Judging by the most recent Pithy poll, 31% of you have fantastic jobs that you love. Good for you. Another 43% of you have a job that pays the bills, and you do what you love in your off time. Also acceptable. Only 24% of you want to jump out a window or set the place on fire, so that’s not terrible.
Onions, potatoes and garlic aren’t the only things growing in my garden. Last week, I found two fire ant beds, one of which grew up into my above-ground garden. Obviously I couldn’t put something like Amdro on the beds since I hope to eat what I’m growing, so I had to find an organic-ish alternative. After a bit of googling, I ended up on this helpful page. I used the Orange Oil Recipe for Fire Ants, and I’m happy to report that it worked almost immediately! No more fire ants, at least in that location. I found a jug of orange oil at Lowe’s for about $15. I’ll use it for cleaning until more ant beds pop up, which they invariably will. Little bastards.
As I mentioned yesterday, I met some friends for happy hour at Onion Creek. Hadn’t been there since leaving the Heights back in October. Man, where did all the douchebags come from? I know they were sprouting by the time we left, but they seem to be in full bloom now. The place was crawling with them. Girls in shorty shorts and booties wearing hoodies and scarves (scarvies?). Um, are you cold or not? Pick one. And the guys. Many who were close to my age were wearing faux vintage tee shirts (Tony the Tiger? not GGGGGGGGreat) and white belts looped around expensive jeans. Every outfit smacked of trying too hard to look like they didn’t try too hard. Bleh.
I was having my own sartorial issues last night. I was wearing some low rise pants with a shirt that wasn’t quite long enough, so I had to position my backside such that it was pointing away from the other drinkers. This was easy when we were sitting on the patio in the corner. Not so easy when we had to go inside to get away from the rain. I had to pull my shirt down and then lean back against the chair to keep the crack to myself. Klassy. At least I’m honest with myself when I’m being a jackass. I need to plan my drinking outfits better next time. Maybe to fit in I’ll wear a knitted cap, tank top, ski pants and stilletos.