carapace (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} carapace) wrote,@ 2008-01-17 04:45:00 |
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In Which Bugs Are Not Explained
I've got another comic going over at WCN:
http://www.webcomicsnation.com/cara
It even shares a name with this blog, so it should be easy to find from here. Nifty? Nifty.
So, yeah, the thing with the bugs...
Last year, about mid-March, a few weird flies got into the house. I say weird, because they were fat, black, and prone to, indeed, hover, making the most hideous noise while they did so. Like Japanese cicadas in a food processor. They were also slow, and so easy to smack. So smack them we did, one or two at a time, and not worry too much, because hey, we're in the country, a few flies come in every time the door opens.
Until one day, we woke up, and every window in the hosue was painted black with the monsters.
Then followed an epic battle, lasting nigh four months, the details of which I will not dwell upon, except to say that it took four bottles vinegar to clean the windows again, ate away what little sanity I had left, and gave the *cat* a complex about flies.
Hornets... well, hornets. Under the house. Unfun. But guess what! I don't react to hornet venom! I still do not like being poked with needles in my face!
Ladybug Apocalypse:
This makes even less sense than the flies. A week after Christmas, I woke up, walked into the living room, and looked up.
There's a reason people in superhero films never look up. They're afraid they'll find, not the hero, not even the villain, but a red seething blanket of ladybugs, emanating from the light source and drawing themselves across the entire room.
True to their name, the ladybugs have been more polite than the flies, hovering around the ceiling and corners, making almost no noise, never ever getting in our food except when they die. Which they do. A lot. And then fall into whatever comestible is close at hand.
Also, they fly towards the light when they die. Every day I have to wash off the bulb, or I'd be sitting in the dark right now.
I feel I have angered a small, small, petty, small god of small things.
I've got another comic going over at WCN:
http://www.webcomicsnation.com/cara
It even shares a name with this blog, so it should be easy to find from here. Nifty? Nifty.
So, yeah, the thing with the bugs...
Last year, about mid-March, a few weird flies got into the house. I say weird, because they were fat, black, and prone to, indeed, hover, making the most hideous noise while they did so. Like Japanese cicadas in a food processor. They were also slow, and so easy to smack. So smack them we did, one or two at a time, and not worry too much, because hey, we're in the country, a few flies come in every time the door opens.
Until one day, we woke up, and every window in the hosue was painted black with the monsters.
Then followed an epic battle, lasting nigh four months, the details of which I will not dwell upon, except to say that it took four bottles vinegar to clean the windows again, ate away what little sanity I had left, and gave the *cat* a complex about flies.
Hornets... well, hornets. Under the house. Unfun. But guess what! I don't react to hornet venom! I still do not like being poked with needles in my face!
Ladybug Apocalypse:
This makes even less sense than the flies. A week after Christmas, I woke up, walked into the living room, and looked up.
There's a reason people in superhero films never look up. They're afraid they'll find, not the hero, not even the villain, but a red seething blanket of ladybugs, emanating from the light source and drawing themselves across the entire room.
True to their name, the ladybugs have been more polite than the flies, hovering around the ceiling and corners, making almost no noise, never ever getting in our food except when they die. Which they do. A lot. And then fall into whatever comestible is close at hand.
Also, they fly towards the light when they die. Every day I have to wash off the bulb, or I'd be sitting in the dark right now.
I feel I have angered a small, small, petty, small god of small things.
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