Diary-a

MONDAY NIGHT: Cleaned up cat vomit when I got home. No mice. Michael brought me leftovers from his brother's house on Long Island. His brother's wife made London broil and baked potatoes. It was deelish. Talked to Mark for an hour. This 40th birthday get-together isn't panning out and trying to extend the San Diego work thing isn't going to work either.


SUNDAY NIGHT:
Troy was going berserk when I realized he was in hot pursuit of a mouse. (He may have a terminal illness, but he's still a killer.) I'm terrified of them so just wanted for the whole thing to be over. Troy kept carrying it in his mouth but then releasing it -- so the thing would start running around again. I was standing on a chair in the kitchen (screaming) while Troy chased Mickey into my bedroom. Suddenly Troy came back out into the kitchen mouseless and that's when the real fun began. For eight years I've lived in this apartment and had zero mice. (Zero. And zero roaches.) Now in the past 12 months there have been at least a half-dozen (they seem to have dug something up behind my building, which I'm guessing is the cause) -- only all the rest of them have been dead and waiting for me (as a present) when I got home. This was the first time I was in on the action -- and for the situation not to be fully resolved was too much for me to bear. My first instinct was to just move out and never come back for my things. There was NO WAY I was going to sleep in that room knowing there was a mouse in there somewhere. Of course I called poor Michael -- who was exhausted from a day out on Long Island -- and made him come over to look for it. (Think Alvy and Annie and the spider in the bathroom.) He ripped my bedroom apartment and decided the thing must have survived the attack and slipped back out through the hole near the radiator. He tried to calm me down (to little avail) and I finally let him go back to bed although I was certain -- having witnessed it all -- that the mouse was dead or dying somewhere in my bedroom. About a half hour later I was trying to put the whole thing out of my mind and went to put some clothes in my closet when SUDDENLY I saw the little critter dead on its side next to the dirty-clothes basket. (Cue the Jamie Lee Curtis scream.) I'm so embarrassed of myself but I just lost it. I went running outside (over a tiny mouse -- who's dead!) and could barely contain myself. I called Michael again (who, by this point, had to be up for work in a few hours) and he told me to just get something to pick it up with and be happy that I can sleep knowing it's over ... only it was anything but. I just lost it and had to go outside to try to get a grip. As I wandered down 8th Avenue hoping to find a friendly face to come dispose of the intruder what to my wondering eyes should appear but that guy I've been loving all these years? He went up, he removed it, he went home. I slept like a baby knowing that the scary mouse was gone ... and knowing that I was loved.

SATURDAY NIGHT:

Michael bought me one of those Marc Jacobs Debbie Harry T-shirts down at the Bleecker Street store over the weekend. Even though the whole city is wearing them, I still wanted one. Deb's my girl, after all. They only come in one size (medium), but I swear the green one I wanted was half as big as the blue one, so I got the blue one. They come in 10 colors but all of them feature Debbie in black with her eyes colored blue (why I'm not sure since her eyes are green). The shirt was designed in honor of Blondie's induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and proceeds are going to Debbie Harry's charitable organization of choice -- Riverkeeper -- so why not.