Grand Central[pede] Station

it's been a bad year for centipedes chez curmudge. those of you who take note of such things may recollect how much i hate hate hate centipedes, so you'll understand that this is a Big Deal.

lately the kitchen has been the hotspot: three sightings in the last three days. and they're all those huge two-inch hairy-lookin green frickers, too... the ultra-creepy ones that make an especially noisome mess when hit. [and trust me, i hit 'em...]

to make matters worse [as if matters aren't already at Maximum Worse as soon as they involve centipedes], they've taken to hiding out in the kitchen sink... in the corners, so you can't swat 'em and can't hit 'em with your slipper -- my two methods of choice for centipedal termination. thus i've been forced to devise a new method, involving munched-up paper towels. (yes, i use more than one just to build up sufficient paper bufferage between my precious fingers and their foul bodily substances. God forbid that my skin should ever come in actual contact with a frickin centipede!)

the paper towel method is especially unnerving because, should i miss, my hand is way closer to the action than when the swatter method is employed, and i could still end up getting touched! EWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!! however, i'm pleased to report that so far i have emerged unscathed, and the frickin centipedes have emerged utterly scathed. i still let fly with a long string of sick-gross noises and "ewww"s after i'm done anyway, though.

last night after i chucked the foul carnage in the trash, sharon asked if she could get me anything to help me feel better. i said "yeah: a bucket".

God i hate centipedes....