What’s going on here?

Looking after my neighbor’s apartment has HAD its perks — emphasis on “had.”  And there were things that I had come to expect, like availing myself of loose quarters.  This time around was ever so disappointing – and I’ve never seen so many roaches!

When I went to their apartment to bring the mail and water the plants, though I was attacked by roaches, I still looked for the many packages of cookies T has insanely hoarded for like — ever. But, as mentioned in my previous post – there weren’t any – I would still have eaten them with roaches there – he usually keeps them bagged and in jars and shit.  Okay so fine – I accepted that I’d be responsible for purchasing my own snacks.

Then one night, I steamed vegetables, opened the cabinet for olive oil and had the hideous remembrance that it was on my shopping list since I’d run out.  “Oh dang. But T prolly has some!”  I go downstairs and grab a bottle — I don’t know what the hell kind of oil was in there but, that, was no olive oil!

Okay so next, T has always kept quarters on the foyer table.  Other times when I watched his apartment when he was in Ireland, I would take them if I ran out of laundry quarters and replace them later.  This time the quarters looked like commemorative quarters – I was scared to touch them, so had to wait till next damn day to finish laundry.

Yesterday I came to terms with the fact that I was spoiled when it came to T’s apartment.  The only thing I could partake of in there was the liquor, but I’m not apposed ta drink it.

Back home after dropping their mail and flicking off roaches that leeched onto the black garments I’d worn the last four days, I realized that looking at liquor bottles did much to warm my mind and much to loosen my sphincter – I had to take a shit.

Oh so marvelous, but, alas, no toilet paper… Thank God we live in a century where we needn’t waddle down to the babbling brook to wash our asses when this happens – so I hopped in the tub and got under the spigot.  But what happens upon the ‘morrow, I mused, as it was too late to go the supermarket.  Then the light bulb came on in my noggin, and I dashed down to T’s.  He’d be good for at least one roll.  And.  He was.

Why’d it have to be weird?  It was some generic brand that had been perfumed.  And you know what can happen when you use tissues laced with industrial fragrance?  But, oh, I am happy to report that all is well in the nether regions!

I await now the return of my neighbors, and will disclose not the least of my disappointments.

Gregor Samsa

If they didn’t fly it wouldn’t be as bad – if they weren’t so huge.  I’m frightened of these creatures you see because I did see one fly across the room once.  Clear across. I thought it was an urban legend that water bugs did this.  It’s something to see — all ten pounds of, bug.

They engorge themselves with water and can’t move so they stay in one place for quite a while giving you the opportunity to kill them.  But I just stand there petrified, poised with a container to put over there heads, afraid they’ll see me coming, leap up and fly in my eye.  I don’t want to squash them because they’re so big that they have guts like people, which is gross.  So, I stand there crying — as I did last year when I found one in the tub.  I stood at the edge of the door with a container moving forward slightly but I couldn’t do it.  I stood there 20 minutes before tip toeing away to get the phone to call — who?  The police?  I’m serious. I started balling when it began twitching.  “I’m calling the police!”  I screamed, picking up the phone realizing then how ridiculous this would be.  I settled on calling the super.

The night before one scurried from behind the book shelf, and just lay there – engorged.  THEY ALWAYS DO THIS!  I did my routine of getting a container to put on top of it.  I usually put the container on it and leave them in there until the super gets here to throw it away or until I get the courage to slide a cardboard under it to carry it to the garbage bins six flights down.  Once I left it under the container for a week until I was SURE it was dead.  Every day I came home from work and kicked at it to see if it still moved.  But the night before last the engorged creature fled behind the book shelf before I got the guts to trap it – I always stand there staring at it first, sometimes crying, sometimes not.  These are the times I miss my boyfriend being here.  He was good for killing critters.

There was a piece of my kinky hair on the floor not far from where the bug had been which made me think of Gregor Samsa, that poor bastard from Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis who woke up in bed to find he had morphed into a large bug.  At one point he starts collecting dust if I remember correctly.  I thought of this creature behind my shelves with a trail of dust and kinky hair on its hind parts.

I think Gregor Samsa is dead now.  But I know he has friends and that they love the humid Manhattan air.  I sprayed the crap out of the area behind the shelves and have the can still by the sofa.  Gregor Samsa, if you’re still alive, get ready to die.

I’d rather have a mouse.  I know they’re rodents but they’re mammally, like one of Paris Hilton’s dogs.  They’re like little Disney creatures peering out from inside of your favorite pink coffee cup.  I wonder if they eat bugs?