Wash me

As you may know, I live in LA. And yes, I admit (with some reluctance) that it's got its perks. It's close to the beach, there are thousands of frozen yogurt shops, and if you're one of those people that likes beautiful, warm, sunshiney days, then you're in luck. But here's something you probably didn't consider, you cheerful sun-loving freaks. This is a dry, dusty city. And when it only rains like, 6 times a year, my car gets really, really dirty.

Car wash, you say? Hey, I'm not made of money, people. And if I was made of money, I'd probably just buy a new car whenever mine got dirty. I've never actually gone to a car wash on my own, and I don't really want to start now. And, really, who am I trying to impress in my '99 Oldsmobile Intrigue? I mean, my right side view mirror is held on with tape, for god's sake.

But I tried washing it by myself once. I bought a bucket and everything. Well, really just a bucket. And some 99-cent car washing liquid blue stuff. But when you park your car on the street, it's really a production. Carrying buckets of water from the house gets pretty tiring. Not to mention the risk of an audience. There's always someone out on the street and I don't need that sort of pressure. I'm know they're standing there, watching, judging. And, let me tell you, I can do without the judging.

Anyways, I tried my best. And it was definitely not good enough. In my attempt to rinse the top of the car, I actually poured an entire bucket of water all down my front. How did I do this? I'm not sure. But I assure you, it was not in that sexy, sudsy car-washing-girl way. It was just sad and cold and wet.

So I gave up on car cleaning quite a while ago. A light rain every few weeks or so is good enough for me. But it seriously has not rained in quite some time now, and my car is beyond filthy. People are writing in it and everything. First, I think there was something in Spanish on the rear window. And then of course, the classic "WASH ME." But today I noticed a new scrawl on the top of the trunk. It says "Zeus is my lover boy." First of all, I don't know who Zeus is, but he is definitely not my lover boy. Does my car have a lover boy? Maybe. I suppose if a car can request to be washed, it is also capable of having a lover boy. If so, maybe Zeus can step up and wash my car.

I'm just a girl

Well, it was bound to happen. Pat has been out of town for almost a week and my most terrible nightmare became a reality tonight. A cockroach. A fast-moving cockroach. In my home. What the fuck am I to do?

I'll tell you what I did do. I came dangerously close to having a heart attack. I'm sitting on the couch, talking to my brother on the phone, when all of a sudden I see it. It's the size of a small dog and it bolts across the floor and disappears right under the vaccuum cleaner. I start chanting obscenities and tell Joe I'll call him back. I no longer have fine motor skills, but am somehow able to grab one of Pat's heavy shoes. I run over to the vaccuum. It might not even be under there anymore. For all I know, it is in my bed, just waiting to literally scare me to death.

I've got the shoe in my hand, but am seriously paralyzed in terror. My brain is trying to send messages to my body, but it just isn't responding. "Kick the vaccuum." "Pick up the vaccuum." "Do something." "Move in some way." But I can't do it. I'm staring at the shoe, wondering if I'm holding it correctly. Maybe I should put my hand in the shoes instead of holding the edge. Should I hold it by the toe or by the heel? I realize that I may be overthinking it, and finally I kick the vaccuum. Nothing happens which simultaneously scares and delights me. But it's still there. And it knows I'm here. I kick the vaccuum harder. Still nothing. I have a serious case of tremors. Finally, I try moving the vaccuum a little by the handle and shit! It scurries out and right back under in less than a second. I repeat this process several times. Each time it appears, it gets scarier. It actually starts jumping straight up in the air before retreating to under the vaccuum.

And then I have a moment of brilliance. It won't budge from under the vaccuum. So all I need to do is plug that baby in, hit the button, and it will be sucked into captivity. Shaking uncontrollably, I grab the cord, and plug it in, but my nerves are such that I seriously cannot figure out how to turn the vaccuum on. I vaccuum a couple times a week, so this is fairly unusual. I'm getting more frantic, wondering if it's possible that I somehow broke off the pedal that turns the machine on. And then I realize that it's the big red pedal. I hit it and jump back. I can see the dust and hairballs swirling around in the canister. But no gigantic cockroach. This is unsettling. Is it clogging the machinery? Or did it run away and jump into my bed? No, it is now on the wall, inches behind the vaccuum. In a desperate act, I pull the hose out of the vaccuum and point it at the monster. It disappears in the hose, but I still don't see it iappear in the canister. I then proceed to leave the vaccuum running for a good five minutes. It's now 1:30 am and my neighbors are probably wondering what the fuck is up.

I'm keeping my distance, but I'm still waiting to see it appear in the canister. I see dust. I see hair. But no cockroach. I call Joe back. And suddenly I see it! I'm ecstatic and tremendously grossed out. It's slowly crawling around in a circle, semi-covered in dust. Big-ass antennae and everything. And yes, I feel guilty for using what must be the most cruel and unusual method of trapping/killing a bug ever. So, I'm sorry, ok? But it was the best I could do. Anyways, an hour later, I'm still awake. I'm terrified that it's going to somehow be able to crawl through the inner workings of the vaccuum and escape in the night. Periodically, I turn the vaccuum back on, just to confuse him. I thought of just throwing the vaccuum outside, but I'm worried that as soon as I open the door, 3 more cockroaches will run inside.

If I had a shotgun, I would probably sit on the couch all night long, just watching my trusty Bissell Powerforce, waiting for any new developments. But alas, I do not own any firearms. It's probably for the best, because I'm a little jumpy.

But here's the point to take home from this. Ladies: this is why you need a boyfriend. Or a live-in manservant. Blah, blah, blah, feminism, but girls should not ever have to deal with something like this on their own. My Pat might not be a hulking man that could protect me from a grizzly bear, but he has proven himself against scary bugs on many occasions. So if you're a single gal, I say, grab the nearest guy and give him a shot. At the very least, he is a genetically superior bug killer. And if that's really not an option, you should at least have a bagless vaccuum. Seriously.