Prey and Zumba

Everyone left the room about a half hour ago and I just realized that Yo Gabba Gabba is still on.  Such is my life these days.  

I'm trying to gather the strength to shower.  I returned a while ago from the gym, where I did a horrendously embarrassing, floppy hour of Zumba.  I'm waiting to air dry.

We need to go out and buy a mouse for Wes's ball python.

This ball python eats live mice...in case you are wondering.  If you buy your snake from a place like "politically correct" store like Petsmart, it will eat frozen mice.   And apparently, if you tell them that you are buying a mouse from them with the intention of feeding it to a snake, they may refuse to sell it to you.   Because doing so is not humane.

But I don't understand...what about the freezing part?  I think death by  freezing would sort of suck, too.  Whatever.

However, this snake does not eat frozen mice.  

The mice cost about 1.75, which is pretty cheap to feed a pet.

When we buy them, they put them in a little box with plastic film lining and small holes in the top for air  vents.

Last week's mouse was uber crafty and mostly chewed through the box by the time we got home.

I didn't notice that it was doing this.  **I** thought that it was trying to get out through the air vents, so I ordered Calvin to put a book on top of the vents as he held the box in his lap.

Little did he know...the little shiester was chewing his way out the bottom.   Can you IMAGINE having a loose mouse in the car as you are driving?  I cannot. ~  I would die, I think.

Horrible creatures, although they ARE very cute and I feel a tiny bit badly about feeding it to Bucky.  But not this guy....I practically threw him in the snake's cage.

I started Zumba a couple of weeks ago.   The only thing that I have really lost are the baggy t-shirts.  I hate looking like the newbie in the class...and even the fatties are wearing tank tops.  So...a tank top it is.

I've also started logging on to MyFitnessPal.com.  I did WeightWatchers.com for about a week and I had so many error messages that I canceled.  And MyFitnessPal is free.   I like free.  And it is sort of like Facebook;  I'm all over that.  You can add friends, and comment on people's stuff.  It's up my alley.

Anywho, to the shower I go because a mouse I have to get.  Don't be so jealous.  You know you want a ball python that eats live mice, too.

Bucky and Dick

It began with a few goals that Wesley intended to accomplish.

One of those goals was keeping his room clean  (although it is really hard to push that request on a nine year old boy when mom is a slob herself).

Mom is trying, though.  Kind of.

Another one of Wesley's goals was to not whine when asked help out around the house.

So, on Saturday, "just for fun," we headed up to St. Augustine to a pet store to look at the ball pythons.

Oh, did I mention that Wesley's reward for accomplishing his goals was that he would receive a ball python?

It is the only thing we have been hearing about for weeks.

He bought a book on ball pythons.  He searched the internet.  He talked about ball pythons every waking moment.  He was dreaming about them, and as a result...so was I.

And I was all like, "absolutely freaking not."

Fast forward to Saturday in St. Augustine and the pet store.

Pet stores are our downfalls.  Always.  We should just stay out of them.

Like an obese person should stay out of bakeries, and an alcoholic should stay out of a bars.  We make terrible choices in pet stores.

We bought a cockatiel once before when we were first married that ended up despising us.    

I don't know if it was a bad apple in general, or if we made it that way.

It probably wasn't the wisest choice introducing two cats, a Cairn Terrier, moving it twice and then introducing a baby within the first year of its existence in our house.   It made US a little crazy ...let alone a bird with already nervous tendencies and the brain the size of a pea.

It ended up living with my mother-in-law, where it was still crazy, but she loved it.  It's wings weren't  clipped on such a regular basis, however, so when Calvin opened the door one winter day, it flew out into the Midwest's frigid climate and into a tree.  We never saw him again.

Wesley was in the pet store for about ten minutes before he was holding the snake.  Then Chris held the snake.  It didn't respond to either of them.  Then, they asked if I wanted to hold him.

I hesitated, then Chris placed the 9 month old reptile in my hands.  And, I kid you not, the thing perked up.

It liked me so much better than Chris or Wesley.

It tried to slide up my arms and into my hair.  Maybe it liked how I smelled.

(I was, of course, wearing  my FABULOUS Viktor and Rolf's Flowerbomb perfume.)

This is me.   Holding him.

More likely, however, I am always warm....a side effect of my blood pressure.   Either way, it liked me best.

And it had a reptilian cuteness to it.

We put the little guy on hold and picked him up later.  We began discussing names.

And the discussion hovered around "Dick."   We were going to name Ragnar, "Dick," but obviously he ended up with the Minnesota Viking mascot's name, instead.

So, for thirty whole minutes the ball python was named "Dick."   A righteous dude name for a snake, I think.

Oh, small fact about our family:  we sing to our animals.  So, when Wes began singing  "You're a good Dick, yes you're a good Dick, oh yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaa," to the snake, we decided that the name needed to be changed.       Pronto-ish.

The snake's name is now Bucky.  As in Wisconsin Badgers.

And Wesley's room isn't clean.   And I'm wondering if we made a mistake.

But "Bucky" still likes me best.

Did I also mention they have a life-span of 20-30 years?

Yup.