Raccoon eradication

No, you can’t kill them. Well, wait, you could, but that opens a whole new can of whoop ass and body disposal.

A while back I noticed certain noises overhead as I surfed the net. Yeah, some scrabbling noises that blossomed into chittering and chirps. A big ol WTF? until I found some sound bites that let you figure out just what sort of vermin has invaded your domicile.

Uh huh, raccoons. A quick reconnoiter of the outside of the house revealed bent louvers on one of the side vents to the attic over our familyroom. Said attic is thankfully separate from the attic over the house.  Wonderful. Sometime was spent convincing DH that yes indeed there were critters in the attic. I don’t know if he was doing the classic “if I don’t know, it’s not a problem” response but eventually the noises were too obvious to ignore.

What to do , what to do? We do have a trap (humane) but near as I can tell, one cannot legally release a wild animal ANYWHERE. Sure, go ahead and catch it, but then what do you do with it? And horrors, the amount of noise seemed to indicate we had a FAMILY of raccoons. Odds of trapping the mom and the babies dying if left behind were high and well, not an ending we wanted. We just wanted them to LEAVE.

Most websites cautioned me to get an expert exterminator. Most websites were written by said experst complete with pictures of the captured hairy beasts. Yeah, but unless the exterminator was able to sqeeze into a 12 by 15 inch opening things weren’t going to be easy.  I stewed and I surfed until I found a site that said raccoons haite cayenne pepper. Okay, I got me some of that. Let’s rumble.

I harrangued DH into getting out the ladder. I loaded up a foil tray with some critter ridder I found I still had, the cayenne pepper and other hot spices I had on lying around. DH bravely climbed up the ladder and pushed the offending hot mixture through the louvers. I was poised on the ground below, broom in hand ready to beat any enraged vermin off of him. Can we say anticlimactic?  We retreated back inside where I heard the sounds of what an only be termed as “an extremely unhappy bunch of raccoons.” But did they leave? uh no. Score one for them.

Back on the net I stumbled across an entry from a home owner who had three very easy and straight forward means of encouraging raccoons to move elsewhere. Step one. Raccoons being super fastidious and clean do NOT , uh, foul their homes. Nor do they appreciate , uh, odors indicating that someone might have. So, DH high tailed it to the store and got a jug of ammonia. I ripped up an old towel, we soaked the rags in ammonia and DH went back up the ladder and shoved several of the soaked rags through the louvers on either side of the chimney.  I bravely stood my ground with a broom, ever at the ready to protect his back, whatever.

Back indoors to move to step 2. Raccoons really don’t like people. Uh huh, sure, they’ll squat in my attic, but they really don’t want to be hearing me at all. I turned on the local 24/7 sports talk radio station and put the speakers right below the ceiling where I heard the most noise. I left it on for a full week. It was hell. I hate sports, but I hate raccoons in the attic more.

I did not have to move onto step 3 as mom and family moved out quickly. As in, they were gone in hours. Step 3 would have involved me rigging some sort of light up in the attic space since raccoons like their nest area to be dark. What would I have done? Glow sticks? Flood light on the vent opening? Hard to say. Just glad we got rid of them and we put up a new vent cover to discourage any raccoon who might not get the concept that you can’t go home again. We did add more ammonia soaked rags through the louvers just in case.

Yes, know thine enemy.

Contentment reigns

within my borders. I love that line. It rings so true everytime I hear it.

And I was thinking. And as a result, a conclusion was reached. A sort of “My philosophy of LIfe” type moment occurred. We are not put on this earth (at least this is how I feel) for ourselves, but for others. If you don’t live your life in a manner to help, aid, assist or impact positively someone else then frankly, what good IS your life? It’s not what you become or achieve, but how you help others that really matters. If the majority of your moments are spent revolving around yourself, if you are so wrapped up in your own life, if you seek out those that have the means to help you gain and shun those that might actually need something from you , well, what can I say. Sucks to be you.

Horrified doesn’t even come close

to describing my reaction to hearing that somewhere, somehow, someone got the bright idea to market breast milk ice cream. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Can you just imagine the sheer amount of breast milk that is needed to make a pint of ice cream? And, really, wouldn’t this breast milk be better served , say, IDK, Premmies in neonatal units who could really use it? And for the love of all that is holy, think people! Breast milk flavor is greatly affected by what the , um, provider ingests.

We discussed this over lunch today and one co-worker (the one that let me know I was off the hook for killing Jesus) started to mumble, “um how would they get….” and his voice trailed off. I told him to just stop right there. He wisely did.

And when I voiced my horror to DH this evening he let me know he had heard this also. Only he added the caveat that they would be marketing said breast milk ice cream as “free range.” I’m betting Woody Allen is in on this somehow.

Still wondering how to take this…

So, a co-worker sauntered over to me this morning and in front of everyone at work said “hey, did you hear the Pope has just pardoned the Jews for killing Jesus?” I stared at him wondering if this was some sort of joke. Other co-workers spoke up, voicing the thought in my head. Nope, he’d just heard this and wondered if I had. I continued to stare at him because really all I could think was “fuck you!” but that’s not really a constructive thing to say. Another co-worker quipped “oh good, you mean we can be friends now?” hmmm, great.

And out of all the things running through my head I chose this thought to voice. “So, what’s the status for all the Christians that killed Jews? Or is he just waiting for Yom Kippur to ask forgiveness?” Which got me questions about what Yom Kippur (day of atonement in which you forgive and seek forgiveness) and ended the discussion right there.

Sometimes I really wonder where some people’s heads are at.

Thoughts on

The Princess Bride. Sure, you’ve seen the movie, why not read the book? The book came first, must be better right? Well, yes and no. Yes in that there is more information on Fezzik and Inigo. No in that Goldman blathers on and on for the first quarter of the book to the point you just want to hunt him down and slap him (no matter how old he is, how clever he is or how great you know the story is). Explanation and inside stories abound before you even remotely get to Buttercup and Farm boy.

But, trust me, a quarter of the way in, the book starts to get good. Those annoying little break ins by the author are less and less frequent.The story hums predictably along differing only slightly from the movie (and I mean in a good way). The end comes, more thrilling that the movie and then wham! Back to the same annoying voice from the first quarter. Buttercup’s Baby. You think you’re getting an extra chapter, a peek into a sequel. Really, if you want to harbor any warm fuzzy feelings toward Goldman, you’d stop right there. Don’t read it, don’t get drawn into that Stephen King controversy. Stop reading! It’s just going to get more and more frustrating, more and more off track, leaving you with one huge cliff hanger of an ending. Trust me.

I confess

I touched a Nook color. Yeah, held it in my hands and fondled it a bit. Even listened to the “spiel” given by the young salesclerk and earned a free coffee (well, two, DH was there only I detest coffee so I was thinking of parlaying it into a hot chocolate but NOOOOOO! Coffee Nazi’s exist at BN) How could I help it? It was literally between me and the rest of the books in the store. Front and center, and alone. Tethered to be sure. But alone and calling my name.

I was intrigued, impressed, and then well, disappointed. I was upfront with the clerk. “I,uh, yeah, have a Kindle” I muttered. Did not seem to phase her in the least. I must say, I do like the touch screen. I do like that the keyboard “disappears” when you don’t need it and at the swip of a finger there it was. The background color for the pages could be whatever (almost) my eyes would prefer. The brightness can be adjusted. But still, really, don’t think bright sun is it’s friend.

Magazines and children’s books on Nook are well, yeah, nice. And when she hit the read to me feature on the kid’s book and a real live voice burst forth she almost had me. Almost because there is no text to speech on the Nook like there is on the Kindle. Really? You have color, a touch screen and you can’t do text to speech?  Big mistake. Yeah, the Kindle’s text to speech is somewhat flawed (that mechanical voice, that fraking “backquote”, etc) but it’s there and doable. Read while in the tub? No problem. Want to make cookies and still keep up with Princess Bride? Go right ahead.

So, I almost fell prey to the bright shiny new toy, but on closer examination I realized that I should bide my time and wait for Amazon to come up with the next best thing (hint: fix that mechanical voice! Bigger hint, let a buyer download both the printed and audio version of the book, to be accessed simultaneously). Why? I really think Amazon has the best interests of the visually impaired at heart.

Thoughts on the Kindle

I confess to stalking a few blogs in search of the latest news concerning new editions of the Kindle e-reader. Will it have a touch screen? Will it be in color? What will they do next?

Well, you didn’t ask, but here’s what I want. Color? No thanks. I want it to read books and since I’m an adult, I can live without seeing Go Dog Go on an e0reader. Touch screen? Maybe. I’m easy, I like a little technology in my life. I just worry how the touch screen would affect the e-ink/screen you can read in bright light. Let’s not trash the one thing in life that allows me to read. But, I’ve thought about it. My visual acuity is not improving (and my BIL comforted me by saying, “well, with your situation, it ALWAYS gets worse.” ) so I can see resorting to the text to speech function more and more. So, what I would like the focus for future Kindles/updates to be on that.

In a perfect world the kindle would be set up to enable one to download/buy both the e-book and the audio book, together. Can you imagine how perfect that could be? Read along til eyes tire, then switch to speech mode and hear, oh, I don’t know, a real human voice reading and pronouncing everything correctly.

Sure, it’s doable for now. Mechanical though I do love the questioning lilt that pops up time to time. What is distracting is how it read “It” as eye tea. Plain old “it” in a sentence is read normally, go figure. Or “BOOOO” is read bee oh oh oh oh oh….annoying. And what is up with ‘blah blah, being read as “back quote blah blah blah? It doesn’t read ” as quote/quotation mark. Puzzling and annoying. Thought for a bit that somehow Banquo had slipped into The Princess Bride.

I’d like to be able to alphabetize my collections or at least arrange them in order of publication date. A little OCD can be a good thing. And, IDK, if I hear of a font that is easier on the eyes, would it be possible to switch to that?

And, while I’m making wishes, oh please please please someone tell me what I have to do to get To Kill A Mockingbird legally on the Kindle?  I feel, well, discriminated against due to my low vision issues.

However…..

Did you know that October 23 is “slap your annoying co-worker” day? Indeed it is. A whole day in which you supposedly get a free pass to smack the crap out of that annoying, screw up of a co worker who does nothing but make your life a living hell. The one that sits on their ass all day doing no work (but twitting, facebooking and IM’ing at a frenzied pace) yet manages to make MORE work for you. Yes, the one that comes in late and immediately fixes themselves a hot beverage while you and the rest of your co-workers continue to toil away. The one who is always and mysteriously “somewhere else,” (A parallel universe perhaps?) when any sort of work is at hand. Yet, when it comes to taking credit for work? Whoa baby, they are at the front of the line. Ugh.

The co worker who questions your every statement? The co worker who steals all your ideas? The co worker who eats your lunch! The co worker who insists the world revolve around their needs ?(“I’m gluten caesin free so please don’t bring in any milk or flour products!” “I can’t tolerate the smell of your clothes detergent, you’re going to have to switch to a brand I can.”-I kid you not) The co worker who leaves early? The co worker who passes off the hardest work to you? The co worker who sneaks around and breaks all the rules or is the reason management has to crack down on things like internet usage etc.? Yeah them! It’s open season! On October 23. Which is a Sunday this year. Bummer.

Still making the shirts. Still planning the “party”

I refuse to be THAT blogger

You know the one I mean. The person who blogs a madcap life that is chock a block full of incredulous escapades and happenings. Sure it’s entertaining but is it real?

What got me to pondering this was my recent experience giving blood. The quick and dirty? After an initial long wait and painful needle stick I made it to the refreshment table where DH calmly looked down at my arm and said “you’re oozing.” At which point the canteen volunteer got the attention of one of the nurses who called me back, gave me another band aid, tighter pressure bandage and sent me on my way.

Here’s the same story with the typical histrionics designed for maximum attention and well, your enjoyment.

DH and I toddled off to donate a pint or two at our local red cross. Odd they are always nagging us for blood but they have cut back their hours to a few days a week and only one Saturday a month. We’ve learned NOT to make an appointment because it gets you nowhere. If you have an appointment for 8 am but someone walks in before you, well, they go first. Perhaps they are working to change that, but until they do I choose to be a “floater” appointment.

And it went pretty much as usual. For some reason they no longer have one or two people screening. No, an available nurse does the prescreening and the blood drawing. Let me tell you, it slows things down! Yes yes, let’s keep the blood supply safe, but can’t we be…..efficient? So I wait and by the time I’m called in, there are three folks behind me. (and by the time i’m done with tthe whole thing they are just starting to take the blood from the women who came in after me)

Let us add I could not for the life of me find my reading glasses. ugh. Okay, I have them read the lovely “have you ever had sex with a man who’s ever had sex with another man?” questions to me because even with my glasses there is no way in hell I’d be able to read them and navigate the laptop. Don’t know if this pisses them off or not, but hey, low vision is low vision. And I don’t know what the nurse was thinking because I really could barely verify my info and I faked reading the end bit that “you are required to read before signing.”  Good lord, are people going to think I’m illiterate?

My biggest mistake was telling the nurse I am a big fat flincher. Sure I appreciated the firm grip on my arm but the full on stab put me over the edge. And ti continued to hurt. Ache, throb. It felt like the nurse had actally struck and bone. But just as I piped up with that info, the pain lessened and I did my usual quick bleed out. I am an efficient donor if nothing else.

Needle out, arm up, which is a huge flag to the “walkers” who hang out to earn volunteer hours to graduate high school. I flinch people, I don’t faint. Band aids applied and me and my buddy shuffle to the canteen area 20 feet away. Whew.

I Was enjoying my tasty beverage (water) when hubby called the oozing stripe of red to my attention. I was pondering it like an idiot when the eagle eared senior citizen screeched  “we have a problem over here!” while waving her hand frantically. Geez! “It’s just a little blood!” and the nurse called out “Put some pressure on it.” Okay, I can do that. Only now my hand is getting bloody and perhaps if I hadn’t said that out loud the walkers would not have all taken one giant group step AWAY from me. DH was prompting me to go back and see the nurse but I wasn’t budging until someone moved my purse off of my leg. One arm bleeding, one hand bloody. No way in hell I was touching Vera in that state. “get my purse” I hissed at hubby and then I turned on the canteen lady and muttered “and next time you be quiet!”

Off to the nurse I trotted solo to get re-bandaged. Yippee. The nurse was more concerned with the possibility that I might have bled on the table. I did not. But then I started to laugh at the thought of the red cross be closed down due to a bio hazard situation. The nurse thought it funny too.. Cue Alanis!

Whew! It’s exhausting be so melodramatic. Entertaining, yet well, in hindsight, seems sort of mean doesn’t it. Sure those highschoolers were a tad leery of my oozing arm. Who cares? They’re kids after all, just filling their volunteer hours so they can get out of high school and move on. And the canteen lady? Just doing her job really.  And the nurse had every right to be concerned over possible blood drops where they shouldn’t be.

So IDK, blog might be a little dry. No need to embellish, no need to be snarky, no need to be mean.

Attack! Counter Attack!

(oh, it’s not what you think, fool) My gallbladder has been acting up of late. I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. When the same thing happened a few years back I actually did see a dr (shocker, I know) who promptly ordered an ultrasound after hearing my symptoms (upper right quadrant pain radiating to the back) which revealed “sludge” in my gallbladder. Sludge? Are you serious? The Dr. even offered to take it out, but I’m trying to go out with as many of my parts as I can. I declined and the gall bladder seemed to simmer down.

Until the other night when it woke me up with its shenanigans. The familiar pain becoming more and more intense roused me from my slumber. Dammit! I lay there trying to wait it out but finally had to get up and do some pacing and sip some cold water.  After the usual hour of so, the pain went away. Fine, until the next night when the same damn thing happened again. Oh son of a bitch!

So, I started thinking about what I had been eating of late. Too much chocolate? Was it the mac and cheese? Not a real clue. So I started googling gallbladder diet and gallbladder cures. Let me tell you, there are some long haired, crystal crunching freaks out there that think I can subsist on a diet of green foods. You know me not. No way in HELL I’m going to suck down those green veggies. Just no way. But wait, gleaned a little ray of hope. Lemon juice. Lemon juice will help? I can handle that. So, I’ve been drinking some lemon water (no sugar) around bedtime and it does seem to be helping.

I did have a minor episode early on one evening and thought, hey, let’s see what happens now when I throw back a shot of lemon juice. Yeah, I’ll tell you. It freakin’ ratchets up the pain to INTENSE but the attack subsided quickly.  More experimentation is called for. More googling. I am not willing to do the oil and lemon juice cleanse just yet. Who wants to lose a whole weekend?