i'm only half kidding

At this point, I would be willing to move to Iceland if it meant never seeing another cockroach for the rest of my existence.

lesson learned

You learn something new every day, right? Well, today I was the victim of a tragic accident involving nudity, a curling iron, and an imaginary cockroach. I'll just let your imagination fill in the gaps for a minute.

Needless to say, burning yourself with something that hot on skin that delicate is not something I ever wish to repeat. It's just so damn hot in Hawaii.

Lord help me, my boob better not scar.

las locas cucarachas

I recently had to relive my cockroach nightmares. The disgusting little critters are just one of the disadvantages of living somewhere warm. There's only so much that can be done to avoid them. We all know the basic rules. Don't leave food out on the counter. Put your plates directly in the dishwasher. Religiously take out the garbage. Clean diligently! So on and so forth. Sometimes it just isn't enough.

In my last apartment I found a dead one underneath my bed a few days after moving in. That was my introduction into the wonderful world of roach carcass disposal. I suppose it could be considered being eased in since I managed to escape the horror of actually killing it, but it still wasn't a pleasurable experience.

Almost a year later, I am no closer to remaining calm in their presence. I can manage to stifle a scream or avoid ridiculous amounts of freakish dancing around when I find them outside. All bets are off when the suckers are 1)large, 2)alive, and 3)indoors though.

Marya fumigated the apartment earlier this week. Unbeknownst to me, but a couple of our little friends had been spotted cruising around the place lately. So we went chemical crazy and set off nine bombs. Woohoo! I expected it to be dead roach city when we returned six hours later, but no. No dead bodies. Nothing.

However, I was relaxing on the couch/my bed later in the evening and a huge one scurried out from under me, heading helter skelter toward the entertainment center. Cue me screaming bloody murder (although no actual words were intelligible) and running frantically toward the kitchen for the can of Raid. This brought everyone out from their respective hiding places in the apartment to determine what was causing me to act like Tonto on drugs. Luckily by the time they discovered the cause of my hysteria it was already dead (I hope so, with the amount of Raid I doused it with). Body retrieval is something I am still incapable of, so they were able to offer their services and finish the job.

I still keep the can of Raid at my side, just in case.