anxiouscucumber128

[anxiouscucumber128]

Hold up…

[anxiouscucumber128]

[anxiouscucumber128]

i’m going to share some thoughts about having mice in my apartment and i’m going to use the words “mouse/mice” and “rat/rats” interchangeably. and i know they’re different, like, creatures, but i’m using “rat” as more of a slur for “mouse”. because i don’t like them. i know there are people who have pet mice and they have like white fur with pink tinges around all their various holes and openings and stuff, and i’m not trying to offend you and your pet that crawls all over your chest, but if you get down with a roi de rats you might want to skip this. i’ve also spoken to my super about this stuff already etc. anyways here’s ~2,000 unedited words on rats.

we have rats. fucking rats, man. i’ve struck a horizontal line on the household pest bingo card. ants. that’s free space, everyone has ants at some point. bed bugs, fucking bed bugs. bed bugs are a kind of pest that change your personality long after they’re gone. they leave a scorch mark on your ancestral dna. 60 million years from now a scientist is going to point at a gene sequence on a hologram computer and go, “yeah right here is where it all started going wrong for this species, if you’ve ever wondered why you’re always scared of dark pieces of lint and your bed is 4 feet off the ground, this uh, this is why.” uh lizards and bats when i lived in florida, whatever, the point is that rats were always the end, the final frontier. the thing you only see on tv. now the only thing i have left is like, you ever hear about those stories that are like, “nanny cam footage reveals how an old japanese woman lived in this couple’s house undetected for 20 years!” that’s all i have left. haunted blonde twins with white eyes, that’s my new rats.

it all started, well i was at work, so like, already my soul was in a weakened state. like my spirit was extra susceptible to the universe fucking with it. i was at work and i got a text message from my girlfriend. it went something like, “i don’t want to freak you out, but i think i just saw a mouse in the apartment.”

and that text message, it marked the Before of my old life and the After that is my life trapped in rat crime city. my brain chemistry altered after reading those words. unknowingly it altered, because i was in denial at first, obviously. in fact my first reaction was to text back, “were you falling asleep at the time?” because sometimes when you’re falling asleep you’ll see weird, scary shit, right? like a demon sitting on your chest or something.

well whatever, i worked the rest of my shift in a daze and eventually, somehow, hours later found myself kneeling in an aisle of duane reade that i had only ever visited once before to buy fly traps. because i’ve had flies, and i bought a cute little fake apple to kill fruit flies. the apple of death, i was the purple witch to the fly sleeping beauty. whatever. i was kneeling because even in the aisle dedicated to killing the vermin of nyc, they put the rat stuff on the bottom shelf, not even the bottom shelf, like the space under the bottom shelf. because it’s so shameful. it’s rat killing merch and a dusty can of blueberry redbull that rolled under there five months ago. it was one step away from buying weapons from a guy in a dark alley. i was there kneeling, hunched over, like in prayer to the altar of the god of rat death. and the hovering, infinitely black orb flashed red and answered my prayers by unfurling like a rose and in the center of the strange petals was a poison trap.

so i bought the poison trap and here’s what i thought the poison trap did. i thought the rat walked inside of a little room, ate poison, and then somehow the door locked behind him and he just died in a shitty little poison rat studio apartment. upon getting home my girlfriend informed me that how it actually works is, the rat eats the poison disguised as delicious food, and then just goes and dies randomly some time later, probably in a hard to reach spot in the room where i live. 

side note. i pay too much money to live in a very small space because i feel aimless and lost and i’ll do things like move to a city to try and find meaning in my life, uh, rats have miles and miles of subway tunnels to live in. go, go be in them. get away from me.

so i returned to the altar of the god of rat death and prayed once more to the giant, hovering, infinitely black orb, and i said, “you fucking sold me- what is this trap for? give me the classic mouse traps, my god. i thought rat trap technology had evolved. just give me the regular cartoon thing made out of wood.”

they had two kinds of those, the classic retro wooden clap trap, and some more modern looking grey plastic one that looked like a building from command and conquer or some shit. i bought a bunch of both. i dropped mad stacks on rat traps.

i’d also like to comment on how the old fashioned traps, the wooden ones, they say on the package, “pre-baited” but when you look at them, at the spot where the bait would be, there’s nothing. like i looked at a couple and i was like, “where is the bait?” the little platform where you’re meant to put the bait is shaped like a tiny slice of swiss cheese, holes and all. that’s what they mean by “pre-baited. like what kind of acme logic is that? pre-baited with a cartoonish wedge of swiss cheese? rats don’t know what swiss cheese is! rats aren’t fucking born with an innate knowledge of swiss cheese. they don’t know that humans think they specifically like the cheese with the holes!! that’s not real. rats eat fucking glue and garbage and shit! by that logic an elephant trap would have a big plastic peanut on it. that’s not pre-baited!! bear traps don’t have pots of honey on them!!!

we decided to use the modern-y, plastic-y clap traps. you bait these in a little hatch and then when the rat lifts up the lid, it snaps down and breaks their neck. like if i opened my fridge and inside there was a spring-loaded metal bar that just swung out and clothes lined me to death. we baited them with peanut butter. which uh, marked the jar in my head as “rat peanut butter.” like it was new and i opened it for the traps and i don’t think i’ll use it now. like i can’t put a dollop of jif into a plastic death trap and then spread it on some ritz crackers. not appetizing. but hey, only the best name brands for my rat buds, eh? choosy daniels choose jif. you think they’d prefer crunchy over smooth? you think rats keep their peanut butter in the fridge?

side note again. my girlfriend pointed something out to me that was apparently rat droppings. a little black like, bit of dirt behind the sink. i was like, “that’s what that is? i’ve seen that every day, i just thought it was like, crud? you know? like schmutz, like just dirt that builds up from being alive and walkin around and shit. that’s what that is?” it blew my mind.

three days passed, alright? every day i woke up and went to go check the traps like some kind of fucked up easter egg hunt. four little sections of my tiny apartment where i can’t go anymore. my girlfriend had since gone home for vacation. i was alone, i was convinced there was no rat.

on the fourth day i woke up. rat in the trap. big fucking rat. not really a rat, it was a mouse, but like i said, well, to me, a rat. i froze. i knew i was going to be late for work. once i was late for work because i had to psych myself up to pick up a dead roach. a rat? that has a spine and an immune system and shit. i thought i was just gonna call and quit. here’s the real twist though. i looked over at the other trap and did a fucking double take. there was another rat. two, i caught two in one night. it really looked like a mom and a baby. everyone i’ve told this to, at this point they get sad thinking about a mom and a baby, but it just freaks me out more. rats don’t have one baby, they have a bunch. for all i know my apartment is a poorly staffed rat daycare right now. 

me picking up the traps with the rigid dead rat bodies isn’t important, just gross, but it’s something i had to do that i didn’t think i’d ever do, so there’s that. add that to my wheelhouse.

how did we even get rats? we’re clean, don’t leave out food, no british ships had docked in my fucking living room. (why isn’t there a stereotype of the arrival of british people coinciding with the arrival of rats? isn’t that how rats got to hawaii?) the only thing i can pin it to is construction they were doing down a manhole on our street. maybe that displaced them. would i have preferred to have four ninja turtles crashing on my couch? no, i don’t want anything from the sewer being displaced refugees in my apartment.

but now we’re all caught up. because this is where i am. i live in fear. when the sun sets i just go to bed because rats are nocturnal and i figure i’d better give them enough night time hours to kill themselves in my traps. like i just don’t stay up anymore and then i dread going out into the living room in the morning. 

i got home from work last night and pulled out everything from under the sink. taking a tip from a coworker, i taped up the holes in the back of the cabinet where the pipes from the sink meet the walls. you’re supposed to use steel wool because they can’t chew through it. all i had was purple duct tape left over from when i went through a duct tape wallet phase four years ago. so i was dripping sweat in my apartment with the ac off so i could hear rats trying to sneak up on me. i was shirtless, wearing jeans, my most rat bite-proof pants, a child’s headlamp so i could see under the sink, and wearing leather gloves. why was i wearing the leather gloves? because if i saw a rat and somehow i caught it in my bare hands i wouldn’t have the courage to crush it, but the leather glove would empower me to choke the life out of it i guess. yeah, shirtless, jeans, leather gloves, child’s headlamp, and a roll of purple duct tape. like a shitty sexy calendar miner. this is my life forever now, i guess. at night i dream from the perspective of the rats. i am them. where do you see yourself spending your last moments on earth if you’re a rat? rolling green hills, the feeling of wind gently running through your fur. in the distance are ancient ruins being overrun by moss. vestiges of a forgotten time. and now time would forget you too. something like that? no please i’m a rat and i want to die surrounded by some loser 25 year old’s shitty ikea furniture. i can’t go back to the way it was. i hate rats.

[anxiouscucumber128]

man i was walking to work today from the subway and i saw these two businessmen in suits talking, but they were doing that stupid thing where they were standing with like four feet of space between them, like, just screwing with the flow of a sidewalk for no reason? like they’re afraid if they stand a little closer someone’s gonna run up and marry them to each other. anyways, as i was cutting between them i looked over at one of them and our eyes locked just as he was saying, and this is the only thing i heard him say with a creepy grin on his face, “sweater meat.” and i swear i was just like, “eugh!?” and sped up a little. like it’s the grossest thing you could be talking about in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight. his face got all creased and shadowed as he said it, it’s like he didn’t even say it, it’s like the words oozed out of his pores like tentacles and tried to get at me. 

is there even a sleazier way to talk about boobs? sweater meat? it’s practically the middle of summer, no one’s wearing sweaters. your creepiness isn’t even seasonally appropriate. i know you’re not from another hemisphere, buddy. it doesn’t even make sense. i wish his friend had been like, “but wait, nick, if boobs are sweater meat because when girls wear sweaters, they’re in them. what about when we wear sweaters? are we the meat inside the sweaters?”

and the first guy gets all defensive and stammers as he wipes at his brow, “what the fuck kind of nonsense are you talking about, huh? how can you and i be sweater meat? we’re nick and david!” he gulps. “to suggest…to suggest that when i wear a sweater i am also meat inside a sweater. i don’t…the meat is the boob, you dumbass! i’m nick! i’m not the boob! i’m not made of m- i’m- when i- i ain’t never wore no sweater in my life! i’ll fuck you up you say that shit to me again!” late that night he’s standing in the dark in his bathroom wearing a sweater, just staring at himself in the mirror.

[anxiouscucumber128]

it’s weird sometimes, the things you say when you’re talking to someone you’ve never met before. like you’ll just keep saying phrases you’ve never used like they’re your life mottos. i was training this guy at work and i kept using the phrase, “that’s just the nature of the beast.” 

that’s just, the nature…of the beast. i said that twice within 10 minutes of meeting someone. that’s just the nature of the beast? like i’m a veteran cop who’s been on the force for 25 years and i’m training a rookie to try and walk the straight and narrow and risk his life to save a community that always seems to be eating itself from the inside out. “that’s just the nature of the beast, boot.”

except i’m just like some idiot going, “yeah sometimes you’ll need to get change, but, like, it’ll be sunday and the bank’ll be closed…but that’s just the nature of the beast, man.”

and the guy i’m talking to is thinking like, “what beast? banks? because two seconds ago the beast was us being in a grubhub/seamless dead zone.”

[anxiouscucumber128]

i’ve been alone in the apartment for a few days and there was this fly i was trying to kill. this morning i was chasing it around, and, well i have a very small apartment, so when i say i was “chasing” it i mean i was making sharp turns trying to get it with cockroach spray. i don’t have any fly spray, but i’m convinced cockroach spray is the same formula, just with a different spray nozzle. fly spray is a light mist, like a cloud the fly gets caught in. cockroach spray is more like a silly string kind of laser so you can hit them from a distance. it’s hard trying to use one for the other. it’s almost like they knew what they were doing down at the lab the day they came up with the stuff.

this fly kept landing on my stove and hovering around my radiator. like it thinks i’m going to spray flammable oil, because that’s pretty much what the poison is, it’s like oil that fucks up their wings and shit, all over my stove top and then light my whole place on fire the next time i try and be fancy and use conventional heating instructions on my can of chef boyardee ravioli. like it takes a lot of nerve to do that to me. to stand right there and try and get me to sabotage my whole life.

anyways i have a fly strip too, which i’ve talked about before because i’m glamorous, and right after i got dressed i came out i saw it on there, trapped. and i felt bad for it because it was still moving around like it had no clue what was going on. i actually felt bad for this fly. so i sprayed it point blank on the strip. will spraying my fly strip with roach poison ruin its effectiveness? i don’t know, but right after i did it i saw another fly. a second fly. that always gets me, when there are two of them, because they fuck and make babies. even if they don’t like each other i bet. just to spite me. two flies who hate each other start a family just to annoy me. i don’t know where it goes on, but knowing two flies are going at it somewhere in my apartment drives me insane. 

i think i’m being ghosted by this school i applied to. i didn’t want to go back to school, but i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m really directionless right now. i’m trying to extend my stay in young adulthood for as long as possible. just in the middle of the ocean jumping from driftwood to driftwood. i applied to this program, a one year degree, and i had to go through all the paces. i had to write a peppy application essay where i had to come across as this guy who’s got a biiig appetite for life and oh opportunities give me a major hard on and i always don’t feel defeated. i couldn’t check a box and then go, “i am not a bad guy, let me pay you to put a semblance of purpose back in my day-to-day. a little hope. put a few more watts in the light at the end of the tunnel there, for me.”

everything was going great, i met all the deadlines, my transcripts were good, here’s what i think screwed or is screwing me. i did a special program in high school that gave me college credits. i got an email from a woman at the school i applied to that said my college credit exemptions from high school weren’t valid unless i had records sent from my high school. i went online to the program’s website to order the documents directly. they asked for a login/password combo i was given in 2009 and of course had tattooed to my forearm for easy reference.

i had to call my high school. i had to pick up my phone, my phone that the technology for didn’t even exist when i was in high school, and i had to call them. it was like calling another dimension. it was like trying to find my way back to oz from kansas without the help of a tornado. the line was all static-y and shit like i was breaking the space-time continuum by even attempting it. i don’t want to even imagine what my high school is like. all the metal picnic tables are all probably new and some weird color. there’s probably some new ugly mural or something, i don’t know.

i had to talk to a man and explain to him that almost eight years ago, before he even started working at the school, there was a woman who had his job whose name has been lost to the annals of time. this woman ran a program that a little boy was in, and that little boy was now a little older boy who needed evidence that it all really even happened. the program was european and the boy had to get codes for an online portal so he could have some server farm in fucking sweden or something send his dusty ass decade old latin scores across the atlantic. somehow this took three weeks and probably lost the boy his spot and the 75 dollars it cost to apply.

you know the funny thing is that when i called the guy and took the 15 minutes to explain who i was he asked me if i needed the documents for grad school. i panicked because i didn’t want to disappoint this stranger over the phone who i’d never meet, so i said yeah dude of course. he then invited me to come speak to the students at my old high school to show them all that they could accomplish by being in the program. i was like, “buddy, i know you think i’m a new york hot shot because i just told you i’m a new york hot shot, but i’m calling you in secret from the back stockroom of my depressing retail job and if i ever came to speak to your students they would lose all hope and quit school altogether and probably bully me because high schoolers in 2016 are fucking intense and scary to me.

[anxiouscucumber128]

I know y’all think Ryan clowned next to Blake but let me just say

I will argue that he was just as if not more on theme than her. He’s so far one of only a few men to actually wear a period appropriate suit that is to the dress code required!!

White tie events are the most formal events in Western/British culture and you bet ur ass the Met Gala is a white tie event— yet men rarely dress to this level because it isn’t what the general public wants or is aware of.

Not only that but his suit is mid-gilded age. The styling of the waistcoat with the pocket watch, the lapel and shoulder cut, the only modern aspects of it are the collar of his shirt and the lack of buttons on his jacket (but then again he’s allowed some personal taste).

In accordance with white tie formal, his suit is black but the material adds even more glamour, black velvet. Most men do just the front of the jacket and some silk or wool on the back/lapel with maybe their pants being the same (often cheaper). But his WHOLE SUIT is black velvet. Of course this prevents a nice front pleat that’s common in white tie suits, but due to the luxurious nature of velvet it is worth it because it comes off as even more extravagant and tasteful, a seamless transition from top to bottom (which a lot of suits struggle with)

And finally, a semi gloss black saddle boot with a tasteful gold wrist watch add enough luxury in a whispering way— making a lovely contrast to Blakes outfit.

He’s not dressed in competition with her, but rather in compliment. His suit is a warm black, which works beautifully with Blake’s color pallet, and the way velvet reflects light prevents any unwanted reflective shimmers from Blake so every photo together will look good and flattering. He’s her arm candy, in a way, by being well-dressed and complimentary without demanding equal attention. Because Blake lively is known for her Met Gala looks, and that is clearly important to her, so he supports her enthusiasm by simply being a perfect pair.

[anxiouscucumber128]

whoever isn’t renewing sonic boom right this very second is a coward and a fool

[anxiouscucumber128]

The next time they tell you Americans are “happy” with their employer provided health insurance remember that that “happiness” is fueled by willful ignorance of what the alternatives are really like and fear of losing what little crappy health care they currently have.

[anxiouscucumber128]

if a girl tried to sacrifice me to the old gods that would be totally fine and I would submit but if a guy did that I would fight back a little

[anxiouscucumber128]

Big math news! It’s been thirty years since mathematicians last found a convex pentagon that could “tile the plane.” The latest discovery (by Jennifer McLoud-Mann, Casey Mann, and David Von Derau) was published earlier this month. Full story.

[anxiouscucumber128]

in case people didn’t know this

the Met Gala funds the Met Costume Institute. meaning, basically, the Met’s clothing collection

from what I’ve read, it is the main source of funding for the Institute, which houses over 31,000 garments and accessories from the 17th century onwards

as for why the Costume Institute needs a separate fundraiser from the rest of this vast world-class museum with many high-profile donors…I have often wondered that myself. in the same breath as wondering why the Met has so few and sparse costume exhibits in any given year, and why some pieces on their collections website are outright misdated

but that’s the situation, so. that’s what the Met Gala is for. it’s not just rich people parading around in couture for fun. it keeps a huge museum collection of historical clothing preserved, so people can learn from and be inspired by those garments for years to come

(via ticket sales to the aforementioned rich people parading around in couture. and, in the case of guests who attend for free, the designers who make said couture and pay for tables for their celebrity models as publicity)

[anxiouscucumber128]

That Ben Affleck was Adele all this time has left me amazed. Truly his greatest role.

[anxiouscucumber128]

fun fact

im weirdly knowlagable in the history of soda i dont even drink soda why do i know so much about it

[anxiouscucumber128]

I have no answers, this was just in my head and now it is out and I am so sorry

*doggo at the foot of the bed, spinning in circles and clawing viciously at the covers*

“C’mon leave it, just go to sleep”

“No there are snakes.”

“Seriously?”

“I can hear them hissing!”

“Will you stop? You’re gonna rip the duvet again.”

“I can’t believe you’re so careless. You never know if you’re safe, there are snakes everywhere and they’re gonna bite you in your sleep and then you’ll die.”

“We’re three stories up.”

“They can fly.”

“No they can’t.”

“You don’t know that. They can hijack planes, for one.”

“That was a film-just go to sleep, for the love of-“

“I found one!”

“What? No you-that’s my foot, genius. See?” *wiggles toes*

“SHIT. IT’S ALIVE.”

“OF COURSE IT IS IT’S-“

“Fear not, I shall kill it for you.”

“Don’t you dare-have you ever actually seen a snake?”

“I have battled many.”

“Really? Because they don’t look like that!”

*mumbling* “…’s a new species?”

“What?”

“I mean, it could be a new species?”

“There aren’t any new species of snake.”

“There could be.”

“They don’t just make new ones!”

“Well if they did it’s not like they’d tell you about it, would they?”

*ponders for a femtosecond, dismisses* “So you’re telling me that in this bed on the third floor of a house that is surrounded on all sides by a freestanding ten-foot brick wall anchored by a further three feet of concrete there is a new species of scale-less, foot-shaped snake and you’re looking at it right now.”

“…No, I’m saying that it’s not impossible.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re reckless. You let strange monkeys into our den.”

“That was my grandfather!”

“And you let a dinosaur live inside.”

“He’s a pet lizard! Bloody hell-please, go the fuck to sleep. My foot is not a snake.”

“Of course not, the snake is a snake.”

“A certain aphorism about ducks comes to mind-“

“That’s a fallacy, the ducks have been lying. Besides, snakes don’t walk or talk.”

“They don’t fly either.”

“Just because you’ve never seen them flying-“

“No, it’s that nobody in the history of humankind has ever seen a flying snake!”

“You’re wrong.”

“How do you figure that? I’ve thousands of years of evidence on my side!”

“One word. Birds.”

“What??”

“How do you explain birds. They aren’t real, but it’s got nothing to do with the government. Birds aren’t real because they’re actually snakes.”

“What the fuck.”

“Just look at their legs, they’re all scaly! I’m telling you, birds are just snakes in big coats and they’re having you on as well as the rest of the humans.”

“Mate, you eat chicken.”

“That’s different.”

“HOW-it’s a bird!”

“Yes but chickens are real birds. They don’t fly.”

“Oh fuck me…”

“Neither do ostriches. Or emus. Nor did the prehistoric terror birds of the Cenozoic era. In fact, most real birds are actually very large.”

“Chickens aren’t.”

“Chickens are dwarves. Dwarf birds.”

“Or, perhaps all birds are dwarf birds because all birds are real because none of them are snakes.”

“Nope. Only snakes can fly, I’ve seen it.”

“No, you’ve seen birds.”

“Really? I once watched a pretty little bird get undressed in a tree-“

“-jesus-“

“-and voila! It was actually a snake.”

“Maybe it was just a snake eating a bird and you got confused.”

“No, it was definitely a snake.”

“Was there a lump in it’s throat?”

“A what?”

“A lump, it happens when they swallow things.”

“Well I don’t know, I didn’t get a close enough look!”

“Oh! But you were close enough to see Burlington Coat Factory strip dance on a tree branch!”

“It was dark.”

“Wait a minute-where was this? We haven’t got any trees.”

“Oh…you don’t know, do you.”

“Know what?”

“They didn’t tell you.”

“I swear to god if-“

“The trees are nocturnal, they get all dressed up and live in peoples’ houses during the day.”

[anxiouscucumber128]

oh look it’s the tipping point of every bad decision I’ve ever made

[anxiouscucumber128]

never heard truer words