I am sitting here in my apartment shaking, and laughing.
About an hour ago, I discovered a very large bug, I think it was perhaps a roach, sitting on top of my dirty laundry in my bedroom, just a couple of feet from my bed. Ugh! This was, in retrospect, a rather hilarious juxtaposition to my rather dignified activity of writing about all of my ingenious creations in the world of men and relationships over the past several years, and reveling in my beauty, divinity, and power, which I was previously engaged in before discovering The Bug.
I immediately flipped out and started to practically hyperventilate and was on the verge of tears. I called my ex, S, desiring him to come uptown and take care of it for me. No answer. I left him a freaked-out, amusing voicemail. I texted him: Emergency. Please call now. No answer.
It occurred to me that I might possibly be able to put a glass over the bug, slide a piece of paper under it, and let it out my window. But I really didn't want to do that! I was very afraid of this bug.
I called my other ex, G, in LA. No answer. I left a damsel in distress message for him, acknowledging that there wasn't much he could do from LA.
I picked up the slip of paper that I had received in my apartment about a month or two ago, from a secret admirer, with his number. I called him and got his voicemail. He didn't sound very smart on his outgoing message, and I noticed for the first time that he had spelled "secret" wrong. I didn't leave a message.
I considered calling A, the hot IT guy I had dated in the fall before I met my current boyfriend.
(You may be wondering why I didn’t call my current boyfriend, and it’s because we are in a bit of a spot and I didn’t feel it fair to call him about the bug problem in the current state of affairs between us.)
I called my ex S again. He answered. I expressed my distress to him. He told me the bug was harmless, and asked if my roommate was home to help me. I said I was pretty sure he was asleep, or out, because his door was closed. S said he was in the middle of a session (I think a rehearsal session with some other actors) and would have to get back to me, and suggested I talk to my super. He used a kind, somewhat comforting tone of voice, and it boosted me some just to hear his voice.
I went out to the doorman station and talked to the lady working there about the extermination schedule and she didn't know anything. I told her about my big bug and how freaked out I was, and even that I'd called my ex about it. I didn't get any signal that it would be appropriate to call my super, so I decided to go back into my apartment.
And then I decided, "I can do this. I can put a glass over this bug and the paper under it. I can do this." Then it occurred to me that I would feel more comfortable with some boots on, in case the bug scurried around onto my feet. What could be better than my knee-high, black boots? Then I started to think that here might be an opportunity for a character and costume. I took out my black mini skirt with the slit up the thigh. Then I decided I needed the appropriate makeup, so I braved the bed area and reached under my bed for my makeup case, where I found my dark purple lipstick—all the while within two feet of The Bug, which sat on my pants on the floor, still, hanging out. I wondered if he was aware of my presence, and if he knew I was about to pounce on him.
I couldn't use my full-length mirror while applying my makeup because The Bug was below it. So I used my compact and looked in the full-length mirror from afar. I lined my eyes with dark eyeliner, put on lots of mascara, darkened my eyebrows, put on a thick layer of the deep purple lipstick, and slicked my hair back in a low ponytail. Then I couldn't keep the pale green tank top on. It just didn't go. So I found a black tube top in my bureau, and put that on. Oh, and some black gloves from my closet, to protect my hands, just in case. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided I looked pretty hot and pretty bad-ass. Maybe this is even the beginning of a new courtesan persona for me.
Then I got my glass and my piece of paper (which I had gotten ready quite soon after discovering The Bug, but when I'd looked at it, it was just too disgusting and too frightening), and put on Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," and prepared for battle.
By this time, my 17-year-old guy temporary roommate had woken up and I thought of asking him for help, but a) wasn't sure he'd know what to do, since he's only 17 and quite boyish, and b) was by this time so enamored with my bad-ass self that I decided it might be more fun to do it myself.
I slowly approached The Bug, glass and paper in my black-gloved hands. I wondered if it could feel me getting closer, and if it would scurry off. What if it scurried off under my bed, or worse, onto my bed? Aagh! But I re-focused myself on the task at hand. I slowly crouched down and then started to wonder if the entire bug would fit under the glass, including the antennae. I flipped the glass over and inspected the size of the opening, and decided yes, The Bug would fit. And so I surely, decisively, brought the glass down over The Bug on top of my pants.
Immediately, The Bug began crawling and scurrying around in the glass. Oh my god! Ugh. But I had a task to do, and at least the bug was in the glass now, so I took the paper and nudged it under the glass. It was hard to get it under there with the glass and The Bug on my pants, so I slowly slid the glass closer to the floor, and simultaneously nudged the paper further under the glass, and eventually got the glass containing The Bug off the pants, onto the floor, and onto the paper.
Now what? How do I lift it up without letting it go? Oh yes. I can wrap the paper around the glass. I did that, all the while aware of The Bug scurrying around in the top of the glass. Aagh! Then I went over to the window and reached the glass and paper over the edge of the windowsill, and released the paper from the glass, assuming The Bug would simply crawl out and down, over the wall, and away from me and my goddessly lair.
No such luck. It crawled right back over the sill, and back towards me, onto the inside part of my windowsill, next to my taffeta ribbon and my prosperity affirmations. Aaahhh! Now what? I screamed and then yelled, "Get out!" Then I took the paper and nudged at The Bug, which crawled over the sill to the outside part. Victory. Oh, by this time, I'd managed to let my glass slip out of my gloved hand and heard it shatter in the alley below. I was so scared that the bug might try to come back in, that I swiftly reached up and grabbed the top of my window, and slammed it shut.
I have no idea if the bug is still on the windowsill or has crawled away. Or perhaps I crushed it with the windowsill. I am not sure.
I was relieved that it was no longer in my room, however, and then I came back to my body and felt how much I was shaking and how much adrenaline was rushing through my body and how hard my heart was pounding, and I started to laugh. And I caught my reflection in the mirror, with my bad-ass makeup on, and I got such a kick out of myself.
Now the window is closed and I'd like to open it eventually, since I don't have air conditioning and my fans aren't giving me quite enough air. But for now, I'll leave it closed and celebrate what a Bad-Ass I am. And how genius I am at having fun no matter what, and creating theatricality out of anything.