Twice in one night! Can you handle it?

Okay you guys, I don't want you to think I'm gross or anything, but I've been thinking about this for a while now and I just have to write it out, and since the issue we're about to discuss seems to have been resolved...here we go!

A few days before Kyle and I moved in to our apartment, we lay in bed and conspired together about everything we'd do to make this place ours. We would paint the walls, obviously, something to really highlight the colour of the floors, hang curtains, redo the cabinets, scrape the sloppy paint off the windows, and I have this personal little daydream of vintage crystal doorknobs (I know it makes me sound like a grandma, but there's a part of me that has always loved that old luxurious Secret Garden locket, teacup, crystal doorknob aesthetic, and you can go fuck yourself). We thought about where to find the stuff, and bought hellaciously expensive design magazines at the newsstand, and when we moved in, it was with cheeks flushed with the anticipation of a joint, grand adventure in renovation.

And then everything fell apart.

The first night, Kyle and I set up a nest on the ground and ate celebratory brownies. We left the half-eaten dish to the side and hooked up my laptop for a movie, when I caught something moving out of the corner of my eye. I thought it had to do with computer glare in a darkened room, but...there it was again. I turned the screen towards the movement, and whatever it was scurried out of the light.

Which could only mean one. fucking. thing.

"COOOCKROOOACH!!!!!"

It's a good thing that we live in an old building, because anything built after 1976 would have come tumbling down around my ears. I was so angry - well, I felt betrayed, that thing had attempted to make off with my brownies - and so disgusted, I wanted to blow up the neighborhood.
We have roaches. It's like saying we have scabies, and having to swear it's not that we don't take showers or whatever. And it's not our fault! We recognize the distinction between paper mess and food mess. We had a talk with our landlord about this issue, and he said that the only reason this building has roaches at all is this tenant on the third floor -

"Does she have, like, hoarding issues? I interject, in a tone even I recognize as being gossip-mongering.

"No," he laughs, then grows serious again. "It's like, did you ever see that movie Se7en?"

We nod solemnly, knowing that this can't possibly be going anywhere good. "It's like the scene in Se7en where they find the guy that's been killed by Gluttony. It's like nothing I've seen before. I feel really bad about this, but...I'm going to have to evict her."

Kyle and I frown sympathetically, but what the fuck, dude, the roach touched my brownies and that shit is personal. Also, GROSS? So we have roaches, but soon the Roach Lady (who I still think has hoarding issues) will be gone, and in her place, two capfuls of boric acid, a crystal doorknob, and the renewed spirits of our inner carpenters will keep us safe from creepies and crawlies. Update on how well boric acid actually works is forthcoming.