The Rooster

Things here are good. Still waging an ongoing battle against legions of cockroach armies. Little fuckers. They generally only come out at night, when they look scarier and I'm too exhausted to mount a counter attack. Yesterday morning I had the exterminator here, who now thinks I'm certifiably insane. It's a damn good thing he doesn't work for the city. When he got to my front door I actually started to tear up, I was so happy to see him. (When you haven't slept, it's easy to get emotional.)

I made the poor exterminator guy spray everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I followed him around the apartment saying, "hmm, I think you missed a spot here," and, "oh, did you get right here? It's kinda hidden, but if you squint just right and tilt your head to the left, you can see there's a teeny hole right...HERE." He seemed to think I was a bit too intense. I asked if he'd come back tomorrow, just to be thorough. He said no.

The real kicker came when one of the little bastards crawled out of the corner and onto the stove. Talk about balls -- the exterminator was standing right there! These exoskeletoned little suckers just don't give a damn. I dove across the kitchen, kleenex in hand, shoved the extermintor guy aside, and squashed the living hell out of it. It kept twitching, and by then I was really into killing the little beast, so I began verbally abusing it. "Oh, you want some more?! That wasn't enough for you?! Yeah, you tell your friends what it's like in the daylight, you motherfucker!"

The exterminator clutched tighter to his poison gun & I saw fear in his eyes. I've officially become that lady.

I've also discovered I'm not in a "quiet neighborhood," like the ad described. I'm two houses away from "LA Cycle," which, contrary to my original belief, is not a quaint little bicycle store. It's actually a loud-ass motorcycle shop. Fun times. Loving those Harley's right now. They use my street for test drives and tricks...you know, like going 90 MPH and popping wheelies. No mufflers whatsoever. At least they're only noisy during daytime hours, which is more than I can say for the fucking rooster.

Oh yes, I said rooster. A rooster in the big city. It's like a Disney Adventure. And he lives right next door to me, as luck would have it. But this not just any rooster; this is a confused fucking bird. It starts cock-a-doodle-dooing at 5:30am, and continues doing so until 9:00am. No joke. Nonstop, full volume, with thin, cheap window panes as my only defense.

Who the hell has a rooster in LA?! And why do they want me to kill it?

Have I mentioned there's a guy upstairs who likes to shoot hoops? In his apartment?

No? I'll save that for later. I've got a rooster to kill.