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slipjig3Life is just one adventure after another, innit?
I was plunking away on the computer when I heard![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rafaela hollering from the bedroom. "Adam?" she said, mild concern in her voice. "There seems to be a flying critter in here of some sort."
I wasn't surprised; our bedroom screen has holes you could lob a '74 Buick through. "There's probably several flying critters in there, dear," I snarked affectionately. "What kind of flying critter is it?"
"Can't tell. I'm not wearing my glasses."
Well, booger. I headed for the bedroom and looked around for something in the Small, Winged and Six-Legged category. Nothing turned up, and I was wondering how to kill something whose existence I have not been independently convinced of, when I caught some motion out of the corner of my eye, turned my head and OH HOLY GOD'S GOLDEN GOATBALLS.... "Out!" I screamed. "Get out, out, out...." I dragged Anna like a Bond girl to the door and slammed it loud enough to alert Basque shepherds to the situation.
"What was it?" Anna asked.
"That. Was a wasp."
"Ick." A pause. "So what do you plan to do?"
"Um. Scream and run in circles like a little girl?"
We had, as they say, a Problem. A Problem compounded by the fact that, being a hot summer afternoon, we were, um, let's just say a little underdressed for any outdoor excursions. And all our clothes were, yes, in the bedroom. With Zogmar, the Evil Killer Vampiric Alien Soul-Sucking Satanic Nuclear Death Wasp. Or so I anthropomorphized.
Over the next fifteen minutes, we came up with a series of plans on how to deal with the situation, not counting plan A (the "girlish screaming" gambit). These included:
Voluntary denial: This one was actually working for us for a while. We tried creeping back into the bedroom, Blair Witch Project-style, to confirm that yes, it was indeed a wasp, only to find that there was no bug to be found. Great! It found its way out! We shut the window and the blinds and went about our business in blissful ignorance (see also the domestic policies of Leonid Brezhnev), which worked just dandy until we heard suspicious *bvzz-nx* noises from behind the blinds. When the little darling got bored and went joy-riding about the room for a bit, we high-tailed it out of there like a speakeasy raid.
Kamikaze attack: Put on Anna's cloak, grab something stick-like, and go running in, screaming and swinging. As our lives are not actually a Bloom County comic strip, this plan was rejected.
Sneak and squish: Since Li'l Zogmar was likely to stay by the window most of the time, we thought we could tiptoe in and flatten the blinds against the window, flattening the expletive-deleted little thing in the process. Probably the most sensible plan, except that being a former junior high school, our apartment has ginormous windows and blinds, and if we didn't hit the wasp's exact location on the first try.... *shudder*
Better living through hazardous chemicals: Step One was to dress the guy with the driver's license (me). Step Two was to run to the local drug store for some Raid. Step Three was to use it. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. A winner, however, with problems:
Step One: I squeaked the door open, peeked around a bit, stepped in just enough to reach for the laundry on the floor, grabbed blindly, and, when the wasp fixed me in his crosshairs, backpedalled like the winning lottery ticket was ten feet behind me. The shirt was stained, the pants were Anna's, and socks and underwear were out of the question. Cowards can't be choosers.
Step Two: I got down to the car. I couldn't get in the car right away, though: there was a GODDAMN WASP FLYING AROUND MY CAR DOOR. This had officially crossed the line into enemy action. Lock and load, Zippy.
Step Three: I knew this was going to be a problem before I even left the drug store. The can of Raid Flying Insects Spray had long instructions on how to deal with flies, gnats and moths safely. For wasps, the directions had one line, and one line only: "Spray directly on stray wasps that enter building."
Oh, fuck that.
So. Yes, well. Are we men, or are we mice? (And where's the cheese I ordered?)
Back home, I put on my brave face as best I could, and went in. (Me: "Death before dishonor." Anna: "And drugs before lunch.") Zogmar was back at his window post, unseen by me. I hoped to get lucky: I peeled the edge of the blind away from the sash juuuuuust enough to sneak the nozzle in and *squirt*. When nothing happened, I peeled it away juuuust a little bit more and *squirtsquirt*, to further no avail. Finally, I took a deep breath—not too deep, as this stuff was like a fire at Bob's Rubber Tire and Crotch Rot Emporium—and grabbed the blind and *SQUIIIIIIIRT* before backing away.
There was a war-movie-like silence, and then, I swear, I heard the thing cough its poor traitorous little lungs out, drop from behing the blinds to the windowsill, and from the windowsill to the floor ("No! Not my clean clothes bi—AIEEE!"), where, presumably, its corpse still lies. No, I haven't gone looking. I don't like surprises.
And that, he prayed, was the end of our Saturday adventures. I wonder how much it would cost to have the thing mounted....
I was plunking away on the computer when I heard
rafaela hollering from the bedroom. "Adam?" she said, mild concern in her voice. "There seems to be a flying critter in here of some sort."I wasn't surprised; our bedroom screen has holes you could lob a '74 Buick through. "There's probably several flying critters in there, dear," I snarked affectionately. "What kind of flying critter is it?"
"Can't tell. I'm not wearing my glasses."
Well, booger. I headed for the bedroom and looked around for something in the Small, Winged and Six-Legged category. Nothing turned up, and I was wondering how to kill something whose existence I have not been independently convinced of, when I caught some motion out of the corner of my eye, turned my head and OH HOLY GOD'S GOLDEN GOATBALLS.... "Out!" I screamed. "Get out, out, out...." I dragged Anna like a Bond girl to the door and slammed it loud enough to alert Basque shepherds to the situation.
"What was it?" Anna asked.
"That. Was a wasp."
"Ick." A pause. "So what do you plan to do?"
"Um. Scream and run in circles like a little girl?"
We had, as they say, a Problem. A Problem compounded by the fact that, being a hot summer afternoon, we were, um, let's just say a little underdressed for any outdoor excursions. And all our clothes were, yes, in the bedroom. With Zogmar, the Evil Killer Vampiric Alien Soul-Sucking Satanic Nuclear Death Wasp. Or so I anthropomorphized.
Over the next fifteen minutes, we came up with a series of plans on how to deal with the situation, not counting plan A (the "girlish screaming" gambit). These included:
Voluntary denial: This one was actually working for us for a while. We tried creeping back into the bedroom, Blair Witch Project-style, to confirm that yes, it was indeed a wasp, only to find that there was no bug to be found. Great! It found its way out! We shut the window and the blinds and went about our business in blissful ignorance (see also the domestic policies of Leonid Brezhnev), which worked just dandy until we heard suspicious *bvzz-nx* noises from behind the blinds. When the little darling got bored and went joy-riding about the room for a bit, we high-tailed it out of there like a speakeasy raid.
Kamikaze attack: Put on Anna's cloak, grab something stick-like, and go running in, screaming and swinging. As our lives are not actually a Bloom County comic strip, this plan was rejected.
Sneak and squish: Since Li'l Zogmar was likely to stay by the window most of the time, we thought we could tiptoe in and flatten the blinds against the window, flattening the expletive-deleted little thing in the process. Probably the most sensible plan, except that being a former junior high school, our apartment has ginormous windows and blinds, and if we didn't hit the wasp's exact location on the first try.... *shudder*
Better living through hazardous chemicals: Step One was to dress the guy with the driver's license (me). Step Two was to run to the local drug store for some Raid. Step Three was to use it. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. A winner, however, with problems:
Step One: I squeaked the door open, peeked around a bit, stepped in just enough to reach for the laundry on the floor, grabbed blindly, and, when the wasp fixed me in his crosshairs, backpedalled like the winning lottery ticket was ten feet behind me. The shirt was stained, the pants were Anna's, and socks and underwear were out of the question. Cowards can't be choosers.
Step Two: I got down to the car. I couldn't get in the car right away, though: there was a GODDAMN WASP FLYING AROUND MY CAR DOOR. This had officially crossed the line into enemy action. Lock and load, Zippy.
Step Three: I knew this was going to be a problem before I even left the drug store. The can of Raid Flying Insects Spray had long instructions on how to deal with flies, gnats and moths safely. For wasps, the directions had one line, and one line only: "Spray directly on stray wasps that enter building."
Oh, fuck that.
So. Yes, well. Are we men, or are we mice? (And where's the cheese I ordered?)
Back home, I put on my brave face as best I could, and went in. (Me: "Death before dishonor." Anna: "And drugs before lunch.") Zogmar was back at his window post, unseen by me. I hoped to get lucky: I peeled the edge of the blind away from the sash juuuuuust enough to sneak the nozzle in and *squirt*. When nothing happened, I peeled it away juuuust a little bit more and *squirtsquirt*, to further no avail. Finally, I took a deep breath—not too deep, as this stuff was like a fire at Bob's Rubber Tire and Crotch Rot Emporium—and grabbed the blind and *SQUIIIIIIIRT* before backing away.
There was a war-movie-like silence, and then, I swear, I heard the thing cough its poor traitorous little lungs out, drop from behing the blinds to the windowsill, and from the windowsill to the floor ("No! Not my clean clothes bi—AIEEE!"), where, presumably, its corpse still lies. No, I haven't gone looking. I don't like surprises.
And that, he prayed, was the end of our Saturday adventures. I wonder how much it would cost to have the thing mounted....
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-09 11:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 12:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 12:57 am (UTC)If you're going to go that far, make sure you get a little golden crown for its head. It probably lost it in the blinds anyway.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 01:09 pm (UTC)That was too funny.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 08:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 04:09 pm (UTC)And wasps build nests here in all sorts of awkward places.
Any sort of work therefore goes like this:
1) Be given a job (ie: "Take that skull down.")
2) Get a ladder and a screwgun.
3) Climb the ladder.
4) Move the skull.
5) Find a nest.
6) Scream, slide down the ladder, run away.
7) Find a can of Raid.
8) Go back up the ladder, spray the mo'fo' nest with half the can until there is foam pouring off of it, and run away until you're sure all wasps in that nest are dead.
9) Lather, rinse, repeat. For nearly EVERY SINGLE TASK.
Fun fun fun.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:49 am (UTC)Welll...it's a whole new skill set I never anticipated having to learn. ;) And newbies never believe ya when you try to warn 'em..
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 05:12 pm (UTC):)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-11 02:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-18 07:09 am (UTC)I hate, nay, ABHOR hornets & wasps. I have finally conquered my abject fear of them and *after* I've lost sphincter control and run screaming out of the room, I will usually locate my vacuum cleaner with the HUGE-ASS LONG EXTENSION WAND (of doom) and suck the bastards right into the cyclonic whirling chamber (also of doom). This of course is accompanied by me screeching and twitching in disgust as the carapace goes rattling down the tube.
*twitch*