Hey girl hey.
How’s it going? I like to ask you because I really do care. Really. So tell me how ya been? Send me an e-mail. Yeah. Do that if you want.
I think I’m getting a little overwhelmed with life and things of that nature because I swear to God I’ve been flipping out over the smallest things. I don’t know if it’s my job or my life in general... I feel like shit’s going pretty good, but I just feel the need to genuinely EXPRESS THE FUCK out of myself every single day with no care for what
that bitch,
or that ho,
or that clown thinks.
 |
| I might care a little what he thinks... |
It’s wonderful. I think you should try it. Mind you, I say things I feel fully knowing I could in fact get punched in the face for my words. So if you're not ready to be hit in the mouth, don't do it.
On another note-
Holy sweet jesus there are fucking bugs everywhere in my apartment. Not a cornucopia, more like a plethora. I just like those words, they have no necessary reason for being in that last sentence other than the fact that I enjoy them. Anyways, back to the bugs. I know the maintenance people sprayed enough toxic bug slaying gas in my apartment before I moved in because I find dead bugs (tiny dead bugs) everywhere. Dead or not I’m still flipping shit if I happen to run across one in my living room.
First dead bug encounter- In my closet. 5:27P.M. January 6th, 2013.
That would do a better job of waking me up than coffee ever could. Realizing I was screwed because no one lives with me to pick up said dead roach, I had to do the deed. I armed myself with... well... basically an entire roll of toilet paper, had my body as far away as humanely possible from my own roach scooping arm and held my breath for what felt like an eternity screaming in my head OHMYFUCKINGGOD OHGOD!OHGOD!OHGOD!OHGOD! I didn’t say any of this out loud for the mere fact that if it were sleeping, I did not want to wake it. This entire scene may have just looked like a girl picking up a roach, but in reality it was sheer terror that consumed my limbs. I threw the damned thing in the toilet and immediately did a freak out shake when I flushed him down. However, I then went into panic mode stage 9, because the pressure I exerted on the toilet handle to make it flush was apparently not SUFFICIENT enough to get the job done. The awful thoughts I had when faced with apparent danger-that a roach may soon take vengeance on me and fly out of my toilet straight on to my face... basically made me want to cry. So I double flushed while silently praying to the great lord in heaven that this double flush didn’t cause my toilet to over flow, spewing a roach as well as dirty toilet water in my general area. Luckily that didn’t happen but I swear I now check the perimeter every time I need to bleed the lizard. I guess that saying doesn’t really work with me since I’m a girl... but for the sake of this post let’s just go with it.
Take 2- In my kitchen. 9:54P.M. January 13th, 2013.
Oh HELL to the NO. There was a roach in my kitchen people. It wasn’t just on the floor either, and this time it wasn’t immediately dead. I had just gotten back from Walmart, I’m unloading groceries and the only light I have on is from my scentsy (side note-shit smells delicious). I’m just tralalalaing my happy self to the pantry, then the fridge and back and forth until I’m nearly finished. I hear some noise... ABOVE ME. It’s not just any noise-NAY! It’s some crawling noise. The thought alone is kind of making me twitchy.
I slowly back out of the kitchen because I already know what it is and begin my search for the maker of this noise. I named him Bob. Seriously though, I called him Bob. This isn’t something that’s funny for me, this is, “I have to name you so I can kill you” kind of thinking. Maybe that’s wrong, but it works. So Bob is hiding from me and I’m dreading turning on my over head light because my biggest fear is that I heard him in the wrong place and instead of running away from him, I ran toward him and he’s already half way up my back. OH GOD THAT’S SUCH AN AWFUL THOUGHT. Happens every time.
So I rip the bandaid and turn the overhead light on and there he is. I see his dark icky shape in my overhead fluorescent. Bob starts crawling out of the fixture because he doesn’t like the light. He wants to be in darkness because even he knows he’s fucking disgusting. So obviously I immediately turn the light back off and say “Bob.” He actually stopped moving as though he were really listening to me. “If you stay up there and leave me alone, I won’t kill you. I’ll just let you live. Bob, I’m just saying though, I swear to the heavens if you come in my bedroom tonight, I will end your life slowly with a bottle of windex. You keep to your side of the apartment, I’ll keep to mine.” He knew I wasn’t lying, so I didn’t see him for 3 days. I found him in my pantry on his back, dead from the toxic poisons today. I really cannot bring myself to pick his dead corpse up and dispose of him though. I will actually pay someone gas money + $5.00 cash to do this for me.
If I do it, I’ll have to down a bottle of wine first.
Irrational fears are the worst.
There have been more dead bug stories but I think that kind of gets my point across.
Also, my neighbor is about to get hit in the face with a dead fish.
0 comments:
Post a Comment