Join Date: Jun-2002
more you might be a herper
This came in on one of the email lists I subscribe to.
You have a ton of turkey basters around, labeled "reptiles only", but you don't cook.
You have more water bowls than actual [people] food bowls/dishes.
You've had to move the refrigerator, not to vacuum the dust bunnies, but to find an escaped snake.
You consider spring cleaning re-doing tanks.
You steal pillow cases from the hospital for use as snake bags. [well, I didn't actually get in trouble for it ...]
A neighbor complains about bugs in their garden, and you think, "cool - free food!"
You blow your nose in the morning, not as part of a natural act, but to get the rogue fruit flies out. [and I'm not the only one!]
You transform conventional, pre-printed shopping lists to ~
You rush to the mailbox to get those newspaper-like ads, not because you care what's on sale, but to line the snake cages.
All your PC wallpaper is herp-related, as are your cursers and folder icons.
In Microsoft Money, you run the pie graph tool entitled, "where does my money go?," only to find more goes towards the herps than 'household expenses'.
You know the definition of the word 'herp'.
Nobody visits your house because of "what's in there..."
The mailman / UPS guy knows you by name only because of the fruit fly and cricket shipments.
Visitors have been horrified to see a gecko roaming the walls, and you have to explain, "oh, he's for cricket control..."
You have millions of Tupperware lids, but no bowls (they're in the tanks).
You have more tanks than furniture.
You know the Latin names of all of your herps, but can't name your state senator.
Your herp food list is longer than your own grocery list.
Cashiers look at you weird when you buy only 'Tropical Delight" baby food, and finally ask, "don't you feed your kid anything else???!!!" [yes, that's actually happened to me.]
You can't remember your cousin's names, but you can rattle off your herp's names.
You buy your herps Christmas presents (and wrap them).
The electric company suspects you of running a crack lab, because your lighting bill is so high. [no, that hasn't happened to me.]
a) You have more frozen mice in your freezer than you do food.
b) Someone in your family has accidentally grabbed the wrong thing from the freezer to defrost (ask my sister about the time she defrosted a dozen mice, assuming it was frozen spaghetti sauce).
Your photo album is full of herp pictures, but just a few of "those people are family".
You see an abandoned TV set, shelf, etc., and think, "what a tank!"
Your neighbors are constantly complaining about moss popping up in their yard, but you think, "that'd be cool in my tank."
You are clueless to world events, but know what's on Animal Planet, Discovery Safari, National Geographic, etc.
You'll drink tap water, but buy spring water for your herps.
You mark herp shows on your calendar, but not doctor's appointments, etc.
You can't find the phone book in your house to save your life, but you always know where your field guide is.
You're not familiar with the works of Mailer, Sagan, Twain, but you consider Peterson, Conant, Collins, and Rossi to be "great authors of our time."
You visit friends and relatives, and spend the day flipping rocks and logs in their backyard.
Many have weekly rituals: Monday night football, sorting through bills - you make fruit fly cultures.
You're elated when you discover termites near your house.
You bring your toad outside to the garden "for a walk".
You don't keep cards people send you, but you keep your snake's sheds.
You're on the gift registry at Petco, but not J.C. Penny's or Filenes's.
You own more thermometers/hygrometers than you do eating utensils.
You send out birth announcements for a hatching.
You've tried to declare a herp as a tax-deductible dependant. [no, I'm too chicken to try it. But I saw on 20/20 where a dog got a credit card ...]
You buy vitamins, not because you want to be healthy, but to grind them up for dusting fruit flies and crickets.
You buy a coffee grinder just to grind up vitamins.
You'll eat junk food, but 'buy healthy' for your crickets.
You constantly run out of dry food goods, but always have fruit fly culture media on hand.
You've called up friends and asked, "can I bum a culture / a few mice off ya?"
You've ditched a boring date or family function because you have to "spray your tanks."
You remember your herp's hatch / spawn date, but not your family's birthdates.
You sign birthday and holiday cards including the names of all your herps.
You never throw away small boxes, because they make good hide-aways.
You're playing Trivial Pursuit. You have no idea which president was afflicted with polio, but you know that frogs swallow their food by 'popping' their eyes back.
You really don't give much thought as to why the world is the way it is, but have spent countless hours pondering why frogs and toads do the toe-tap when hunting food.
You never throw away plastic milk jugs, not because you're a friend of the earth, but because they're handy for letting tap water sit to spray your tanks with.
You go to the home store to buy house paint, and try to describe the color you want to the guy in the paint department: "you know, that shade of blue, like a Standing's day gecko?" [he just didn't get it.]
Also at the home store: you buy only one bag of play sand. The clerk says, "that won't fill your kid's sandbox," and you explain it's for a tank.
You willingly let spiders set up shop in your house, to catch the fruit flies and escaped crickets.
You've had to say to visitors, "please excuse the house!", but your tanks are spotless.
On a government census report, you just list "many".
Your friends go to art galleries and critique the placement of subject matter. You just go to the zoo and say, "well, I woulda put the rocks here ..."
You've had to explain to your neighbors why you're collecting leaves in the backyard - "I'm making tadpole tea. You see, I need the tannin ..."
You plan vacations around herping and herp shows.
You haven't been to the eye doctor in years, but you religiously check your snake's sheds for eyecaps.
You're unaware that a friend or family member has a critical allergy to a food ingredient, but you remember that you can't feed your igg broccoli because it gives him diarrhea.
You constantly buy the wrong size clothing for your family as gifts, but you can eyeball a frozen mouse: "oh, yeah, Stinky can eat that."
You can't wait to read your e-mail, to see what's up on the snakes / frogs / geckos lists.
You've had to stay after school and write, "I will not bring snakes and frogs to class." [I think I was around eight?]
You're typing this list.
And finally ...
You have turtles and salamanders hibernating in your refrigerator, and no room for vegetables in the crisper.