A Bug's Life No More.

I'm beginning to wonder if I am in fact a bad person. Bad things keep happening to me...I guess maybe I should clarify, or at the very least, keep things in perspective. I don't mean bad in that I've lost an appendage or I've been through some alien-cannibalpocalypse, I guess I mean bad in the sense that bad things keep happening to me in my apartment. The lock (did I tell you about that one???), the leak, and now...the ants.

I got off work as per usual on Monday nights (at 11..) and decided to go have an after work drink with my friend. For some reason we lucked out, only had to pay for 1 drink and got 3 free! Great! It was getting late and I figured I should get home, but not before getting something to eat, so I stopped at my "favorite" 24-hour diner to get some sustenance, where I got some free onion rings! HOORAY! I then started making my way back home, via a cab.

I noticed how strangely beautiful it was out, not hot, not chilly, though slightly muggy, with a light fog hanging in the air. I made it back to my apartment in no time it seemed, where my roommate and his visiting brother were still awake, watching t.v. I was very excited. Not only did I get free onion rings, I was about to enjoy them while watching television. Why oh why did I ever have to go into my room though!? I went to put my purse down and take my shoes off when I noticed the floor seemed to be moving. Not seeming to recall having taken any PCP earlier in the evening, I decided to investigate...

ANTS. There was a large group of creepy crawly ants crawling around my room. In my space. Where I sleep and occasionally pretend to exercise. I immediately started to curse. And stomp. And yell. And stomp. And stomp...and stomp some more. My roommate and his brother, alerted by my slight noise and stomp-making, inquired as to what was the matter "THERE ARE A FUCK-TON OF ANTS IN MY FUCKING ROOM" I purred, gently. As ladies do. They then observed there were ants out in the living room (edit: what? Living Room? I am 87 years old) also. How we had all missed them before, if there was a before (what? That didn't really make sense) (edit: it sill doesn't make sense), is beyond me. All I know is that they weren't there before I left for work, but now they were...

Angry, hungry, and upset that my good luck had run out, roommate and I traveled to Duane Reade for some bug killer. Which we got. In lemon-scented 'kills on contact' and trap form.

Now, as you might recall, I recently had a leak problem in my closet causing me to take most things out of it. These most things were in the middle of my room, or I guess as the ants thought of it, home base. I think I'm going to be burning all of my clothes now. I can't live knowing that some damn, dirty ant had its grubby little arm-legs all over it. Anyway, I apologize now (though I should have in the beginning) for the disjointedness if there is any in this post. It's almost 4 in the morning and I'm still awake. Terrified the ants are coming to get me...mostly I'm just scared they are in my bed. Waiting. I didn't see any and I sprayed enough Raid around my bed to kill...well, a human and some ants, but who knows. I feel like they're crawling all over me. It's awful. I wish I could catch a break!! (Edit: this sounds melodramatic)

Oh you know what one of the worst parts about this is??? We can't even tell we're they're coming from. At first we thought it was roommate's window, but it's not. I can't see in my room where they're coming from, but either way, it sure makes me pissssseedddd offffff. Also, since they were under my bed, I vacuumed and sprayed a lootttt underneath, but now I can't reach anything underneath there for fear of turning into a mutant insect killer can or something. Which sucks because my journal's there and I could have easily just written about this in there instead of a writing a pointless, and probably boring blog post. I guess the joke's on you?? I don't know...(Edit: Nope, still don't know)

But the long and short of it is, I guess, this: We've stopped them (for now) and I might be getting a bug bomb tomorrow just in cases. I don't want to leave any stone unturned! Because if you do, it's the one you need the most. (Edit: I literally do not remember typing this last paragraph. No, I wasn't drunk. I think I was exhausted and high of Raid fumes.) You know I'm right. God I'm tired. Also, I'm listening to the Carpenters.. And I'm sure there are 4 mil-yawn errors, typos, etc., but I just don't think I can make myself care. (I tried to fix some, but I'm still very tired).

Stays Mainly In The Plain...

One thing I find interesting about New York is that only the strong survive.

Okay, I don't actually believe that, it's just, lately, with all this rain, and after I saw Hanna, I keep finding myself saying (in that weird, German-ish accent, obvs) Adapt or Die!!! Which seems really fitting. I've never really been bothered by rain until I moved into my current apartment that I did not realize had its own Niagara Falls built into my closet. After much back and forth between James Caan's voice in Misery come to life (erm..my building manager) it was finally fixed. But with every rain and, yes, heavy snow, I was terrified the Dam would break and my precious wardrobe of fine Gap and Old Navy separates would be ruined (that's not entirely true, I have some nice things. From H&M and Banana Republic (Thanks, mom!)). It seemed to persevere, though. Like a...something that...perseveres through..rainstorms. Yeah, that's the ticket! Well, that is, it was fine until several hours ago...

I got home from work at about 10, ate some dinner, watched t.v. with my roommate and decided to go to bed. I couldn't sleep, so I was pretty much just rolling around in bed. My go to for when I can't sleep? When I heard the rain picking up a little bit outside. It's been raining pretty hard all day so I didn't really think anything of it when I began to hear a slight plastic sound coming from my right. From my closet. "NO." I thought out loud using my normal person voice. I waited a moment more thinking the rain might be hitting my window awkwardly. Yet it continued and I jumped out of bed, switching my lamp on. The first thing I noticed was an old HSN envelope (from something my mom sent me, ok!?) I didn't know was even in my closet dangling near the edge about to fall on my rubbermaid towel container. "NO!" I said again, aloud. I reached for a towel and mopped up the liquid quickly. Maybe I just have a bottle of booze I left up here and forgot about and it just broke somehow and yeah, it's definitely not rainwater, right? I thought. Wrong, brain. WRONG. I then tried to get what seemed in the immediate path of destruction out of the closet---scarves, laundry basket full of ill-fitting jeans (we've all got one, right?) and black dresses and other black clothing (I color-code my closet because that's what normal people do). Then I began to angry whisper at my closet. I don't know if you've ever seen my angry whisper...you probably haven't. I'm sure it's really frightening. I probably shouldn't admit to doing it, but Hey, sometimes angry whispering is all a girl has to hold on to. Lao Tzu said that. No he didn't.

After several minutes of this, I thought it best to go and get a pot, or a dish, or some sort of water receptacle, which I did, and place it under the leak. I sat down on my bed and stared. And listened. It was a bit like an old Disney cartoon where it's not funny, it's just extraordinarily sad. Like when that cartoon animal family has only that one bean to serve the whole family and dad's slicing it so thin. Or like a cartoon animal bum who has holes in his shoes, but is a really good Shakespearean actor...that shit's not funny, it's sad as hell. I guess I'm not necessarily comparing my life to those cartoons, all I'm saying is, I have to work early in the morning and I just can't understand why my closet is leaking again and it's going to rain all week so I don't really know what to do, and it's April! Helloooo, April showers! Those fucking flowers in May better be the most beautiful blooms I've ever seen or I will punch Mother Nature in her dirty hippie face. Which brings me back to my original point, why did I ever get rid of my rain boots?! Sure they had a hole in them, but that's nothing gorilla glue or duct tape wouldn't have fixed!!

UGH. I don't know if I finished all my thoughts in there, but you get the idea. Maybe. Unless you think those old depressing Disney cartoons are funny.

Sorry for the absence.

I'm always coming up with blogs and other projects that I'm reaaally into for 5 minutes, but once those 5 minutes pass I completely forget about said projects and they just sit there alone, dejected, and...hungry? in cyberspace (or whatever space they started in). I thought this one would be different, but nooooo! I just don't have the fortitude to keep up with a blog full-time because I'm so, uh, busy. Yeah, I'm really busy and important that I barely have time for myself, let alone an internet blog! That's not true at all...anyway! I am going to try and update more often. So that aaallll of my fans won't have to be kept waiting for my hiillaaarious anecdotes. I have soooo many readers. (Um...I'm not really sure I have any. In which case I am apparently doing this for my health. Although, I don't think it's particularly healthy because it's probably just adding more tunnelling to my carpal tunnel. I guess I'll go now.) Ok. So yeah, look out or more posts in the near future....that's all.

How bout these long posts, riiieeegghht?

Like the title says, How 'bout these long posts? Sorry, that's just what you get! Or, I guess what I get for starting a blog, writing three things then abandoning it for a month. Just beaar with me, they'll get shorter*.

*sorry they probs won't. You want a cookie**?

**me too. Go get me one.

Vincents.

You came back! Oh thank GOD. I was getting lonely and it's so cold here!....Oops, I was typing next to an open freezer again. Such an idiot!

Ok, by now you must have read that last post and are dying to hear about my New York bus experience. I don't take the bus very often, I'm more of a subway kind of person...over Quizno's. See what I did there? Sorry, it's a real disease. Ok, so Serbian broker and I are taking the bus. That's where we left off. The first bus ride we had together was fairly uneventful. The bus driver got testy with Serbian broker and told her to sit down, but other than that, it was fine. The second bus ride, though was a horse of a different color. So many, many different colors in fact.

I don't know how many of you watch or have watched Project Runway in your time, but several seasons ago there was a contestant by the name of Vincent who was very...special. He was weird, neurotic, kind of strange looking, and talked a lot. And oft got angry. Here (the good stuff happens about 1:59 in) is a point of reference for you. And here. Also here. I'd like you to keep this person in your head-movies as we go along.

We had quite a distance to travel and, at first, it seemed this bus ride would be uneventful as well. Nope. Not so. While we were still about 20 blocks from our destination, things starting take a weird turn. A man got on the bus, dressed strangely, obviously a little weird and neurotic, and sat diagonally from me (and Serbian broker). He also wore Teva sandals . That's not what's important, I just wanted everyone to know he was wearing Tevas. He eyed everyone angrily, especially a girl sitting next to him playing with in ipad. Soon after another man got on the bus, tried to use his metrocard, discovered it had no fare, but somehow talked our bus driver into letting him off in one stop. At this next stop, ipad girl got off, leaving Tevas alone momentarily before someone took her spot.

We seemed to be stopped for longer than usual and this made Tevas very nervous or agitated. So much so he began making grumbling noises and "Aaagghh!" sounds out loud. This is when I realized who he was! Vincent Libretti from Season 3 of Project Runway! Not literally him though, just, you know, his type.

After another minute or two, the handicap lift was lowered letting on a woman with a walker. She came and sat down across from me in one of 2 empty seats. The lift went back to normal, letting on 2 more people. The elderly woman, very graciously, got up to move further down the bus prompting Tevas (who, from now on, will be referred to as Vincent) to say, seemingly uncharacteristic for him, "Aaaagh, ma'am, please, take aaaaghh, my seat, ok. Aaagggh" which she did. He stood next to her and they chatted as the two other people ended up sitting further down the bus.

THEN. The lift lowered again. Vincent began to get more upset. An elderly Spanish woman got on with a walker. She walked right pass without paying a fare and started to come down the aisle. The bus driver was having none. "You can't ride without a fare, you'll have to get off!" he yelled. She didn't respond, she kept walking, finding a seat directly across from me. I thought she was going to stare into my soul. "Ma'am, did you HEAR me? You have to get off if you don't pay!" She began to speak in Spanish, saying things I didn't understand as I don't speak Spanish. Eventually all she said was, "Don't have, sorry" then stared into my soul again. Like a...thing. That does that.

The bus driver refused to move. We were all tense, barely breathing when Vincent said, "Aaaaggghh! Just give her aaaaggh a ride! If we're gunna be here for 30 aaaggh more minutes, give her a riiiiiide! Aaaagghh mooove the buussss!!" To which the bus driver responded with, well, moving the bus. Passive aggressively slamming on the breaks and such.

At this point I didn't even know what to aaaggh do. I can't be put in situations like this. I can't control my face. It was very difficult. Finally, Serbian broker (who had remained completely silent and stoic through this whole ordeal) jabbed me and told me to get off at the next stop. Like I was being held hostage by her or something. Which, in a sense I was.

As soon as we got off she finally piped up with, "God, if you want to be a writer, look no further!" I was shocked, I wanted to say, "YEAH YOU NOTICED THAT TOO?" but thought better of it. We had been through a lot together and were only about to go through more. Well, I was at least. The last apartment she showed me that day was a 5th floor walk-up that maybe would have housed one person and a midget comfortably, but not 3 people. We were supposed to look at more, but because of the bus ride that should have only been about 20 minutes max ended up being close to an hour, we called it a day. Thankfully.

We saw each other again though, Serbian broker and I. She almost got us an apartment, actually. But, because drag queens don't care for non-Tri-State guarantors, it didn't work out and we had to find an apartment another way. I'll never forget those few summer days, though. When I was hanging out with a Serbian broker not having the time of my life in anyway, shape, or form.

And that's all (please go to the :27 second mark).

I once had a Serbian broker.

I don't know if you know, but New York real estate is HORRIBLE. It's like some secret club and, guess what, the old members don't want any new members, so they make it as hard as possible for you to join said club and all you want to do is go home and cry and maybe watch Babysitter's Club because you know they would let you join. Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe Kristy would cause some problems with your approval. She's so bossy! Anyway, I digress.

Initially I thought looking for an apartment in New York would be a breeze. I thought it would be much harder for me to find work or figure out what to do with my life instead of finding an apartment. Oh just how wrong I was...

Originally, I was supposed to be rooming with one person, then it became 3, then 4, then back to three, then we found an apartment, then that fell through, it then it was back to 2. Still is, actually. But that's not the point. The point is I had a Serbian real estate broker.

I was looking at 3 bedroom apartments in Manhattan and found a listing that was in our price range and in a decent neighborhood, so I called the number listed to make an appointement. It rang for a bit before a woman answered, sounding as though she were in wind tunnel. "Hullo!," she said.

"H-hi. I'm calling about the apartment on 64th street." I said.

"Yes, you are from insurance company."

"No, I--what? I'm trying to make an appointment?"

"Yes, you are from the insurance company. When is check coming to me?"

By this time I was very confused. Cornfused, even. I was fairly certain I didn't work for an insurance company, but who knows, I also knew that this woman was not listening to me.

"NO. I'm not from the insurance company! I've never talked to you before! I would like to make an appointment to view one of your apartments!" I said, trying to be firm but polite.

"Ahhhh, okay," she said, seeming to understand what I was saying, "Listen you meet me at Barnes & Noble, we'll go from there. 2 pm."

"Ok...wait, which Barnes & Noble??" I asked

"Ok, yes. There is a small park right across the street from it. 66th street. 2 pm. Goodbye."

"Goo---" I started to say, but she had hung up.

I was quite unsure at this moment. I had a very hard time understanding this woman's English, but I figured it was just a bad connection or something. Again, I keep thinking wrong...ly. I spent most of the next day futsing and trying to figure out the right questions to ask before heading up to meet her. When I finally arrived at the Barnes & Noble, I was 25 minutes early. Nothing like awkwardly walking around a small "park" after walking around a Barnes & Noble for 15 minutes, right? Right. Finally, she called me. She instructed me to meet her across the street. I did. She then had me sign a sort of affidavit which I assume gave her the rights to harvest my organs at anytime, before we were on our way...

Now, I've had my fair share of awkward moments in life (though some may find that surprising!) but this whole experience was really something. I think if I really tried to tell you the whole story you and I would be dead by the time I was finished. Probably by your hands. And even then, I still don't think I'd be done talking. Wow, I'm sorry, that was grim. And I don't think it entirely made sense. Suffice to say, the apartments she showed me that day ranged from junkie-themed heroin den, to pretty-okay if small, to holyshitsomeonewouldactuallyliveinthisplace?

But what was really memorable that day, and what really brought me and my Serbian broker together, was our bus ride. Or bus rides, rather. I'm gonna need you to stay with me now and read the next post for the story of "Vincent". Or, if you'd like, take a break, get a snack, etc. If you've actually made it to the end of this post without giving up, I'd say you deserve it. Anyway, see you reaaaal soon...(that was meant to be menacing.)

The one where the bug flew down my shirt.

When I was in New York on my suuuuper amazing apartment hunting trip (I can't always tell if irony fairs well in written form?) my friends and I planned to meet up for Margaritas one Saturday evening in Manhattan. I was staying with my brother in Brooklyn, and we were meeting at 8, so I left in plenty of time for the subway ride, but I eventually had to take a cab to the restaurant because I went the wrong way once I got off the train, but that's neither here nor there.

It was a very warm night. I had on a dress with a scooped neck and a sort-of summer cardigan if you will, and my hair was down. We chatted and caught up whilst waiting for our 4th person to arrive before we could sit. The restaurant was very loud and quite dark, also very packed, but this did not particularly bother me. What did end up bothering me was moments away.

I mentioned that it was quite warm and that my hair was down, so I decided to put it up. No sooner had I gathered my tresses when I felt something fall out of my hair, land on my shoulder and slip down the inside of my dress. I remained calm. I did not want to cause a scene. I turned to the side to remove said something, thinking it was a leaf (I had been standing near a tree) when I finally realized what it was.

A cockroach. A cockroach had either been on my person, or along the wall where I sat and had then nestled itself down my dress, in my bra. I quickly used my hand-claws to fling it away from me, staving off vomit, towards a couple a table over. It hit one of them in the leg, falling to the ground dead. The next few minutes were a blur. I think half-famished from wandering around in the New York heat, half in shock, I continued to sit in this restaurant. I drank a Margarita. Worse, I stayed and ate a quesadilla. Actually, what really might be worse is that I did not alert my friends to said trauma that I had just underwent. I didn't really know how to though. I was mortified and disgusted, but also in disbelief...surely these things don't happen to people. Disgustingly foul insects just don't ended up in people's cleavage on hot summer nights, do they?

Well, yes, in New York, I guess they do.