FYI, Windex Doesn't Kill Scorpions

But, the bottom of a shoe works very well-- this is the unfortunate lesson I learned tonight. Since I had an earlier bug *ahem, arthropod* post, I thought I'd share this information with you all, lest you be home alone late on a Monday night with a scorpion on your balcony and a bottle of Windex in one hand and a shoe in the other. I've just saved you the trouble of cleaning up a half-bottle puddle of Windex, and from dashing around your home like a mad-woman (or man) looking for a more lethal weapon.

I must at this time also give mad props to my scorpion-hunting canine pal for spotting the danger in the dark from the opposite side of the closed screen door, and then whining incessantly until I let her out onto the balcony, only to run directly back into the house sneezing and shaking her head from side to side. It only took me two or three times of this before I got the message and went out to investigate. What can I say, I'm a bit slow. But, you readers will surely not make the same mistake now that you've been armed with my advice. And, you are more than welcome to the services of my scorpion-hunter; she's also quite good at hunting crumbs, clean laundry and used kleenex.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, those white-ish spots you see on the bottom of my shoe are in fact the remnants of the said, and now pulverized, scorpion.

to do #217: how not to kill a scorpion

Pro: Skies

As I contemplate my impending move away from Arizona, I have been keeping a little running tally of pros and cons, to make sure I'm making the right decision. So far there haven't been many ticks in the pro column for Arizona, but I do have to admit to one I've noticed outside my sliding glass door the past three days as I've sat at my desk working: the skies. Arizona seems to have some of the most beautiful skies. Is that enough to keep me here? No. But it's something to appreciate whilst I bide my time.

to do #49: find a pro for living in Arizona

Emissions

Today I did the equivalent of rolling down my car window and tossing into the wind a twenty, a fiver, two ones, and 3 quarters. Yep, I gave the state of Arizona $27.75 to tell me my 2000 Honda Passport passed its emissions test. Now I'm not so insulated I don't realize many states require vehicles to be inspected and pass emissions every year, but the thing that annoys me is that this was totally random. Arizona doesn't require vehicles, especially newer ones, to pass emissions each year, and in the nine and a half years I've lived here, I've only taken one car to be inspected once. The car was an old dilapidated piece of shit, so I can perfectly understand why it would need to prove itself worthy to be driven on the streets of this fair city. But a five year old car? In the grand scheme of things, $27.75 isn't a lot of money, but considering the price you pay for the privilege of registering your vehicle, why should you need to pay extra for an emissions test? It should just be factored in!

Ranting aside, the actual test was quick and painless and mildly entertaining. The state has gathered together an odd band of characters to work at the location I visited today. As I pulled in I was met with four possible docks to pull my car into. I chose the one with the most people standing near it, and as I got closer a lady began directing me into the dock. I was concentrating very intently on her hand motions because I hate pulling into these sorts of places where you have to align your wheels correctly and stop them at a certain point, lest I'm unable to follow their vague and lazy hand gestures or unable to correctly eyeball the positioning and then I look like a completely inept vehicle operator. I'm not sure if I've actually failed to do this correctly once and it's scarred me for life, but every time I pull into a car wash or an oil change or a car garage, the same can-I-align-the-wheels-correctly-and-stop-in-the- correct-spot paranoia hits me.

So while I'm concentrating on this woman, a portly fellow rests his arms on my car window ledge and greets me, which scares the hell out of me. Don't know how I didn't see him coming, but I didn't. He informs me I have the option of sitting in the passenger seat or in a booth for the duration of the inspection. I chose the booth because it seems weird and cool. I get into the booth, after some confusion on how exactly to get into the booth, and another fellow comes by to point to a sign in the booth and whispers to me that it will cost $27.75 in either cash or check. The whispering really threw me for a loop- it wasn't loud, so why whisper?? I retrieved my checkbook from my bag, and I must have looked at the sign a second too long, because the hand gesture woman came by to explain the payment options again. (It's suddenly becoming clear why I had to pay the $27.75--there are too many people working at this location and they all need to be paid!) No sooner did I have the check written, than they motioned for me to come back out.

I got into my car and was told to pull it forward to the next computer. There I was met by a middle-aged middle-eastern man. I handed him my check and he asked for my driver's license. 'My what?' I asked, because he was mumbling. 'Your drivers license.' 'Oh, okay', I said, and fished it out of my wallet. He fussed around in his computer and then came back to my window, unlocked and opened my door, looked around, shut the door, and then asked for my drivers license again. 'I gave it to you', I said. 'No, I need your driver's license', he said. 'That is my driver's license', I said, puzzled. 'Oh, I know', he said chuckling, 'I was just kidding'. Haha, I fake-laughed. What sort of a joke is that?! He fussed around on the computer again and then came back with a piece of paper. 'Well', he said, 'I'm sorry to say...' (pause for dramatic effect, okay that would have been kinda funny)...(pregnant pause, which is not so funny anymore)...(he's been pausing so long that now I'm actually getting annoyed and ignoring him)...'Your car passed inspection' he said and chuckled again. This guy has got the worst sense of humor, I thought, and peeled the hell out of there. Certainly not the worst experience in the world, but definitely a waste of $27.75.

to do #246: have my car emissions tested

Arthropods

Sometimes I hate living in the desert. And sometimes I hate living in the desert alone. Tonight I arrived home after a trip to the local bookstore and was greeted by a giant centipede on my living room floor. I've never seen a centipede outside my apartment, nevermind actually in my apartment. At first I thought it was a scorpion, which is a sight I'm sorry to say I've experienced many times before. But on closer (and by closer I mean there was at least 5 feet between me and the creature) examination it was no scorpion, it was a centipede and it was ALIVE. I quickly grabbed a little plastic tupperware container and put it over the centipede. It didn't seem to like that at all and started thrashing around under the plastic. I put one foot on the container and stretched to grab my cell phone to call a friend for advice. Yep, that's a centipede she said. Creepy, huh? Uh, yeah! When she realized I still had my foot on the container she suggested stacking some heavy books to weight it down instead. Good idea, I thought, but the heavy books wouldn't balance on the little container. A bigger container...ah, a pot! I grabbed my pasta pot and covered the plastic container, and then stacked books on top. If that centipede was going anywhere he'd have to be one determined fucker.

I got off the phone with my friend, but the idea of spending the night with a live centipede really started to freak me out. A few minutes later a neighbor friend called. There was a little small talk, but then I blurted out, 'can you please come over, I'm having a bug emergency!!!'. I don't think he knew what to expect when he saw my make-shift centipede prison, but he braced himself with one of my Sketcher tennis shoes as I began removing the books and the pasta pot. I left the plastic tupperware container for him to remove. At one point amid the swats I screamed as it thrashed about and seemed to be getting a little too close to me for comfort. I'm not sure how many swats of the tennis shoe it took to decimate the centipede, but it was upwards of five.

As to not leave you out of my horror, here is the centipede after it met the bottom of my tennis shoe and here's a picture I found on the internet of the centipede before. Man, those Scolopendra h. arizonensis are one nasty species.

Though I am relieved not to be spending the night with the centipede, I am still rather freaked out that it was here in the first place. Thank goodness for friends who live in the same apartment complex and don't mind coming to the rescue in a bug emergency. And at least I can cross off #403: meet another Arizona arthropod.

Little Pink Pills

There are few things worse than being sick when it's summertime. While everyone else is outside having fun, you're stuck inside feeling miserable. Okay, who am I kidding? It's Arizona, everyone is inside feeling miserable. But at least they don't have a dull headache on the left side of their face from their temple down to their jaw and across their cheekbone to their nose. A headache that magnifies when you chew on the left side or press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, but only on the left side. A headache that started Saturday night and has been with me ever since, even when I wake up in the morning. It's not phased by 600 mg of ibuprofen every few hours or massive quantities of hot green tea or that dumb headache remedy you do by pressing your thumb and forefinger into the webbed part of your left hand.

I'd had enough of the headache, and the accompanying watery, bulging eyes from the pressure inside my head, so I paid my doctor a visit. The diagnosis: a bad sinus infection. The remedy: little pink pills (antibiotics), lots of liquids, and hot moist compresses twice a day. So far things aren't any better (okay, it's only been 5 hours, 1 pink pill and 1 compress), but I have to report the compresses feel amazing. Even if you don't have a sinus infection you should try it: stack two folded washcloths on top one another, get wet, ring out, microwave for 20 seconds, and press on your face. Ah, sweet (temporary) relief...

With only 29 more little pink pills to go, I'm on my way to crossing off #132: cure mid-summer sinus infection.