Filter THIS

So the saga continues.  Yesterday after work, I detoured up to my house to try out a new suggestion courtesy of our office manager. 

To do this, I had to first take care of a few other things.  First, check to make sure that my outdoor spigot is not still "winterized."  Check.

Second, locate the garden hose my father bought me when I moved into my house.  Check.

Third, change clothes.  This could get messy.

After completing these steps and hooking up the hose to the spigot I approached the air conditioner unit.  Using Leo's carefully explained method, I indirectly sprayed off the outer coil vents of the unit to remove any grass, cottonwood seeds, rocks, etc.  I think I did a pretty good job not only of removing debris but of not completely drenching myself in the process. 

Mission completed, I went back inside to wait a few minutes.  Obviously I realize that change takes time.  It is worth noting that it was 75 degrees when I got in the house and it was still 75 when I left.  It is supposed to be 70.  Meh.

The reason I could not stay too long to wait for results was that I had dinner plans.  While eating dinner I received another good suggestion.  So good, I feel a bit dumb that I did not think of it.

See, in most central ventilation systems these days, there are these things called filters.  Now, when I moved in, I was told to change these twice a year, usually in the fall and spring.  I always bought the fancy 3M Filtrete ones that cost in the range of $10-15.  No big deal.  Except when I am at Target and forget the size of the filter I need, purchase the wrong one and waste a bunch of money.

Anyway.  As hard as I try, I cannot remember exactly when I last changed the filter.  If I had to try, I would say it was probably last fall or even winter.  I am fairly certain that it did not get replaced this spring because I was not home very much. 

So when Nick asked if I had replaced my air filter, I had to sheepishly reply in the negative.  I then learned that I had been spending WAY too much on filters and replacing them nowhere near often enough.  Apparently one can find much cheaper filters at, say, Home Depot that can be replaced monthly. 

Therefore, my lunch break plans today will include a jaunt back up to my local Home Depot to purchase filters and another quick run to my house to replace what is likely a completely clogged one.  I will then hightail it back to work.

After work today I will be making ANOTHER detour to my house to check the temperature situation. 

If all of this seems a bit ridiculous to you, let me give you a bit more information.  You see, I have a scheduled appointment for the A/C repair person to be at my house tomorrow.  This will likely cost me money in the end.  Oh, and I will have to take off of work for it.  Not exactly the kind of thing I like to use my days off to do.  So... if I can solve this problem myself for the cost of some new filters (and gas for all my extra car trips), I will do it.  If it doesn't work, oh well.  At least I will be spared the embarrassment of having the A/C person find that everything was because of an old air filter.

The bonus to this is that IF this latest attempt works, Lena and I can come home tonight.  Of course, we will probably be back down on Thursday night for the weekend, but it could be glorious to actually get some cleaning done at my OWN HOUSE.  The one I pay for every month.  The one I will likely be paying for every month until the day I die.  Better get cracking.

Flashes of lightening and covert operations

Of all the weird ways to start a Friday... thunder and lightening?  Not to mention that fact that when I awoke this morning I had a very hard time remembering what day it was.  This can probably be easily explained by the fact that I have spent nearly every single Friday morning this year at my parents' house.  Except for today.  Yes, today I arose for the day chez moi. 

For an update on my ant situation (if you care):  I am working on it.  It is a bit tricky to place bait traps when one has a very curious dog, but she is pretty obedient when I am watching and I have not left her unattended near the apparent ant metropolis.  My guess is that there may be a crack in the foundation or an opening in the wall right by the entrance from my living room to the kitchen because they are coming out in droves for the bait.  Yuck.  What is the next step?  Should I go to Lowe's and check out the Raid sprays?  I think it may be time to go heavy duty.  Don't worry, I've done this before with much more dangerous critters.

Yet another strange occurrence this morning was the fact that my dog did not want her food.  She was not behaving unusually in any other way, so I can only assume that the strange weather patterns may have affected her appetite.  Either that or she is making a subtle statement that she prefers the food that my mom has over what I have.  This is odd because I intentionally bought the same food as my mom serves her dogs, so who knows.  She was more than willing to eat the treats that I give her for going willingly into her kennel before I left, so I know that she won't starve, but we'll have to see how she does with her evening meal.

Aside from animal and insect concerns, my main mental preoccupation of late has been over my future career.  Professionally, I am a bit of a crossroads.  I am more than emotionally and mentally ready to move on to a new venture, but unfortunately I will not be in full possession of the degree that will allow me to really do this until December.  Initially, this fact was OK with me.  I was willing to wait out the time patiently in my current position and start the new job pursuit when I had the full qualifications in hand.

Unfortunately, I have started to grow impatient.  I want a challenge.  Knowing that I only have three more courses to complete until I have my Master's Degree has made me extremely eager to move into the field of libraries, archives and other such places.  Ultimately, my first preference would be to remain in Minnesota, specifically in the Twin Cities metro, thus allowing me to remain in my house and near my family.

Although I am concentrating my search in this area, I have not totally ruled out other locations.  Current economic conditions combined with the relatively high level of competition for the type of job I want in this area make the possibility that I may need to relocate something that I cannot ignore.

So the inevitable consideration is:  where should I live?

Up to now, I have really only considered places that are in the northern part of the country.  This is mainly based on my (completely rational) dislike for the kind of poisonous insects and other creatures that live in warmer climates.  However, the news that Brown Recluse Spiders may soon be extending their habitat into MN has me very concerned.  I had not previously considered Canada to be an option, but I am seriously rethinking this.

I guess you could say that I am now open to suggestion.  If anyone has any great ideas, please let me know.  I am fortunate enough to have friends and connections in other areas of the U.S. such as Portland (OR), Anchorage and Chicago.  There are also the "close to home" options in Madison (WI) and even South Dakota.  Then again, there are also the overseas options.  How cool would it be to work for the British Museum?  Not that there is much chance of this happening, but it would be dreamy.

Hopefully I will not have as much trouble remembering where I am and what day it is tomorrow when I awaken.  Hopefully Lena will be kind and allow me some extra sleep as well.  Tomorrow night I have a grill-out event to attend that is actually a covert matchmaking operation to introduce a couple of lovely young people.  Even if this is not a successful endeavor, at least I will get some good food and company out of it.

Foxy Lego Ants on Power Wheels

Surprises are way overrated sometimes. 

My first example took place yesterday evening.  Upon arriving home with Lena, I felt a sense of relief and calm.  I unloaded the car and prepared to enjoy an evening of reading, relaxing and early bedtime.  Lena had a long day of travel as well with zero nap time, and I was happy that she would likely fall asleep easily.

This calm was quickly shattered when I walked in and glanced towards Lena's food dish.  As of late, my dog has decided that she does not want to eat all of her food at meal time.  Actually, this is more of an afternoon meal phenomenon.  I believe it is due to the fact that she expects a Dingo treat as well and cannot quite understand that the granting of said treat only occurs when she has finished her regular food.  Basically, she will take a few bites before coming to me to gaze imploringly into my eyes.

Normally, I can stubbornly get her to finish her food.  It takes a while.  Last week when we were getting ready to leave, I noticed that she hadn't finished her meal.  Normally I would have taken the time to get her to do so, but we were in a hurry.  It didn't occur to me that leaving it out would be a problem.  Boy was I wrong.

Over the course of the weekend, a colony of ants had discovered Lena's leftover food and was making a feast of it.  I should probably clarify a bit as it may sound like there were hundreds of tiny critters covering her dish.  This was not the case.  But there were enough to be distinctly noticeable.  I immediately emptied the bowl into the garbage, washed it thoroughly and began a frantic vacuum session. 

I believe I was somewhat successful, but I still have to stop and pick up some trap/bait kits today to finish the job.  Yuck.  Lesson learned:  when Lena does not finish her food, it gets put away. 

My second surprise came from the ongoing coyote watch fiasco.  After doing some research, I found the name and telephone number for the Edina Police Department Animal Control Officer.  My mother called him to discuss the urban coyote infestation (of one) only to discover that he had recently been to our neighborhood on a similar report and based on a homeowner photograph believes that it is not a coyote but is in fact a fox.  This does change my overall fear level, but I am still not 100% convinced.

OK, so that is it for the surprises.  At least for the moment.

I had an interesting thought this weekend.  I know, you are all shocked that I had any thought at all, ha ha ha, but seriously.  My mom was showing me a YouTube clip of this little girl singing the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros on the Ellen show.  At the end of her performance, Ellen wheels out a pink Barbie Power Wheels Escalade for the kid.  Sweet, right?

The episode took me back to some powerful childhood memories.  No, I never had a Power Wheels and more importantly neither did my brother, Michael.  He was the one who always dreamt of getting one but never did.  I was not as vociferous in my interest, but I do remember quite vividly that I honestly felt that if I could just get my hands on one of those fine pieces of machinery that I would have total freedom.  I could go where I wanted when I wanted and no one could stop me. 

Technically speaking, my first bicycle offered similar benefits, but for some reason the idea of taking off in something that looked more like a car made it more legitimate.

As a result of well-targeted ad campaigns, I often found myself in "need" of certain new toys.  Examples include:  Barbie and the Rockers (my friends had them - I never did), She-Ra's castle, a Barbie Dream House complete with elevator, and Legos.  You could not believe the number of awesome cool Lego kits I wanted to buy, build, tear down and build again.  I reckoned that when I grew up and made my own money, I would be able to buy all of these items that were out of my reach financially as a child. 

Now, I am an adult.  I make money.  I have the earning potential to possess these things.  Yet I have bought none of them.  Why?  Because they are for children and I am not a child.  I doubt I could call up any of my friends and invite them over to play Barbies without them seriously questioning my mental stability. 

Truthfully, I can rationalize away a lot of my toy-free purchases using the above argument.  The only hang-up for me is Legos.  I still walk past the displays with a twinge of excitement and have even picked up a few, just to look.  One of these days I am going to give in and get one.  It won't be a small one either - it has to be one worthy of adult brainpower.  Well, at least for ages 12 and up.  Hopefully this will not start a snowball effect leading to a "Lego Room" in my house which leads to an intervention which leads to me making a massive donation to a children's hospital.

Although the donation aspect is pretty nice of me, if you really think about it.

Infestation: Part 3

Well, here we are at the third and (hopefully) final installment of the Infestation series. I hope that you have found my stories thus far to be entertaining and perhaps a tad educational. A lot of what I know in a practical sense I have gained through blind experience, which I imagine is pretty common. However, if you have not had the joy of destroying a wasp nest or battling the oncoming ant horde, perhaps these stories will give you some assistance in the future.

First of all, today’s story does not concern insects, spiders or anything slimy. From that information, you can perhaps guess where this is going, but instead of just stating the obvious, I’m going to build up a little anticipation.

Two years ago in November, I woke up one morning and went through my normal workday preparations. I have a tendency to move slowly in the morning, which leads to my final moments in the house being rather rushed as I strive to be on the road at a decent time to allow for morning rush hour backups.

On this particular morning, I was running behind and looking for my glasses. I was having a difficult time of it and in my searching, I happened to stop over at the vanity dresser in my bedroom to scan the contents of the counter. In the corner of the crowded surface, my eyes slid over a small yet strange item.

To elaborate, one month prior, my best friend and her then fiancé had partaken in a Disney Cruise on the Caribbean Sea. As she is a very generous friend, she made sure to bring me back some nice souvenirs: a bracelet, some lotions from the ship’s spa, and a small piece of chocolate in a gold wrapper.

While I was grateful to receive these items, I had yet to relocate them from my dresser countertop after bringing them home. It was one of these items that caught my eye that morning. Can you guess what it was? Probably not, so I’ll tell you.

As I searched for my glasses, I noticed the gold paper of the chocolate square sitting alone in the corner. This would not have struck me as odd, except that there appeared to be a small bite mark taken out of one corner. It looked as if someone (or something) had simply chomped right through the wrapper to consume a small part of my chocolate.

I was puzzled momentarily. I could not recall doing this myself, and I knew that I would not have bitten right through the wrapper. I tried to remember if I had left it in the presence of my parent’s dog, but then I realized that she would not have left such a dainty bite mark. She would have chewed and swallowed it whole.

As my brain worked through this mystery, I happened to notice some debris next to the ravaged candy. It appeared that there were tiny pieces of gold paper scattered about along with some black/grey objects. About two seconds later, my brain clicked over and I knew what it was: a mouse.

To clarify, I am not afraid of mice. They do not disgust me and I would not run from one if I saw it in public. However, the thought of one mouse (and possibly its family) running around my house and destroying my food supply was so shocking that I nearly passed out.

Before I could truly start to hyperventilate, I looked at my watch and realized that I would not have time to properly address this problem immediately. I turned on my heel and took off for work.

When I arrived in the office, I immediately consulted my brain trust of several different people to find out how to handle this unforeseen calamity. I was surprised to find that most people were quite nonchalant about the problem. In fact, most people I spoke to had quite a bit of experience in the area. I had briefly wondered if I should be embarrassed about the presence of mice as a reflection on my abilities as a housekeeper, but apparently it was not.

It is common (so I have been told) for mice to try and find their way indoors when the outdoor temperature begins to drop in the fall and early winter. They could get in through a variety of means, but the most common way to address the problem was by laying traps.

There are many different opinions on the spectrum of mousetraps. Some prefer the more humane “no kill” method and some get downright nasty. I spent some time on the internet researching my options and after reading reviews and speaking with my coworkers, I decided to go with a more traditional mousetrap: the spring-loaded kind with bait.

I made it through most of the morning at work, but I was so agitated about the thought of hundreds of mice destroying my kitchen that I was given permission to take personal time to purchase traps and go home to tear apart and sanitize my house.

In my rush, I decided to go to the closest local hardware store and conferred with the elderly man on staff as to the most efficient models. He recommended the plastic covered traps and said that peanut butter worked as very effective bait.

Armed with my six new traps, I drove home and set to work pulling apart my entire house to look for mouse droppings. For about four hours, I cleaned, vacuumed and scrutinized every piece of dust or debris, but I didn’t find much. There was absolutely nothing else in my bedroom, which probably shouldn’t have been surprising as the chocolate was the lone piece of food on my second floor.

In my kitchen, the only thing I found were some droppings behind my microwave, so I promptly sanitized along with every other surface. I was just getting ready to start pulling apart my living room when I decided to take a quick bathroom break.

Now, I have to pause for a moment and explain some logistics. My house has one full bathroom on the second floor that I use the most. There is a half bath on the first floor, but I don’t use it much and if I don’t have guests over, no one really goes in there. I do have to check on the toilet from time to time in order to make sure that the water level is OK and to do a regular cleaning. If I don’t, the water level drops and a grayish dusty film forms on the top. Gross, I know, but it’s important that you know this.

Back to the scene of battle. As I approached the bathroom, my brain registered that there appeared to be a grey film in the toilet, and I mentally calculated the last time I had been in there to clean. Once I got close enough to bring the toilet into better focus, I quickly realized that I was wrong. There was not dust in my toilet bowl. Can you guess what I saw? Probably.

I will tell you anyway. It was a mouse. Floating. Dead. In my toilet. In retrospect, I now wish that I had been able to get over my shock enough to take a picture, because it was really quite amazing. The mouse was perfectly suspended upright in the water looking as if he were about to pounce. Beneath him (at the bottom of the toilet bowl) were some small droppings. It was almost as if he had purposely tried to be polite.

After my initial shock wore off, I started to ponder my options. I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be acceptable to leave him there, but extraction would be an issue. I did have a pair of kitchen gloves, but I wasn’t sure if disposal of an item of this nature would require biohazard suits and masks.

When in doubt, I usually consult my mother. After I relayed my bizarre discovery, I asked her for advice as to how to proceed. She instructed me to flush it. My reaction to this statement was initially to doubt it. I use the flushing disposal method for much smaller items such as spiders, ticks, beetles, etc.

When I relayed this thought to my mother, she responded with a very simple question: “Is it bigger or smaller than a poop?” This may seem like a vulgar question, but given the fact that we were already working with a toilet, it made sense. Once I concluded that it definitely would fall under average size for fecal matter, I bit the bullet and flushed the toilet.

To my surprise, the suggestion worked. The system didn’t back up and my mouse problem was instantly gone. Of course, I flushed several more times just to be sure.

Even though I suspected that the toilet mouse was the lone culprit in my mouse escapade, I still baited and laid all of my traps around the house. Thankfully, they were not tested any more that year and I found no more evidence of a mousy presence except for the shredded remains of my cork wine stopper. As this discovery was made around the same time as my chocolate discovery, I chalked it up to the same mouse.

All of my traps remain in place to this day, and most of the time, I forget that they are there and what purpose they serve. Unfortunately, this past winter I received another reminder of why they may be necessary. The trap that I put in the little bathroom (the sight of the previous mouse disposal) was set off. I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say that these traps are indeed quite effective.

With the conclusion of this entry, I think that I have now publicly explained the extent of my home protection knowledge. I can replace smoke detectors and get rid of ants, wasps and mice. There might be one or two other things such as replacing furnace filters and replenishing softener salt, but those aren’t too heroic.

On a side note, I would like to apologize for not adding pictures for this entry. I seriously considered it, but aside from an attempt to draw a mouse in a toilet, I couldn’t come up with any truly humorous and easily represented illustrations. Honestly, it was one of those episodes where I really kick myself now for not being a bit more camera-happy.

P.S.
To all my friends who are seeking a reason to laugh, I hope this helped a little. I know how important it is to be able to laugh even while you are crying, and I hope that my stories can be at least a small source of that laughter.

Infestation: Part 2

As promised, I have returned once more to continue my tales of infestation in the Heartland. Tonight’s story is perhaps told in a simple narrative style as I really can’t think of any great way to introduce or build up to it.

Long ago, or sometime last autumn, I returned home from work in my usual manner. After a long day in the office and what was likely an uneventful but mind-numbing commute, I pulled my car into my garage. As is my custom, before closing the garage door and entering my house, I took a little stroll back out to my communal mailbox to check the day’s correspondence.

As I sauntered back to the house pondering the magic of the autumn skies, I thought about important things, such as what to have for dinner or if 8:30 was too early to go to bed. Normally, I do not pay much attention to the outside of my house aside from checking to see if my chairs are still in place and if some door-to-door annoyance has left a flyer attached to my door.



On this particular day, I did not note any of the usual disturbances. As I approached the entrance to the garage, a slight incongruence in the corner of my eye caught my attention. The strange and new anomaly was a small brown object that was the color of a paper grocery bag and was attached to the top of the outer frame of my garage door.



It should have been obvious to me immediately what this strange brown ball was, but I had to take a closer look. After taking two steps closer to the object, I quickly realized that it was not just a clump of dirt or some cute little bird’s nest; it was a nest of wasps.

I firmly believe that a fear or distrust of insects with stingers that are prone to angry attacks cannot be irrational. My reaction to my realization that I was sharing a living space with such creatures can therefore not be called overdramatic. I threw myself against the farthest wall of my garage from the nest and carefully crept my way to the garage door button to seal out these new houseguests.



(Please note: the walls of my garage are not teal, but now that I’ve used it, I realize that it might not be a bad idea.)

Once safely in the house, I sat down to consider my course of action. As I hadn’t seen any actual wasps on the nest, I thought that perhaps it was abandoned. It was still quite small, and I figured at most it could only contain one or two wasps so far. I vowed that I would simply knock it down with my snow shovel before leaving for work in the morning.

When the next morning came, I slowly approached the nest. On this visit, I was surprised to see three wasps crawling in and around the nest. I quickly abandoned my snow shovel attack as I felt it would be a poor defense against the insects should they target me for the destruction of their new home.

I went to work and promptly forgot about the wasps. If you have learned anything about me from my smoke detector story, you can possibly predict how the next couple of weeks went. I attempted to use avoidance and ignorance to solve my problem.

The event that pulled me out of my non-confrontational shame spiral was actually pretty simple. I came home from work one day to see a small child riding a tricycle down my street with its mother. She waved to me, and in a burst of uncharacteristic friendliness, I waved back. As I turned to walk back into my garage, I happened to notice that my wasp nest was getting bigger.

Faced with the possibility of a growing wasp problem and the potential threat to the children of my neighborhood, I decided that something needed to be done. I went inside to investigate my options. Obviously, the nest was not enormous, so calling an exterminator seemed to be unnecessary. Thankfully, I did vaguely recall that my father had dealt with wasp nests at some point in the past, so I called him to confer. He confirmed my memory and informed me that I could purchase wasp poison spray at any local hardware or home improvement store.

A few days later, I gathered my courage and put on my best “I look like I belong here in this do-it-yourself home improvement behemoth store” outfit. I drove the half mile from my house, parked my car, took a deep breath and went in. (To clarify, these giant house supply stores overwhelm me; they always make me feel lost and stupid.)

After half an hour of wandering and trying to look like I knew EXACTLY what I was doing, I stumbled upon the pesticide section. I performed a brief price comparison and bought the one that looked the meanest.



Once I arrived at home with my wasp spray, I sat down to read the directions. They were surprisingly long and quite specific. The first thing that surprised me was that they recommended that the extermination procedure be done either just after sunset or just before sunrise as this is when the wasps would be home and at their least active.

Other than the suggestion to stand at least 10 feet away and spray CONTINUALLY until the entire bottle was empty, the directions also indicated that it would be wise to dress carefully. In other words, cover up completely, because if the wasps wake up, they are going to swarm you. Apparently, they tend to aim for the head of their assailant.

All of this information made me nervous and a little frightened. Rather than take on the operation that night, I decided to consult my coworkers the next day to see if anyone had any other advice or insight. It turns out that I was wise to do this because apparently destroying a wasp nest is serious business and a lot of people have had to do it.

Every warning on the spray bottle was confirmed, and the consensus of my panel was that evening or dusk was the best time to attack. That night, I returned home and waited for sunset. I went online to check the official time of sun down, and learned that it was to be 8:30 p.m.

At 8:15, I went to my bedroom and prepared for battle. Even though it was fall, the outside temperature in the evening had yet to drop to cooler temperatures, so most people were still wearing light clothing. I would not be able to do so. I put on long jeans, a t-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, thick socks and boots. I pulled out a scarf and hat, but ultimately decided to wear my big hooded winter coat instead. I did keep my mittens as I sadly do not own any work gloves or choppers.

Last but not least, the final yet most important piece of my armor: my safety goggles. In college chemistry, I was required to purchase a pair of super-sexy safety goggles, and they have come in handy quite a bit in the past ten years.

This time, I did remember to take a picture.




Fortified in full battle regalia, I ventured forth into the now dark evening. I measured out approximately 10 feet, read the instructions one more time, and commenced the spraying.

I have to say, after all the build-up, I was expecting a little more drama from the wasps. In the end, all that happened was that the nest was fully soaked with spray and there were three dead wasps on the ground beneath. No wasps even flew out of the nest. My protective clothing was never put to any real test.

According to the instructions on the spray, I was not to attempt any further contact with the wasps that night, but in the morning, I could knock the nest down and smash it. This was in case any of the wasps had been away from home during the attack. If they came back during the night, the poison would still be viable and would finish them all off.

In the morning light, I approached the dormant nest with my snow shovel and knocked it down. Using the flat side of the shovel, I smashed the nest to smithereens and swept all the mashed up debris into the grass.



In retrospect, I believe that this episode is one of my greatest success stories in life. Especially when you ignore the fact that it took me almost a month after discovering the problem until I actually solved it. But overall, the net result is that I was 100% effective at eliminating my wasp infestation, and I did it all through my own physical force (with the help of a store-purchased poison spray and some safety goggles).

Infestation: Part I

On a normal workday, the first voices that I hear in the morning (other than the ones in my head) are the morning radio hosts on my favorite station, The Current. One of the things I enjoy about my favorite station is that there are no advertisements and the announcers do not talk for long periods of time about nonsense.

Although they tend to feature more music than other stations, they do have brief news-oriented segments that are usually quite interesting. Today, they discussed the increase in the infestation of bedbugs in the United States. I had heard this all before; in fact, it has been several years since I heard that they were having a local resurgence, especially in hotels.

While I’m fairly certain that my own bed is pest-free, it did cause me to ponder the other types of infestation I have encountered in my six years as a homeowner. I could try and cram all the details into one long entry, but since I do now have some school related reading to complete in my evenings, I figured I would make it a little bit easier on myself and break it out into a trilogy.

To ease you into this theme (which some people might find a little frightening), I will start with what I consider to be the most innocuous pest infestation: ants.

As a general fact, ants in a house do not really scare me. In fact, I believe that most people at some point or another will have to deal with their presence. As a child, I remember my mother putting out little pieces of cardboard with Terro on it around our house during the summer. When I asked why they didn’t die immediately upon eating the poison, she told me that they have to live long enough to bring it back to their colony so that they can kill off the rest of the ants at their base.

When you really think about it, the idea is a little bit sad. I mean, the ant thinks that it has hit the jackpot in the super awesome tasting Terro and simply wants to take it home to share and eat with its family. Too bad it doesn’t work out better for them.

This childhood ant-pity stayed with me for quite a while. At least until I found my first ant in my own home. After completely pulling apart all my living room furniture and vacuuming over every square inch of my first floor, I laid out the new version of the Terro trap. Instead of the old-fashioned cardboard with poison deal, they now make enclosed plastic containers that are theoretically less messy.

Even though I have no doubt of the poison’s effectiveness, I like to take a little extra precaution. If anyone knows me well, they know that I am not a fan of spiders. It’s not that I hate them, because I really don’t think it’s sane to get emotional towards something that is definitely not emotional towards me. Instead, I live by my own “personal space” philosophy.

For me, “personal space” with respect to spiders comes down to indoors versus outdoors. If the spider is indoors and is in my personal living space, I will not feel guilty about squishing it. If it is outdoors, unless it is attempting to actually crawl ON me, I will live and let live.

However, when it comes to addressing the ant or other small bug infestation issue, especially in my entryway, I am a bit more lenient. In fact, if you were to look around the vicinity of my front door at this moment, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were to find two or three well-hidden spiders. I am more than content to let them live. I consider them my henchmen, or the “muscle” of my war on pests.

If at any point the spiders themselves become an infestation, I may have to use my vacuum cleaner to thin the herd. As I have learned from working in an office that has spider overpopulation, it can quickly escalate into a scary and dangerous situation.

Hopefully I have not scared anyone too much with this entry. I know that creepy crawly things can be major hot-button issues for many people. To give you some incentive to return for my next two infestation installments, I should tell you that both entries contain far more specific and humorous components. As a teaser, let me just say that the next one involves the use of big-gun pesticides, not just wimpy Terro.

On a side note, I apologize for slacking. I may not be able to sustain my original tempo once school starts next week and I have to start reading and writing for grades. I promise that I will not ignore this entirely and hope to find ways to keep my friend Rox laughing out loud at work for a long time. J

Smoking in the Guest Room

Now that I am 30 years old, there is no avoiding the fact that I must call myself an adult. While this label may be permanent, my behavior does not always match up with the requirements of the title.

Part of being an adult for many people is having your own home. As regards this benchmark, I can safely say that I have accomplished it. For six years, I have owned my townhouse. I still think it is a wonderful place, although I’ve grown weary of living in an outer suburb when it comes to driving.

I have many stories of the challenges and rewards of home ownership, and I shall perhaps share more in the future, but I was reminded this weekend of an episode from approximately one year ago that definitely merits a blog entry.

In my opinion, one of the requirements of being a responsible homeowner is a basic understanding of fire safety. In elementary school I was taught the time honored tradition of “Stop, Drop and Roll” as well as the usefulness of touching door handles before opening them and knowing your escape routes. One of the other facets of my training was in the language of smoke alarms and smoke detectors. In my opinion, these two names are interchangeable, so please do not get all picky on me if I mix them up throughout this entry.

One of the key pieces of information relayed to me in fire safety was to always check the batteries on your smoke detectors. When my house was built, the smoke detectors were hard-wired into the electrical of the house with battery back-up. Over the course of six years, I have had to replace a couple of the batteries. The common procedure for these devices is to produce a short but loud “CHIRP” whenever the battery is getting low. Unfortunately, something in the programming makes sure that this starts around 3 or 4 a.m. each and every time.

If you would have asked me a year ago how many smoke alarm/detectors I had in my home, I would have confidently answered “THREE.” One in my kitchen, one in my bedroom and one in the upstairs hallway.

In mid-August of 2009, I was awoken at 4 a.m. (on a work night) to the loud and unavoidable sound of the low-battery chirp. From past experience, I knew that it could be temporarily disabled by removing the battery and pushing the big button.

The only barrier to this solution is typically figuring out which of the devices is actually in need of attention. You would think this is an easy task, but it is not. Typically, the only device that can immediately be eliminated from the choices is the one in my bedroom as it is the closest in proximity. As for the other two, the openness of my hallway/loft/stairway creates an odd echo that makes the decision a bit more challenging.

At 4 a.m., my mind is not operating on all cylinders. On this morning, I decided that the chirping was coming from the upstairs hallway unit. I performed my usual treatment for the symptom and returned to bed, vowing to remember to pick up new batteries at the store later in the day.



Strangely, the chirping did not cease after I addressed the problem, but I dealt with it my turning up the velocity on my fan to drown out the noise and went back to sleep.

When I returned home from work that evening with a new battery in hand, I figured that my problems were over. There was no chirping as I entered the house, so I went up to the device in question, replaced the battery, and figured I was done.



Imagine my surprise when once again around 4 a.m. the chirping commenced. I groggily muttered some obscenities to myself and concluded that I must have misheard the noise before and that it was the kitchen device instead that needed replacement. Luckily, I had the foresight to purchase a two-pack of batteries, so I simply replaced that one immediately.

My frustration was not to be relieved by this act. Even after replacing the battery in the kitchen, the chirping continued. Again I cursed that I must have purchased faulty batteries and decided to purchase new ones later that day.

The next 24 hours should be somewhat predictable by now. I came home with new batteries and again replaced them in both detectors to no avail. I then turned to the Internet for assistance. Some in-depth Google searching and manufacturer inquiries later, I concluded that perhaps the units themselves were worn out and needed to be replaced. I consulted my Facebook friend resource as well, only to hear confirmations of this notion.

Perhaps a normal person would have immediately gone out and purchased new smoke detectors. For some reason, I did not do this, at least not right away. Instead, I went to Target and purchased a larger and noisier fan.

Now I shall try and explain my logic for this choice. I considered the fact that it could indeed be the actual smoke detectors that were wearing out, but I was afraid that the real solution would be far worse. It is possible that the constant ringing in my ears was affecting my sanity, but I feared that something had gone haywire in the actual wiring of my house. If this was true, it would require the expertise of an electrician. I had no idea what that would cost, but I was definitely not up to spending serious cash on the problem… yet.

So instead, I opted to simply drown out the noise, much in the same way that my father avoids strange sounds coming from his car by turning up the volume on his radio.



While this proved a decent solution for sleeping, it did not help much for general living time. I had just started grad school last fall, and concentrating on homework assignments was proving difficult.



Again, instead of addressing the problem, I elected to spend more time during the week at my parents’ house.

After about a month or so of avoiding the issue, I decided to be an adult and take action. I ventured forth to my local home improvement store and purchased two detectors from the same manufacturer as my originals. Before I did this, I also verified with my association manager to make sure that I definitely had to have my devices hard-wired into the house. She said yes, so I purchased the proper type and came home to contemplate my next move.

I knew that installation would probably be a bit tricky and I didn’t want to take any chances. All of the instructions stressed the importance of making sure that the power to the wires was completely shut off. To do this, I had to perform a process of elimination procedure using my circuit break box and a flashlight. Once I knew how to cut off the power, I cautiously set to work on the installation. It was a bit of a messy and nerve-wracking job, but after making a total mess of myself, I turned everything back on, and the indicator lights lit up.

At this point, I sincerely believed that my problems were over. I had acted like an adult and tackled my own problems all by myself. Honestly, I thought I deserved an award.

Unfortunately, the universe did not agree with my sentiments because almost immediately after this whole bag of shenanigans was complete, the chirping resumed. I swear, my head nearly started spinning. I sat down on the floor, nearly in tears. I was defeated.



In my despair, I decided again to wait a while before calling in the professionals. I retreated back into my fan-noise blasting room and vowed to never leave except for bathroom emergencies. Actually, I just spent a lot more time out of my house for the next month.

About two or three months after this whole hullabaloo started, I was looking for some Christmas decorations that I knew were in my guest room closet. Once I located the item I needed, I packed up my boxes again and made for the door of the bedroom when I happened to glance up. If you haven’t already guessed where this is going, here is the big climax: there was another smoke detector on the ceiling. Chirping.

In case you cannot follow this turn of events, here it is in a nutshell: I am an idiot. Contrary to my original belief, I have FOUR smoke detectors instead of three. From the beginning, it was always my guest room device going off. I needlessly replaced two other smoke detectors and purchased way too many batteries. And a large room fan.

I suppose that I could look on the bright side and say that I learned some new things and now know that I can do basic wiring, but it still feels like small consolation. Essentially, I created this problem through my own faulty assumption. And we all know what happens when you assume things, right? (I’ll let you answer that question on your own.)