I'm an intense, hyperactive woman with an imagination in overdrive who loves her Husby, her two Wonder Wieners, and her emerging career as an author and photographer.

Thursday, September 29


Schmiability. Liability is my least favorite word in the American lexicon a la moment. Between me giving the "licensed, but not really licensed" pest inspector the furry eyeball, and hiring a silent-partner consultant to give us the straight poop about which kind of ants really are pooping in our crawlspace, I'm about ready to go pestal myself. If our house falls down 10 years after we've vacated because some creature the size of my snotty nose hairs ate the foundation, it's not my problem, OK? And, today, kids, we don't even need a made-up-word-of-the-week because we have a real one to learn: FRASS. What's that you say? Ant poop? The equivalent of insect guano? No, but close. It's the cellulose fiber from the wood they kick out when they burrow in to nest. And, if your ever asked on a Millionaire TV game show, carpenter ants eat each other, moisture ants eat the fungus in wet wood, and I'm going to go eat some chocolate and chill out. My husband vented the crawlspace, and I'm venting plenty myself, thank you very much.


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