Good morning, Monday. It's been a fun couple of days in New York, though the heat almost did us all in. It was like a Dali painting outside for days but now the temperature seems to be dropping, albeit only suggestively and just shy of 90 degrees. I'm off to Soul Cycle and getting to the business of the gym again- for some reason it was tough to consider working out when Manhattan was like one big shrinky dink.
I've been here for almost a week now and rented an apartment two blocks from my old stomping grounds. Being in Soho is always lovely, and I forgot how good the iced coffee at Olive's is. Not to mention the shopping. Oh, the shopping.
But one thing I forgot about, as one often does when one romanticizes a place, is the steroidal nature of the roaches here. Now I live in Miami where the palmetto bugs could very easily stage a coup and take over the city if they really wanted to, but New York cockroaches are a sheer force themselves. I went out to Connnecticut yesterday fro a bbq and came back tired and excited to get to bed early so I could get my butt in the gym today. But nothing like a showdown with a Manhattan roach to make the heart race before bed. There before me in my little studio was possibly the biggest, most vile roach I have ever had the privilege to behold. Jesus Christ.Bloody. Hell. Fuck.Fuck. Fuckkkkk. I couldn't help but wonder if he had been working out. He was swolled. Super duper, David Barton-like swolled.
In case I haven't been clear, I'm not talking about a little bug here, people. I'm talking about an animal sized vomit inducing roach who could have easily fucked me up. And the monster was ON MY BED. And then the meaty bastard crawled onto my computer. Sweet mother of G-d. Quickly I reached for the first aerosol thing I could find- Lysol. Don't do that by the way. It doesn't kill them. It just makes them germ free. Shoot. Me.
This little fuck had to go- and I had to go into survival mode or I would have this guy crawling into my dreams. Quickly and frantically I grabbed my highest heels, put them on with my nightgown, and stomped the life out of that awful crawly nasty, nasty huge bug. And it died. But then I had to get to the business of wadding it up in a paper towel, which almost had me puking. Ugh. I fucking hate bugs. Especially big ones.
But it died, and I didn't, nor did my love for New York, though I slept with one eye open, a feeling I remember very well from living here. New York is like that- keep one eye open at all times- even though you are having a lovely day, there could always be something or someone to keep you on your toes- always being ready for a fight is the New York code. In this case, it was a roach the size of a child and not someone trying to steal my cab or push me out of the way at a sample sale. But it was a force, this much I will say. Did not make for a peaceful Sunday. (And yes, I am totally and ridiculously girly when it comes to bugs, mice, or anything else that crawls and does not belong in the home). Thanks to David for coaching me through it all- I of course called him at midnight and he was more than happy to help me summon the cajones to get through it. Oh and now my sink is gurgling menacingly for no apparent reason...New York living is not a picnic, though the roaches seem to think so.
Abd that's what's up this bug free (hopefully) Monday in the 2 to the 1 to the 2. I killed a giant roach last night, but not my spirit. Don't worry, New York. I still heart you. You're just better when you're bug free. I still dig your gay marriage, amazing bagels, and friendly souls. But those bugs? Non. XO