Today was a good day … or at least not the usual suck day. I got super-motivated at work to write the definitive piece on word-of-mouth/consumer-created marketing. Thanks to Pete Blackshaw and Intelliseek (check it out at http://www.inteliseek.com). I will surely be an office super-star by this time next week … or next year … or sometime. The point is, I may be poor (okay, there’s no “may” about it, I am broke like Joe Theisman’s leg, or the Enron bank, baby), I may live in a crap part of the city (The New Harlem Renaissance? More like the New Harlem Renegades), I may be fat (but that could be the tumor, according to the doctor — I’ll find out on Monday. Not kidding, here), and I may be poor (which I already said, but it’s that bad, so I’ll say it again), but things are looking up. Nevermind that my bank balance post-payday is $14.00. At least I’m in the black. More later …!
In the meantime, read this for some good celebrity-based schaudenfreude: http://trent.blogspot.com. Peace out, y’all
I hate to keep writing about the mouse, but I think it’s good to have a record of my descent into madness in case my future behavior needs any explanation. Just point the judge/jury/media/handler/psychiatrist or whomever to my blog.
So, this morning, I was in the bathroom doing what people do in the morning in the bathroom, when here comes Ferdinand (that’s what I named this mouse) strolling, and I MEAN strolling down the hallway. He sat right in front of the bathroom door, and when I screamed “Mouse”, he strolled down the hallway — HE DID NOT RUN — towards the kitchen. So, I finished my morning tinkle, and then ran from the bathroom to try to catch him. Then, he started running and ran under the fridge. I scooped up the last of the D-con and threw it under the fridge in the hope that he might gorge himself and DIE. But, no. I got on the phone with my cousin Veronica to talk about the great vacation we will surely take one day soon, and in the middle of imagining Brazil in May, here comes Ferdinand again. He’s moving slowly, so I think the D-Con is working. Poor Veronica has to talk me through the murder, but after putting a box over him and running to get the killing broom I finally smashed him good. Great, right?
No, because Ferdinand must have owed some other mouse money, because another mouse came looking for him tonight. Scurried from under the stove and was stealthy in his attempt to get across the floor to the closet. This one was quick, but he’s about to be quick and dead. I am a mouse murderer. And, I’m proud of it.
Check it out:
Wish me luck. On payday, I’m going to buy a set of night vision goggles, and maybe a gun. This apartment isn’t big enough for the three(?), four(?), ten(?) of us. The fuzzy brown horde has got to go.
This is what just happened:
I am: Sitting on my bed in the lotus position, watching the new Adidas commercial directed by Spike Jonze on my computer
I see: An empty box of Chew-eez that’s sitting on my window sill (in front of me, and a bit to the right) moves a little bit
I think: I should close the window more
I realize: The window is not open
I assume: It moved because Lou bumped against the nightstand, which butts up against the window sill
I look: To see that Lou is on the bed, too.
I understand: That something else moved the Chew-eez box
I decide: To move the box, the lotion, the jewelry container around on the window sill to see what’s going on
AT WHICH POINT THE DAMNED MOUSE SCURRIES HIS HORRENDOUS GREY-BROWNNESS OFF THE WINDOWSILL …
AND ONTO MY BED.
This means: Lou wakes up, starts barking (I should name him Doshodal – dollar short, day late), computer is barely saved from falling to the floor, I actually pee a little bit and make a gurgling noise in the back of my throat
This also means: I am about to move the hell out of here
I mean, I don’t eat pizza in my bed, or bring crackers, cheddar, or any other super-delicious food in the room. I only have a bottle of San Pelligrino on the nightstand and that empty box of Cheweez that I was saving to paper over and use as a mailer for a present for my sister. It is said that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, but I gotta say, I’m getting close to my limit. It’s enough that I can’t afford to buy groceries, my wardrobe is best described as “Early Salvation Army”, and my career can best be likened to an old car up on blocks in front of a double-wide belonging to someone named Earl in the deep south. No, add to that the persistence of mice in my life, and I’m just about through.
All that stuff I said about feeling bad when they die? I take it back. I’m going to get the phone book, the mouse-killing broom (I bought one especiallly for that chore, because who wants to dirty-up the good broom), and a big knife and keep a vigil until the morning. I’ll let you know what happens. (Possible Headlines: Woman Cuts Off Own Foot in Failed Bid to Kill Mouse). Wish me luck.
Somehow, through the magic of banking, I now have $-8.50 in my bank account. No new transactions have posted, but someone somewhere found and extra $3.20 laying around some teller’s desk and put it in my account. Or something. I may be broke, (actually, I AM broke), but at least I’m not the type of person who would buy and/or use one of these:
Checking Account Balance: $61.00 (current); $-11.70 (available)
You know you’re broke when you dream about finding $20 in your wallet. I was so happy until I woke up! Stupid concert tickets last month set me back, plus I think my dentist is running a scam on me. I have paid her a hefty percentage of my salary since I got to NY. Here’s what I’m doing to keep from crying today:
Later – j.
I almost forgot — the mouse is back. Okay, well it’s not THE mouse, but it’s A mouse.
They are trying to drive me mad, and although it’s not a long drive (more like right around the corner), I don’t want them to win.
The thing is, I want THE MOUSE out of the HOUSE (oh, I feel a little Seuss coming on)
But, my heart is sprained when I see them in pain
Would that they’d die far away from my eye
But, no, they come hither and make my heart quiver
Suffering is bad, and it makes me so sad
To see their them so tiny, their dead eyes so shiny
They come to the fore as they’re about to be no more
And, I have to witness their death … that is shitness!
If only they’d poop on someone else’s stoop
Or at least out of sight, so then I might
Ignore their existence and applaud my persistence
To live in this city, which is kind of shitty
Where things cost so much money, and the days are not sunny
I’m just saying …