Bugs: They're Not Just For Breakfast Anymore

We have a couple of Tarmac strips in our little town called Sacramento International Airport, although the "International" part of it may as well have quotes around it. OK, I guess there is a flight to Guadalajara now and again. Not that I have anything against Guadalajara - I mean, who doesn't want to order a drink whose Spanish name translates to Happy Buttocks? (These drinks are served at Los Famosos Equipales. But that's not why I called you here today.

I walk through this "international" airport a few times a month and the Starbucks had a serious fly problem. I apologize in advance for not taking a picture of the large poster made of flypaper, but I promise you, it was gross. But alas, it's gone.

Recently they installed these lights on the walls...

This coincided with the fact that there were no flies. Where could they be? I reached up with my camera and aimed down into the top of the light... 

For further enjoyment, you can click on the picture to enlarge.

Mmmmmm.  Kinda makes you want a Venti Mocha Flypachino about now, doesn't it?


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...And the answer to the trivia question the other day about where the Nanny Goats In Panties banner picture was taken:  Fremont, California. In Coyote Hills Park, near the San Francisco Bay.

Dear Termite: Congrats on that Bug Of The Year Award

Doesn't it seem like only yesterday when I was showing you all the bugs I had in the house?

Hey, how many of you remember this picture from six months ago?





Yeah, that was when it was our turn to be the neighborhood pariah, kinda like in the 70s when your kid got lice or he came out of the closet: "Don't go near him, Timmy!" Other mothers slinked past you, clutching their own children and staring down their noses with disgust because it would NEVER happen to THEM.

So anyway, my condo building in L.A. got gassed in January. And we paid a bazillion dollars for a SIX year warranty. Which was actually kinda cool because it also killed all the other dang bugs hanging out and exhibiting themselves like flashers every couple of days.

But then LAST WEEK, one of the neighbors in our five-unit building found termites coming out of a pipe in her ceiling, and promptly called Terminix. They came out and said something along the lines of:

"Oh, those are subterRAINian termites. We treated you for the OTHER kind of termites in January. Yeah, THESE termites are different. And for half a bazillion dollars (a discount, since we were just here in January) we can come out and take care of these NEW and DIFFERENT little critters. And for just a few hundred dollars more, you can get the FOUR year warranty, blah, blah, blah..."

and THAT ladies and germs, is how they get you.

Tune in next season when Terminix discovers a new species: the STRATOSPHERE termites.


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Nanny Goats would like to thank Charlene over at So, What You're Saying Is... for adding NGIP to her blog roll. She's a fellow Humor-Blogs member (and a high school drama teacher) who taught me that Loonie is a Canadian dollar, which as you know, is equivalent to about 14 of our American dollars.

And speaking of Humor-Blogs, please click on this Humor-Blogs link to check our current ranking. A click is a vote for Nanny Goats!

Giant Metamorphosis

I was nearly mauled by this monster yesterday while deforesting the back forty:

(Click on pics to enlarge, unless you scare easily.)

Those logs he towers over may look like mere pine needles...


But do not be fooled by the optical illu- ... oh wait. Those are just pine needles.



But that would mean that this thing is ...less than half an inch.

huh.

Well, now I feel silly for even bringing that up.


And speaking of nonsequitors, Nanny Goats In Panties would like to thank you all for kindly clicking on that Top25 logo on the left each visit. It's keeping NGIP at Number 3!

And speaking of websites that cater to midlifers, a big shout out to Allison over at WomenBloom and a heartfelt Thank You for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to the blog roll on the Ask Allison Blog, as well as a mention in WomenBloom's latest newsletter! Thank you , Thank you, Thank you! WomenBloom inspires and supports women to make the most of midlife, so check it out!

It's a Bug's Death

By now you're probably wondering, "Hey whatever happened to that Termite Countdown?" Well look no further because we are now in Vikane Country!

I rather like the sound of that. I think I will consider Vikane Country as the title of my next novel.

Bug Month

To those of you who have been pestering me for the next installment of the soap opera lovingly referred by cult fans as "General Waspital", I heartily say: "Alright already! Keep your pants on."

After four weeks of watching paint dry, I mean, the wasps cling to the wall of my L.A. condo, unmoving, hibernating, mating, whatever, I made the call to our exterminator to remove the offending squatters. Now, our building has some sort of coverage with them, since we have an ongoing monthly service, where they will come inside and spray at no cost if we find things like silverfish, spiders, etc. And that's right...wasps aren't covered.

"You know," the exterminator drawled to me over the phone, "they're probably just dying, you could just smack them with a broom and save yourself some money."

Yeah, and I could probably do the same thing to a cop after a high speed chase that resulted in my running out of gas and slamming into a pole after accumulating 20 police units and a couple of helicopters: just get out of my car and smack him with a broom. WAS HE KIDDING????

Why should I trust some guy who isn't there to see these menacing insects positioned over me in my living room, taunting me, probably making fun of my eating habits in front of the television (Netflix, anyone?) What about all those societal influences that do nothing but teach us that wasps are mean and stinging and nasty and swarming and stinging and never NEVER NEVER swat at them? What the hell was wrong with this guy? He was clearly high on bug spray vapors and stung to the point of immunity, because I didn't care if it cost $95.00 for him to come over with his own broom. I just wanted somebody else to take the risk of getting stung while I hid in the bathroom. I wanted a guarantee that in February when those little suckers woke up from their dreams, they wouldn't be in my house ready to party.

So this guy comes over with a Webster in his hand (you know that thing with a long pole and a spherical fluff of bristles on the end that is used to get spider webs out of corners, hence the name Webster?) and a white can of stuff hanging from his holster. I will call him Pedro, at the risk of racial profiling, but also for expediency. Pedro expands the purple dandelion of the Webster and reaches up the 20 or so feet to the window where Stuart and Stan (the Sting brothers) are hanging out.

Pedro tries to mush them with no success, but they fall gently from the wall into the lair of the mighty Webster. As he lowers the end of the Webster, the wasps seem to slowly flounder in and around the bristles as if to say, "Oh I'm soooo sleepy, I just can't be bothered with all this", and I run over there (at this point, I figure if they were going to attack, it would have happened already) and open the sliding glass door. Pedro moves the Webster outside where Stuart slips out of it, hits the balcony floor, and rolls off the edge, falling to his death for all I know. It's like Pedro is the Pied Piper of wasps. Meanwhile, Stan lazily falls into the door track where Pedro sprays the crap out of him. Ninety-five dollars later, Pedro sends me out of the house and comes out 5 minutes later having fogged the 2nd level of my condo and tells me not to return for 4 hours.

Tune in next episode entitled 'Bug Year', when we learn about the trials and tribulations of fumigating your abode with a tent and some termite spray. Scenes will be shot sometime in January with post production and a release date to follow, writer's strike be damned.

Oh yeah, did I mention we have termites?

Bug Week

It's Bug Week here at Nanny Goats in Panties. And we are celebrating it with a pictorial look at what you can find in your own home. Earlier I told you a little story about crickets but, due to an adaptor issue, was unable to show you a picture of the little creature until now:




The very next day, I had the fortune to find another one on the same set of stairs.

Feeling a little like Noah, I encountered two more bugs in my living room:



The problem here is that they are at the top of my 2-story wall. I discovered them on Wednesday. But as it turns out, I happened to capture them on film while shooting the fierce winds on the previous Saturday, so they have now been there, not moving, for at least a week! Googling many images on the web and then cofirming with my NorCal bug ID Support Group, they seem to be wasps.

Oh Goody.

Jiminy's Dead, RIP

I have a cricket. His name is Charles. Actually I'd never named him before today, but for the purposes of this post, I thought I'd engage the reader more on this mundane story by giving him a name.

Charles and I have been living together for at least 5 years, although we have separate beds. Mine is on the first floor and Charles sleeps in his bed somewhere in the ventilation system on the third floor. I've been listening to his incessant chirping since the day he moved in.

Last night I thought I'd killed him, when I Black Flagged the shit out of a jumpy little critter banging himself against the stairs and the carpet. I thought it might have been a cockroach until he started jumping around like a cricket.

I took a picture of him clinging to the side of stair #5, gasping for air, but only sucking in miniature nerve gas, on the verge of death, in the hopes of sending it to MMP in the NorCal office for ID confirmation. But I forgot my little adapter thingy that takes those little data cards and plugs into a USB port, whatever they're called - see? -I don't know the name of anything. Anyway, I found a reasonable facsimile. This is what he looked like prior to kicking the cricket bucket:

Except his antennae went up and back away from his head, rather than jutting forward.

(Ewww, now I'm all creeped out after Googling cricket pics.)

Alas, poor Charles, I knew him well. And now he's been scooped off the poison-soaked carpet. That's right, I chucked Chuck like yesterday's trash.

The question is, who's the new guy who took over his post and began chirping today in the 3rd floor ventilation system? And what am I going to name him? And what the hell is the life span of a frickin' cricket?