scaring the _____ out of me
I have been called many things, most with which I am ok; "anal retentive", "a lousy daughter", "whore-like", "largemouth bass" even. But of all the adjectives (or nouns, in my case) I think "creatively paranoid with borderline supernatural hearing" describes me best. That or "a really light sleeper."
My apartment is located near the freeway and thus, people getting on and off seem to flow steadily past the street I live on at all hours. I have grown accustomed to this constant zooming of automobiles past my bullet wounded window. Right now, it's also the first blush of spring and the birds, species unknown, have started chirping. Their symphony of annoyance commencing at around 3am every morning. Muffled and distant sounds to most people are like angry lawnmowers under my pillow to me. I used to wear ear plugs at night but finally after 5 years, these are the sounds I know. These sounds I can sleep through.
About an hour ago, I was awoken by the most impercetible rustling. I laid in my darkened room for a moment, registering the interruption, staring at the ceiling, the street lamp's glow sliced into faint orange stripes by the window blinds. It stopped. I began to doze. Then it started again and I bolted straight up in my bed, still in the dark, fumbling with my 3 blankets as I repositioned myself to locate the noise. What was that? I turned on the lamp on my nightstand. A tiny breeze shifting a rogue sheet of paper on my desk? The excess linens draped over the bedframe brushing against the straw mat? A serial killer sharpening his blade! Perhaps my own dementia! It was intermittent and with my ears now ringing with the fear of being killed in my most unflattering pajamas, I almost couldn't hear it anymore. For a few relieved moments, I thought it was coming from outside and I relaxed enough to almost turn out the light but NO, there it is again! I strategically turned my head back and forth like a satellite dish rotating in space. If there was a better global position, I was going to find it and zero in on this creepy sound. Focus, Katie! If it was a killer, he was taunting me. If it was a breeze, I couldn't feel it on my skin. I checked the sheets and they were nowhere near the mat.
It seemed to be coming from the closet. While this was very odd, the less logical and clearly more fantastical side of my brain got my slovenly body in the unsexy pajamas out of bed. I turned on another light and peered into the closet, my head tilted at a childish angle. I gasped as I spotted the culprit, the blood rushing to my head. I froze. There it was, an enormous cockroach, scurrying about awkwardly on the carpet next to a roll of tissue paper which I use for wrapping gifts. I was right about the noise. For a second, I was immobilized with disgust. I had to do something about it. Moving slowly, afraid of startling it and it darting into the shadowy crevices of my Louis Vuitton collection, I flicked on the closet light and backed away to retrieve my friend and trusted sidekick in the battle of extermination, the Dust Buster.
This was not your usual brown cockroach with oval body and demonic speed. This fucker was long and greyish green but luckily, not too savvy. As I aimed good ol' DB in its direction, whirring with dominance, the roach just sort of seemed relaxed, unaware of its impending demise. If he was any kind of roach, he was probably trying to figure out if the purses were fakes or not. One of them isn't. The Fendi and the Kate Spade I got from this Korean lady down on Venice beach, but, I mean, you couldn't really tell unless you looked at the stitch...DIE, DIE, DIE! Die so I can go back to sleep! The high-pitched motor wheeze, the gusts of air being circulated to create the suction, the victory of eradication! I was alive with adrenaline as I took the contraption to the guest bathroom and emptied its prey into the watery grave. It refused to surrender. Legs kicking frantically, dust and bits of string floating nearby, dude was almost able to crawl up the side of the toilet bowl. I flushed and it hung on. I added bleach and it freaked out. The cars zoomed past, the birds continued their early morning brouhaha, I took a photo with my new camera and two flushes later, mine enemy was sent back to the sea.
I turned DB off and set it down on the bathroom sink. A job well done, my friend. Now I could go back to bed and salvage what few hours I had left before rising again to do yoga and get ready for work. But since I was in the neighborhood, I figured I'd weigh myself to see if the ordeal had burned any calories. I couldn't possibly be any heavier after what I had just endured. (Side note: I have been carefully monitoring the fluctuation in my weight due to the inordinate number of homemade pizzelles and chocolate chip cookies that I inhaled on my birthday. Totally worth it though.) I stepped on my fancy scale and indeed I was 1 pound lighter than when I went to sleep. And to whom do I owe this unexpected vespertine slimming? That roach. It really scared the fat out of me.
My apartment is located near the freeway and thus, people getting on and off seem to flow steadily past the street I live on at all hours. I have grown accustomed to this constant zooming of automobiles past my bullet wounded window. Right now, it's also the first blush of spring and the birds, species unknown, have started chirping. Their symphony of annoyance commencing at around 3am every morning. Muffled and distant sounds to most people are like angry lawnmowers under my pillow to me. I used to wear ear plugs at night but finally after 5 years, these are the sounds I know. These sounds I can sleep through.
About an hour ago, I was awoken by the most impercetible rustling. I laid in my darkened room for a moment, registering the interruption, staring at the ceiling, the street lamp's glow sliced into faint orange stripes by the window blinds. It stopped. I began to doze. Then it started again and I bolted straight up in my bed, still in the dark, fumbling with my 3 blankets as I repositioned myself to locate the noise. What was that? I turned on the lamp on my nightstand. A tiny breeze shifting a rogue sheet of paper on my desk? The excess linens draped over the bedframe brushing against the straw mat? A serial killer sharpening his blade! Perhaps my own dementia! It was intermittent and with my ears now ringing with the fear of being killed in my most unflattering pajamas, I almost couldn't hear it anymore. For a few relieved moments, I thought it was coming from outside and I relaxed enough to almost turn out the light but NO, there it is again! I strategically turned my head back and forth like a satellite dish rotating in space. If there was a better global position, I was going to find it and zero in on this creepy sound. Focus, Katie! If it was a killer, he was taunting me. If it was a breeze, I couldn't feel it on my skin. I checked the sheets and they were nowhere near the mat.
It seemed to be coming from the closet. While this was very odd, the less logical and clearly more fantastical side of my brain got my slovenly body in the unsexy pajamas out of bed. I turned on another light and peered into the closet, my head tilted at a childish angle. I gasped as I spotted the culprit, the blood rushing to my head. I froze. There it was, an enormous cockroach, scurrying about awkwardly on the carpet next to a roll of tissue paper which I use for wrapping gifts. I was right about the noise. For a second, I was immobilized with disgust. I had to do something about it. Moving slowly, afraid of startling it and it darting into the shadowy crevices of my Louis Vuitton collection, I flicked on the closet light and backed away to retrieve my friend and trusted sidekick in the battle of extermination, the Dust Buster.
This was not your usual brown cockroach with oval body and demonic speed. This fucker was long and greyish green but luckily, not too savvy. As I aimed good ol' DB in its direction, whirring with dominance, the roach just sort of seemed relaxed, unaware of its impending demise. If he was any kind of roach, he was probably trying to figure out if the purses were fakes or not. One of them isn't. The Fendi and the Kate Spade I got from this Korean lady down on Venice beach, but, I mean, you couldn't really tell unless you looked at the stitch...DIE, DIE, DIE! Die so I can go back to sleep! The high-pitched motor wheeze, the gusts of air being circulated to create the suction, the victory of eradication! I was alive with adrenaline as I took the contraption to the guest bathroom and emptied its prey into the watery grave. It refused to surrender. Legs kicking frantically, dust and bits of string floating nearby, dude was almost able to crawl up the side of the toilet bowl. I flushed and it hung on. I added bleach and it freaked out. The cars zoomed past, the birds continued their early morning brouhaha, I took a photo with my new camera and two flushes later, mine enemy was sent back to the sea.
I turned DB off and set it down on the bathroom sink. A job well done, my friend. Now I could go back to bed and salvage what few hours I had left before rising again to do yoga and get ready for work. But since I was in the neighborhood, I figured I'd weigh myself to see if the ordeal had burned any calories. I couldn't possibly be any heavier after what I had just endured. (Side note: I have been carefully monitoring the fluctuation in my weight due to the inordinate number of homemade pizzelles and chocolate chip cookies that I inhaled on my birthday. Totally worth it though.) I stepped on my fancy scale and indeed I was 1 pound lighter than when I went to sleep. And to whom do I owe this unexpected vespertine slimming? That roach. It really scared the fat out of me.
posted by Katie at 5:30 AM
1 Comments:
I have nothing smart or funny to say about this blog entry. I hate roaches.
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