Snake Your Own Death

Since COVID, (because of COVID, thanks to COVID, freaking COVID) I haven't been home alone much. Like at all. And while once-a-month I have gotten on my soapbox about needing alone time for my own mental health self-care (eating wings and reading Vanity Fair) this week I got a compelling reminder why I should not be left at home. Pandemic or not. 

It was Tuesday. Monday's more obnoxious sister. I found myself with the whole evening to do whatever I chose. While I had been DREAMING of this time, it was suddenly too much and I got overwhelmed. So much so, in fact, I took to my bed to finish up some BRAVO shows and try to pep talk myself into productivity. Finally I mustered the energy to fold some towels, do a workout, floss and throw out the 9,000th Amy McGrath mailer of the week. 

The most narcissistic, prima donna beagle in the world needed to make her nightly trip outside to get all the compliments and head scratches from our neighborhood walkers, so I took her out. I sat down on my front step to make small talk, scroll my phone and serve as lady-in-waiting to this monster of my own creation. I hadn't been as productive or creative as I wanted, but it had been a calm, boring night. 

Famous. 

Last. 

Words. 

It was around 7:45 when I heard JD's car hit the driveway. There are no less than 250 alarms that go off to let me know someone/thing is imminent and from which door they will arrive. Which is infuriating, but then I heard Bee say "What is that? Are you tricking me?" and in a tone I don't think I have EVER heard him use, I heard JD say, "Bee! Get inside! Hurry, hurry!!"

They both rushed in and SLAMMED the door. Like the kind of slam I would have been grounded for growing up. JD did that thing from movies where he turned and put his back to the door after he locked it. This is REAL. Was it human traffickers? Some deranged serial killer? Teenagers? Bee was into her newfound dramatics and almost hyperventilating and JD was suspiciously looking out the windows at whatever ghoul was chasing them. I turned back to Bee just in time to make out the word she uttered....

"Snake!"

Oh, hell no. 

Now all the Sandersons are standing in the entry way of our (now unsafe) home screaming at different levels. Everything started happening so fast and I can't be totally sure, but I think I blacked out for a second. This was a not a "secure your mask before helping others" situation. This was all hands on deck to burn this house down. A snake??!?!? You want me to live in a house with a snake on/around/close by/God forbid in?

Cooler heads prevailed and we (JD) decided not to burn the house down. But I could tell this wasn't a little tiny snake that looked like a fat worm. With Bee out of earshot and almost out of hysterics, JD said, "Katie. It is a HUGE snake." 

No, I hear you. But when it comes to snakes, all bets are off. There are big snakes and little snakes. No in between. But he kept stressing to me that it was "HUGE." Then he asked, "You need to go see it." No, Trump, I don't want to see a huge snake. Are you kidding? As it was, I has already been showered, deep conditioned, face masked and had my lotion socks on before this unexpected snaketastrophe. Now you want me to leave the safety of this bed (which I am treating like an island no snake can get on) and GO SEE THE THING I DONT WANT TO SEE?!?!?!  Wow. Hey, JD, want to see some cool naked pics of your 1st grade teacher? No? Why not? 

So, he took a picture. Actually, he took about 153 pictures of the snake and brought it in to show me. 

He walked across the room already holding the phone out. So, from approximately 4' (not even Faucci's precious 6'), I can tell you that was no snake. 

That was the EARLIEST form of dinosaur that had not evolved into arms and feet yet. 

It was the Sandworm from Beetlejuice. 

It was the Anaconda from Anaconda. 

HARDEST of the HARD PASSES.

Knowing based on our almost 17-years together and our marriage vows that I would be literally ZERO help in this situation, JD went outside to get a plan to re-home said snake. 

Outside... to the VERY outside where I had just been sitting with the dog. 

The very outside where I had been sitting for the better part of an hour. 

The steps outside where I was scrolling my phone and playing Jeopardy. 

The outside where my idiot neighbors were shouting things like "Loving this weather!" and not "Katie! There is a Biblically large snake right next to you!" 

Had it been watching me? Waiting to attack? Was it coiled under the planter box judging me for almost letting one mum die while the other is thriving? 

I had JUST been out there. 

It got dark and then cold. The rain picked back up. Now Bee was showered and wailing in my bed (also unknowingly treating it like a fortress; you can't deny these genes) about how she will 'never get to sleep because all she will ever be able to think about is what if the snake had eaten Ouis?' 

Geez. Dramatic much? What if it slithered past MY car? I am the one it almost killed. But I can't tell her that. I have to be strong. For her.  She kept on with her hypothetical theories where I went to the most trusted place I know to go in case of an emergency:

 Amazon. 

And you would be surprised what you will find when you search "Snake ridder." I found a sufficient product with good reviews and had it paid for just in time to catch Bee say "...but if we did get another puppy." No, what? The dog is alive, I am alive, you are alive and I am guessing your father is alive, but I can't get out of this bed to find out. So I text. 

I can hear him outside and I see flashlights moving around like the Coast Guard looking for a Kennedy. He is on the phone and then I hear silence... did the snake get him? Am I the widow of a man who was eaten by a  snake? Cause I don't know if that is a good color on me..Nope. There he goes back on the phone. Whew. 

He is outside for ages. Bee has calmed herself enough to sleep and I am treating Realtor.com like its Ebay and just blindly bidding on anything.  JD comes inside to give me a brief update. It seems he has been using our rake to try to "strongly encourage" the snake to leave the front porch and go to the back of our property, where there is a large lake. (Using a lot of the same language that I was finding on Realtor.com "Beautiful lake... spacious grounds..")That didn't work. He is holding the rake like the farmer in the painting "American Gothic" and I can see he has broken a sweat. Realizing that thoughtful communication and a rake Uber ride aren't going to cut it, he goes back out. 

Again, he is gone for ages (I assume. I have no concept of time in COVID). Again, more texting. Turns out, based on the consensus of messages he sent to his varied text groups, this snake might be poisonous and should definitely not be left to its own devices. Some trusted friend suggested calling Animal Control. 

Which he did.

And they came.

Faster than a pizza they showed up. Yes, swiftness from a government agency. 

A lone wolf, let's call him... Bruce? Sure. Bruce. Bruce was exactly what you would expect of an employee of a government agency contracted company that specializes in ridding your home of vermin. In the Commonwealth of Kentucky. 

Bruce was no sooner out of his rig when he said, "Where's that boy at?"

(Do we know it's a boy? I am not comfortable just assigning genders...)

JD explained that in an attempt to relocate 'him,' the snake had slithered elsewhere. He motioned to the general direction that is still 500-miles closer than with which I am comfortable. 

"Dag. I wanted to catch him. I love catchin' snakes."

If you do not believe in your soul that everyone has a passion in life to pursue, ladies and gentlemen, meet BRUCE. 

Now Bruce has flashlights and JD has flashlights and it looks like the Sandersons are on Molly and having a rave. I seriously debated turning on EDM and tossing some water bottles out the front door and calling it a night. Also, why are we actively trying to find him? I thought the "Ridders" in your signage would have made that clear. But Bruce was a hunter. Of that, I was sure. Mostly because I heard him say "I've been huntin' snakes all my life. Never been scared." 

Coming to the sad realization that his big game catch had eluded him, Bruce put Step 2 into action; secure the perimeter. "I bet your wife and your little girl child sure don't want this snake comin' back." 

I didn't have to see his face to know that JD was praying for 2 things:

1.Not snakes ever again. Full stop.

2.The courage and faith to take Bruce seriously in that and all moments going forward. 

Usually when a vendor starts with their spiel  I see JD's finance mind go into action just waiting for the minute he can jump in and say "Yeah, yeah. But what does it cost?"  

Not this time. Instead he said, "Will you take a check, Bruce?" 

JD came into our bedroom where I am now completely sidetracked by the fact that we still have a checkbook and checks? I hear the unmistakeable rip of the check while JD relays the whole plan. Bruce has to check inside for a couple of markers, but then he can spray this magic spray that repels snakes, mice, rats (are we in NYC?!?), and some other gross things. Maybe pizza rats? Remember that guy? Anyway, Bruce can do that, Bruce can take a check and then we can schedule Bruce to come back every 6-months. JD seemed pretty confident in Bruce and this plan, but just to be sure and because he always says it to me, I asked "Is this the best investment?" 

Cool as the other side of the pillow, JD looked at me and said "If I thought letting Bruce move in and live with us like one of those plural families on the shows you watch would mean we never saw another snake, I'd help him pack." 

Check written. 

Bruce finished up, took the physical check we wrote him, and rode off into the sunset like the prince that he was. Had it been a white horse, it could have been more apropos. I do mean this sincerely when I say "God bless Bruce." And the Bruce's of the world. I have seen some of what the next generation holds and it is NOT Bruces. 

We all slept and survived the night. JD explained to Bee the next morning all the excitement she had missed when I offered her a melatonin and some similarly shaped gummy bears. She seemed a little more at ease and definitely less dramatic and scared than the night before. JD was happy with the results from Bruce and really proud of himself for saving me and our "girl child" so quickly from harm's way. I had told him later how just minutes earlier I had been relaxing on the front steps not knowing that the black, scaly hands of death were just inches away from squeezing the very life out of me in front of our neighbors and the dog and on the doorbell camera. He assured me that it was all done and that we would be hard pressed to see another snake any time soon. Bruce promised.

Ok. 

But we were all still skeptical. I saw Bee headed to the car looking like she was in a game of hopscotch. And I saw JD on the camera JUMP the steps onto the driveway and still look back over his shoulder. We are all afraid to let the dog out. 

That black monster loomed large. And once again, I found myself alone. I would have to face the potential of a snake attempt on my life (again?) alone. 

I know what Bruce promised. But Bruce didn't know that just before his arrival, that snake had been watching me. Just waiting. And sure, HE was gone, but what if he had just been a decoy? What if that snake had a friend or wife or husband or crime syndicate that it was working with and overnight or while Bruce was focused elsewhere, they had all worked to get into my car? 

I set off the security alarm as a warning shot. Nothing. I got in slamming the door and taking a deep breath. I started the car and put it into gear and pulled out of our driveway. 

And then I felt it. 

The snake.

Crawling up my left leg; tickling and erratic. I KNEW IT!!! DAMN YOU, BRUCE!!! THE CAR! YOU SHOULD HAVE CHECKED THE CAR! WHY ME? DEAR GOD, WHY ME?!?!?!?!? 

Nope. Not a snake. 

You have no idea what real, visceral fear is until you mistake a snake for a McDonald's straw wrapper. 

But still. Can't be too vigilant. 

People's Exhibit A. 

The time stamps are different because these are screen shots. 

That is the kind of hard-hitting evidence you can expect from this blog. 

People's Exhibit B. 

I only swore once. 

In the whole debacle, once. 

Does the Nobel committee call me or....?

Paris Suce

 I am in a real TV holding pattern right now. I feel like I have watched all the shows and The Crown doesn't start until November. 

So in my scrolling recently, I found a show called Emily In Paris about a young woman moving to Paris where she embarks on episodic love, food, career and fashion bolstering fun. Wow, does Netflix know escapism or what?  

Does Netflix also know that I almost had to be hospitalized when Gossip Girl  spent the summer in Paris? Or that I will adamantly defend the decision Carrie made to go to Paris with Alexander? (THAT DRESS!!!) Donna Martin and Brenda Walsh ate BRAINS in Paris and I was like "Pack my bags!!" Clearly the algorithm is working and Netflix knows that I know that LC will always be known as the girl that didn't go to Paris. 

But, does Netflix know that I HATED Paris? 

Yes. I am one of the few people on the planet that didn't have the Moulin Rouge good time in Paris that media had promised. Tres American, I know, but for me, it lived up to the hateful hype.  Therefore, I give you the (maybe)forthcoming Netflix special: Katie Hates Paris. 

My trip to Paris was sandwiched in between weeks in London so to be fair, it probably never had a crepes  chance in hell. It was November and London had been idyllic; fall colors, all kinds of royal happenings, great weather and literally, not a drop of rain the entire time we were there. London knows how to treat guests. 

We took the train from London to Paris which smells a billion times worse than the worst thing you have ever smelled. Maybe worse. We navigated all the pitfalls of French directions in the train station and managed to make it to our Uber. Where I had grown used to riding on the other side of the road, I was not used to a blatant disregard for traffic engineering altogether. Manic is the only way to describe it. We zipped through the streets until we paused at what I will assume was a stop sign and the driver uttered maybe his only English "There is Eiffel Tower." 

Where?

We had had the good fortune to arrive in Paris at the same time as a Biblical fog. I could make out 4 of the base legs, but from where I sat, that could have been anything. Not a great first impression, but hopefully it got better? 

It didn't.

First stop: The Louvre. 

Obvious first choice, but here is the thing: JD is an absolute SAINT when it comes to traveling with me. Even to somewhere like Nashville where he buys me chewy Sweettarts and fountain Diet Coke and lets me listen to 20-seconds of every song I can think of. Paris is a different trip with me and my ADD. Art isn't really his jam, and that is ok, because even I only like the hits. I came for the Mona Lisa, I don't need to see everything you own. We went FULL American and talked about The DaVinci Code most of the time. 

I was VERY into macaroons the whole time we were there. It was probably one of the only things that I ate that wasn't cheese based. Paris was getting back into my good graces a little bit. Nothing really upsetting about this picture. I am missing macaroons and when my forehead looked like that. 

This biggest celebrity in Paris and here we are with her. What you cannot see is the other 9,000 people on either side and in front of us. It was like the Paris State Fair with all those people. And for every single person, there were at least 2 Apple products. It was a hot sea of iPads and iPhones. We had to crop in this close to make it seem like it was just the three of us. But it does, so mission accomplished.

This guy.

This was night one and the fog had only dissipated this much in one day. We were there for 3, so it wasn't looking promising. Yes, it is beautiful and magical, but let's be honest. You want the whole thing. It would be like saying "Here is the Statue of Liberty's dress and sandals." 

Is this just a food blog now? 

What I did like about Paris is that no one judged me for getting 9 breakfasts items. Crepes are definitely something I think we Americans should adopt more. And when someone WILLINGLY gives me the choice between Nutella and Chocolate and when I can't decide ENCOURAGES me to get both, yes. I'll have that. 

What I didn't appreciate from Paris was the ability to get these beauties any time, any where. I have no self control. If I see a crepe stand, I am hitting it. HARD. Paris might have been a little more considerate of my lack of impulse control. 

Second Stop: Palace at Versailles

I was coaxed onto another smelly Parisian train by the promise of another palace. And probably some more crepes or macaroons.  But definitely a palace. 

I had become used to the palaces in England and all their majesty. Literally. Pristine ancient seats with manicured lawns and historical artifacts impeccably cared for. 

Not the case here.

Versailles was simply sad. Not just because of events that unfolded there, but the overall upkeep of such a once beautiful home. Instead of docents anxious to tell you every single, solitary fact about this magical place, we were treated with head sets and told to tune to the English station. Self guided through only the first floor, (once I am in a palace, I need to see every square inch) it was dusty, musty and really all looked the same. Kind of like your Great Aunt's house with dueling floral prints and antiques you see in horror movies. There was little anecdotal information on the tour and whomever curated this tour must have only had minutes to do so. It was just lacking.  The grounds were stunning, but again, that fog had put a literal and figurative damper on everything. 

This hat. 

I will never hear a negative word spoken about this hat. I found this hat a year before our trip and I thought I might explode with excitement before I got to wear it. I thought, "If not in Paris, then where?" I do think it says a lot about who JD and I are as a couple that these are the hats we each chose to wear in Paris. 

Before you completely drag me in this hat, consider the company I keep:

Yeah. Now go get a black fur hat. 

I love this picture. 

I love it most because I think it speaks to my ability to hide fear in a picture. 

We begrudgingly asked someone else to take this; God forbid anyone in France would have offered. But I have a REAL fear (even stateside) of someone taking off with our device. I don't know why. So I am terribly worried that this person, who we do not know from a Nutella crepe, is going to take off with our American iPhone and have all our information and we will never be able to leave France. 

Secondly, THAT TRAFFIC. Sure, it looks far away, but it wasn't. Just seconds later, a car came careening so close, it almost blew my fur hat off. Why are there no rules? Are there and no one abides? Where is everyone going so quickly? Based on the pace of walk and restaurant service, fast doesn't really seem to be your MO here. Are you just in a hurry to slow down? It was so frightening and Paris traffic makes NYC look like Mayberry. Absolutely too fast. 

Also of note: in every picture, you can see me clutching my purse. That is already around my body. 

Still no Eiffel Tower. 

What the hell, Paris. This is your thing. Do you not have a fan or some meteorological marvel to clear the fog? That would be like us saying "Sorry folks, the Grand Canyon is filled with water today."  Americans would have that drained by plastic straw if necessary. 

It was all a little too French and depressing so we had pizza and American TV instead. 

Third Stop: Eiffel Tower

Ok, Paris. I see you. 

No, I do. Because the fog has finally lifted. 

And she's a beaut, Clark. 

JD had planned a river cruise and I was seriously worried we were just going to have 1,000 pics of a foggy boat on our camera roll.  We boarded the boat right past all the souvenir sales people and the potential human traffickers we were warned about. The weather was perfect; no fog, no rain and it had warmed up an entire degree.  

You know who else likes beautiful Parisian weather? Influencers. 

You cannot convince me that we were the only non-influencers on the boat. They should have charged a second fee to watch all the influencers on this boat work. I have never seen such as I saw that day. I felt like a real jackass for buying a ring light before the trip. These were full blown photo calls. 

I don't know what I saw that day on the boat ride... I have never seen so many Instagram people in one place. And I have been to Florida. 

Third Stop Part 2: The Eiffel Tower

JD had made reservations at the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower for champagne that night. Which I am sure would have been as magical as it sounds...

What I also didn't realize in the fog of the Eiffel Tower was exactly how high up it truly is... and I have a paralyzing fear of heights. 

I had summoned the courage a few days earlier in London when we also had champagne at the top of the Shard in London. (We did a lot of champagne work on this trip.) But I wasn't recovered from that. My sea legs were not back and clearly, they weren't coming back. This was too tall. 

Would that have been my Parisian Serena Vanderwoodsen moment? We will just never know. What I do know is that there wasn't enough champagne in ALL of France to get me up that high. 

Last stop: Dinner.

JD had also secured some dinner reservations based on a recommendation from a friend. We got to the restaurant and found our little table in the corner. This was the Parisian dinner I wanted. Cozy and quiet with the great food and wine we had been assured of by friends. We were clearly at an early seating and the restaurant wasn't too full yet, so there was a free table next to us. 

It slowly started to fill and the people watching was pretty great. 

Next thing we know, a dog is sitting in the chair at the table next to us. And in full irony, a French bulldog. Everything here is on brand. 

Clearly that dog had no idea how much I was missing MY dog, but it was still kind of a jerk thing to do. I began to think about Ouis, my idiot beagle with the French name that can never come to France because of all the stringent quarantine laws which I am sure are even worse due to COVID. Now I am sad... .But this dog was super sweet and had a lot of personality. He sat at the table just staring at us. Then, he jumped up, ran to the back and came back with half a baguette. First of all, this is the FASTEST service I have seen in all of France, but seriously. what is happening. The chef comes out from the back and starts loving and petting on the dog. I have been given the stink eye by every Parisian but this dog is Gerard Depardeaux? No thank you. 

It was the chef's dog. He goes to the restaurant nightly and hangs out eating bread. Adorable. Absolutely adorable. and now everyone in the restaurant has heard this story and wants to come over and feed/pet this dog. At the table just inches from ours. Not cool, pup. Not cool. Every drunk, cigarette smoking, smelly Parisian made their way over to our adjacent table as if we didn't exist. 

So this is how I spent my last night in Paris. 

Paris. 

I'd had such high hopes. TV and movies had really led me to believe that I would be riding a bike to buy a baguette in a scarf and beret while accordion music played in the background. Instead of dodging annoying mimes, I was dodging people asking me to sign a petition to stop illegal human trafficking while their accomplice picked my pocket. TV and movies had never prepared me for the fact that my husband would be walking around with his backpack on his front.Like one of those fake pregnancy bellies.  At the suggestion of POLICE. I don't care who recommends that, you are never ready to see your husband walking around with a backpack on the front. 

PLEASE do not mistake this post as being ungrateful. I was very fortunate to have a husband who would thoughtfully plan this trip and make my dream come true. It is sad now to think that I am glad I got to go just before a global pandemic. Everyone should go to Paris. It is full of history and beauty; it is also full of terrible smells, rude people and body parts passed off as food that should be illegal. 

I wonder if Lauren Conrad knew all this about Paris and that is why she chose not to go.....