The Great Escape

I'm moving. I'm sorry, didn't you hear me? I said, I'm MOVING!!! I really don't think I could be any more excited than I am right now. Sure, I'm going to have to heft around a bunch of boxes and furniture, and then try to make it to an 8:30pm audition, but I'M MOVING! At least, in my new place, and with my new roommate, if we experience any bug or rodent pestillence, I won't be the only one who cares, and thus, the only one willing to do anything proactive to remedy the situation. No more sleepless nights with eyes peeled on the usual mouse hiding spaces, ears burning with quiet rustling sounds. No more bad dreams about all manner of rodents--squirrels last night, for instance, chasing me around my apartment. And whatever they are, they won't be able to move as fast, since I'll have hard wood floors, and not this handy-dandy traction-enhancing indoor-outdoor carpet. Yay. Yay, Yay, Yay. Oh, and by the way, to the person living in the Symphony alley, whose alarm was going off all night on Sunday, you suck. Where were you? It was really loud, and too hot to close my windows. It was so obnoxious--just loud enough so you couldn't block it out--that I came close to stabbing myself several times with easy-to-reach, blunt objects. I hope you feel some sort of responsibility for that, because believe me, I will hold you accountable. Soooooooo.... Yeah. I'm moving.

Damned Clever Rodents!!!

To my dear (and few) readers: I must apologize in advance for what is to be at least the third installment involving my epic struggle with mouse-kind. They are determined little buggers, and I must admit to being a bit overly-focused on their continued presence in my room. Seriously, there’s no food in here. I vacuum regularly. All I have is clothes and boxes. So anyway, at 7:30pm, I was watching a movie on my laptop, and saw a little mouse poking around along the baseboards. Irritated at the intrusion, and potential resulting mouse poop, and in the absence of management-supplied traps, I stomped off to our neighborhood True Value Economy Hardware store (note to readers: what part of “true value” do they not understand? Ridiculously Overpriced, and Often Superfluous Economy Hardware would be closer to the truth) to purchase some for myself. After deliberating over which kind of trap to buy, and consulting my father via cell phone as to the best method, I settled on glue traps, since those are what the management put out months ago, and I admitted that I probably wouldn’t be able to dispose of a slaughtered mouse myself. Instead, like the coward I am, I settled on what is probably the most inhumane method: baiting the mouse to get itself stuck in glue, throwing the live, struggling mouse into the trash, and inevitably, letting it starve to death.

So it’s now about midnight; I’m lying in bed, wearing headphones to reduce the chance of hearing any mice rustling around in my room, thereby reducing the chance of late-night hysterics on my part. I’m startled by a fairly loud sound from the corner by the door. Upon inspecting the trap-laden corner, I discovered a small, not yet fully-grown mouse thrashing around, stuck in the trap. I was plagued by a sudden remorse. I was going to have to scoop this little furry creature into a plastic bag, and throw it into a dumpster. I was going to be a mouse murderer. Delaying the inevitable, I called my dad, thinking to debate the advice he’d given me earlier about leaving the trap alone, even if it was already full. An answering machine message later, one of my roommates came home, and I swallowed my pride, and asked him to do my dirty work, and dispose of my captor. He agreed to, and went to put his bass away. Meanwhile, I went to check on the mouse, and apologize for its imminent death. No such luck. What do they put in those traps? Elmer’s glue? Paste? That little baby mouse somehow pulled itself and the trap about two and a half feet to my door, and used it as leverage or something to pull itself free from the glue. Now I have a glue trap back in the corner, with a bit of baby mouse fur. Great. So I told my roommate his services were no longer necessary. “They’re determined,” he said. “Yeah, determined to hang out in my room,” I said. Dammit. So now I’m back to where I started. Perhaps this particular mouse will be a little too freaked out to return to my room for a while—but for how long? And it has enough siblings and relatives to keep my four traps full—but for how long? To tell the truth, though, I’m actually a little relieved. As freaked out as I get when I hear them scurrying around in my room, some part of me still has a big problem with killing a mammal. Roaches, centipedes, spiders, mosquitoes, and water beetles give me no qualms. Perhaps it is the potential of mice to be pets that stays my hand. A conscience is an inconvenient thing—I wonder how many more mice it will last through… I may have to buy proper traps tomorrow. I wish I could just get a cat. That would much easier, and perhaps I would be less likely to start cooing on the street, when confronted by a couple leading kittens on leashes. Sigh. I really do want a cat though—and not just for their mouse-hunting prowess.

Things are looking up...

Yes, things are looking up for now, and trust me--it's a good thing. Good things:

1) The loan I had been worried about for a while has just come through and will be disbursed soon. Thank God.
2) An awesome co-worker (actual employee-not student) is lending me her Jeep Cherokee with which to move on Thursday the first.
3) I have an audition for a section leader position at a local church.
4) A friend of mine just strongly recommended me to a job she's leaving. It's a position as a voice teacher for a small private school very near NEC. It would be very part time, and excellent experience, since I need to get used to teaching.
5) My friend Jodi may have a dresser that she'll give me for free, which is good, considering my closet in the new apartment will be seriously smaller than the current one.
6) The only thing I have to worry about now is my first month's rent. The tough thing is that my loan won't be disbursed until the first week of school, and that's at least a week after I need it. Hmm... perhaps I will have to willfully incur a late fee. We'll see. At least this is the only troubling matter.

So, as I said earlier, things are pretty good. Now, if I could just get rid of the rodents... one week... one week... one week left of squalor...

Mouse update: I still hate rodents

I hate mice. Well, actually, allow me to clarify: they are somewhat cute creatures when in cages, on television, or especially while singing and sewing in Cinderella. They are even sort of cute when climbing cautiously into the trash can in my room. However, once they start running as fast as their little legs can carry them, it's a different story. They're so fast, and I am physically and emotionally unable to keep from screeching/hopping/escaping, when attempting to usher my unwanted visitors back under the door where they came from. Last night, I was glad to see one leaving my room around midnight or so. I was so glad, that I re-employed the towel-under-the-door method to keep him/her from returning. Unfortunately, around 2:30am, I started hearing the telltale noises of one of his/her cousins/siblings/parents/stepmothers. I watched, as mousie sniffed around, climbed up into my kleenex-filled trash can, took a dive, and two seconds later, vacated, and retreated to a perch on top of a book in my bookcase. By now, I'm only mildly freaked out, and I start moving slowly toward the door in my flip flops, wishing desperately that they were more like my snowboots. In my attempts at moving the towel that was now trapping mousie in my room, he/she got scared and ran under my bed. This did not go over well with me. Full on freak outage. He/she then ran back and forth across the room in a panic, and I hopped from one foot to another in kind. Finally, as I was beginning to become a bit hysterical and teary (it is about time for that), I managed to move the towel, and jump out of the way as mousie sped around my reluctantly bare feet. Of course, now that I had inadvertently shut in a mouse with the towel, I wasn't about to do it again. Instead, I took my book and a movie to the living room, turned on the bright floruescent (sp?) light, sat on my dining room chair, and put my feet and legs up on the available yoga ball. My plan was to stay up until I stopped freaking out, or became too tired to care about potential mouse bedmates. I made it from 3:30am to 5:00am, and, suitably calmed by the frequent scurrying of mice in the living room and kitchen cupboards, I made it into bed--towel-free, and slept fitfully, dreaming of.... mice, and rats. Thus, I am tired, cranky, and just soooo excited to do it all over again tonight. Woo hoo.

Mouse

So I have this odd history with talking about rodents, and having them magically appear in my presence. Years ago, after the waste-of-a-movie, "Mousehunt" came out on video, my family and I were gathered in the living room to witness said filmic spectacle. About half-way through, our previously "bird-catcher only" cat, Katy, brought a mouse into the living room--tail hanging out of her mouth, and dropped it at my feet. She played with it for a few seconds, after which, of course, it got away and hid itself beneath my mom's recliner. Second example: A few months ago, my friend Kelley and I were in my kitchen, and she was telling me about the mouse they just found in their apartment. Seconds later, my roommate came into the room, and saw a small mouse scurry into a corner. Most recent example: My friend Liz visited me this weekend (which, by the way, was awesome of her) for my birthday. On Saturday night, we were watching a movie, when I saw another mouse crawling along the wall behind the TV. I tried to catch it with a homemade trap, consisting of an old tupperware cannister, a lid, and a crushed peanut. I failed. So, things were alright until the next night. We were in my room, getting ready to go to sleep, and after I mentioned some new woe about my current apartment, she said something like "oh well, at least the mouse isn't in here." Of course, minutes (or seconds, I don't remember) passed, and I saw the vermin culprit try to escape behind some recently packed boxes, and plastic grocery bags. Since one of us was going to have to sleep on the floor on my aerobed, we decided to persuade the mousie to get the hell out of my room. Our concentrated efforts eventually got him out from behind the boxes, but my ridiculous inability to keep from squealing while trying to trap him in the cannister made our efforts fruitless. He escaped again--under my closed door. Dammit!!!!!!!!!!!! Nine days... nine days... nine days....

Rant

Sigh. Living in Boston has definitely taken getting used to in many ways. The most difficult adjustment for me has been to a few certain breeds of what we will call "street-side verbal admirers." Now I can handle being looked at appraisingly, and I can deal with fairly polite comments made to a friend upon my passing by, but I cannot stand when certain men feel they have the right to shout about my attributes at the top of their lungs, to call me "baby," "momma," "big girl," "booty-blessed," or the worst yet, "bootybootybootybootybooty." As if it wasn't insulting enough already, most of the time, they're using these "terms of endearment" to coax me to drop a quarter in their dunkin' donuts coffee cup. What am I supposed to say? "Well, when you call me sugartits, I just can't refuse. But, um, I assume we're going to have to go over to MY place tonight..." Or, how about: "Oh my God, what do you mean I have a big booty? Is that what I've been sitting on all my life? And there I was thinking that all those chairs were just extra plush and comfortable." Seriously. It pisses me off. Maybe if it didn't happen EVERY TIME I have to walk within a block radius of my school, I wouldn't be so tired of it. And maybe if they didn't start following you down the street late at night, or bitching at you if you refuse them money, or a polite "thanks" for their verbal assault, I wouldn't have to finish my walk home, fantasizing about kicking them in the balls and running the rest of the way home without being stabbed or urinated on. Argh!!!!!!!!! ENOUGH!!!

$$$

Money sucks. Or, I should say, I suck with money. I love realizing that I've lived a bit beyond my means once again. Well, not "beyond" quite yet. It's doable, but I'll probably be living off of already-purchased cans of albacore tuna for at least the next eight days (I have eight cans). The thing that makes me the most cranky though, is the rent situation. My roommate, who has lived in our apartment for the last ten years (which explains the very deep level of uncleanness), never turns in our rent checks until the first two days of the next month. Usually I despise this behavior, since it means I have a check up on the bulletin board for an entire month, and only a vague idea of when it will post. Unfortunately, due to mistaking the amount available last month, I'm being forced to bank on his turning the checks in late, as usual. I have to cross my fingers, too, because I'm not being paid until the second of the month. Ack. Matters are also not helped by the fact that I'm moving into a new apartment on September first. Who knows what's going to happen. Apparently, not me.

Bra Karma

So I recently had the "opportunity" to give a little credence to the whole idea of karma. When I was in LA with my mom, she decided that she and my dad were going to buy me two bras (desperately needed) for my birthday. We trekked over to the Del Amo mall and picked out the aforementioned bras, which we would then have the wonderful people at Lane Bryant hold until payday. However, during the trying on process, one of the bras I was going to try was defective. I had begun to adjust the strap before putting it on, and it popped right off. I guess it had been poorly sewn or something. Anyway, wary of telling a sales associate, due to past experience, I tied the strap around a hook so it could hang like the rest of its supportive sisters, and went on my way. Well, my mother and I waited a day too long to keep our future purchases on hold, so we had to pick out new bras in the same sizes from the racks. We went on our way, and a couple days later, I flew back to Boston. Karma gave me a little kick in the ass, as I realized that the one bra I hadn't worn since being back in Boston, the pretty, plum purple plunge bra, was in fact, the one with the defective strap. Sigh. Oh well, I'll just have to do what I should have done before, and take it back to the Lane Bryant here. It's just as well.

In other bra-related news, I experienced a funny coincidence today. Unsurprisingly, I spilled part of my lunch on the front of my shirt (read: chestal protrusions) twice. First, a bit of soy sauce, which magically blended into my black tee, and second, a small clump of rice which was easily removed. I was, nevertheless, annoyed at my usual inability to get each bite completely into my mouth, and jokingly asked my boss if I had a magnet in "there." We laughed about it, and went about our business. A few minutes later, as I was eating my fortune cookie, I read my fortune, which said: You have an unusually magnetic personality. Funny. Apparently I do. Oh, and by the way, it's now about 16 days (including today) until I get to move out! I'm so excited, and have begun to do geeky things like taking a written inventory of my kitchen wares, and making lists of things my roommate and I will have to buy. Oh, and if anyone has stolen my square Pyrex baking dish via some weird Harry Potter-ish summoning spell, I would really like it back. Accio baking dish! (yes, I know that I'm an incurable geek)

Birth!

On July 29, 2005 my very pregnant sister, my mother and I drove to a hospital in Anaheim CA for the birth of my latest (and last, for a while) niece. We were at the hospital for about 17 hours, including staying with them until visiting hours ended, so it was a long day, but well worth it. When I first knew that I'd be there for the birth, I wasn't sure that I wanted to actually watch the actual birth. Let me just say now, that if you have the chance to witness a birth, and don't have lamaze or coaching duties above the waist, take it. Watching that perfect little girl coming into the world was the most amazing and miraculous thing I have ever seen. I have been around babies, but I am still in awe, and completely a sucker for this helpless, pink little bundle. Anyway, in the meantime before going back to Boston, I get the chance to play with my two nieces (9 and 6 years old), and try to keep my extremely mischeivous three year old nephew from wreaking havoc wherever he goes. I'm in indulgent auntie heaven, and glad to have the chance. Oh, and by the way, the weather here is temperate, warm in the day, cool at night, and pretty much spectacular all around. At least I have another week before I have to go back to sweat soup in Boston.