Jan
28
Written by:
Chewbode
Saturday, January 28, 2006 7:09 PM
The day one’s born on is usually a day to reflect on your life, your loved ones, your friends, and most likely, your future.
Instead, I’d like to share with you what really happened today…
- cue wavy lines washing over the screen -
Our cat Max likes to sleep between me and my wife at night. He begins the night by curling up between us (around chest-level) and then by daybreak he makes his way down to the foot of bed, usually on my side, so he can prepare to pounce on his brother, Scrappy, after Scrappy finishes taking his morning shit.
So, I get this brief awakening, as I’ve said earlier, and for the three seconds I’m conscience I think “eh, Max is now at my feet ready to attack his freshly shat sibling.” I think this, as I feel his tail brush up against my leg, which is what woke me up in the first place. So, I adjust my legs so that I don’t inadvertently kick him and back to sleep I go.
About four minutes later I awake and lurch out of bed, landing on the carpet adjacent. “That wasn’t Max”, I think (maybe say aloud) to myself as I realize I felt something move from my ankle to my knee very quickly. The adrenaline has decided to explode through my veins, and I stand next to the bed for about 15 seconds, trying to make sense of what I just felt. I stare at the foot of the bed, like I’m trying to stare down a distant gunfighter. I slowly make my way to the light switch and flip it on. I glance over at Shauna, who’s still soundly asleep and think “Hell, I’m gonna figure this out and then tell her about it in the morning.”
So, I grab and flip back the comforter and bed sheet and peel it back down to the foot of the bed and I see some black thing scurry across the foot of the bed (toward the covered part (i.e., toward Shauna’s side of the bed)) as it sought cover from the 100 watts of salvation burning near the corner of the room.
I realize it’s a two and a half inch cockroach. A mother fucking cockroach ran up my fucking leg. Jesus.
I immediately jump on the bed and put my hand on the sheets, pressing down to form a “barrier” so the nasty little fucker won’t continue it’s march toward my wife.
At this point I decide it’s wise to alert her so that, in the off chance my death grip on the sheets fails to contain the monster, she won’t wake to the sensation of a cockroach running up her leg, which would surly end with me sleeping on the couch or some other terrible thing. I lean over and shake Shauna. She slowly turns over and looks at me.
“I need you to get out of the bed now.”
She sees the seriousness in my face and immediately pops out from under the sheets and stands very regimental next to the door into the bathroom, preparing to bolt incase Freddy Krueger appears or something. She’s barely awake and doesn’t have her contacts in, so from her vantage point, her husband is squeezing the sheeting at 6:40am with a serious tone to his voice – she needs to follow the orders, regardless of the reason.
After about 30 seconds, I’ve wrestled our friend from his hiding place, and manage to eject him into the living room, where the cats (who are now also wide awake and wide-eyed at the odd goings-ons in the bedroom) pounce the little devil. It scurries away from the bedroom and the cats enjoy their prey. I loose sight of it, but am comforted that our furry guardians will thwart its plans. At this point I decide to tell Shauna what’s going on, and she vehemently thanks me for waking/warning her.
Then, the realization hits me that I have a King Shit welling up inside of me. I spend the next 45 minutes ass-barfing out Slim Jims, chocolate cake, nachos, and strawberry ice cream from the night before. It hurt. By the time I crawl back into bed, Shauna’s fast asleep and the sun’s coming up.
Fast-forward to 10:30am when I next awake, this time on my own accord. I’ve vowed to run some errands today, so after getting up and taking a shower, I plan to do the following:
- Wash the car
- Get a haircut
- Pick up the comics (the last six-weeks worth)
- Get the mail from my P.O. box
- Pay some bills
- Sell some shit on eBay
By the time I’m ready to go I realize I can’t find my wallet. I look all over the apartment and retrace my steps. This isn’t like me at all, as I’m always very careful where I place these kinds of things. I look and look, and start to worry that I dropped it in Boarders last night, or even worse, lost it outside. I go out and retrace my steps. Luckily, the horror fades when I find it on the seat of my car.
I decide to head out. I start by going to the comic book store and picking up my books. To my dismay, I find out that the total of the books amounts to… $160. Ouch. I decide to head home, as I don’t want to spend any more money today. On my way back, I stop and pick up the mail from the P.O., and realize there’s a bunch of IRS filing paper in there. Great. (Not to worry, these turned out to be quarterly tax papers).
I get home and realize that Montezuma’s Revenge has hit me again from the nachos, and spend time on his throne. After blasting some Febreeze into the air, I emerge and decide to start bagging all my comics.
For the next several hours I sit in the living room, bagging and boarding the comics, keying them into my database (BTW, the list has been updated in the Digital Archive), and watching the Blue Collar Comedy Tour on Comedy Central.
A bunch of us were planning on going to go to dinner tonight for my birthday (and Shauna’s too, which is next weekend). Of course, I get a call from my sister that my mom’s stuck at work today and won’t be able to get out until 8:30pm. So, I let everyone know that it’s a no-go for the night.
So, I’ve decided to spend the night watching movies, eating Slim Jims (I didn’t learn my lesson from last night), and eating chocolate cake.
Some fucked up shit ended up happing today – I should be ready for this as my birth-date is known for issues (Google “January 28” to see what I mean). But, I thought it would just be another day that would ease me into my 32nd year of life on this planet. Mother Nature and Murphy decided to show up and prove me wrong.
Sick Thought of the Day: Cockroaches
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