Troll Ants

     
I know I haven't blogged in a while.  3 months actually.

Seems to be the issue in my life at the moment is consistency.  Ask me about my fitness routine, painting, blogging..Actually don't ask me because I haven't done anything in a while, but don't worry, I'll do all of it really well for a week before I get distracted *cough* Candy Crush! *cough*

The only thing I've kept up on is Voyager. I'm on the last season now and part of me is going to miss Kate Mulgrew's acting skills which more and more seem resemble her trying to hold in farts.  The other part of me hates myself for sticking through all 8 seasons in hope it gets better.  It doesn't.  At the end even the actors seem ready to wrap things up and hit the caterer's tent.
Anyways, this isn't a post about Voyager, it's about something more annoying.

Ants.

Yes, ants.

You see, D and I have become renters.  The only difference I can see so far between owning a house and renting is when the kids destroy or dent things I can laugh and say "It's not my place".  I'm pretty sure there are many benefits to home-ownership, however when you live with toddlers it's nice to know that as long as the damage stays below the damage deposit value, you're fine.  However when we moved in, the landlords forgot to mention our roomates..the ants.

Do you know that there are over 12,000 species of ants (I can't remember if this is a true fact or if I just made it up but for the sake of this blog just work with me).  However our place is populated by a unique type of ant.  I have given it a new species name, I guess I should go update wikipedia for those busy scientists who will no doubt want to award me a noble peace prize, and maybe a catered lunch.  I dub thee: Troll Ants.

What is a troll ant? Well first of all let us define troll via urban dictionary

    "One who posts a deliberately provocative message to a newsgroup or message board with the intention of causing maximum disruption and argument"

This is exactly what I have on my hands.  But instead of living in message boards or comment sections on the internet, these ants live in my cupboards and possibly my dishwasher.

So why would I call these ants trolls?

Because they are not bound by the normal laws of ant physics which is: see sugar-->eat sugar-->march around a picnic blanket.  No. Instead they feed off my sanity because nothing is sweeter than my sanity.  Seriously, I've bleached and cleaned my kitchen so there is nothing that the ants could possibly want.  It is so clean that I could almost claim that you could eat off them, but that would only be applicable if you were a contestant on fear factor and required to eat ants.  Meanwhile just across the tile in crumb paradise is millions of pulverized cheerios, because a toddler seem to sweat crushed Cheerios (maybe it's their version of pixie dust?).  D has spray foamed and sealed all the cupboards and cracks in the entire kitchen, these ants determined to stop at nothing in order to invade my kitchen just to watch me lose it.  They couldn't have done a better job, even if they had ant sized t-shirts that read "you're just a fangirl".
At first I didn't want to use traditional pest control measures since I've grown rather attached to the bigger pests in my household (the kids).  I spent two weeks trying every recommended natural ant repellant that "Yahoo Answers" had to offer (including mini signs saying no ants allowed, a suggestion probably made by a real troll).  Armed with cinnamon and vinegar I waged battle. Well not really a battle, it started getting into looney tunes territory.  I felt a bit like the wily-e-coyote as I mixed my homemade any spray-which I've dubbed "Kalitov Cocktail". At this rate, I'll be receiving packages from Acme...actually, an anvil may just solve my ant problem.. Vinegar just made the ants more angry and they found their way into my dishwasher, earning our rental at least 3.5 pitchforks in hell's travel guide.  It got so bad that once in a while my dishwasher just turns it's self on and does the dishes. Either the ants have gotten into the electrical or we are haunted by a ghost with higher cleaning standards than me. Either way I can't ask if they used dishwashing soap without hiring a medium or dr. Doolittle.  One morning after leaving out a wet rag-not dirty, WET-hang to dry is reason enough to celebrate. I woke up to antapolooza happening in my sink. After deciding that cinnamon and vinegar was not enough to break up the party, I ended up squishing 40 ants.  It was time for chemicals.

The troll ants just laughed.  I was feeding them all the attention they needed. Wherever I put powder down, they would just find a new place to enter the kitchen, making a home in my coffee cups and silverware so I would spend the rest of the day worrying about accidentally, indirectly poisoning myself.

Eventually I placed down a few ant traps and ignored them.  I forgot about the cardinal internet rule of "don't feed the trolls".
They actually disappeared for a few weeks.  I guess you can only torment someone for so long until you get bored, plus the neighbors decided to leave their garbage outside and most trolls love an easy target.  Just as I was getting use to living in a place where you couldn't tell if that speck was dirt of insect based, I opened up the dishwasher and was greeted by 20 ants.  Turned the dishwasher on high heat.  Apparently they like jacuzzis because they're back there today.

Okay so who put these ants up to this? You can come forward now.

Candy Crushed

After spending most of February and some of March being a productive member of society, I decided to take a break and spend some time just consuming oxygen and catching up on TV.  Sure I could have ridden that wave of productivity to get a job, volunteer, clean...but I decided to get off, park my surf board and have an ice cream.
So what Have I been doing? Obviously not blogging, painting or looking for gainful emplyment.  Nope, I made a grave mistake: I took advice from Facebook and downloaded a mindless, highly addictive and slightly aggravating game.  I should have started recreational drinking, at least they have rehab for that.  What's this mindless game that seems to have consumed everyone on Facebook?  It's called "Candy Crush"
  Chances are you have seen this game pop up on your local newsfeed.  Normally I block all Facebook based game, because quite frankly I've never dreamed of being a farmer and quite enjoy watching my real-life plants die from neglect on my patio.  The premise is quite simple: try to get three of the same candies in a row to remove them from blocking your objective: whether it be bringing down ingredients or removing jelly.  I should explain further since chances are that you've never played the game because if you have, chances are is that you wouldn't be reading this blog, or showering, or doing anything besides looking at your device of choice screaming "somone send me a life for crying out loud!!!". AKA My Friday night.

I know.  Apparently people can give me as many Candy Crush lives as I need but no one can give me an actual life.

I'm currently waiting for my next batch of lives (you only get 5 at a time then have to wait in 30 minute increments), and that is why I am actually writing, and job searching.  When I close my eyes I see little pieces of candy floating down in unity, creating stripped candy, color bombs clearing jelly and busting through chocolate...ahem... sorry.
   The other draw back? Makes me crave candy.  Ask me about eating a kilo of jelly beans.  I was practicing real life candy crush, and let me tell you...I cleared that level.  After a long day of playing I told my husband I was making cake for breakfast.  He laughed, until he asked what was for dinner and I placed a cake on the table.  Obviously he thought I was joking....
  I introduced the game recently with my husband.  He is now glued to his Iphone.  In fact, fights have occurred over choice I Phone plug locations-the winner gets the couch, the loser? the barstool facing the fridge.  It reminds me of that Star Trek TNG episode where Riker brings that game aboard ship. Dave and I sit on the couch asking each other what level we're on. Friendships have been placed in jepardy over promptness to send tickets to unlock new levels. 
   Anyways, once we have surrendered to our new overloads: aka the Candy Crush designers who decide to withhold all future levels until you shave your head and join the Candy Crush compound-I figure life will be just a bit simpler... after all, anyone who bases a game on candy can't be all that bad?

Real Estate Reality

  
D and I decided to sell our apartment.
           As I was madly scrubbing the place clean, I came to the realization that trying to sell an apartment is a lot like dating. You spend the whole time trying to convince someone that you are a perfect fit for their lifestyle.  Yes, just as I spent hours curling my hair, putting on makeup, cramming my muffin top into my bra and posing in front of the mirror; I was shoving junk into closets, scrubbing finger prints off the mirrors and slaying dust bunnies.  Just as I appeared to be witty, charming and never sarcastic, I had to make my house look like it was flawless, that despite having 2 toddlers, my house was spacious and not some cramped camper heading towards insanityville .  I can do this.  I did this before.  When we met, D didn't know that eating pop tarts while watching star trek was considered a hobby in my books until it was too late, not to mention too expensive to run for the hills.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
      Don't get me wrong, it's not like there is anything bad about our apartment.  However, there is nothing special about it that would set it apart, or make the toddler-caused damage seem enduring.  It lacks, character.  I'd consider it 2D because it's lacking depth.  We also haven't done anything to it: white walls, white...er...whitish...er grey carpets and not really decorated.  What can I say?  We don't own nice stuff, we have toddlers.  So my solution?  Make it as clean as possible.
         So here I am, scrubbing the walls in a desperate attempt to impress some stranger and not land myself on a demo tape for Hoarders.  I've been cleaning for three hours.  Sure, my place doesn't look spotless, but at least you won't be wondering if you'll be left with a rash when you leave.  Come to think about it, it looks almost the same as I began.  I just hope no one tries to open a cupboard, I may be hit with a potential lawsuit when a potential buyer gets buried in 2 weeks worth of laundry.  I've renamed the task "Operation Beer Goggles".  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.  Now the waiting game....

Welcome to Real Estate hell...

 Enter the apartment showings....

    

     We had a showing today, which was the main reason for my renewed interest in housework.  Matter of fact, I consider this the Housewife Olympics. I had a days notice to pull this together.  At the time I was told of the showing, my daughter discovered that if you empty all the contents of the dresser drawers onto the floor, you have a nice soft landing when you try to jump off the bed.  Now it's a personal challenge: can I scrub the place clean before the next person comes to see the place?  I may be a pro cleaner but my toddlers are well schooled in the arts of mess and destruction.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
Apartment living brings its own obstacles.  For example, it's just not you, oh no.  You have to hope and hope AND hope that your neighbors will be on the best behavior for that moment.  Yes. that lady that likes to talk about how impressive it is that Strata has managed to fit its head up its arse, given the massive stick already up there...she's probably in the elevator.  That person who lets his dog crap in the hallway, yup probably in the elevator.  In fact they are the Welcoming committee, ready to greet the buyer.  I also have a sneaking suspicion that our neighbors downstairs who are also trying to sell are choosing this exact moment to seek revenge for our kids screaming through their showings by deciding to take up  the bagpipes. Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
     Anyways, as mentioned I cleaned for 3 hours straight, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they would be blinded by the shiny chrome and not notice that the white carpet is lepoard print...or that my son just dragged his arse across it sans diaper moments before.  The realtor estate agent and buyer took 3 minutes to check out the place.  Which is a long time considering you can stand at the entrance and turn 360 degrees in place to get the full tour.  They mumbled something in another language that must of meant "I'm not that desperate yet" before leaving.  They didn't even check behind the oven.  I scrubbed that clean!  Scrubbed that clean!!
      Maybe next time.  Maybe next time Mr. Right will come along.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.

Technology Time-out

I have a confession to make. I'm in love with my IPhone.  It's the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to bed.  It tells me the weather, the time, makes me laugh, makes me cry, it's like having a good friend without the fear of having to answer if its butt looks big in those jeans.

I discovered that I have a problem.

I first figured it out when my cell phone battery died and I had to drive home.  I started panicking...what would I do if something happened, like mysteriously I ran out of gas or that William Riker was finally going to propose to me? Then it dawned on me, I didn't have a cell phone until I was 18, I was pretty sure I would survive the 5 minute drive home. Sure enough, when I plugged in the IPhone, no one had phoned and nothing happened on Facebook.

I had become completely reliant on my phone.  Like Lassie, it was an enabler (really do you think Timmy would keep falling in wells and stuff if he didn't know Lassie would just bail him out?).  The worse thing is that I was on the phone instead of interacting with my children.

So I decided to scale back the use of my phone.  Reluctantly.

I had already started a few months ago by putting my phone away while visiting my friends or at Strong Start.  It drove me crazy when in public that so many people's noses were buried deep in their phones instead of interacting with each other (myself included).  I figured that leaving it in my jacket pocket would work best because one moment I would check the time and BAM there I was on Facebook.  Out of reach, out of mind.  Now I don't mean to toot my own horn... it's easy to show manners in a public space, I also don't go into someone else's house and drag my butt across the carpet (it's called class people!).  However I still had the issue of being on my phone surfing the net while at home or at my parents.  As soon as I got home I would be back on the phone.

Not only was I missing out on my kids (or letting them run around wild), I was setting a bad example.  It dawned on me, raising children is a bit like dating-you have to be like the person you want to date, or in this case the person you want your children to become.  Right now I was on a one way train to sulky-teenager-always on the phone-ville. 

Now I'm not going cold turkey and I will still answer calls and texts.  I don't believe in just throwing out the phone or going back to the Nokia brick phone with no data plan is the solution.  Like everything else moderation is the key.  Yes I can shelter my kids from phones but showing them how to use a phone responsibly and not like an air tank would benefit them most.  You can keep your children away from McDonalds, but one day they will trip and fall on a french fry!  There had to be a solution.

I only allow Lily one movie a day (after the dreaded lets watch Cars three times in a row incident), wouldn't it only be fair if I was subject to the same rules?  So I created the Technology Time out box (boy is my husband going to like this along with the introduction of tofu Tuesday).  The concept is simple, the phone goes in the box, I can check Facebook in the morning and evening.  Sounds simple, but oh, so difficult in reality.

It's hard not checking Facebook multiple times a day.  The whole world is online and it moves so fast that I think we all begin to develop a fear of being left behind.  I once read a study (on my phone) that said Facebook users report feeling depressed when checking Facebook because they assume that everyone is having fun except for them.  I'd believe this since most of the time I'm sitting on my couch eating poptarts and watching Star Trek....okay never-mind that's a great evening! Most of the time when I'm watching Thomas for the millionth time..  Think about it, except for that one person who just posts photos of what they're eating (sorry to my sister who posted a picture of her dinner tonight, but in fairness to me I wrote these notes a few days ago), people posts photos when they are out and doing something.  I know for a fact I only post pictures of myself when I'm dressed up and actually wearing pants and brushed my hair.

So it's a work in progress, and I'm really trying hard on this one.  Once Lily is able to draw more than random scribbles and does a portrait of her mom, I would like it not to have my phone attached to my face.

Let me paint you a picture

As many of you know, I am on another Davecation.  As with the many Davecations that have come before it, I am stuck at home at night and have plenty of spare time from not having to do laundry or make lunches.  It's like I'm a teenager again with an 8 o clock curfew. Lily turns into a pumpkin if not in bed before 8:30.  Okay change pumpkin into Tasmanian toy hurling she-devil....

So what do I do? TV gets old fairly fast, even with TLC's line up of reality TV shows.  I mean, I've already watched most of Honey Boo Boo's family fart through all the major holidays.  I have decided to take up painting.  Something that will make me sane after a full day of debating the merits of pants with a toddler.  Apparently Lily thinks I should wear them when I'm at home.  Like with all my hobbies, I have little faith my interest will continue past a few weeks so there is a chance all my supplies will end up beside my unfinished sewing and music instruments.  I bought the best paint that the dollar store could provide, which means I have about 5 colours to choose from.  They say you can make any colour you want if you have the primary colours, but don't listen to them, all I am able to make is brown.

I've been posting my pictures on Facebook.  The beauty of social networking is that you can subject others to whatever crazy you can take a picture of.  Plus there is only a like button so nobody is a critic.  So far I believe that I am doing fairly well, in fact my husband commented that he didn't know I could paint.  I'm not surprised, I also hid the fact that I was a trekkie and now he gets to spend the rest of his married life watching Star Trek TNG reruns...

Betcha didn't know that the actor that played Scotty lost his middle finger during World War 2 and they hid it in most of the shots...
or that Worf's forehead prosthetic changed appearance in season 2 because the original one was stolen...
or that originally Counsellor Troi was suppose to be a four breasted alien before Gene Roddenberry's wife shot down the idea (moral of the story: a happy wife is a happy life)..

you're welcome, it's a pleasure to educate you.

Now where were I?  I use to draw all the time. I was a geek before the hipsters, before all the "geeks are cool movies", before people realised that would need geeks to set up their wireless routers.  I had a lot of time on my hand, since my social life was as dead as crocs in the fashion world, so I use to draw.  Sure it was mostly random anime and me marrying Willam Riker (I know, I know, it would never work, him being in space and all) but I found a lot of enjoyment from drawing and became pretty good at sketching.  Anyways once I hit university I become fairly social and stopped drawing and watching star trek (which is why Johnathan Franks went on to marry an opera singer and got old).

Anyways enough of my teenage angst.

I've been painting almost every night.  I finished a painting of a unicorn punching a dolphin, because as you also know, I am the only person on the planet that hates dolphins.  PS-try explaining to a lady at Strong Start that you enjoy painting and you mostly paint pictures of dolphins hitting things and NOT sound like a psycho.  I've also painted the same unicorn kicking a sea-turtle because he is a badass and for all you non mythical beings out there, it is thousands of dollars worth of fines if you try.  As soon as I post this, PETA will probably be banging on my door any minute.  Good thing I keep a batch of panda pate for unexpected guests.  I've also painted pictures of my son that passed away.  I've found it fairly therapeutic, also I feel like I get to relearn what his face looked like, by sketching him, I've discovered facial traits I didn't know he had. I have also drawn my beloved Star Trek-but no marriage photos, I have enough laundry as it is.

Anyways I'm off to think of my next painting.  Hopefully I'll find something else to blog about of interest.