Waffle Must Die, Part III…

The Battle for the Bathroom

In the last installment, our brave warrior friends valiantly challenged the evil and mighty rodent gang that dwelled within their abode. The cohesive mouse-unit, in which they dubbed “Waffle”, evaded their many traps, leaving our friends weary and heavy-hearted. But just when they were ready to accept defeat, they faced Waffle one more time in the epic Conflict for the Countertops. They emerged victorious, mightily slaughtering three of the Waffle unit. But just when they thought the war was over…

It had been months since we had seen any of our mousey friends. Rumor in the building was that the landlord had finally caved and called an exterminator. Katy and I believed it, ignoring all logical signs that pointed to the contraire. Then, in one night, our delusion was yet again shattered. As I was getting ready for bed, I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As soon as I opened the door, my eyes immediately fixed on a tiny black furball that ran across the floor. Needless to say, I screamed like a woman.

Katy shouted sassy from her room…something like “did you find another grey hair?” or “that’s Icyhot! The KY is in the 2nd drawer” –I don’t exactly remember what. I don’t really remember what I said either, but it was something along the lines of “MICE! THE MICE ARE BACK!” – not very clever, I know.

Katy and I were both beyond ourselves. The thought of more mouse traps littered across our apartment made me sick. I had had my fill of sweeping broken little mouse bodies into trash cans, and throwing mouse-halves out the window no longer amused me. My solution was to simply forget about it and continue on living in my delusional world.

The next afternoon, my friend Bryan and I were sitting in the living room while Katy showered down the hall. I thought I heard some funny noise come from the bathroom, much like two screams…followed by a third a few moments later. I asked Bryan, “Did you hear that? Was that Katy screaming?”

Bryan replied, “I’m pretty sure it was a car back firing.”

Seconds later I heard the pitter-patter of little wet feet coming rapidly towards me. Katy came running from the bathroom, sopping wet and partially wrapped in a towel that was much too small for her. With water pouring off her, she stopped next to the couch where we sat. I looked up at her and jumped back…on account of her resemblance to the little girl from the Ring, which was uncanny.

“You will never fucking believe what just happened.”

Now, I should say that Katy, unlike many women, usually can shower in ten minutes or less – except on Saturdays. On Saturday, Katy kicks back and takes her time, letting the time pass by as she dreams of Pete Wentz or any number of the Hansons. On this particular morning, she had just concluded one such Hanson shower. Feeling relaxed and rejuvenated, she threw back the shower curtain and grabbed her towel off the basket she had laid it upon. However, as she wrapped it around herself, she noticed a small dark object fall off it. Her first thought was “who the fuck shat on my towel?” but she quickly realized that no one shat on her towel. It was the mouse.

The thought of having a mouse burrowing into your towel must be upsetting enough. She quickly tossed her towel across the room, letting out two quick screams. Standing there, wet, frightened, and naked, she took a second to recollect herself. It was at this point when she realized that the mouse was standing there in the bathtub with her. Cue third scream.

Having not been there myself, I can only imagine it being like that shower scene from Psycho. I imagine that next, Katy made an ungraceful yet swift jump out of the tub. She most likely grabbed the first towel-like object she could find (in this case, an oversized hand towel), and ran straight to the couch where I was sitting.

She blurted out this story to us, and Bryan and I looked at each other in disbelief.

“Does that mean…” Bryan asked, “That the mouse is still in the tub?”

“Well yeah. He can’t get out.”

I, being a true hero, was the first to say “I call not killing him.”

Katy quickly put her finger to her nose. She and I looked at each other, and then our eyes turned to our guest. Bryan looked at me, and then at Katy, and then at the ground.

“Who are you people?” he asked.

I told Katy, "Thank God we have a real man in the house today."

With Bryan elected as our executioner, we then turned our attention to the weapon.

“Bleach?”
…next
“Frying pan?”
next
“Lighter fluid and matches?”
NEXT! Jesus!!

Then Bryan had a genius idea…the plunger. “I’ll put the plunger over him…push it down a couple times…sucking out all the air…causing him to suffocate.”

We all thought it was genius.

“…and if that doesn’t work I’ll just beat him with it.”

So Bryan marched bravely into the bathroom. With our plunger in hand, he set out to administer the sweet dose of murder. The mouse was right where Katy left him, chillen out in the bottom of our tub. Bryan looked away as he placed the plunger over him. He plunged and plunged and plunged, and when his arm was tired he stopped.

The mouse’s tail poked out from underneath our plunger, wiggled, and went back under again.

Leaving the mouse trapped underneath the plunger, the three of us reconvened in the kitchen.

“So the plunger didn’t work” Bryan told us. We thought long and hard, and finally the best solution came to us.

“Well he’s in the tub,” Bryan said. “Why don’t we just drown him?”

It was brilliantly simple. Our executioner returned to tub. He stopped it up and let the water run. When the tub was filled with about 3 inches of water, Bryan pushed the mouse under with the plunger. After a few moments, the mousey bastard joined those who went before him in Mousey Hell.

The idea of drowning a poor little mouse made me sad, until Bryan returned from discarding the body (yes…we made him throw it away too). I expressed to him how sad I thought it was, and he responded, “Do you know that when I filled the tub, that dirty fucker turned your water yellow. Yellow, Chris. Yellow.”

And suddenly it was okay. If something that small can turn 6 gallons of water yellow, frankly it deserves to die.

Since then, Katy and I have returned to our normal lives. We know that the war may very well not be over, but at least we won the battle. The battle for the bathroom.

A Miles Family Christmas

It seems like every family has their own quirky Christmas traditions. Some make gingerbread houses, go caroling, or hide pickle-shaped ornaments in their tree. I had a friend once who every year would put on a funny little beanie atop his head, light a bunch of candles, and spin a wooden top. Seemed like a pretty stupid way to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ if you ask me, but to each his own.

In the Miles household, we are definitely no different. We have our own time honored traditions that date back as far as I can remember. In our house, there is always the annual Christmas tree hunt, long drives around decorated streets, and watching The Omen I on Christmas Eve. These are all swell, but they could never live up to our most cherished ritual – the one of ruining Christmas.

Ruining Christmas began in my early childhood. In those days it could have been anything. Calling each other names at the dinner table…breaking a well-loved ornament…suggesting that it would be more symbolic if they served jelly doughnuts instead of bread wafers at holy communion…any one of these could set my holiday-weary mother off. In a quick rage, she would turn around, look you dead in the eye, and scream “That’s IT! YOU RUINED CHRISTMAS!”

It happened so often that it became legendary. I could knock over a glass of lemonade in mid July, and my brother would whisper “you ruined Christmas.” I could be on the phone with my friend in March, and upon hearing yelling in the background, they might ask me “who just ruined Christmas?”

While the term is used pretty liberally, to actually ruin Christmas you have to abide by some strict guidelines. First I should note that my mother alone can decide who ruined Christmas. I should also note that my brothers and I could all potentially ruin Christmas any number of times during the holiday season. However, he who ruined it closest to Christmas morning was crowned victor.

As I mentioned above, ruining Christmas started off small, but as my brothers and I got older, we started finding bigger and better ways to destroy seasonal joy. None of us ever thought we could top last year’s winner. Working at Nordstrom over my winter break, my mom gave me a large wad of cash and asked me to pick some stuff after work. My brother Matt was to join me so that he and I could finish up the last bit of our holiday shopping. When he arrived, I noticed that something was a little off with his behavior. The rosy cheeks, the slurred speech, the high-fiving strangers - he was drunk. While he molested the mannequin in Hosiery, I quickly purchased the items my mother requested and called it an early night. As punishment for embarrassing me, I made Matt carry the bag to the car. As I got into my car, Matt yelled “Look at me!” All I could see was his exposed ass cheeks and piss spraying against my car. I screamed at him and he slowly pulled up his pants and got into the car.

When we returned home, my mother immediately asked me for the presents I had picked up for her. She had been anxious giving me the money, but I had assured it would be fine. I asked Matt if he had brought them in. He hadn’t. I looked in the car, and found nothing. To make a long story short – while relieving himself, Matt had put the bag on top of the car, but forgotten to take it off. $500 worth of Christmas presents riding on top of my moving vehicle, like of one of those assholes on Jackass. I returned to the parking lot to find a few packages still mildly intact, but most of it was gone. Needless to say, Matt ruined Christmas.

This year was my turn. My first night back, I decided to meet up with some friends at a nearby restaurant. It was dark and raining, and my mother asked me not to go. “It’s dangerous out, and you’re, well, you’re a terrible driver” she said. “Shut the fuck up!” I replied. “I’ll be fine”.

It was about ten minutes later when I plowed into unmarked van packed with Hispanic men.

In my defense, it wasn’t completely my fault. While, yes, the Mexicans were stopped in the proper lane at a red light…my breaks went out. Completely out. As I rounded the corner going full speed on wet asphalt, I pressed the breaks down again, and again, and again with no result. I did the only thing I could think to do…scream like a woman and prepare for impact. It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I ripped into the side of their car, but I swear to you that the only thought that went through my head….

I just ruined Christmas.

Thankfully no one was seriously hurt. I had smacked my face pretty hard and hurt my shoulder, but unfortunately it left no physical scars or bruises I could use to win some sympathy. To make matters worse, my dad had picked me up in that car that morning. Driving home he told me “My old Saturn just died. We’re on a real tight budget right now, so I don’t have enough money to fix it up. I’ve been using this car to get back and forth to work everyday, so let’s pray it holds up through the winter” To make matters even WORSE, Matt’s car died two days later. My entire family was reduced to owning one car.

My parents assured me that I did not ruin Christmas, and that they were just thankful I was okay – but looking at their faces as we all piled into the 4 seater, I knew they were lying. I secluded myself into my room, afraid that leaving my bed would cause me to crash something else. Occasionally, whenever I heard a loud bang or people yelling I would poke my head out and say “ruin Christmas?!?”

My dad would respond “No. No one ruined Christmas. That was just the TV.”

Ruining Christmas aside, the rest of my break was pretty solid. I do love the holidays, even when I destroy them. I just hope next year TJ does something really fucked up…because that my friends...

That’s what Christmas is all about.

AWESOME MANNEGUIN

I’ve seen a lot of crazy mannequins in my day, but this one takes the cake.

I swear, it was at a mall in Jersey City...in a store right next to a Gap Kids.