Sunday, June 20, 2010
This Means WAR!!!
Okay, now I've had it.
You may recall my blog about how much I love living in my c1928 homestead here, wherein I waxed nostalgic about the beauty of living in a home so filled with memories and "character." If you missed that blog, it's a bit of a nicer one because it's not all ranty rant, so have a read: This Old House
Well, that was then. I've been doing a lot of bitching about little black ants. Since the beginning of spring, the little bastards have been marching around my kitchen with impunity. I didn't love it, but I was trying to be logical about it: ants are everywhere, it's unreasonable to think that anyone can truly get rid of ants, because they're a part of nature and blah, blah, yackity blah. I hated the way they marched out from under the quarter round on the kitchen floor, so I lined the whole perimeter of the kitchen with ground cinnamon. Okay, goody--the things stopped coming in on that side of the house. I vacuumed them up from the pantry. I smashed them, swatted them, put down drops of poisoned sticky sugar goo, hoping they'd take it back to their queen and DIE M**THERF***ERS DIE! Incidentally, that stuff is crazy hard to wipe off the floor by the time the ants stop giving a crap about it, and it becomes a cat hair/dust filled circle.
See, I'm not into chemicals and pesticides. I like to think I give a crap about the planet, and I care about my kids too. So, I have ONE bottle of chemical laden bathroom cleaner, and other than that, I have all this supposedly earth-friendly cleaning stuff. Yay me. Well, I'm not thrilled about having the kitchen floor lined with cinnamon, but if it keeps them out of the house, I can live with it.
Then, the BIG black ants started making an appearance. Yuck. I can feel my throat closing up a little just thinking about them. Okay, swat, smash, more delicious liquid poison. And then there was Saturday morning...
Friday night, we went to bed with the windows closed because we had our new-fangled central air on. Saturday morning we awoke to the sound of *tic..tic..tic..tic..tic..tictic..tic.." and find that all around the sheer curtains, and under the blind, the window is loaded with
and what we were hearing was not rain, but the sound of their little idiot bodies pinging off the glass. Oh wait, did I not say this clearly enough--INSIDE OUR ROOM. Oh the horror! After a nice session with the shop vac, their were no more flying ants in our room.
I went shopping Saturday morning for shorts. I won't go into detail about how demoralizing trying on clothing is, and how my self esteem flushes itself down the toilet ever time. No, no, I won't go into that now, because this is about freaking ants. Came home, felt hungry, went to the pantry to fire one cookie down my yap and saw that shelf was loaded with little ants. FREEEEEEEAAAKED out, and started smashing them in a frenzy of rage. In the meantime, tossed the cookie into my mouth. Ugh, a piece of cookie was stuck to the corner of my mouth--you know, right where the upper and lower lip meet. THAT WAS NO COOKIE--IT WAS AN ANT! The ant, was hanging on to the corner of my mouth with its jaws. Okay, I know these things are teeny tiny, but suddenly it seems I have flip flopped into sci/fi/horror land. And by the way, though tiny, that little ant's bite HURTS LIKE HELL and for a long time. A LONG, LONG TIME. Oh yeah, there was another one hanging on the inside of my left cheek, but I'm trying not to think of that.
Saturday night: evening drawing to a close, decided to make myself a nice adult cocktail of whisky and lemonade before hitting the proverbial sack. Came into the kitchen and whipped around to tell my husband something, and sent a glass flying off the kitchen table. It smashed into many pieces, one of which flew off and sliced the inner side of my foot. Ow, ow, OW! Blood was nicely pouring out, and I'm a total baby about cuts, so I was rendered useless. The man dealt with all of it, which was lovely, and then he made my nice, stiff drink.
Felt lovely--good buzz going on, time to hit the hay. Hm, husband's now in the bedroom vacuuming away as I notice that the flying ants are back by our window, and the cold air return vent in the corner of our room is swarming with little black ants. So, as a couple of flying ants flip onto the side of my bed on the nice white sheets, and roll around stupidly, Jon says; "well, GOOD NIGHT!" This joke means; who the hell wants to sleep in this horror pit???
And now it is Sunday, and I've had a terrible sleep, as I woke constantly fearing that ants would be walking on my FACE. The entire perimeter of my room, including the window frame is now loaded with cinnamon. It kept any more from coming in.
The saga continues--and let me tell you people: I am no longer averse to CHEMICALS!!!
image reference: http://howdyhost.com/photo/insects/