gina's apartment

Aside from one scream-inducing incident on Dockgoose's bed back in '00, I managed to live in New York City cockroach-free for a good four years. Given that the majority of the places I lived during that time were not exactly new and/or clean, I thought the whole cockroach thing was just a myth. This notion pleased me greatly, since, after large moths and these big black Wisconsin spiders that can jump and run 10 miles per hour and hide in your bed forcing you to sleep on the living room couch for a week, cockroaches freak me out more than anything. (They'd probably be number one or two had 10-year-old me not gotten a moth caught flapping around in her hair, then proceeded to watch Silence of the Lambs at a slumber party, and then suffered a moth infestation in her bedroom fostered by the apparent moth breeding ground that is hamster food.)

Logic once led me to believe that living on the 10th floor of a building would reduce the risk of vermin invasion, but, as I quickly learned last summer, this is not the case. I was welcomed into the wonderful world of roaches when I sat down to pee one night and noticed that my toothbrush had grown moving antennae. Despite nearly passing out from the ensuing sympathetic nervous system spasm, I collected myself enough to grab a magazine and send the cockroach scurrying behind the sink cabinet. After a new toothbrush and a couple more bathroom appearances, I bought myself a can of Raid and used it liberally (I'm waiting patiently for my cancer diagnosis,) as I was still unable to kill the speedy fuckers on my own.

This summer's cockroach experience, though topping out last summer's count with a record-breaking six, has been more positive. The first one helped me with a dating decision (I'm sorry, but failing to stomp on a cockroach that is just waiting for you in the middle of the floor is sooo not manly,) the next three improved my hand-eye coordination and ability to use Frye boots, Listerine, and hand lotion as weapons, the fifth taught me a biology lesson as it flipped over immediately upon Raid exposure, and the sixth just didn't bother testing my master level skills and positioned itself directly in the toilet bowl. I never thought I'd see the proverbial day, but my screams of horror and disgust are slowly being replaced feelings of resourcefulness and power.

However, though thankful for the pride I've gained from continuing to win my own little war on terror, I'm pleased that the summer is almost over and the infidels will (hopefully) soon be leaving my otherwise lovely home. Unless, of course, they learn how to sing and dance. That would be cool.