is good to know. File this in your useless flying rodent fact file.
Bandana on, gardening gloves on, cowboy boots on (duh, we've covered this), tennis racket in one hand, box and duct tape in the other hand, and beer crammed in the pocket of my jeans, spilling ever so slightly...I went room by room by room over turning and checking every piece of furniture...every nicknack...every toy...you name it. The last room to hit was my studio. I was sure the bat had gone back up to the attic. I was actually relieved. It was almost dusk, and it would wake soon and find its way back out of my house and life would go on. I started cleaning up some things around my studio and turned to face it. The bat. Hanging upside down from the beach towel I was using as a curtain. Funny...it seemed much smaller not flying at my face at what seemed like Nascar speeds. Honestly, it was kinda cute hanging there all sound asleep. Oh, except for the fact that it was a disease carrying blind glorified field mouse with paper thin wings IN MY MOTHER FUCKING HOUSE.
It took some working up. I knew what I had to do...stun it with a slight smack from the netting of the tennis racket, then put it in the box (already prepped with holes so it could breathe) tape it up, take it to Animal Control tomorrow where they would test it and make sure it didnt have rabies...just incase it had bitten my dog or cat.
Here's the thing. I never really played sports. I rode horses. That doesn't count when it comes to anything involving a hard object that you swing with your arms. After what seemed like eternity, I took 2 steps forward and swung the racket. Uhm. Yeah. I didn't hit it as planned. I hit it with the edge. It's poor tiny bones in its poor tiny spine snapped clean in half and it fell in the same position it had been hanging in, to the floor, clearly broken and dead. That image will likely haunt me for a while, as will the image of its batty face screeching and flying at me the night before. So tonight, the bat is in a box taped up Ft. Knox style in my garage...and I hope to hell he was one of a kind and I get some sleep tonight.
I have an epic gouge on my side that looks like I was hit by a car...from a bed that now rests in the garbage pile...one more sign of things past and gone. And my house is secure...but just incase...my cowboy boots are sitting in wait.
Some days never end. Thank God today is coming to a close. So RIP little misguided bat who turned my world upside down. Sorry you got whacked. And to you other bats and critters, don't be a rebel! Stay out of my house and I'll leave you alone. I'm off to dream land, see ya there, officer ;)