Thursday, February 28, 2013

Extreme Danger...May Die Today

The other day I saw a post on Facebook that said something like “Even if a bitch aint one…99 problems is still a lot of fucking problems.” You know what? That’s like, REALLY true. I have approximately 4 problems, one of them being that I can’t find my favorite pair of tights, and I might kill myself at any moment. If I could slowly chip away at my problems until I had none, I would be as happy as Obama motorboating Blue Ivy at a Marxist themed luncheon. But even if I did manage to find my tights, stop watching the Kardashians for 5 hour stints, and get a record deal…I just don’t think there is anything I can do about my NUMBER ONE PROBLEM IN THE WORLD…coyotes. There are so many reasons that I hate coyotes that I think a list is the best way to go here….ughhh…I am ready to puke….


1) WTF is a coyote? Are you a wolf? Are you a fox? You know what…I don’t care what you are because I already know that you are FRICKEN DISGUSTING. Your face looks like the guy from Boardwalk Empire and your body looks like Mary Kate Olsen on all fours.

2) They are obsessed with me. If I am driving at any time other than the middle of the day, a Mary Kate will run right in front of my car looking all tense and freaky. If I am on my porch with my beautiful, little Millie, they are clomping around in the woods waiting to eat her and barf her up (bulimia.) I mean, I can’t even sleep with the window open without them banding together and yipping like one of those weird naked African tribes right outside my window. Once I saw one stand under a streetlight until I looked right at it and then it ran away. Dick.

3) I can’t do anything about them. You can’t shoot coyotes except for during a certain time of year and you can’t shoot within 500 feet of a house. So basically, you can all just pretend I have AIDS because eventually one of these assholes is going to maul me to death in my own yard. It just makes no sense to me that this predator is allowed to roam around and we can’t even get super drunk and shoot them out of our bedroom windows. I equate my current real life situation to the hypothetical scenario of being locked in a room with the Craigslist Killer. In this scenario, I am just sexy, awesome Haley and the Craigslist Killer is a psycho, scrawny murderer, but the big twist is that he is also “protected.” We have to live in this room together, and he has guns, knives, handcuffs, obviously his Red Sox hat, and he is incredibly ready to cut off my underwear and shoot me in the face. I, on the other hand, only have the option to sit there and wait to die. Think about that and tell me my life doesn’t suck.

4) Daisy Simpson.( Daisy Lachey?) Say what you want about big, fat Jessica….that dog was cute and a coyote ate it. That’s like, really sad.

5) NOBODY BELIEVES ME. I will admit, the amount of coyote encounters that I have is bizarre, BUT IT’S THE F*CKING TRUTH. At least once a week I see a coyote, and at least once every other night I hear them. I come running inside and say “ I just saw 2 coyotes in the street!!!!!” thinking that it’s a big deal and we should call 911. Nick just stares at the TV and lets the Peruvian drug lord with the blurred out face finish his interview and then says “ It was probably a squirrel.” OK maybe I have more problems than I thought.

I hope this post clearly explains to you all that I am in severe danger. If anyone has any coyote advice, I need it. In the meantime, I have been noticing that a lot of my Facebook “friends” don’t really seem to have their acts together at all, and I have a job for one lucky lost soul. You can be my coyote bodyguard in exchange for life/wardrobe advice. We will have such a great time and it can be our little secret. That’s a lie, I don’t keep secrets.

I cant figure out how to attach photos! Sorry! I am a big idiot.

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