8/3/00

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August, 2000

8/3/00

It's too darn hot. I loathe oven-hot, Africa-hot weather. My tee shirt is stuck to my back like a Post-It note. It's too hot to think. We had a thunderstorm yesterday, along with sheets of rain. Quite freakish. I had to shut down my 'puter lest a lightening strike fry my motherboard and CPU. It's been so humid, and with the rain, I could've sworn I was in Southeast Asia. Quite frankly, I didn't feel like putting up an entry today -- but it's a new month (ack! August already!), so I thought wothehell.

Pagong is soon to be only a memory. Yes, we're going to talk about Survivor. Oh, stop complaining -- you watch, too. Admit it. Jeez, they booted Gervase. Boy, were we all fooled. Shoulda known CBS wouldn't be foolish enough to leave HTML breadcrumbs on the website. Uh-uh. Now Colleen (aka "Sitting Duck") is the only Pagonger left in Rattana. And I liked Gervase's bulleye-design on his tee shirt (gee, was that a plug for Target?). Boy, those two knew what would be going down in Tribal Council.

You know, I'm sorry that I placed so much faith in Richard -- I've grown to dislike his smug attitude. Actually, I've grown to loathe the Tagians in general. It's "eat or be eaten" with them. From Day 1 they've eyed each other like ruthless predators, looking for weakness. Over in Pagong: bonding via mudbath, sleeping in the communal hut, sadness whenever a member had to be voted off the island. Not Tagi -- they all looked on with sneering glee whenever someone got the boot. The Alliance. Scary people, those Tagians.

If you haven't discovered them yet, check out Survivorsucks.com and bigbrotherblows.com. Great summaries. Jeez, they're funny. Just go there. After you've finished here, of course.

And with Summer there's the annual ant invasion. Ants everywhere: crawling through my clothing, both in my closet and on me. (There's nothing worse than sitting on the toilet, your underwear sagging around your ankles -- and ants climbing in for a ride. Unknowingly, you pull on your underwear only to realize that something is zig-zagging around in the crotch of your underpants. Yes. Ants in your pants. It really happens.)

I've had ants crawling out from under the trackball in my mouse. They've blazed thick trails through wastebaskets -- coming from Ghod knows what hole. There must be some gigantic anthill directly under the house. As far as the ants are concerned, we're the squatters. Some big, gelatinous Queen Ant is sitting on her satin pillows and screaming at the worker-drones: "Bring more crumbs, aphids, dead insects! Don't let the cockroaches get the good stuff!"

I know this is going to sound horrifying to the PETA people out there -- but I almost enjoy mashing the little buggers. Hey, when some mindless little insect chomps on your calf, you'll take joy in swatting it silly, too. I don't care. There are MILLIONS of 'em -- we'll never run out of ants, okay? Ants are not on the endangered species list. Ghod, if you want to spare the life of a teensy little ant, then cockroaches must be just as sacred. Ugh. I know, I know -- you're saying, "Anne -- I hope in your next life you come back as an ant." Okay. Fine. And then I hope some human has the decency to squash me to a fine powder so I can come back as something better. Dammit.

Jeez, I can't wait for Fall.