Bloody Vampires

I meant to write this post a week and a half ago. Do you ever find that writing about something so long after it happened makes it far less potent? It's like there's this window of time where you have to capitalize on an experience by blogging, and if you miss it, it's like it never happened. But seeing as I have made a semi-commitment to blog again (mostly because I forgot that I had made $22 by blogging over the past three+ years and if I earn another $88, I'll actually get a check for that money), I'm going to write about a slightly stale topic: blood. Specifically, the donation of blood.

Just in case you don't know what giving blood looks like.

I gave blood a while back and while lying flat on my back, squeezing a rubber ball, and trying to distract myself from the needle stuck in my arm, I started making a list. These are all the reasons why giving blood makes you a better person and why everyone who is physically and emotionally capable of giving blood should do it on the regular:

• I was not born with God-given altruism. I'm a very lazy and selfish person, not to mention unwilling to depart with any money that does not immediately benefit myself in some way. This means that I do not give to charities (Planned Parenthood would be the one exception, God bless them). I do not serve food at homeless shelters. I very rarely recycle, unless it is convenient. I imagine that I am like millions of other lazy, selfish Americans out there. Giving blood costs you nothing, takes up very little time, and extremely little effort. You get to be charitable and help people, by doing what your body does anyway: manufacture blood cells. (I applied this same philosophy when I couldn't be bothered to cut my hair for over two years and ended up donating it to Locks of Love. Literally, the least I could do and still help people. Though for some reason, it creeps me out that someone is walking around with my hair on their head. Blood isn't as weird like that, since you can't see it. Hopefully.)

Who doesn't love a free T-shirt? This one is especially cute.

• You get FREE STUFF!!! I'm not just talking about the free juice, cookies, cheez-its, trail mix, and all the bottled water you can drink. I'm talking about T-shirts, free coupons for Coldstone or Baskin Robbins, free or majorly discounted tickets to sporting events like the Kings, the Clippers, the Galaxy, also free Laugh Factory tickets (which I have yet to take advantage of. Anyone want to go with me? Two drink minimum, but still, score!)

A cross between a cornucopia & a smorgasbord.
Although, don't be too greedy.
People will judge you.

• One donation, which only takes about an hour total, could save up to three lives. Seriously. The American Red Cross sent me an e-mail not long ago to let me know that one pint of my blood was sent off to three different people at a hospital in the Baldwin Hills area of Los Angeles. I used to live right by there. Those people could have been my former neighbors. Knowing exactly where it ended up, made the gesture a lot more tangible for me. It was also kind of weird. But still, cool.

Pictured: My blood (right), Your blood (left)

• My ego gets stroked whenever the Red Cross hounds me with phone calls to set up my next appointment. They are ridiculously good salespeople, also possibly vampires. They know how to be persistent, overcome objections, attempt to have you refer more donors, and use many more methods I learned in my sales training classes. They like to remind me too that my O Positive blood type is Regina George popular. Everyone wants a piece of me. I'm like, really good at giving blood too. Great blood pressure, ideal hemoglobin & iron levels, easy-to-locate veins, no squeamishness or nausea around needles, plus I'm awesome and nurses love me. So even though you may only have Gretchen Weiner-level popular blood, or faint at the sight of needles, you are still important. Just not as important as me (according to the Red Cross).

A person who avoids exercise does NOT look like this, Google. Fail.

• Giving blood provides you with one solid-gold built-in excuse NOT to exercise. Frankly, I'll let myself get away with a lot less valid reasons. But when a medical professional tells you in no uncertain terms that you are to take it easy for at least 24 hours (which for me often stretches into 48, to be on the safe side), you are just following orders by laying around, and eating your free Baskin Robbins. A reason to be lazy and actually feel good about avoiding the gym? Yes, please.

• Since I obsessively google the health benefits of everything, I discovered that it is actually healthy to give blood. People who are regular donors have a much lower risk of heart attack and stroke. It gets rid of excess iron and subsequently free radicals in the body. My family has a history of cardiovascular disease, so this is definitely a good thing.

My actual arm with my actual bandage. Sexy, no?

• I don't know if this is true for everyone, but I feel like I get a fairly decent buzz from giving blood. It's a bit like having a few cocktails, only without the hangover. I just get super loopy and everything is hilarious when you're lightheaded and woozy. And again, it's FREE! I wouldn't recommend actually drinking alcohol after giving blood though…

I realize that there are a lot of people who are not able to give blood for a variety of reasons. Some of which are somewhat outdated and not necessarily based on the most current scientific research. Some people are just petrified of needles. Though no one is especially fond of needles, except I imagine heroine junkies, I recommend looking away and thinking about things that make you happy while they're sticking it to you (tee hee). Like me with lists. Some people just can't, like a dear friend of mine who actually works for the Red Cross, that tries valiantly almost every time they have a blood drive, but is usually denied due to anemia. But she keeps at it, god bless her!

I couldn't find a picture of the Coke bottle blood donation scene.
So here's a picture of sexy circa 2001 menfolk.
Yes, it was a silly movie in a lot of ways,
but 13 year old Hutch was not complaining.

It's a trip to look down and see your life force pouring out of you while Luther Vandross's "Dance with My Father," plays in the background. Kind of makes me think of that scene in the not-so-seminal classic, "Pearl Harbor," when Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett donate blood into coke bottles. Yick. But again, focus on the good stuff: you're helping people, while being sufficiently compensated with free cookies and comedy and sports, while feeling good about yourself and getting an excuse to be lazy and silly. Not that I need an excuse.

I saw some cute clothes at H&M that I probably would have
purchased after using the restroom, if they would have let me.
In the words of Julia Roberts, "Big mistake."

Pro tips: drink plenty of water, have a good breakfast, and make sure you locate the nearest bathroom ahead of time because after all that water they make you drink, you will have to pee like a mofo. And woozily wandering around Old Town Pasadena with a bandage on your arm trying to find a store that will let you pee without being a customer makes you feel like you're in a very bizarre version of "Pretty Woman." True story.

Shows I Cannot Get Into for the Life of Me

It's my Sunday night and I've done almost nothing but watch bad television all day and eat "healthy" junk food from Trader Joe's, (mostly pumpkin-based treats because I've made it my mission to eat ALL OF THE PUMPKIN THINGS ON THE PLANET. And yes, I am a white girl. But can we get over this stereotype? Because pumpkin spice is delicious and my gender and ethnicity have nothing to do with that. Ok, gourd-inspired feminist rant over.) Why did I waste my time watching "bad" television when I could have been writing the Great American Screenplay or at the very least, doing the dishes? Because I was determined to jump on a new bandwagon.

Surprisingly really good!
Though I always have a soft spot
for shows cancelled before their time.
Also, James van der Beek.

Having recently finished my latest obsession, "Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23," and finally closing out "The West Wing" (Which started off brilliant, but was brilliantly painful towards the end. Out of mad respect for Allison Janney I stayed the course), I was on the lookout for the Next Best Thing Ever. I am always open to suggestions as to what I should fixate upon and spend inordinate amounts of time consuming. But sometimes, those bandwagons that are so cherished by others, leave me cold and dusty. I realize that some of the following selections may make me seem hipster-ish in my rejection of what is normally considered to be outstanding and beloved. Let me be clear, I genuinely wish I liked these shows. I would love to participate in the cultural obsession and prattle on about sexual tension, the latest shocking twist, or basking in fan nostalgia. But I just can't get behind them, no matter how hard I try.

These are shows I tried, and failed, to watch despite critical acclaim, and/or high recommendations from friends, family, or pop culture at large:

No strong feelings one way or the other.

"Orange is the New Black"

It's a phenomenal show. The characters are compelling and well-fleshed out (anyone else creeped out by that term?). I like the story structure and it's certainly an original concept. I gave it a good 4-5 episodes before finally determining that no matter how high-quality the show is, I just am not interested in prison. Just like Shawshank Redemption is an incredible movie that I will never watch again, I just couldn't get past the bleakness.

Yeah…no. Put some pants on.

"Breaking Bad"

I watched the entire first season and the beginning of the second at the behest of a boy I was like REALLY into at the time. Ugh. Never again will I let my feelings for a man cloud my judgement of a show that did nothing for me. Yes, it's well-crafted. I get that. But I hated everyone. Like, actually hated. And why would I spend so much time and devotion to a show that just made me angry? Plus, I don't find meth all that fascinating.

I get it. You're sexy. Even with the ridiculous outfits and bad facial hair.
But this is not a world I care to hang out in.

"Sons of Anarchy"

I have been in love with Charlie Hunnam ever since "Green Street Hooligans" (which is one of the best movies you've never seen about British football hooliganism. Which proves that just because I can't actually relate to the world of a film or TV show, I can still lose myself in it. The pretty boys didn't hurt.) Charlie further captured my heart in Judd Apatow's short-lived, unappreciated "Undeclared." In fact, when I learned that he was going to be Christian Grey, I admit that I actually got excited about seeing "50 Shades of Grey." That being said, meh. Six or seven episodes in, I gave up. I do not understand the obsession with motorcycles.

Lulls me into a very fitful sleep.

"The X-Files"

I just tried to watch this on Netflix for the third or fourth time. I don't consider myself a nerd by any means, but I do appreciate quite a bit of nerd culture. (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, I'm sure there are more that aren't solely created by Joss Whedon, but I'm blanking at the moment. Oh Star Wars! I like Star Wars!) But dammit, if I don't fall asleep every time! And then I have nightmares. Because that theme song has made me shiver ever since I was a little girl and would hear it drifting creepily down the hall from the living room while my brothers watched it and I would cover myself in bed with stuffed animals so the aliens would get confused and not be able to find and abduct me. Yes, my biggest childhood fear wasn't spiders or snakes or the bogeyman. I was genuinely convinced that I would get kidnapped by aliens. And since I never was (fingers crossed), I like to think my stuffed animal misdirection method was foolproof. Anyway, back to the X Files. It manages to be both terrifying and boring at the same time. No thanks.

You sir, are no Mr. Darcy.

"North & South"

If you haven't heard of this one, it's a sort of Pride & Prejudice/Downton Abbey-esque mini-series available now on Netflix. Two of my bestest friends in the world, who normally have exquisite taste, have all but forced me to watch "North & South" at gunpoint, convinced that if I just give it a chance, I will love it to pieces. But Jane Austen, it is not. Once more, I hate everyone. They are extremely unlikeable, and not even in the way that is still fun to watch. Plus the setting is so very bleak (which is probably why I don't like prison or meth. But football violence is freaking awesome so the bleak explanation is flawed). Apparently, it's all worth it for the ending. But it's just dreary, and life is dreary enough.

He kills a dog with his bare hands in the first episode.
It was one of the most shocking yet effective character reveals I've ever seen.
But I just couldn't get on board.

"House of Cards"

1. Terrible, awful people you don't particularly feel like rooting for. 2. A setting that I have no relation to (I despise politics and can't fathom living in the hell that is D.C., no matter how awesome old school "West Wing" and new school "Scandal" are). 3. Isn't that enough to give up on a show that is impeccable in all aspects other than the fact that I just don't like it?

I'm referring to any and all series under the banner of "Star Trek."
But for our purposes, let's just focus on The Next Generation.

"Star Trek"

… Sorry, homeboy. I learned my lesson from "Breaking Bad."

I still love you Pacey (even though I was totally Team Dawson).

"Fringe"

Another show that was highly recommended to me by a fan who usually shares my same tastes. She had quoted me some of the more memorable lines and insisted that Joshua Jackson was just as charming as Peter Bishop as he was as Pacey Witter. Also, I toured the guy who plays Walter Bishop when I still worked at the Studio City property. I didn't know he was famous until we got stopped by a gushing resident who shook his hand and told him he was a big fan of the show. Awkward. He ended up not leasing an apartment despite clear interest and is therefore dead to me. But I was willing to overlook that fact and have been watching "Fringe" pretty much all day. (Taking a short break to watch some "Sister Wives." Why? I don't really know.) I don't think I'm ready to give up on it just yet. But it's honestly not doing much for me. I find myself more interested in reading blogs or random articles posted on Twitter or Facebook than watching this show. We shall see if it starts grabbing my attention more. Good luck, Pacey.

You can make all the arguments defending these shows you want. And I will probably agree with you in most respects. But like I said, I just can't.

Lazy Day Stream of Consciousness

This is pretty rare for me. I feel like blogging, but I have no particular topic in mind. Yet, I'm just going to keep typing until something starts to flow. Heh. The word 'flow,' always makes me think of periods. Periods, and Progressive insurance. Either way, not a pleasant association...

HAHAHAHAHA! But also, kind of depressing if you think about it too much.

So, it's Easter today. I suppose I could write something Easter-y. But I did that last year. Or was it the year before? Except that the only festive activities I've accomplished today entail eating the Robins Egg-shaped Whoppers I bought myself, and the mini-Cadbury Eggs my mom hid around my apartment whilst she was visiting me. (Thereby re-creating my dad's tradition of hiding treats around the house for her to find when he goes away on long trips). I don't think watching massive amounts of Buffy and lazing around in bed all day is particularly reminiscent of the Resurrection or pagan fertility symbols of rabbits and eggs. I definitely enjoyed it though!

"Grape nuts are neither grapes nor nuts."

I suppose I could branch out and write about my Passover experience last Tuesday. Seder dinner is always (and by always, I mean both times I've gone), a treat. Fascinating cultural ritual (which involves a lot of interactive drinking of wine, which we all know is right up my alley.) It's also a fun fish-out-of-water experience for a former Mormon-turned-agnostic to participate in a Jewish holiday extravaganza. I also got to hear an older Jewish lady say, "this brisket is like buttah," thusly invoking childhood memories of Mike Meyers in drag on SNL. But for realsies, the brisket really did taste like buttah. Kudos to my sister-in-law's stepmother on a fantastic meal!

This cake better be worth it...

I could also use this platform to call out my fella for texting me a picture of cake at three in the morning.  AND for refusing to give me any of said cake. Not cool, friend-o. Our relationship is officially on the rocks. (Sidebar, he just now texted me saying that if I was nice, he would bring me a piece. Apparently being nice means either giving him a back massage and/or buying him new underwear. Worth it?) (Second sidebar, he also texted me not to blog about that particular negotiation because it makes it seem like he uses "food for clothing like a hobo with magic." And then I called him a ninny. I'm pretty sure he'll never date another writer ever again.) What a couple of weirdos.

Things also accomplished today:

1. Multiple hours spent on reading my new favorite blog, Brittany Herself. Thank you Kelly Bean for introducing me to Brittany. If I lived in Ohio, had three kids, and a flair for plus-sized fashion, Brittany is who I would want to be when I grow up (even though she's only like five years older than me).

My mom and I are terrible influences on each other when it comes to shopping.

Aaaand... that's about it. I fully intended to clean my apartment today. I'm surrounded by discarded DSW shoeboxes, yogurt cups, and various items of clothing flung carelessly about my room. But some days I'm in the mood to clean like some kind of germaphobic demon (still in Buffy mode), and other days I'm totally happy to just wallow in filth. But at least I completed a blog! Even if it was completely incoherent and babbly, just like me!

Things That Make Me Happy

My life sucks right now for a multitude of reasons that I do not care to divulge. But I am taking a cue from my brilliant friend Jessica right now, and focusing on the things that make me happy.

1. Lists.

I think most of the posts on this blog are at least partially in list format. Lists help me make sense of things. There's some kind of weird satisfaction to be derived in taking inventory of things in an easily digestible format, and checking them off one by one. When I was a little girl I would make lists of my chores (which I would do completely willingly and with joy if I got a little index card to write them all down on). I even won an award for this slightly OCD behavior in my Sunday School class. Even when I'm miserable, writing a list of all the things that piss me off somehow makes me feel better.

Jesus bonding with my dad.
(This sentence is hilarious if you know
my vehemently atheistic father)

2. Jesus.

I don't mean your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But Jesus, my family's dog back in Foresthill. My parents call him something else, but that's not his real name. I don't call my dog Jesus because I'm being sacrilegious or deliberately insulting (though I do admit to feeling a bit of mischevious glee due to this moniker). He is Jesus because he is kind, loyal, protective, and loves unconditionally. He can tell when I'm feeling sad and just his quiet presence is comforting.

3. Stan.

I know that Stan is an inanimate object. He can't really think, complain, or sympathize. But there have been many times that I have just sat in my car and felt like I wasn't alone. In a not-creepy kind of way. It's like being with an old friend who has been with me through so many ups and downs (some of which he actually caused), and is still trucking along.

It only comes around once in a blue moon.
Unless you go through a LOT of peanut butter I suppose.

4. Peanut Butter.

Specifically the first spoonful from a brand new jar of Skippy creamy peanut butter. Simple pleasures.

5. Being Employed.

I have had some rocky times with my career, though so far, the move to a new property in Pasadena has been amazing. I'm still adjusting, but at least I have a reason to get up and put on pants in the morning. A few years ago, pants were optional, and that was a very depressing state of mind. So I'm grateful to have a job.

I love it. Not ashamed one bit.
Even without the iconic theme song.

6. Netflix.

Netflix is my escape. I love being able to come home and lose myself in a ridiculously long marathon of whatever show I happen to be obsessed with at the time. Right now I'm knee-deep in Dawson's Creek, a show that I absolutely loved as a middle schooler, before I really understood half of what they were talking about. When you watch something is just as important as what you watch. And right now, it's so much easier to focus on the contrived problems of 30-year-old, narcissistic teenagers from a bygone era, than my own.

7. Cleaning.

While I am far from being a neat freak, there is something very cathartic about putting things back in order. When my apartment is cluttered, I feel like my brain is cluttered. Putting myself in project-mode, makes me feel productive and proactive, not useless and helpless. The best feeling of all is scrubbing my shower. While I keep things usually pretty tidy, this is one task that does not get done as often as it should. And it seems to happen mostly when there's been a big change in my life. Some girls get haircuts, I break out the Scrubbing Bubbles. There's some sort of symbolism there, but I don't feel like analyzing it right now.

The other side is pink, thus the name,
'Pretty Pink Blanket.'

8. My Pretty Pink Blanket.

Yes, I have a security blanket. I never really dragged it around with me like Linus in Peanuts, while sucking my thumb. But I still have the pink, floral bedspread with white lace around the edges that my mommy made me when I was probably around 6 or 7. It will always be the most warm, comfortable blanket ever. Even when it's too damn hot for a blanket, like right now, just seeing it draped over my crappy black futon makes me happy.

9. Taking a Walk.

I've been wallowing the past two days of my belated three-day weekend. I haven't really left the house other than to go to Sally Tomatoes practice, and 7-11 to buy some ill-advised Cookies & Cream. As important as that is for me to recharge, sometimes you just have to get out of the house. My favorite place to walk is down Magnolia in Burbank. There are a ton of cute little antique and vintage shops that I never actually go in, but love to pass by. I love just listening to my iPod, which always knows the right song to play, and figuring things out while shuffling along aimlessly.

10. Writing.

I don't really mean blogging, though that makes me happy too. Whenever I'm trying to deal with something, I open up a blank Word document and just start typing. It's amazing feeling to channel the crazed thoughts swirling around my chaotic brain into actual words. Writing the things I can't really tell anyone, and don't even like admitting to myself. It's the best therapy, and I highly recommend it. I also recommend securing the document with a password, because no one should ever have to read those manic, self-absorbed rants. (Though these blogs are only slightly less manic and self-absorbed...)

There are very few pictures of my entire family,
and even fewer that are easily pulled from other online sources.
I'm the little one inexplicably sitting in a car seat while not actually in a car.

11. My family.

Having a list of 11 items may seem like an odd number (get it? Odd? ba dum chhh!), and I guess this one kind of goes without saying. I also keep trying to think of a clever Spinal Tap reference that hasn't already been done, but just insert one here. Anyway, my family is amazing. They're all truly incredible people (except Nick. He's pretty dumb. Just kidding. He probably won't even read this) and even though they sometimes drive me nuts, I'm glad they're in my life. I include my friends in this category as well.

I'm including this one because my mom isn't in the one above.

Anyway, that's enough sap to fill an entire bottle of syrup. I need to get going on my cathartic cleaning rampage. That shower isn't going to scrub itself!

An Exercise in Sublimation

I went to Target just now to buy a yoga mat. It was on sale for $12. Somehow, I managed to spend over $200. I was feeling reckless and impulsive. When I get like this, it manifests in either of the following two ways: A) Eating too much of something that's bad for me; or B) Spending way too much on stuff I don't really need and can't really afford. Check and check. Not to generalize for over half the world's population, but I think these are pretty typical female coping mechanisms. These past few months at work have been inconceivably stressful (I know, what else is knew, but for reals, it was bad), and there's some stuff in my personal life that's just a tad effed up as well.

Strange, my yoga mat didn't come with a pretty flcwer...

FALSE ADVERTISING!!!

This was a recipe for disaster that almost cost me all the amazing progress I have been making with my healthy lifestyle changes. I gained back six of the seventy-six pounds I had lost, on top of reverting to some of my old compulsive over-eating habits. There's nothing worse than feeling out of control. Especially when you can undo six weeks of hard work and weight loss with three days of poor decisions. I let myself wallow in misery for a whole weekend. Sometimes you just have to. But then last Monday, I got over it. I did laundry, scrubbed my whole apartment (including the shower which I confess had not been cleaned in... let's just say a while), and paid bills. There's something to be said for a cathartic cleaning and organizing purge to reset yourself and gain new perspective.

I'm the life of the self-pity party!

Monday was also the first day I started going to the Burbank Athletic Center. They had a free three-day trial, so I figured I should check out the mythical place known as the "Gym." I'd never really gone to a regular gym before. I was always in sports as a kid, then I went to Curves a few years in high school (apparently they donate to some uber-conservative causes, so boycott them if you can). In college, there was a free state-of-the-art gym that supposedly Kobe Bryant used to work out at, but it was too far to walk to and I didn't have a car. After college, I was too poor to afford a real gym, so I would just go running around the 'hood. But you couldn't do that after dark at the risk of being murder-raped. Then I created this workout, but it wasn't terribly effective. I've been running here in NoHo since about September, but the repetitive motion and hard impact from the concrete really messed with my hip. It was terrifying to me to think that I might not be able to exercise for physical, not psychological reasons for the first time. But perhaps working out on commercial quality machines would fix my joint problems.

Fuck this dude. He makes me vomit.

I wouldn't want to work out at his gym anyway.

It turns out, I frickin' LOVE the gym!!! I can't believe I didn't discover this earlier! Think of how much weight and weight-related aggravation it would have saved if I'd have known that endorphins aren't just a conspiracy designed to get us off our sizable butts in pursuit of naturally occurring uppers. They really do rock, who knew? I always thought gyms were expensive, at least $40-50 bucks a month, but the BAC is actually super cheap at around $10. Even my broke-ass can afford that. I've gone every day for the past week and I look forward to it every time. If you know me at all, you know how crazy that is. They have pretty cheap yoga classes too, which I impulsively signed up for just now to try it. I'm going at 9am tomorrow, so we'll see if I'm just as jazzed on yoga as I am about cardio and strength-training. (I'm assuming Wii Yoga really isn't the same.)

Clearly I can't be trusted with a credit card when I'm emotional.

This initial impulse-buy led to the afore-mentioned yoga mat purchase. Which was accompanied by yoga pants, yoga capris, new sports bras, brightly-colored sweat towels, multi-vitamins, and a bunch of other stuff to get me excited about this new phase in my life. I think this is behavior I learned from my mother. If you're going to make a big change, it helps to buy new stuff to get you mentally prepared. Even though I probably could have made due with the million sports bras and workout clothes I already have, I needed to do this. I will probably regret it when I get my Target card bill, but for now, I'm just stoked to see what all the fuss is about. And it feels good to finally have some control again. Well, I'm still eating too many things I shouldn't, but at least I'm overcompensating for my short-comings with excessive exercising. And it's a lot healthier to take out all my rage and frustrations on the Stairmaster than getting drunk or high or eating a whole tub of cookie dough.

Adventures in Pest Control

Or rather, "Lack of Pest Control." Because it's the cockroaches' apartment. I'm just living in it. Yes, my apartment is ridiculously infested with cockroaches. While I admit that I should have contacted my landlady sooner than five weeks ago, the problem is so much worse than I thought. I'm not a squeamish woman. I don't freak out at the sight of bugs, spiders, or even snakes really. (Rats freak me the hell out, but if you like rats then there's something wrong with you.) But I just about jumped out of my skin when I started pulling out the stack of plastic bags that inevitably builds up when you've lived any place for any amount of time and are terrible about keeping up your New Years' Resolution to use re-usable shopping bags.

Yeah yeah yeah, I know.

There's an island of plastic the size of Texas in the middle of the ocean.

Speaking of re-usable shopping bags, since I was neglecting to use mine, they just sat on top of my refrigerator. Not collecting dust, mind you, but becoming a happy home for cockroaches of all stages and walks of their creepy, crawly lives. I pulled one such bag down and an entire community of cockroaches, big and small scurried out like Godzilla was attacking their green, recycled city! (Now I'm having fun picturing myself all green and scaly tromping around as anthropomorphized bugs scream and shout things in badly dubbed English). I guess that's what I get for failing to do my part to save the planet.

Picture my face on Godzilla's body.

I'm too lazy to photoshop it.

But this saga actually begins quite a while ago, when I first started noticing small creatures the size of ants just strolling around my apartment. I didn't know what they were, but I assumed that they were harmless since I didn't have any bites or develop any mysterious diseases. I killed them when I could, but didn't go out of my way if it was inconvenient (i.e. I was too sleepy). Then I observed that they were growing stronger, larger too. Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, only with more legs and less of a command of early 90s Valley surfer slang. While I am super on top of things at work out of necessity, I tend to let certain tasks in my own life go unattended for far too long. (For example, it just took me a week and a half to finally go to the doctor for an issue that was by no means life-threatening but probably should have been addressed much much sooner.)

I would have preferred an infestation of mutant turtles.

They would at least make themselves useful and fight crime.

This is why I only just texted my landlady roughly five weeks ago to call pest control. Because it was an absolutely insane month at work, involving working several six-day weeks (during which each of those days felt like a whole week itself), I basically forgot about my unwanted house guests. At least, until I would walk in the door dead on my feet, too late to do anything about it. And in that time, I never got a call, text, or e-mail to set up an official time. And their numbers just kept on growing.

And I shall name him, "Dirty Uncle Sal."

Finally, my Gentleman Caller put his foot down and demanded that I purchase bug bombs and try to fumigate the place. He offered to help, but being an independent and self-sufficient woman of the world, I decided I was going to do this on my own. But then I walked around Target for an hour only to ask for help finding the damn bombs. Which they didn't have. So I went to Ralph's, got the bombs, and got ready to set them off. Only, you have to turn off your pilot lights and disconnect your smoke detectors to do so. Sadly, my independent worldliness only goes so far. I got frustrated when the smoke detector kept beeping at me (because I hadn't eaten yet and only got five hours of sleep so I was uber-cranky). I also was so afraid of blowing up the whole damn building that eventually I gave up and fell asleep in my chair like a giant baby. When I woke up, hours later, I sheepishly called for reinforcements.

Luckily my GC is very handy with such things and was able to come and rescue the pathetic damsel in distress. He even went a step further with this chivalry and volunteered to set off the bombs while I waited outside. Then we went and played golf. Because that's what one does when one fumigates for cockroaches. Not just mini-golf, but the real kind with the funny pants and many different clubs. It turns out, I'm not too shabby and actually genuinely enjoy golf. So the day wasn't so bad after all. Especially since we got frozen yogurt afterwards and there is nothing bad about frozen yogurt. When we came back and started airing out the apartment, we didn't see a plethora of dead bugs everywhere as expected. The problem was definitely better, but I was still outnumbered exactly one zillion to one.

This is totally what I look like when I golf.

I followed up with my landlady once more and scheduled the appointment for yesterday. The pest guy comes for two minutes and says in a highly irritated voice: "You didn't move anything." ...I didn't know I was supposed to. "Did you also know you were supposed to leave for four hours afterwards?" ...No. I schedule pest control all the time at my job. We have Terminix come out twice a week like clockwork. (Not that we really have bug problems, but with over 800 apartments, it's bound to happen eventually. Which is why I am on top of these things. At work, anyway.) Anyway, we never tell our residents they have to move everything out of their cupboards and drawers and be out of the apartment for four hours. But then the guy started debating the merits of spray vs. the gel that Terminix uses and I lost the battle.

Mean pest control guy. I guess if you kill

things for a living, you probably aren't the most jovial sumbitch.

So now on my day off, I'm completely moving all dishes, food, and other random items from my kitchen and bathroom into my living room and bedroom. My apartment is very small and cannot accommodate four rooms worth of crap into two. At this point it would just be easier to move. But it's cathartic in a way. Call it Spring Cleaning. Especially now that I've lived here exactly one year and it was probably time to go through all this stuff.

I should just move at this point.

We will see tomorrow morning between 8am and 10am if I moved everything to the pest control guy's satisfaction. I didn't care for his condescension nor his snark, but I just have to play along until I get the chemicals I need to finally slay these mutant nuclear bomb-resistant cockroaches once and for all. Then maybe I won't be afraid that one is going to crawl up my nose while I sleep. AAAAAAHHHHH!!

(On an unrelated note, I finally broke down and bought a brand new fancy schmancy iMac to replace my sad, slow, overfull, and no longer able to multi-task Powerbook G4, which I purchased in 2005 as a high school graduation present to myself. The laptop wouldn't even let me long into Blogger anymore, though that doesn't entirely make up for my absence. But I've been dealing with massive amounts of cockroaches, so I think I get a pass.)