You can't say bomb on an airplane

 
But you can say bird in the house.

Twice since having moved into the Gingerbread House, we've found dead birds.  Nothing like the apocalyptic amount of birds dropping from the sky in Arkansas.  Dead bird on the back deck.  Cool.  Another dead bird on the front steps.  Awesome.



And just absolutely disgusting.  Ugh it just mean disease and don't even start on the number of cats that it'll attract.  VOM.

So of course on Friday there was a bird on the third floor.  Mother effer scared the living everythinggggggg out of me.  Ramming itself into the windows and blitzing around like a dive bomber.  eeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!  (At the rate it was running into shit, I would make an excellent co-pilot).

Naturally I locked myself in my bathroom, screaming like a 10yr old girl.

Landlord's response to my cry-for-help text was, "OMW".  Forget about the wildlife break-in.  Tell me wtf that even means?  "OMW" = oh my word?  ouch my weiner?  get a grip and use the universal short-hand "OMG" pleaseandthank you.  Terrified, alone, and now just utterly insulted.

GEEEEZZZ-us.  Instead of waiting for the plague, I handled the thing myself.  aka ran around screaming and flailing my arms to assert my status on the food chain of command and let the fire escape open.