Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Cockroach Wishes and Serial Killer Dreams

When I first got to Chicago, I decided to sublease an apartment from a possibly gay man. I hoped that his sexuality meant that the apartment had been kept clean, and that since he was potentially gay, he maybe was afraid of things like bugs and murderers, and therefore wouldn’t have lived in an apartment that was under siege by both of these things. Apparently that’s what I get for stereotyping, for that was obviously NOT the case. Someone came a knockin' on my sliding glass door within a few nights of sleeping there. I don't think a killer would knock, but I wasn't about to answer to find out. Then came the real trouble. I first noticed 8 dead cockroaches under the sink on my third day. I almost threw up, but swept them away and told myself they had obviously been dead for awhile. It wasn’t until I saw the live one go sauntering by Jixy Meow (and instead of attacking it, he watched it go by as if they were old friends), when I realized that I might have a real problem on my hands. 5 more live roaches and about 10 more dead ones confirmed my fears. I immediately packed up my stuff and got the hell out.

Well actually that’s not entirely true. I didn’t pack it, I hired some “movers” to pack it. Mind you, these were people that I found on Craigslist, so they weren’t legitimate movers, per se. That was mostly unfortunate because that meant that I couldn’t make them pay for my coffee table that they shattered, or my couch that they destroyed whilst trying to shove it out of the doorway. The couch situation made me sad because when they showed up they were quite cheerful, filled with hope based off my promise that it would be a “quick, easy move.” After they had to remove the door to get the couch out of the roach motel, (and then couldn’t get the door back on), their attitudes deteriorated quickly and soon they were staring at me as if they wanted me dead. Luckily I had my friend Brooke with me as a witness if they tried to feed me to the roaches.

Although my landlord wasn’t thrilled that I moved out without paying rent or any notice at all, I can happily say that is all behind me. I can also happily report that I no longer have to down a bottle of wine before I go to bed, which makes me feel a little bit better about myself. I haven't been over an hour late to work since the move, so I think my boss is also pretty happy with the change.

My favorite thing about my NEW building is that there is a psychic next door, and she plays loud enchanting music all day long trying to lure in customers. I secretly think she is running some kind of a brothel because there are always creepy men going in and then coming out a short time later looking dreamy and relaxed. Maybe she just gave them a really promising reading, but I can’t be sure. I’ll have to book an appointment with her and see what happens. (This could also be an opportunity to test out my rape plan if things start to go south and she tries to sell me as a sex slave).

Last weekend I was not in the city, as my dear friend Pat Cline got married. It was a lot of fun, and people were being ‘Iced’ left and right, although on the way home I had to battle nausea the entire way. I eventually lost and vomited in my Crock Pot (it was all that I had) so now that thing is pretty much useless.

So that’s the latest- the good, the bad, and the disgusting.