Monday August 22, 2005

There is either ANOTHER bat, or the SAME bat, still living in my back stairwell of my ghetto-ass apartment building.  It is so much hassle to move and so expensive, but at this point, I'm kinda considering it.

I saw this winged monstrosity while going downstairs to put my laundry in the dryer, and screamed my girly head off.  The caretaker dude was in the hallway and was terribly frightened by this; I was more frightened of the bat.  So HE opens the door to the stairs, but of course the bat has gone upwards/downstairs by then, so he says he can't really do anything.

I hate my slumlord.  Thankfully, Tara visits me tomorrow, and as she has a college degree in Freaky Outdoor Nature Things (a BS in Fisheries and Wildlife), I hope she will deal with this for me. 

Yitzak was very calming when she saw me crying on the couch and snuggled up close to my face to make me feel better.  Good kitty.  Sometimes I'm glad she's huge and fat so there is more Cat to make me feel better.


Monday August 1, 2005

8:20 a.m.:

hit the floor, taking Yitzak with me.

Listen to yelling and gunshots.

8:27 a.m.:  turn of alarm, curse self for sleeping in.

9:04 a.m.:  talk to pleasant policewoman at my door asking what I'd heard/seen.

9:26 a.m.:  call into the OG telling them that since my building is taped off by police tape, I may be late to work today.


Friday July 29, 2005

Hm, what's my biggest irrational phobic fear? OH YEAH, THAT.

Harkening back to my Bat Story #1 (aka Stories Involving Myself and Rabbits, Kinda: see June 17 2005), most of you are aware that I have one giant, phobic, fetal-position-and-screaming-in-pain fear. Bats.

Any bats.

Big scary dogs, spiders, muggers, clowns, tight spaces, crowds of people? Girl, I got it. I can totally handle those. The one thing I cannot act rationally about, I cannot handle, I cannot ever ever face, is bats.


Yesterday, I come from the gym to the grocery store to home. I've purchased a NY Times for the reading pleasure and several biscotti for the snacking and breakfasting pleasure. My back staircase has a little nook in the basement where I always store my bike, so I unlock the back door and hoist my bike up on my shoulder in preparation of locking it up to go upstairs to indulge with the paper and a cookie.

Then, there is this flying thing in said nook. I'm thinking: ok, please let it be a bird. Birds I can handle. I've dealt with many a scared trapped-inside bird before.

Not a bird. Bat. BAT!

You'd be ever so proud: I did not immediately go fetal. I squeaked out in fear and tried to back up and open the door in the hopes that the bat would fly away into the outside. No, the bat swerves toward my head and the door, but then flies UP the stairwell, closer to my apartment. Fuck.

I'm shaking and crying and I have to lug my bike outside to lock to a pole on the street, because ain't no way I'm going back in there.

After much checking of hallways and front stairs, I make it, tearfully, up to my apartment and flop down on the couch. I eat the entire bag of biscotti I've just purchased, because I'm convinced I'm going to die soon and that I'd better not waste all this delicious food. The last thing I eat before I die can't be salad, can it?

Of course, this all happens after 5 pm, so the landlord is nowhere to be found to deal with this trauma, and the caretaker in the building is not home (is he ever?).

An hour passes, and I'm supposed to go to Smoo's to get a ride to rehearsal. I don't think I can leave the house.

I call Smoo, and as she's talking me out of the apartment, I crack the door open a tiny bit to prepare for my exit. I HEAR THE BAT SCREECHING BUT I CAN'T TELL WHERE IT IS.

Door slams shut, hysterical dry-sobs commence.

I did eventually make it outside and to rehearsal. On the way home, Smoo was an angel and volunteered to walk me to my apartment door and then check my place to verify that it was bat-free.

Yet despite all this, I'm still wound up every time I walk through the hallways; I dreamt about bats last night and at one point woke up screaming because I thought that Yitzak's tail was a bat landing on my arm.

I know that in all probability, the bat has made its way out of the building and is currently outside being a happy nature-bat. Regardless, I will never ever again use the back stairwell. This sucks, because the laundry is in the basement (via back stairs) and is so so cheap ($1/load!), and I have so many loads of clothes to wash. The laundromat is about 3x as expensive, but you know what? I think I'd rather pay $3/load for peace of mind.

If anyone is crazy and fearless and owns bat-destroying weapons and would volunteer to come over and kill this crazy flying fucker, I'd highly encourage this course of action.


Friday June 17, 2005

Two Stories Involving Rabbits and Myself

(which you may have heard me tell, but you won't know til you read, will you, sucka.)

When I was a little kid, my next-door neighbor Erica was a classic Bad Example Friend. She was a year or two older than I was, and thus, she knew the answers to everything. Looking back, I'll surmise that I was probably her bitch. Erica and I went to different schools (Catholic School for her, as she needed more "discipline", while I was free to raise hell in public school), so after school and on weekends were the only times we hung out. One lovely sunny weekend, we're walking down our street to the playground when Erica spots something small and furry huddled up in the grass next to the sidewalk. She knew better than to attempt to pick up some strange animal, but hey, Dana's fair game, right? So she commands me: "it's a bunny! Pick it up!". Somewhere in my brain, the happy Disney Animals resided, and the logical thing for a Disney Animal to do when picked up by a happy little girl is to cuddle up to her and make her even happier. Logically, I then assume this is how all animals behave, and it's ok to pick them up.

But not this animal. Oh no.

This particular ball of fuzziness felt my little grubby hand touch it and SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!- out come the bat wings. The bat, upon being disturbed, smacked into my head and then probably flew off into some tree somewhere. I don't really know, because everything after the SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE is a blur of tears and freaking out and running home.

That ain't no bunny, Erica.

I used to babysit for a mortician's kid when his parents were at work. They had a English Springer Spaniel named Molly. Molly had her own doghouse and smallish dog-run in their backyard, next to the kid's swingset. (Oddly enough, I can remember the dog's name, but not the kid's. Oops.) I ususally let Molly out when we were playing outside. On this particular afternoon, as I unlatched Molly's gate, she went flying over past the swingset and over to the fence. She dug a bit at the ground, and "squeak", she picks something up and trots back over to me holding it. Now, the normal thing for Molly to have in her mouth and this point would be a squeaky toy (of which the yard had no shortage), but not on this day. This day, she'd plucked a tiny little baby bunny from its nest, probably killing it immediately, and wanted to show me. Eew. The kid is standing next to me with a confused look on his little face, wondering what the hell's going on. I was not about to wrest a dead bunny from the mouth of a spaniel, so I just shut her back in the cage rather quickly and hoped that the mortician and his wife wouldn't find out of my crime against the Cute Defenseless Animal.


Monday May 16, 2005

whilst trolling the MplsCraigslist "free" section, I see a FREE ELECTRIC ORGAN.

I totally want this.  Now, overlook my lack of space for said organ and the annoyance factor for all neighbors, and imagine a cocktail party including an electric organ singalong.  Elton John!  Polyphonic Spree!  Electic Six!  Raveonettes!  Led Zeppelin!  Black-Eyed Peas!

I do realize not all those bands are necessarily heavy on the organ, but wouldn't it be awesome if they were?  (try humming "Immigrant Song" with a little organ fill in place of the aah-aah-aahhhhh-HAA! and just see if you don't start grinning.)


Friday April 22, 2005

I am so hot for my new Dior Not War tank top.

I may have its babies.


Tuesday April 12, 2005

ooooooh, shiny..................

eBay is a dangerous place, my friends.  Especially when I'm having a Dior moment.


Wednesday February 9, 2005

Phrase of my day, from the Rainbow circular:

"Wild Cod Loin Portions".