God Bless German Engineering

My dad sent me this video the other day via iMessage..

First thoughts... Did you mean to send this to me? Is that our kitchen table?  Does it play music?  Are these pigs involved?  What is that?

Let's find out:

That is some serious confidence in your 4 level German Christmas pyramid carousel, Dad.  Hope it lives up to expectations.  #ItWill.

People You May Know

Tell me if you see anything unusual in this screen grab from my Facebook homepage this evening (click to enlarge).  I'll give you a hint: it has nothing to do with Duane Reade.

It's the title of this post.  Just give up.

That's right.  According to Facebook, people I may know include Nathan Thomas, friends with Anthony P. G. Berger, and Joe Rogan, host of Fear Factor.  Obviously I clicked on Mr. Rogan immediately because this sparked my interest.  Do I have a mutual friend with Joe Rogan?  Here is what I found:

Do you know Joe?

8 friends?!  You hosted a show where people won trips to Las Vegas based on how many inches of cow rectum they were willing to digest on national TV and I literally have 719 more Facebook friends than you.  Congratulations, Joe.  Evidently friends are not a factor for you.  You must be the most miserable human to interact with face-to-face.  When your friends want to hang out, do you make them walk barefoot through a tank of hypodermic needles and then feed them a pizza topped with coagulated blood and giraffe tongues?  Is that why you're so lonely?  Good lord, that gig messed you up.

Aside from your Fear Factor psychological trauma, though..  UFC (Color Commentator)?  Seriously?  You get ONE line from the resume that goes on your Facebook page and you're going with UFC Color Commentator rather than Fear Factor or NewsRadio?  No wonder Brooke Burns won't accept your friend request.  You are the Balthazar Getty of reality show hosts.

Given the fact that we have zero mutual friends and that this is clearly a fake Facebook account, I am curious as to why Facebook has suggested that we know each other.  Has Facebook been pushing Joe Rogan on anyone else?  Please let me know.  I'm probably going to lose 12 minutes of sleep over this once I'm done writing this post.

In conclusion:

Duh.

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

While I was growing up, my family never put up our Christmas tree until December.  My mom hated rushing the holiday after Thanksgiving.  But given that I am the only person in my family who enjoys helping my mom decorate the tree, we became "those people" once I went to college because if I didn't put up the tree with her over Thanksgiving, she'd have to go it alone sometime in the weeks following.  Now that I'm living out in New York, though, this has become an especially important part of my Thanksgiving break at home.  My family comes to New York for Christmas, so Thanksgiving weekend, when I decorate the tree with my mom, is the only time I actually get to see our Christmas tree in person.  I have always loved Christmas (if Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song" makes an appearance in the old iTunes shuffle, at any time of year, I will not skip the song - out of respect), and since we have had the same artificial tree for the last 15 years (we could never have a real Christmas tree since we always traveled during the holidays and apparently that would be a fire hazard - one of those facts your parents tell you when you're 8 years old and you just accept as the truth of God, like how eating carrots gives you strong teeth), seeing this tree is a fond reminder of Christmas memories and a welcome constant as life has transitioned rapidly from high school to college to moving across the country and trying to be an adult (I'll get there one day).

Maybe it's because I'd just entered my 24th year on God's green earth just a couple of days before, but as we were decorating the tree this year, I contemplated how many years, how many Christmases and vacations and birthdays and presidential elections (yes, we commemorate each presidential election with a Christmas ornament, you mean your family doesn't do that?), had resulted in the endless number of ornaments my parents have collected. 

So then of course, I started thinking, geez Mariel, you're already 24 and you have about 3 ornaments in your wheelhouse and you don't even have a Christmas tree to put them on, and next year you're going to be 25 and then you start the countdown from 30 and it's like, ok you've got 5 years to get your shit together and have a respectable Christmas tree.. STEP UP, WOMAN.

Ok, nearly-quarter-life-crisis aside, my mom and I started laughing about how funny some of these ornaments are so without further ado, here is a glimpse into the Christmas tree at the Synan house:

It came without ribbons.  It came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes or bags.

This year, Christmas came straight up with a twist.  

This ornament was one of my sister Katy's creations.  I think she made it in first grade.  You know, back when she was going through her Chinese throwing star phase.  I swear to God, one of these years, this thing is going to pierce one of our hands while we're rustling through the ornament box.  This has weathered a lot of packing and unpacking over the years so believe it or not, it has actually LOST a few toothpicks but this could absolutely still double as a weapon.  Kevin McCallister would be proud.

I can't give Katy too hard of a time without calling to attention one of my signature pieces.  That's right.  This is a Turd original.  Gold bangs on snowmen were definitely on trend that year.  #MostLikelyToHaveTheBestHair.  The "y" on "Melly" was spelled backwards on the back of this.  Shocking.

I started to rip on my brother Nicholas when I saw this one.  I mean, talk about an egocentric Christmas ornament.  Forget baby Jesus, Christmas is ALL. ABOUT. NICK.  But then my mom reminded me of the homemade Christmas ornament we have from my dad's childhood...

Note that this is the only ornament I am not showing with a close-up, because I needed to give perspective on how large this thing is.  There is no appropriate place to hang it on the tree.  But I have to hand it to my dad, talk about a power play.  There was no amount of macaroni or glitter his brother or sister could use that would upstage this behemoth.  As a fellow middle child, I respect the strategy.  Naughty or nice?  Walk that line, Dad.  This one is for Santa to decide.

Wait, your family doesn't have a dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornament?

Wait, your family doesn't have two dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornaments?

Nothing weird going on here.. Nope, just ask these furtive pigs clutching a candle.  

This has always been one of my favorite ornaments.  I don't know what it is, maybe the side eye.  Bringing a little bit of bitchiness to the holidays?  Absolutely.

I can't even take credit for finding the humor in this one.  Way to go, Mom, for pointing out the pantless, pre-pubescent basketball player.  Why is he giggling about covering his privates with a basketball?  Why did he curl his eyelashes?  WHERE ARE HIS PANTS?  Attention readers: if you stumble across an "Unintentionally Inappropriate Christmas Ornaments" tumblr, please, for the love of baby Jesus and the Magi, submit this.

And last but not least.. what's that lurking in the shadows?

Oh don't worry, it's just the velvet-armed gnome-acorn centaur.  Trust me, it's more afraid of you than you are of it.

This ornament is everything.  I feel like my mom got this in Austria?  Or maybe she made it when she was a kid?  Regardless, it is one of those ornaments that doesn't have a string or ribbon or hook or anything, so instead of hanging it up, it nestles on the branches.  

Nestles on the branches.  This creeped me out as a child.  I was convinced it was alive and didn't want to be restrained hanging mid-air by fishing wire so instead it sat on the branches so that it could move about freely during the night.  I don't know why it scared me.  It's not like it has velvet arms or a cane or is half-gnome, half-acorn or anything.

T-Rex Arms FTW

This gif had to be made.  You're welcome, world.

Facebook's Newest Member

Ann Synan has joined Facebook.  That's right, my mom is on Facebook.

If you haven't already friended her in the last 3.7 seconds, learn how to read and open new Safari tabs faster.  Command-T, chumps.

I'm super excited about this because I know she's going to be really good at Facebook.  Almost as good as I am at watching television on Netflix.  That's wizard-level status.

Mom, if you're reading this, no need to sign your wall posts.  Same rules as texting.  However, "Always, Mom" was the cutest end to a first-time wall post so it was truly an honor to receive that Facebook alert.  Can't wait for you to start "liking" every wall post from Reg Douglas/photo taken at Percy's from here until infinity.

Love you!

These Guys Look Like a Bunch of Lemon Pops

Carolyn says she's going to boycott my blog until I post the stories about my dad from our trip to Kauai.  Given the infrequency with which I've been blogging, this would not be a very impressive protest on her part.  But all the same, I know how much the world my 7 loyal readers love stories about my dad, so I shall oblige.

Hawaii Five-No

1.  If any of you have ever been to the Hawaiian islands, you'll know that there are chickens and roosters running around all over the place.  When you first notice them, it's sort of a novel thing and you want to take lots of pictures.  And then after a couple of days, they're sort of just squirrels with feathers.  Anyway, my family had been in Oahu for a week before I got there so the novelty really should have worn off for Bill.  But the first morning I was in Kauai, I went for a walk with my parents, and in the middle of a conversation with my mother and me, he just darted off into some tall grass after some chickens.  And he was meowing.  Meowing.  At some feral chickens.  My previous understanding of the bird-cat relationship - which is mostly based on the Looney Tunes - would indicate that he was trying to scare them away with his meows, but the excited grin on his face suggested it was a misguided attempt at befriending them.  Moving on.

2. He bought the above t-shirt and told me that it's "as seen on Hawaii Five-O.. the new series." I laughed and he said, "No, it really is!" Oh ok.. I thought that was a joke.  I liked it better when it was a joke.

3. While getting ready for dinner one night, he walked into my siblings' and my room, looked at my brother, and said, "Look at this kid!  What are those.. he's got linen shorts?  Ann, this kid has linen shorts.  Why didn't I think of that?  God, I can't keep up with these three."  I'm a really big fan of overreactions, just in general, and when they're sparked by something like linen shorts, that's just icing on the cake.  When he visits in October, I may have to just walk him around H&M with a tape recorder and see what happens.

4. Ok, this was so long ago at this point and I'm just looking at the notes I took on my iPhone as reminders for blog material.. so now I don't remember where I was going with this conversation but here we go.  I think it's still funny:

     Me: "Ok, don't take this as an insult--"
     Dad: "I already am."
     Me: "--but did you bring..."
     Dad: "Rogaine?"

Both of my parents have aged really well, but since I can remember my dad has been convinced that his hairline is receding.  I can't remember what I was trying to ask my dad in this instance but I can assure you, it had nothing to do with his hair.  But he managed to go there.  Yet again.  He is also very concerned about having man boobs.  I think this is because he learned the word "moobs" in the last year or so.  But yeah, you can imagine how often that question came up on a beach vacation.  At one point, he said that I get my boobs from him, managing to insult himself, myself, and my mother in one fell swoop.  Irish charm.  That's why we love him.

5.  Here's another great conversation that went down that week:

     Dad: "The man behind the counter looked like a sushi man maker.  A man sushi maker.  A sushi maker man?"
     Nick: "He looked Japanese."

It's not often that Nick gets to be the voice of reason.  Way to step up.

6.  I gave him my phone and asked him to take a picture of my mom and sister with me.  He stands there making us shift a little bit left, a little bit right, etc. to supposedly get the perfect shot...

"Mariel's party hat."

... when in reality, he was trying to get us to line up so that the tiki torch behind me would look like "Mariel's party hat."  I can't tell you how long he laughed about that one.  Just picture a grown man who needs glasses, holding an iPhone as far away from his face as he can, chuckling "Mariel's party hat" to himself.  Incredible.

7.  As I've mentioned previously, my dad is not the savviest when it comes to technology.  He's really into taking photos with his iPhone now, though, and it's rather endearing when he tries to take artsy photos of ducks in Central Park.  His one complaint, though, is the dual camera.  I got to witness this frustration first hand and it sounds something like this: "Ughsdfhh, I hate when the camera flips around on you like that.  I look like the biggest loser."  Classic overreaction.  Classic Synan.

8. This is him zip-lining into a pond:

Look at that form.

9.  We were in Hawaii during the Olympics, and every time Mary Carillo would show up on screen, he'd say, "Who's this guy?"

10.  While one male gymnast gracefully made his way across the balance beam, he expressed his admiration by noting that he can't stand on one leg and take off his sandal at the same time.  #Respect.  Then when it came to one of the Irish gymnasts doing his floor routine, every time he'd do the splits, my dad would make a fart noise.  #NotSoMuchRespect

11.  And last but not least, his reaction to the Olympic sport of track cycling.  As soon as I saw those helmets, I knew he was going to lose his mind.  First to line up, the Australian team.  "What the hell is this?  What the hell?  These guys look like a bunch of lemon pops!"  Well, to be fair, they kind of do.  Then the race begins and he is not impressed, directing most of his anger at the pace bicyclist, who he referred to as "the mailman."  Well, to be fair:

Sometimes he really is spot on.

My favorite comment of the evening, was, "You know what would be really cool?  If they were really tiny people and they cut up your pizza pie."  When it was all over, and I was wiping tears of laughter from my face, trying to catch my breath, he just said "There are literally millions of texts being sent around the world that just say 'WTF.'"  Which, ironically, was my reaction to his 7 minute long commentary.


Well, that's all for now, friends.  Bill comes to visit in a little over a week so if you have any suggestions for a Dad-inspired blog post, please send them to me!  mariel.synan@gmail.com

G'night!

My Hero

Things I respect about this kid:

1) Her determination.
2) Her costume choice.
3) Her inability to somersault.
4) Her thunder-stealing moves.
5) Her costume choice.  There's a hat.  It was worth mentioning twice.

T.G.I.F. No but seriously.

On our morning walk to the subway today, I was telling Carolyn that I wished Full House and Boy Meets World were on Netflix.

And what do I find this evening but...

DINOSAURS.

DINOSAURS.

DINOSAURS.

DINOSAURS.

When you say "recently added," Netflix, how recent are we talking?  Because if it was more than 34 minutes ago, I demand to know why I did not receive an emergency call/text/email/carrier pigeon, a broadcast from the Oval Office, as well as a visit from the ghost of Jim Henson himself to announce this beautiful, beautiful news.  And what's even better is that other programs from the T.G.I.F. Hall of Fame can't be far behind.  It's like the gods of instant watch heard my prayer this morning and were like, "Yeah, Mariel.  We hear you.  And we're working on Family Matters too.  But it's time to unleash Dinosaurs as a reminder that YOU CAN THANK US IT'S FRIDAY, BITCH."  Thank you, gods of Netflix, for sending us your only T.G.I.F. program (for now), leading us not into boredom, and delivering us from Qwikster.  Amen.

Real or Wax?

I was checking the Flixster app for new movie trailers (ps if you haven't seen the trailer for The Impossible yet, go chug a gallon of water and then watch it. Hydrate first, though, because it will drain you via your tear ducts.) and noticed that this app features entertainment-related quizzes. There was one that obviously caught my eye and I just wanted to share this little screen grab:




Stories from Hawaii to come.. This week I promise.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I Graduated from Notre Dame Two Years Ago and Just Watched Rudy for the First Time (Ever) Tonight...

... and oh my god

and they're chanting his name

and Vince Vaughn goes rogue

and he makes a tackle

and his dad is there

and the grounds keeper guy is there

and Touchdown Jesus is there

and they carry him off the field

and since 1975, no other Notre Dame player has been carried off the field

***

i wasn't emotionally ready for this

that was spectacular

Jerry Goldsmith needs to write the original score for my life

The Newsroom

When I found out Aaron Sorkin was writing a new TV show for HBO, I was pumped this excited.  Seasons 1-4 of The West Wing constitute maybe absolutely some of the most perfect television ever.  I've re-watched the series more times than I can count.  I have to buy a replacement disc for Season 2 because I wore out the disc with "Two Cathedrals" on it.  I spent a year of my Notre Dame education writing a thesis about it.  I'm a fan.

That being said, I went into The Newsroom with an open mind.  I heard a few lukewarm reviews today, so I watched the premiere tonight without expecting to love it.  I, however, thought it was fantastic and can't wait to see what they have in store for the rest of the season.  Say what you will about Aaron Sorkin as a person, but as a writer, he is simply brilliant.  Off to a good start on this one, Mr. Sorkin.

Here are a few of my thoughts in no particular order:

- The opening was a little preachy.  I watched the trailer no less than 12 times in the weeks leading up to the premiere, and I was pretty psyched about Jeff Daniels's rant culminating in "When you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Yosemite?" In the episode, though, this doesn't immediately cut to the West-Wing-esque opening credits.  Instead, he slows his roll a little bit and continues on, saying we used to be the greatest country in the world and still could be if we had an informed electorate and so on and so forth.  Ok, sure, this sets up the concept of the show: let's make the news great again.  And yes, Sorkin totally sells that idealistic Capra-corn and I eat that shit up for breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner.  But Daniels/Sorkin definitely speak with a rose-colored lenses view of American history, nostalgic for the "good old days," whenever those were.  Come on, Sorkin.  I expect more from you (not from him).

Jim Harper

And he tells his audience of college students that we're the worst period generation period ever period.  Rude.  Also, wrong.  Especially because his "senior producer" who saves his ass by the end of the episode is most definitely part of that generation.  He looks like he's 26.  And he's a senior producer.  And he has an anonymous, exclusive source for every piece of breaking news.  Not the worst. 

- The aforementioned Doogie Howser senior producer is named Jim Harper, and I'm gonna love this guy.  He's like Josh Lyman meets Jim Halpert meets Mark Lyons.  I know what you're thinking.  That's a lot of sexual heat.  But what can I say, it's HBO.

- Sam Waterston dropping f-bombs makes great TV.  Sam Waterston shouting at a grown man that he will kick the shit out of him, no matter how many protein bars he eats, makes excellent TV.  Sam Waterston putting on his jacket like this would make the best TV.  Take notes, Sorkin.

- Emily Mortimer is a B.O.S.S.  CJ Cregg was arguably the strong female character on The West Wing (barring guest characters like Amy Gardner) and certainly the only one that ended up in a true position of authority.  And even that was well after Sorkin had left the show, and she still wasn't the boss boss (she was promoted to Chief of Staff in the sixth season).  Sorkin is making progress, though..  Because even though Mortimer's week-to-week contract is in Daniels' hands, as his EP, he has to do what she says for one hour every day.  Baby steps, Sorkin.  Now let's work on easing up on the ladies-love-shopping jokes.

- Allison Pill is a gem.  On TWW, it took seven years for Donna Moss to get a promotion.  Pill got promoted twice in the first episode and Jeff Daniels learned her name.  Get it, girl.  Let Emily Mortimer take you shopping.  You've earned it.

- Dev Patel aka Neil aka Punjab aka the IT guy: Also a gem.  I hope he starts dating the President's daughter.  

- Can we make sure Oliver Platt gets a recurring guest role on this show?

- A big huzzah for the lack of clown music during the closing credits.  #TheWestWing'sOnlyFlaw.  But seriously, go to 0:39.  It's the boner killer of television scores.

This Little Piggy Wore Tracksuits

Today at work, I was arguing that no other state fair could possibly be more impressive than the Iowa State Fair.  Full disclosure, I haven't been to the Iowa State Fair since I was about 8 years old and suffered from a minor case of heat stroke BUT I do like to defend my home state with fervor and this seemed like an argument I could get unnecessarily defensive about so I went for it.  My co-worker, who was also keen to participate in this useless debate, said that the New Jersey State Fair would have a pig show (or something like that).  Uhh... I did say "Iowa" right?  Chris said, though, that pigs at the Jersey State Fair would be wearing tracksuits.  This elicited one of my deafening cackles, followed by me immediately Googling "pig + tracksuit," "pigs wearing clothes," etc.

 
Ok so that picture is awesome BUT I found something even more important.

I discovered that the following Tumblr exists:

Baby Pigs Wearing People Clothes

You're welcome.


2 days until the Global Guts Pub Crawl.  D-d-d-do you have it?  Guts.

Drawsomely Bad

While I am still an avid Words With Friends enthusiast, I've let most of those other games fall by the wayside.  Hanging with Friends was sort of boring (translation: I was really bad at it and was sick of losing) and Scramble gave me panic attacks (I don't like timed games.. my palms would sweat. No seriously, I would open the app and would dread seeing that it was my turn to scramble. Then I remembered that I did this by choice.  App deleted).

When Draw Something came out, though, I was instantly hooked.  I was on a shoot for work, and as the evening was coming to an end, a few of my co-workers and I decided to pass the time by downloading this Draw Something app that everyone was talking about.  ZOMG.  Insta-fun.  This was the night I would discover that apparently I think Eskimos look like characters from South Park.  #ShelteredLife #Iowa

As my range of colors and drawing skills expanded, so did my number of games.  Over one fateful brunch, I was telling Kelly McKenna about this new obsession.  She downloaded it immediately and ever since then, Kelly has been, hands down, my favorite competitor on Draw Something.  I work for a design/visual effects studio so my friends from work tend to be on the artistic side.  Here are a couple of drawings from my co-worker, Fionna:

No big deal.

Skillz

We can't all have Fionna's artistic talents.  Though I must say, I excel when I draw what I know:

Percy's.. my ultimate muse.

Enough of tooting my own horn, though.  Back to the artist formerly known as omgpop81714284.  Kelly's drawings are simply amazing.  I only started saving screenshots recently because it took awhile to realize this would make a good blog post.  I have uploaded these in chronological order so you can experience them the way I did.  So, Kelly, as a faithful follower of Most Likely to Have Bad Hair, I dedicate this post to you (and your creative process):

RAINCOAT

As you can see, after 64 turns, Kelly still does not care to buy new colors even though she must have at least 249 coins in her Draw Something bank by now.  Minimalist.  Respect.  As you will see, that is a common theme in her art.  I also enjoy how after 64 turns, she still refuses to switch to any other brush weight.  There are 4 different brush weights you can use but the fact that Kelly always uses weight #2, always makes these drawings look like finger paint art.  Again, Kelly.. I am not making fun of you.  I love this (and you) so much.  Please remember this as I proceed to caption these comical Somethings you have Drawn.

HARRY

I haven't read Harry Potter in years so I had totally forgotten that his wand was 4x as long as his T-Rex arms... and that he was distantly related to Mr. Bill.

PINATA

This is the first time I have ever seen a hairy pinata.  I hope it won't be the last.

STROLLER

I appreciate a few things about this drawing.  1) Kelly gave the pregnant mom a short "mom haircut." #Practical 2) The "stroller" in question looks like a blue Pac Man with a tongue. 3) The Pregnant Mom is walking on ground level but pushing the Stroller on some sort of elevated surface that starts about mid-calf.  Where is she taking that baby?

WHITE

Here's what I see here.. "Snow White Minus Plus MINUS"

ARMPIT

That is some gnarly armpit hair.

TWIST

When I managed to decipher that the above drawing was a towel and then two hands twisting a towel, I knew Kelly and I were BFFs.. for realz.

SIXPACK

Before she wrote "Bud," I thought the picture on the left was a case of hot sauce bottles.  I really like to think of Kelly McKenna saying/thinking/drinking "BUD."  Preferably on a rickety porch with a piece of straw in her mouth and a shotgun at her side.

SCOTLAND

So glad you drew bagpipes.  This one was a winner.

SCARLETT

After 94 turns, this is where our streak met its bitter end.

In my defense, "Scarlett" with 2 t's, as Draw Something offers it, refers to Scarlett O'Hara from Gone With the Wind.  The Scarlet Letter (which is what I'm assuming Kelly was going for), spells "scarlet" with 1 t.  Also, Hester Prynne had to wear a scarlet "A" to indicate the sin of adultery, not an "L."  Come on, McKenna.  ENCARTA IT.

SKIING

Skiing, I get it.  But what is the Mickey-Mouse-Sasquatch-creature on the right.  Seems like an important part of the scene.

PIPE

Not drawn to scale.

GOGGLES

This guy is legless and has two torsos and still manages to scuba dive.  That's perseverance.

MEAT

Eating meat off a floating plate is totally normal.  But the dalmatian-reindeer cross-breed that it came from... Classic McKenna.

Mouse Hunt Part III: Continued

Spoke too soon.  I woke up this morning, and as I was tweeting my victory, I thought I heard something in the kitchen.  That's right, there was a second shooter mouse.

Time for another burial at sea.

This one was stuck in the sticky trap under the fridge.  It was an even sadder sight than the night before because he was also still alive but was lying on his side with his head resting on the peanut-butter-covered oatmeal square bait like it was a pillow.  Can't talk about it anymore.

Carolyn, once again, I'll replace your Tupperware containers.

Let's hope this is the last casualty.  This time the disposal involved less tears - I've been hardened by war.

Mouse Hunt: Part III

Busted.

The mouse is dead.  Before I could even post my "help us name the mouse" poll.  Name candidates included The Earl of Snackington, Herman Muenster (spelling intentional), William Jennings Bryan (three-time candidate for President and opponent of the gold standard.. how fun would it be to say things like "William Jennings Bryan chewed a hole in the Triscuit box" or "I just saw William Jennings Bryan behind the fridge"), and Heisenberg.  I'm post-humously naming him Heisenberg.  Respect.

I walked home tonight after getting dinner with my cousin Katie.  I called my parents to chat as I made my way home.  I was still on the phone with my mom when I walked into my apartment, and immediately saw the trap that had made its way a foot and a half out from under the kitchen counter.  Stuck to it was Heisenberg himself.

Not. Dead. Yet.

Heisenberg, ya dead? No, man.

After some incoherent squealing coupled with the poor cell reception in my apartment, my mom insisted I slow down and tell her what was happening.  I told her the mouse was caught in one of the sticky traps but wasn't dead.  The lower half of his body was caught in the trap but he was using his face and/or hands to scoot his way forward.  He was sporadically flailing his head about as I talked my way through this which only led me to question how long it had taken him to move a foot and a half.  How long had I been torturing this furry little creature? Suddenly, I was no longer out for blood, determined to eliminate this pest that had settled in my apartment without an invitation.  Maybe it was because I had a long conversation with my co-workers today about the death of our family pets.  Maybe it was because he seemed a lot smaller and cartoonish up close.  Maybe it was because he didn't even get to eat any of the peanut butter out of the trap.  But suddenly I felt very sorry for the mouse.  And suddenly I was crying.  Like really really crying.

I shall remember you as the adorable mouse that you never were.

My mom put me on the phone with my dad who proceeded to talk me through the rest of this situation. (Sidenote: Carolyn, hope you're having fun at Bonaroo.  This weekend has been eventful.  We'll catch up over some Seamless web in a few days.)  Dad was not really having any of this crying business, so he told me my best option was to.. wait for it.. drown the mouse in the toilet.

Hang on a second..

Yes, I heard that right.  Drown the mouse.  In the toilet.  That seems like it would calm my nerves, right?  How am I supposed to get the trap out of the toilet then?  What if the mouse comes out of the sticky trap in the toilet and then I have to pick up the DEAD, TOILET-WATER-SOAKED MOUSE out of the toilet WITH MY BARE HANDS?

Dad: Ok, do you have any other traps?  Yes, obviously I have 9 of them.  Ok, take one of those and put it on top of the mouse and then put the whole thing in a bag and take it out to the trash.

Somehow this mouse trap sandwich idea seemed a little undignified.  Can't explain it, but it wasn't sitting right with me.  I asked my dad if maybe I could put some of the mouse poison pellets in front of Heisenberg so that he could inch his way toward them, eat them, and then die in his sleep.  That idea was.. well.. we'll say it was "scoffed at."  Back to the drowning plan...

I took a tall piece of Tupperware (sorry, Carolyn.  I'll replace it before you get home) and filled it with water.  Bear in mind, my dad was on the phone with me for this whole process.  Bear in mind, the mouse was still squirming around during this whole process.  Simply horrifying.  Nevermind the fact that as I was narrating this, my dad said, "Of course he's moving around, he's fighting for his life."  Oh my GOD, not helping.  Now I had to work up the nerve to pick up the trap, with the live mouse still wriggling around on it, and stick it in the Tupperware container.

It was one thing to set a shitload of traps in the hopes of "catching" the mouse.  I knew catching the mouse meant killing it but, you know, out of sight, out of mind.  Now I wasn't just catching the apartment mouse anymore.  I was putting Heisenberg to death.  There's an episode of The West Wing that deals with the morality of capital punishment.  I don't remember the exact crime committed but there is a man who is on death row who is about to be executed and there is a chance the President might spare his life.  Whatever the crime was, it is clear that is was something really horrible but even as basically everyone is agreeing that he should be put to death, C.J. Cregg, the Press Secretary, says, "I just wish I didn't know his mother's name, that's all." Well, I wish I hadn't looked Heisenberg in the eyes or known he likes peanut butter or mentally associated him with those dogs with wheels instead of hind legs.

BRB, just have to go drown this adorable, handicapped puppy in my toilet.

I was very upset at this point and told my dad how small Heisenberg was.  "Yeah, of course he's small.  There's millions of them.  You want them to give you diseases?"  This was said in the you-know-who-else-cut-corners?-Janis-Joplin Mr. Weir tone.  Amazing.

His best line, however, was when he was trying to convince me that the most humane thing to do would be to drown Heisenberg:

"Remember how the people died on the Titanic?  It's a peaceful way to go."

I could hear my mom laughing from the other room.

Anyway, shaking and wincing and crying my way through it, I picked up the mouse trap and quickly lowered Heisenberg, head first, into the water-filled Tupperware container.  It all went so fast.  My parents simultaneously launched into rapid-fire questioning:

Do you have the lid on it?
Do you have a plastic bag to put it in?
Is the lid on yet?
Do you have your keys?
Are you headed downstairs to the garbage?
Do you have your keys?
Is he dead?
Ugh, yes, I just looked him in the eyes.
Why did you look him in the eyes??
I KILLED HIM. I HAVE TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYES.
Is he dead?
Yes. His eyes were definitely dead.
Dad: This is a big step for you. I'm proud.

Post-humous texts from my parents include the following:

Texts from Mom:

Text 1: Glad the mouse hunt is over.  Good job!
Text 2: Mariel caught the mouse and got rid of him... She's somewhat traumatized.
Text 3: I meant to send to Nick and sent to you ;)
Text 4: Hope you got a glass of wine! I did!

Texts from Dad:

In conclusion, here is my dedication to Heisenberg.  Hope you're eating peanut butter in a better place now.