Dearly Beloved...
We have gathered here today to witness the complete and total meltdown of a bride-to-be.
Seriously, this is my 100th post and it was supposed to be really, really, REALLY great. Awesome, even. But I kept having these little freak outs so I kept putting off writing my 100th post, because I thought that if I was all "Bridezilla" in here, it might be weird and freaky and strange and then my 100th post would forever be known as the post that made people stop reading my blog. Except today I realized that I haven't posted here in almost a month and another really good way to make people stop reading your blog is to just completely stop posting in it and also to pretty much disappear from the internet completely. So, you know...given the two options, I went with "Bridezilla - blog writer." Please accept my apologies for what is, unfortunately, my official (but not really great or awesome) 100th post:
"I Am Not Afraid To Blow Up My Beautiful New House Just To Destroy Your Zombie Asses"
~ a mostly true story by Bridezilla
My house is infested with ants. They were NOT here last year...I'm pretty sure they actually showed up right about the time I was writing in here, all "Check it out you guys! Zombie ants! Coooooooooool!" And then all the zombie ants got together and were like, "Check it out you guys, this chick LOVES zombie ants...Paaaaaar -tay!" And then they got in their little zombie ant bus and hightailed it over to my house for their zombie ant party which I did NOT give anyone permission to throw and now, every day of my life is spent trying to plan a wedding and work and do battle with the largest colony of zombie ants I have ever seen in my life. At first I tried to gently coax them to leave...I cleaned all of my counter tops and floors with white vinegar and sprinkled baby powder all over the place and sealed up all of the people food and the dog food in plastic containers and was all, "See, ants? I'm your friend...I'm not even trying to kill you or anything, I just think you guys should maybe party somewhere else?" And the ants were all, "Ok, sweet, sorry lady, we'll leave," and then they left and came back with a gazillion of their friends and were all, "HA! In your FACE, lady! Let the zombie ant party continue!" and they started shaking their asses and drinking wine straight out of the box and doing jello shots.
So then, I went and got some grits and some yeast and spread it all over the place because I read that the ants will take all of that stuff back to the mother ship and get really bad gas and also get dehydrated and then probably not come back to my house because the food sucks.
Except...no. Not so much. They left for a few days and then brought a gazillion trillion friends back with them and also, they did eat all of that stuff I gave them and it did give them gas and I'm pretty sure that what I thought was smelly socks is really just a bunch of ant farts.
So then, because I'm still trying to be all nice and organic and environmentally friendly and stuff, I dug up a bunch of ant colonies and moved them all over the house because all of the ant experts said that when you do that, the ants will battle to the death. Except farting zombie ants don't battle to the death...they become super best friends and throw raves and invite all of the other ants from the neighborhood over and get drunk and listen to techno all night.
So I gave in and bought some ant spray. Except it wasn't like I was all peaceful and calm and went to the store like a normal person and bought some ant spray. I woke up in the morning, went to check my mail, saw the ants in my mailbox and went completely apeshit crazy for a little while. I jumped into my car - in my pajamas (which aren't cute pajamas, they're actually extra large, paint splattered, holey guys sweat pants with the pee hole saftey pinned shut and a too small t-shirt with what I think is a large grass stain over the left boob), with my crazy half flat, half afro "just woke up hair", gigantic eye boogers, and some wicked morning breath -and drove to the closest store. Then, because I was at least sane enough to know that my breath could kill someone, I refused to ask anyone for help finding the ant spray and instead wandered back and forth throught the same aisles over and over and over again like the neighborhood crazy person.
I'm not 100% sure, but knowing me, I was probably singing, too. Crazy neighborhood singing crazy person that finally walked up to the counter with about 10 cans of ant spray, a bunch of ant stakes, a bunch of ant hotels and the latest issue of InStyle magazine...which, given my appearance, either came off as a joke or a desperate plea for help.
I went home...I did not shower, brush my hair, brush my teeth, or change into a normal, sane person outfit. Instead, I began spraying and staking and setting up hotels all over my house and outside...and being all, "YEAH! Suckers! Take that, you zombie techno asshats! Where ya gonna live, now, HUH??? Whatcha gonna do when you're all DEAD!??!?!" And my neighbor across the street was outside weeding her lawn so I tried to keep it down a little bit so I bent down to kind of whisper/yell at the ants and probably all my neighbor lady saw was the crazy outfit and the crazy hair and me talking to my yard and she was probably really glad that I moved into the neighborhood.
Also...the ants did not die. I think I overheard them talking about having a music festival on my front porch...I think they have cell phones and computers and twitter and facebook pages and are networking with every other ant in the world and inviting them all to my house.
It's very difficult to battle the world's largest army of zombie, techno, farting ants when you are trying to plan a wedding. The good news is, we asked for Lowes gift cards as wedding gifts....so that maybe when we are reduced to blowing up our house to kill the zombie-techo-farting ant army, we can maybe build a new house. And the neighbors won't think I'm crazy anymore.
P.S. Ant experts are idiots.
P.P.S. This video is appropriate because of the above post and also, because I really, really SUPER need to have a wedding photo based on this theme and James is being all, "That's really dumb, I'm not doing that," and he's totally trying to sabotage my...I mean our....wedding day and probably his mom is going to be really mad at him and more than a little hurt because our wedding pictures are going to suck so bad. Clearly, James doesn't care about moms.
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