Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Pinchers

I have been having a small problem with sugar ants in my kitchen. I haven’t been able to find their entrance from the outside, but am constantly on the lookout for them. The other night, I moved a sponge that had been sitting on the kitchen counter. An earwig scurried out... Yikes! It startled me because I was on sugar ant alert, not Disgusting Bug With Pinchers On Its Butt alert. I brushed the earwig into the sink and turned on the water. He got to the edge of the drain, and held on... and on. Do earwigs have tiny suction cups somewhere on their undercarriage? Whatever the case, he wouldn’t go down the drain. It took the sprayer practically placed on his head to send him away. Sometime the next evening, I noticed there was something dark in the dog’s water dish. I meant to clean it out, but forgot about it. The next morning, I emptied the water dish and realized the dark item was an earwig. And it was alive. Seriously! It must have been in the water for hours. It had to be the same hearty earwig that I thought was playing a harp in Disgusting Bug Heaven. This guy was tenacious, truly amazing, and possibly equipped with a snorkel. And given the fact that I’d tried to kill him twice, I was in for the Pinch To End All Pinches if he was not dispatched for good. I really try to love all creatures, but have my limits. Sharks and spiders are on my exception list, as are earwigs. I’m not sure if they actually pinch, but it seems like they are fully capable. I hate to admit it, but I unleashed the full strength of my handy bottle of 409 Spray. Still, the earwig would not give up. Finally, the toxins took hold and he went down the drain. For good, I hope. It being almost Halloween, though, it makes me wonder. What if this earwig was some kind of undead zombie bug? What if the 409 caused a mutation, and he comes back again? I might want to scrutinize the trick or treaters, and look for any telltale signs of a pincher. This guy was relentless, and if he comes back, he’s going to be pissed!

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Seven Little Words

I keep hoping Kim Kardashian and her family will go away, but alas, it’s not in the cards. A few days ago, Kanye West proposed to Kim. It was a private, subdued little affair... not. It all happened at AT&T Park in San Francisco. While fireworks crackled and a 50-piece orchestra played, “PLEEEASE MARRY MEEE!” flashed on the Jumbotron. Kim’s family was hiding in the dugout, but supposedly didn’t know why they were there. Hmmm... are they really that dumb? Apparently so. Kanye gave his beloved a 15 carat engagement ring. I say big whoop. They are all obscenely wealthy, so buying a million dollar ring is like me buying a new sweater. I believe Kim and Kanye might just make a go of it. Not because of true love, but because they are cut from the same cloth. Serious D-bags, but probably soul mates who deserve each other. I remember my own marriage proposal. There was no stadium, fireworks, or Jumbotron. As far as I know, my relatives were not hiding nearby. Here’s how it happened... Rick had moved to San Francisco to work for an insurance company. After a few months, he came home for a visit. One night we were talking, and I said those seven little words everyone longs to hear - “So are we getting married, or what?”. I believe Rick’s reply was something equally romantic like “Uh, I guess so”. I think he thought he had months, or maybe even years before the event would happen. Ha... he had no idea that my Planner Gene could trump his Procrastinator Gene every time. Five months later we got married. I already had my ring picked out before the grand proposal. Just three gold bands, no diamonds. I’m a cheap date. I did all the planning. Rick just had to show up. Easy peasy. My sister made my wedding dress for something like $28. Our wedding was in a little chapel, we had a nice reception, and it snowed... just as I ordered. It’s been 36 years since I uttered those magical seven words. Humble works. Something to consider, Kim & Kanye.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Plan B

Yesterday morning, as I was taking my dogs out for their early morning potty break, I noticed a snail hanging out on my front porch. The doggies did their business, and we went back inside. Ten minutes later, snail forgotten, I left the house to go to work. I went down the stairs and felt a crunch under my foot. Shudder... Had I just annihilated some kind of speed demon of a snail? When he met his demise, he was a whole stair down from his last sighting. I immediately went into Plan B mode... I figured my husband would come down the stairs to walk the dogs, step on the snail goo, and go flying. He might lay crumpled on the ground for hours, waiting for a neighbor to come outside and spot him. He recently started a new job, so he doesn’t have much sick time accrued yet. We may be down to one income if I didn’t clean up the mess. All these thoughts occurred as I was scraping my shoe across the lawn. Five seconds max. I went back inside for paper towels and 409 Spray. Catastrophe averted. Last weekend, I picked up my little Yorkie from the groomer. When we came outside, my key fob wouldn’t unlock my car. My brain went immediately to the Plan B place. I wondered how I was going to get my spare key from the jar on the bookcase in my dining room. Nobody was home. Who could I call? Would Stella and I have to hitch-hike home? Hey, maybe the Mini Cooper people could unlock my car from the dealership... It was at this point that I realized I was trying to unlock someone else’s car. My Mini was one car over. At least this time nobody was in the car that wasn’t mine. The last time I tried to unlock and climb in a car that wasn’t mine, a lady was sitting in it. A terrified lady. Sigh. I would love to figure out a way to make a fortune from my Plan B gene. Or maybe harness the power of it. Kind of like wind power, only different. Way, way different.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

What I Know About Hockey

My husband is visiting a friend tonight who is a hockey fan. I’m pretty sure Rick’s hockey knowledge is minimal, so I thought I’d share what I know. Ahem, here goes... The sport of Hockey was invented in 1698 by Kevin Shakespeare, William’s younger brother. After seeing “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, Kevin hit on the name of the round thingy that would be fought over on the ice rink - the Puck. Kevin Shakespeare’s wife, Britney, was an awful cook and always burned the hamburger patties. The design for the Puck, therefore, was born during a family barbecue. The hockey uniform evolved over the centuries. In Shakespeare’s time, hay was used for padding. In modern times, many layers have been added. This was done in case a player got snowed in at the arena. He could wear his jammies and work clothes underneath the uniform, with room for his pillow and blanket. Following are some terms that may, or may not be hockey-related:

Hat Trick - Kind of like a card trick, only different.
Hamel Camel - Used in figure skating, may not be efficient for hockey.
Camel Toe - Who can tell with that uniform?
Dog Pile On The Rabbit - Probably only used in Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Penalty Box - Like standing in the corner in Catholic school.
Piper Down - Only in Scottish hockey.
Roughing The Kicker, Face Masking, & Backfield In Motion - Sounds hockey-ish
Outta Water - Oops... had a Marco Polo moment.

Despite this vast display of my hockey knowledge, I have only attended one game. A deaf couple a few rows down screamed at the refs in sign language. I couldn’t take my eyes off them, and therefore missed the game. My advice to Rick is this - Stand up and yell every time a fight breaks out. And that’s my take on hockey.