If you click on the above link, you will be taken to a website for 'Planet Natural' products.
Wasps have been flying around lately. Since March, we had noticed them hanging about around the house between the foundation and the wood siding. Derek asked me yesterday to get some bee killer, since he was pretty sure that they are building a nest up inside the house. He saw far too many of them for it to be just a fun place for them to warm up in the sun.
Since we don't have any brake-kleen (long story, but that stuff melts their wings right off), I went to Fred Meyer to collect Amdro ant block, along with bee killer, and something for dinner. Killing a colony of bees can work up an appetite!
Among all of the products on the shelves, I spotted this 'Poison Free' brand of goods. Looking at the label, it is packaged very nicely, I was drawn to it since there is supposedly no harmful or nasty petro-chemicals or other nasty things, in fact has no poison. If you look at the ingredients it is very basic :
Mint Oil
Sodium Lauryl Sulfate (its in detergents, toothpastes, etc)
Water
Carbon Dioxide
That's it. Amazing.
Being a good skeptic, I also bought a bottle of some heavy duty, instant death, big skull and cross-bones hornet and wasp spray. (Can shoot from 50 feet, and causes neuro-toxicity and instant paralysis in the bees, immobilizing them until they die).
When I got home, I gave Derek the natural stuff. He glared at me. He gave me that look like "you're kidding? Right? You expect me to kill bees with natural stuff? No way! You can spray them, I'll be calling 911 when you are swarmed'.
I handed him the bottle of death.
He smiled.
He opted to try the natural stuff first.
To our amazement, as soon as he shot it out of the can, the wasps fell to the ground, they rolled around slightly, then died. Nearly instantly. Not long enough for them to fly up and sting anyone. Amazing stuff. Amazing.
So Derek emptied the can along the cracks of the foundation, and up along the boards where the foundation joins together. Mmmm, minty fresh death! The smell of mint was heavy in the driveway. Amazing, truly no other word fits.
So, fast forward 20 minutes, I go into the basement to do some laundry. The *entire* basement smells of mint. And not good mint, overpowering 'I just broke a bottle of candy cane juice' mint. Wow, instant headache. The cracks in the wall also allowed the 'scent' of the mint to flood the house.
Now, everything in the basement has a smell of mint. Including all of my clothing. *sighs*
I smell like a rejected worker from a the York Peppermint Patty factory. As I type this, I smell mint.
At least it isn't liquifying my lungs into gelatinous goo.
The good news, it kills bees.
The bad news, it is Minty Death!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
School Bus!
So the above link is only slightly relevant. It is the start of a very inside joke that Derek and I have perpetuated over the years.
It started with the 'School Bus' video (click on the purple link above and you can watch it in all its glory). First we got each other little School Bus ornaments for the Christmas tree, and then we started randomly screaming 'school bus'! Well, you can guess that it got old, but the video still makes me laugh.
Last night was simply strange. Derek had decided that he didn't feel like what I was going to cook for dinner and told me he wanted to go to the local divey Mexican (sort of) restaurant. We go there all the time because they are fast, affordable, and not bad food. It is a bit pricier than fast good, but its actually a decent sit-down meal. We usually always have great service, rarely wait long for a table, and almost never have any complaints over the service.
Off we go, arriving to find the place fairly busy, but not packed. Not too bad for a Thursday evening at 6 PM. As we were seated, a white waitress took our drink order. This immediately filled me with dread. In all of our experiences at the taco house, the bad ones always corresponded to the waitstaff being non-Latino.
She filled our sodas and took off. 15 minutes roll by, and we hear her talking to the table next to us. She wanders off. She seats another table and takes their drink order. She wanders off. Another 15 minutes roll by, we've now finished our first basket of chips, one of the table attendants was nice enough to fill our chips up. We thanked him. Waitress wanders back from the back with beers for another table. She proceeds to take their order, place it on the counter for the line cooks, and wanders off. Another 15 minutes go by, the waitress now stops by the adjacent table to give them their bill and take their money, as we try to make eye contact with her, she wanders off, again.
Derek and I had reached our limit of waiting, we decided that we would just go to our old standby, a chinese place (dive!) that we love, that is on the same block, just in an adjacent building. As we wait at the cashier to pay for our two sodas (and possibly pay for a couple of baskets of chips), Derek tried to politely explain to the girl at the counter why we wanted to pay her for the sodas. She didn't understand why we weren't paying the waitress. He was calmly trying to tell her of the ordeal, but I had reached my limit.
Another waitress came over, one who recognizes us as a regular, and listens as I explode into a volley of anger and frustration.
"We have waited for 45 minutes for someone to take our order, and we feel we have waited long enough. We just want to pay for our two sodas and the chips we ate, and get out of here."
I didn't yell, but I think my tone was fairly ascerbic.
'Don't worry about it honey'.
Yeah, sure. We won't. We'll be back, but I will not allow some blond bimbo white chick waitress to wait on us.
Derek and I head to the Chinese place, hoping our luck will improve.
As we enter the place, we see that it is absolutely swamped. The place is so busy that the old man, who normally hunches over behind the stovetops and work surfaces, is actually taking orders. Amazing. We place our order, and drink some tea, and try to relax, while venting about how horrible the taco house was. We lamented that we had only really had one other bad experience, which culminated in me leaving no tip, and writing on the credit card slip (in the tip area) 'bad service = zero tip'. The beauty of writing that on a credit card slip is that most restaurant managers review the slips to ensure the tips were compensated accurately.
Our food took nearly 45 minutes to arrive at our table. By this time, we are both ravenous and tired, and at least a little bit frustrated with the whole evening.
Out of the window I see a short school bus pull into the parking long. 5 people get out, most of them fairly round, middle aged and older, and head towards the restaurant. They walk in, and sit at the table directly next to ours. They are talking loudly and are all fairly obnoxious. The bonus is that they bring with them the smell of engine cleaner. Mmm mmm mmm. Yummy hydrocarbons.
Another, full sized, bus pulls in to the parking lot. 3 people get out, and head towards the restaurant.
I'm speechless at the sheer bizarre reality unfolding before us.
Derek and I try to finish our food so that we can get out of our own personal Twilight Zone episode, we overhear the bus drivers talking. They have all just driven down from Seattle. They are all congregating in Portland. There is apparently a big bus driver's swap meet that they all are planning to attend.
I'll say it again.
They have all just driven down from Seattle to congregate in Portland so that they can attend a big bus driver's swap meet.
So, they drove down in the big yellow school busses. Is this an officially sanctioned company event? Where exactly would they park a big bus when staying at the Motel 6?
It all makes my head hurt just to think about it.
It started with the 'School Bus' video (click on the purple link above and you can watch it in all its glory). First we got each other little School Bus ornaments for the Christmas tree, and then we started randomly screaming 'school bus'! Well, you can guess that it got old, but the video still makes me laugh.
Last night was simply strange. Derek had decided that he didn't feel like what I was going to cook for dinner and told me he wanted to go to the local divey Mexican (sort of) restaurant. We go there all the time because they are fast, affordable, and not bad food. It is a bit pricier than fast good, but its actually a decent sit-down meal. We usually always have great service, rarely wait long for a table, and almost never have any complaints over the service.
Off we go, arriving to find the place fairly busy, but not packed. Not too bad for a Thursday evening at 6 PM. As we were seated, a white waitress took our drink order. This immediately filled me with dread. In all of our experiences at the taco house, the bad ones always corresponded to the waitstaff being non-Latino.
She filled our sodas and took off. 15 minutes roll by, and we hear her talking to the table next to us. She wanders off. She seats another table and takes their drink order. She wanders off. Another 15 minutes roll by, we've now finished our first basket of chips, one of the table attendants was nice enough to fill our chips up. We thanked him. Waitress wanders back from the back with beers for another table. She proceeds to take their order, place it on the counter for the line cooks, and wanders off. Another 15 minutes go by, the waitress now stops by the adjacent table to give them their bill and take their money, as we try to make eye contact with her, she wanders off, again.
Derek and I had reached our limit of waiting, we decided that we would just go to our old standby, a chinese place (dive!) that we love, that is on the same block, just in an adjacent building. As we wait at the cashier to pay for our two sodas (and possibly pay for a couple of baskets of chips), Derek tried to politely explain to the girl at the counter why we wanted to pay her for the sodas. She didn't understand why we weren't paying the waitress. He was calmly trying to tell her of the ordeal, but I had reached my limit.
Another waitress came over, one who recognizes us as a regular, and listens as I explode into a volley of anger and frustration.
"We have waited for 45 minutes for someone to take our order, and we feel we have waited long enough. We just want to pay for our two sodas and the chips we ate, and get out of here."
I didn't yell, but I think my tone was fairly ascerbic.
'Don't worry about it honey'.
Yeah, sure. We won't. We'll be back, but I will not allow some blond bimbo white chick waitress to wait on us.
Derek and I head to the Chinese place, hoping our luck will improve.
As we enter the place, we see that it is absolutely swamped. The place is so busy that the old man, who normally hunches over behind the stovetops and work surfaces, is actually taking orders. Amazing. We place our order, and drink some tea, and try to relax, while venting about how horrible the taco house was. We lamented that we had only really had one other bad experience, which culminated in me leaving no tip, and writing on the credit card slip (in the tip area) 'bad service = zero tip'. The beauty of writing that on a credit card slip is that most restaurant managers review the slips to ensure the tips were compensated accurately.
Our food took nearly 45 minutes to arrive at our table. By this time, we are both ravenous and tired, and at least a little bit frustrated with the whole evening.
Out of the window I see a short school bus pull into the parking long. 5 people get out, most of them fairly round, middle aged and older, and head towards the restaurant. They walk in, and sit at the table directly next to ours. They are talking loudly and are all fairly obnoxious. The bonus is that they bring with them the smell of engine cleaner. Mmm mmm mmm. Yummy hydrocarbons.
Another, full sized, bus pulls in to the parking lot. 3 people get out, and head towards the restaurant.
I'm speechless at the sheer bizarre reality unfolding before us.
Derek and I try to finish our food so that we can get out of our own personal Twilight Zone episode, we overhear the bus drivers talking. They have all just driven down from Seattle. They are all congregating in Portland. There is apparently a big bus driver's swap meet that they all are planning to attend.
I'll say it again.
They have all just driven down from Seattle to congregate in Portland so that they can attend a big bus driver's swap meet.
So, they drove down in the big yellow school busses. Is this an officially sanctioned company event? Where exactly would they park a big bus when staying at the Motel 6?
It all makes my head hurt just to think about it.
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