Welcome Back To The Cocktail Party!

Welcome to Willoughby's Blog Style Cocktail Party. I hope you will find some new blogs to follow and expand your circle of blog friends. I know you're all anxious to mingle, so I'll get right to it.

I'd like to introduce Speaking From The Crib. I know you'll enjoy her blog as much as I do.

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I am the author of the blog SPEAKING FROM THE CRIB. I have been blogging for a very short time, only since August, and I am loving it! I am 38 year old mother of two, married to an Aussie, and living in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio (GO CAVS!). I am an aspiring author and began blogging in the hopes of realizing my life long dream - to see my book sitting on the back of someone's toilet. I'm not proper, I'm not prissy, but I am definitely funny --- so come over to the crib and hang out for awhile --- if you don't take your life, yourself, and your causes too seriously, I may just be your cup of tea. And don't forget the SFTC promise - follow me and I will follow you, and i tell you, you will never find a better follower! Just ask my peeps over at the crib!


MOTHMOM PROPHECIES OR MOM VS. MOTH


My history with moths is a long and sordid one. You see, I am not a fan of bugs in general, however; moths are a sure stand out in my heebie jeebies category. The main reason for this is their sheer flutteriness. Are they going over here? Are they swooping down there? Oh wait, now they are two hundred feet away. For the love of God, now they are dangerously close to my hair... it's a nightmare. Their very unpredictability is what makes them so frightening.

We had just purchased our new home, but were still staying in our apartment until we had completed renovations. After my husband would return home from work, and after I put my two year old son to bed, I would go to the new house to paint. I would often work until two or three in the morning. It was also not too long after I had watched The Mothman Prophecies, that I found myself at the new house, sitting alone outside during the wee hours of the night. Right beside a blindingly bright light source. Prime circumstances for abundant moth activity.

One night, I was sitting outside on our patio, taking a break from the paint fumes. It was around one or two in the morning and the only things alive and moving outside (that I could see) were me and the MOTHS. They were fluttering around the emergency light, but there was NO WAY IN HELL that I was going to turn that light off and sit out there in the dark. They were fluttering like crazy, crazier than usual (I thought) and then I started thinking that I heard sounds in the field behind our house. Then I started to think that I saw a dark shadow out there too. And then I started to think that the dark shadow could be the Mothman and that the moths fluttering around the lights could very well be beckoning the Mothman to follow the beams of the emergency light. Needless to say, feets don't fail me now, I got the hell out of there. You see, you just can't trust a moth's intentions. I'm certainly not going to put my very life in the palm of a moth's fluttering wings. I'm just not going to do it.

My next moth encounter occurred years before. I was living in an apartment, above a small store, in rural downtown America. You had to climb a very steep set of stairs to get to your apartment, and you couldn't see the top of the steps until you were almost at the very top, if not at the very top, of the steps.

In addition, the door leading up the stairs did not close shut the whole way. This provided ample opportunity for a moth to see the light, squeeze its fluttery self through it, and settle in for a long evening of bobbing and weaving (at eye level) outside my apartment door. You could never tell how many moths, or how big, until you were practically at the door. Getting in the door, without being attacked/fluttered to death OR letting 37 fist-sized moths into the apartment, had to be executed like a strategical military maneuver.

Before you ascended the steps, you had to assume the ducking position, covering your head with your coat/purse. Then you climbed the steps slowly, so as not to alert the moths. Your key was already out, in hand, pursed for insertion. Once you got to the last couple of steps, you assessed the situation, gauged the area for a lull in moth activity, and then you SPRANG to the door, inserted the key, opened the door the smallest crack humanly possible, squeezed inside, and slammed it shut again. Then you had to lean against the door, breathing heavily, with a slight sheen of perspiration on your forehead. That last part was really just for dramatic affect.

One night in particular, my boyfriend and I were climbing the steps, and we had followed the necessary precautions, but NOTHING and I do mean NOTHING prepared us for what happened next. Apparently, the crack in the door was not only big enough to allow moths to enter, but also for their arch enemy THE BAT to make an appearance as well. We get to the top, we see the moths, and then we see ... wait a minute ... that moth is huge, and it has really big wings, wait, it's SQUEAKING! That's not a moth! That's a #@$#%#$% BAT! My feet themselves grew wings as I flew down those steps, screaming to my boyfriend, KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT! I don't even remember what happened next. He probably just shooed it out the door, but I can't be sure. I think I went into shock and am still suffering from PTSS as a result of that moth-related incident.

As recently as last week, I suffered yet another horrific moth attack. Our current home does not have central air, so we leave our windows open. Alot. Which allows the flies (we call it Nightmare on Fly Street) and the moths to enter our home at will. Normally a moth will find a good place on the ceiling, stay in the exact same spot for 2-3 days and eventually disappear. I don't know where they go, I don't know what they do, and I don't care. As long as they aren't in my bedroom when I go to sleep, I am fine.

One moth, however, had something to prove. He threw all caution to the wind. He was willing to live life to the fullest, no matter what the cost. He was a moth maverick. A fluttery rebel. I knew I was in for the moth fight of my LIFE when I found him fluttering around my television screen at eleven o'clock at night. 'You flutter where you want moth, but right in front of my tv screen, late at night --- thems fightin' flutters. That was IT. This moth HAD TO GO. Let's rock! Moth death squad ... engaged.

I get out of bed, my narrowed eyes scanning the room for ANYTHING to kill it with. Ahhh, this room is useless in a moth attack! Hardback novels, earrings, sewing box, fleece pajamas bottoms, hangers, scrapbook organizer. Useless. (Now why my shoes never flashed into my head as an option, I don't know. Call it initial battlefield panic).

I'm in the line of fire, unarmed. So I call in reinforcements. Ballerina, the Bug Killing Wonderpup. She is chasing this moth all over my bedroom, over the bed, in the corner, up in the air, but it's crafty, this moth. It won't be stopped by a mere dog. Not even by a vicious chocolate killing machine.

At some point I found a flimsy piece of paper, and I enter the chase. It's here, it's there, it's up to the right, to the left, it's all over the place. Then it made its boldest move yet.

IT FLEW UNDER MY BED.

Now there is no way I am sleeping with a moth under my bed. NO-WAY-ON-GOD'S-GREEN-EARTH. There is also no way this Fatty McFatterson is able to squeeze under the bed, to get to the moth, to kill it. I'm yelling for my husband, I'm yelling for Jesus, I'm yelling for Oprah. I'm yelling for someone, anyone to help me anhilate this thing.

But no one comes. Ballerina has given up and is sleeping in the living room. I'm all alone. It's just me. And the moth. With extreme vigor, I start waving my arms under the bed, making giant sweeps, trying to shake up the moth. Flush him out of his under-the-bed lair. Nothing. He was not going to budge. And either was I.

Long story even longer, it took me a good 45 minutes to get that stupid moth out from under the bed, and then it was overkill. I beat that thing until there wasn't a scrap of antennae left. If I could've hoisted its bloody corpse over my head and run through the streets screaming, I would have.

I think; however, that the moth's family may have come back to seek revenge for his untimely death. Just yesterday, Ann Claire was holding something blackish brown in her tiny baby hands, which I thought was just a piece of mulch. Then it started to FLUTTER ...



Do moths terrify you? If not, what recent animal/bug attack can you recall? Leave it in the comments for all of us to enjoy!

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Thank you Speaking From The Crib for being a guest on my blog.

The cocktail party will continue on Sunday with a new guest blogger. It's not too late to RSVP if you haven't already. You can send your submission to me at thisstopwilloughby@yahoo.com. (If you're not already a follower, you must become one to be a guest blogger at the cocktail party.) I would appreciate it if you could send me your post in html format. If you are submitting a new post, create it on Blogger as you would any post. Save, but don't publish it. From there you can click "edit html" and copy and paste your blog into the body of an email. If you are submitting a previously published post, go into "edit" and follow the same instructions. This makes it much easier for me to display your blog post the way you have written it and saves me a lot of editing. If you have any questions, feel free to email me.

Willoughby