We can walk to the curb from here.

One root of the ant problem was located. The culprit was the spice cabinet. So we removed everything and threw it out, except spices that didn't look compromised. The mission was enriched by the fact that we also found the source of our other infestation, some black beetly guys who move really slowly. They were breeding in a container of Random Indian Spice that my mom gave me to encourage me to cook my people's food. (ha!) But now more beetly things are turning up dead. Did they find out they missed our genocide (calm down, PETA. We just dumped the container in the garbage. They look like tough little, uh, buggers) and died from broken hearts? Are they a different group who heard through the beetlevine that there was a party, helped themselves to the hors d'oeuvres (that was a lot of effort to spell. next time: OR DERVS) and found out that the snacks were actually ant poison? Too bad, so sad, better luck next time- in a different kitchen, in a different house.

My roommate and I are thinking about growing lettuce in our garden. Or, she'll grow the lettuce and I'll eat it. She says that you pluck it one day and it grows back the next, like the loaves and the fishes. It's like having a little bit of Jesus in the backyard. Jesus came to the front door yesterday in the form of some nice lady missionaries who I inwardly blessed because they didn't talk to me, just handed me an informative flyer and left. I was totally on board with the flyer at first - do you want help dealing with life's difficulties? YES. do you want to be closer to God? SURE. do you want to oppose the devil? HM. - that's where things got sticky. I'd rather not oppose the devil because that involves interacting with him and really, he goes about his business, I go about mine, and everything seems ok. I've seen the Exorcist. I know what shit goes down.

Speaking of exorcisms, I went to Macy's over the weekend and splashed holy water over the clothes 'cause they SUCKED in an evil way. Not really, but I wanted to. I did buy a Conditional Skirt. A Conditional Skirt is a skirt that I can wear on the condition that I never eat again. It's ok. That's why God made Ensure. Oh man. My roommate's talking about the all-you-can-eat set fee at Dodger Stadium and GOODBYE to any resolution relating to the skirt. I don't go to baseball games and I can't eat hot dogs, but I'd still eat the hell out of that. I think I would just put my mouth under the Coke spigot - why waste cups? Let's heal the Earth. If anyone asks, I'll say "I have the all-you-can-eat pass, bitches!" Or, rather, "gurgledroolgurgledroolgurgledroolburp bitches!"