Before I even start with this I’d like to acknowledge that my emotions follow no sensible path of direction, and I know that I’m WEIRD (like puts the EIRD in WEIRD kinda weird). Anyways, the other day my roommate looks at me and all nonchalantly says, “Oh hey by the way I think I saw a rat in the apartment last night.” To which I replied, “What? No. Fuck you no. First of all, who the hell gets rats in their apartment? People get mice. Second, why the hell are you so calm, and not doing anything to kill it?!”
It quickly became clear I had to go Third Reich style on the little Mickey Mice. I’m really OCD when it comes to keeping my apartment clean, and the thought of killing some small animals that might be running around my place made me really happy. Ok I know that sounds all serial-killer-in-the-making like, but doesn’t everyone want to live in a clean apartment?
So I set out a few traps in the hopes that something would get caught, and that maybe someone would get a toe broken in it. Side note- did you know that mouse traps won’t break your finger if they snap on you? I wanna pay a hobo to test this for me. Anyways, the next day I come home to find a mouse in my trap. Yippie right? Wrong. My eagerness to catch a mouse was suddenly cock slapped in the face with the terrifying reality that I now had to get rid of it. GROSS.
So I walked around my apartment for like 5 minutes trying to think of some way to avoid having to dispose of the Stuart Little corpse in the kitchen, and shooting dirty looks at my roommate for being an EVEN BIGGER PUSSY THAN I AM. I finally settled on some latex gloves and a pair of pliers, which did little to calm me when I realized that apparently mice have blood in their bodies and this one had stained my trap and kitchen floor red. MORE GROSS. Why can’t everything just disappear when it dies like Jedis in Star Wars (aka how I thought everything died when I was a kid… Thanks Star Wars).
On a positive note I realized that the double doors in my living room that lead to the world’s smallest balcony are a PERFECT place to throw out dead animals and leftover bacon fat (that is to say when I can’t cook my bacon fat into anything else). I don’t think anyone lives below me, but my building’s leasing office might be down there so maaaaaybe not the best place to dispose of my worst garbage?
P.S. I put up a fake Christmas tree the other day and people didn’t like it L I know, I know, I know its fucking September, but am I really the only person out there who doesn’t want constant reminders that snow, presents and drinking with special holiday hats are all coming?! Please tell me I’m not alone, and that putting bows on bottles of three buck chuck under my tree will make drinking more fun.
