Oh.

I’m starting to get settled here. Working a regular work week, sleeping in the same place every night (though sans furniture), connecting with old friends. I felt it was time to start my Korean language and Chinese calligraphy lessons again. Searching the web, I typed in “Chinese calligraphy lessons San Francisco.” The first result: Loriloo. Hm. That really doesn’t help me.

Maybe I should leave a couple of dead ones here. Just as an example. In case any others decide to return. I want them to know I mean business.

He stared at me, this assertion of my killing capacity was somewhat out of character.

What? I hate ants. I want them all dead.

And with that I returned to my task of mopping up, scraping up, digging out, squishing, any and all ants that remained.

I had been talking on the phone with my ex-husband when I made the discovery. He was asking me about my new apartment; I was extolling the virtues of it when I opened the refrigerator door to get a glass of water. There, a black ribbon undulating up and down, was a line of ants crawling on the door. Not in the refrigerator, merely where the door frame met the gasket. I slammed the door, trying not to drop the phone. I opened the freezer compartment. I don’t know why, but I did. And was met with mounds and mounds of freeze dried ants.

How did this happen?

As calmly as I could, I ended our phone call. I didn’t tell him about my discovery.

I immediately called Daniel, already on his way over. In mild hysteria, I told him, I am staring at millions of ants. They are all over my refrigerator. Get something!

Somewhat perplexed, he said, “What? What exactly do you want me to do?”

I want you to stop at the store and buy something that will kill them. All of them. Raid, Black Flag, anything, just get it quick!

I stared at the ants. I watched them crawling, up and down, in an almost perfect line. I felt my skin crawling. My scalp felt as though tiny feet were irritatingly massaging it. I itched. I scratched. I shuddered. I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I grabbed a paper towel and started squishing. I shouldn’t have.

For where they once were in a contained area, marching up and down the pristine, just plugged in, brand new white Frigidaire, they now scattered. Random patterns of travel over the sides of the refrigerator. Scurrying down to the white and black marbled floor, disappearing into the nondescript design. I stood there, paralyzed, not sure of my next action.

Half an hour later I buzzed him in. I grabbed the white plastic grocery bag from his hand. What’s this? How am I supposed to kill ants with this? I asked as I handled the “ant motel,” a small plastic house for wayward ants. Do you see what I’m up against? Oh, this just will not do! I had been transformed into a mad woman. I grabbed my keys, threw on a jacket, and proclaimed my intention to find a powerful toxin to kill, kill, kill the creatures which had invaded my new home.

He, still perplexed, followed behind me. Twenty minutes later we returned, I with can of poisonous spray in my hand. I, who uses vinegar and water to mop the floors. I, who uses baking soda to scrub the sink. I, who avoids newly painted rooms because of the fumes. Yes, this same I began spraying with a vengeance. I wanted them all dead immediately. I couldn’t figure out how they got there. Why they chose my kitchen to attack. I had just moved in the night before. I didn’t invite them. I have no food out in my apartment. In the refrigerator I have bottles of water and a small leftover container of Chinese noodles. But the ants didn’t seem to be interested in the little food that was in the refrigerator. They were crawling, seemingly to the freezer compartment, to die, frozen instantly as they became trapped.

As the crawling ceased I calmed. I began the unpleasant task of cleaning up the thousands of shriveled, lifeless drowned forms. We searched for anything they might have been after. A forgotten sweet? Refuge from the dampness outside? It was bizarre. There was no trail from anywhere. The ants seemed to have spontaneously appeared, either in the freezer or on the refrigerator, crawling around it, but never leaving.

Before leaving for work this morning I considered checking, just to make sure they hadn’t come back. Then I realized I didn’t want to know. They may be there, waiting for me, when I return home. But now I’m prepared.

Home, Sweet Home

I love my new landlord. He’s a stooped, elderly, nearsighted Chinese man whose eyes twinkle. While trying to determine a time to meet today to sign the lease, present him with a check, and transfer the keys, I suggested 5:30. He countered with 5:00, so I wouldn’t be walking in the dark. This immediately endeared me to him.

As I walked up the hill, he glanced at his watch, and with surprise, exclaimed, “Right on time!” I smiled and introduced myself. His adult son, who had shown me the apartment, stood a few feet behind him.

At first I wondered why the son was there also. I soon found out. My landlord is the Chinese version of Mr. Magoo. He read the lease to me, then pointed out where I should sign. Except it was where he should sign. As his son pointed out. He showed me the new refrigerator he had installed. Except he forgot to remove the packing materials from the inside. As his son pointed out. At great length, he explained the lock system on the door (push button lock and deadbolt), then proceeded to leave the apartment without utilizing either. As his son pointed out. But he was so good natured, even in his clumsiness, I couldn’t help but like him. Even when he forgot to actually give me the keys at the end of our meeting. As his son pointed out.

Surprise

Found 3 Reese’s Cups in my jacket pocket this morning. Paired with a cup of coffee, a most excellent breakfast.

“Well…..

My wife and I reviewed your application to live in our building,” he said in a monotone voice.

Yes?

“We would like to invite you to live in our building. Do you still want?”

Oh, yes!

I’m so excited. I sign the lease and pick up the keys tomorrow. I called the storage company where my things have sat, somewhere in East Oakland, for a year now. First available delivery date: November 27. But, that’s like, two weeks away, I uttered into the phone. “Sorry, that’s the first available date.” Okay, then, I guess I’ll take it.

The more I thought about it, though, the more excited I became. This gives me almost two weeks in my apartment, sans furniture, so that I can clean, or paint, or do anything that needs to be done before settling in. I have my camping things with me, so it will be just like a weekend in the wilderness. Except with heat. And a stove. This could be very fun.

Searching…

That’s what I’ve been doing for a week. For the perfect apartment, the unbelievable deal smack in the center of San Francisco.

Things I’ve learned: “Large” is such a relative term. “Cozy” is a euphemism for small.

The tally:

77 phone calls placed regarding units for rent

41 units viewed (either at Open Houses or by appointment)

17.5 miles walked, from the Western Addition, to Pacific Heights, to Russian Hill, to Nob Hill, to Downtown, and back again, at least a dozen times

2 realtor agents who stood me up, left me standing on the street, waiting to see a unit

1 ad that truthfully represented the apartment’s features

1 apartment applied for (see above)

Fingers crossed….

“Where’s The View?…

You know, the panoramic view promised from the deck? Right here, in the ad? And by the way, where’s the deck?” I asked the agent who lazily leaned against the door jamb. He shrugged, then sauntered over to where I stood, a mere few steps away in the center of the “large floor plan” studio. He looked at the hastily scribbled notes about the apartment I held in my hands, then, with incredulity in his voice, uttered, “The ad said that? Hmm. It’s wrong. There’s no view here. Maybe another unit. But this one’s on the ground floor. No deck either.” I wanted to thank him for stating the obvious, but I refrained.

My New Favorite Site

I love public transportation. Maybe it’s because I grew up in North Carolina, where there was no public transportation. Or maybe it’s because I love to eavesdrop and crowded buses and subways afford me ample opportunity to do so. A lot of people complain about MUNI, San Francisco’s public transit system, but I love it. And now this has been added to MUNI’s website. There is nowhere I can’t go…

The Voting Party

Last night my friend Emily (best friend in the world who is still letting me share her studio until I find a permanent place to live – I love you!) had a “Review The Issues” voting party. Each person was assigned a proposition, then discussion was held, each person, more informed, decided how to vote in today’s election. Highlights from the evening (names withheld to protect the innocent):

Best reason to vote no on Proposition A (Water Bonds) – the opponents of the proposition can’t spell San Francisco correctly.

Proposition C: Veterans Building Bonds

He: “Why should a building that doesn’t pay for itself belong in a capitalist society?”

She: “You want something that pays for itself? Here’s an example of something that pays for itself: TiVo.”

Proposition F: Entertainment Commission Appointments

She: “Great. So basically, with all the surplus money, the city gets to make a committee to throw a party.”

He: “What was that? Proposition F? That would be an “F” for politics.”

Proposition H: Police & Firefighter Retirement Benefits

She: “Why should they get extra? I don’t get extra.”

He: “You don’t risk your life everyday….”

She: “Okay. Good point. I agree.”

He: “You have to be a real curmudgeon to vote no on this one.There’s not even an opponent’s argument for this one.”

Proposition I: Paid Parental Leave

While most people agreed this was a good idea, we had one dissenter: “I’m going to make an argument against having children here. You want unconditional love at a cheaper cost – get a cat or dog.”

And, the quote of the evening, as we were munching on leftover Halloween candy:

“If they gave out candy at the polls, a lot more people would show up.”

You Go!

My dear friend Cedric has jumped on the blogging bandwagon. He’s incredibly witty in person, more so in writing. Check it out.