Lunatics? I'm not a fan.

Let me preface this blog post by saying that I never find flippant remarks complaining about or mocking the homeless to be amusing or appropriate. As evidenced by my work at HousingWorks, I very much care about stopping homelessness and helping that happen is a priority to me.

BUT! I think all will agree that the events I’m about to describe are objectively terrible, regardless of the larger social issues involved.

So. I’m standing outside a bar with my friend Lukas, who works in publishing. We happen to be discussing the role the literary agent plays in the process of designing a cover for the client’s book. I realize that to someone who lives on the street and may or may not be on crack, this conversation wouldn’t seem very important. Regardless, I don’t feel like his plight means that it’s wrong for me to have it, or gives him the right to prevent me from having it. SO, up walks a homeless man who is clearly out of his mind. He walks up to us and begins to rap that song that’s like, “A hip, hop, a hippy to the hop and don’t stop the rock and … bang…. I am wonder mike and I’d like to say hello…”

You know the one. It’s that song by Sugarhill Gang that everyone in the universe detests and always did. He gets all up in my face singing this song, rendering it impossible for us to continue talking or do anything but listen to him sing this terrible song. This goes on for a full two minutes or so. He then of course demands money.

Oh, I’m sorry, last time I checked, when a human being walks up to another human being and is intensely irritating, does something without asking the other person if they desire to hear a crappy song sung in their face, and prevents that person from going about their life, THEY DON’T GET PAID FOR IT.

So I refuse. The man then shouts at me, “It’s because I’m black! You racist! If I was a white man standing in front of you you would give me money!” Repeat repeat repeat. I then feel rage bubbling up inside me, and stupidly say, “Actually I just don’t like that song. I’m sorry, man. Have a good night.” He then proceeds to shout at me things like, “You don’t SMELL sorry!” which is really lovely.

But OK, I think, this happens. I’m a little rattled, but we finish our drinks and I get on the bus to go home. I have my iPod on and am reading Harry Potter when I hear a huge commotion. I look up and two women are having a fight. Yes, a physically fight, on the bus. One woman (We’ll call her Grumpy Sad-Looking Woman, or GSLW) apparently asked the other (We’ll call her Insane Woman with Four Year Old Daughter and Thug Boyfriend, or IWWFYODATB) to move further into the bus.

IWWFYODATB proceeds to leap on top of GSLW, pulling her hair and screaming obscenities and slapping her in the face and punching her arms. The Thug Boyfriend was also standing doing nothing except bellowing, “Don’t touch my girl!” when it was actually “his girl” who was being a total lunatic, and terrifying her poor little 4 year old daughter. IWWFYODATB was shouting, “That’s my daughter!” when as far as I could see, GSLW didn’t do anything wrong except sort of rudely ask IWWFYODATB to move into the bus, which she should in fact have been doing. Also, IWWFYODATB claimed to be upset that her daughter had been threatened, but didn’t seem to care that her daughter was cowering in fear and embarrassment at her own insane behavior. It was very sad. Imagine having to run off a bus away from the police because your mom is a lunatic?

Meanwhile yet another lunatic is watching the proceedings and shouting, “The end is near! This is because we don’t know Jesus anymore!” in ominous tones. I hear someone say in a pragmatic voice, “Well, this is New York,” which cheered me up, since it sounds like something my smart and tough relative May would have said in that situation. I am further depressed when I see that the person speaking is a grotesquely obese woman in a skin-tight leopard-print leotard. Another nutter.

Of course, since the police had to be called, and we all had to get off the bus. Apparently having to get off the bus without there being another bus in sight is called a “transfer” by MTA employees.

I decide to take a cab the rest of the way since I’m feeling so creeped out. I hail a cab, which swerves across 4 lanes of traffic to get to me, almost causing about 23784289374 accidents. I get in, and YET ANOTHER lunatic bangs on the hood of the car, shouting, “Watch where you’re going!” He was right, but one does not bang on a vehicle.

I rolled up all the windows, locked all the doors, ran up my stairs and bolted the door.

Sweeping Up the Nesquick (alternate title: I Hate My Life)

It has been a nauseating and poisonous morning. So, basically, we have bed bugs again. I am apparently immune to the bites, so this is a lot worse for Athena than it is for me. Especially as they seem to congregate entirely in her room. This morning was our appointment with the exterminator, Ralph. We will call him Exterminator Ralph.

Exterminator Ralph arrives, and throws poison from an antique looking jerry can all over our apartment. Like, it’s dripping in poison.* But he seems impressed with our efforts to terminate the bed bugs. Then, I say, “Hey Exterminator Ralph, there are also these little bugs in the kitchen cabinets. They’re mostly dead because I sprayed Raid on them, but there are TONS of carcasses (carcassi? carci?) and still some live ones roaming around.”

Now, this problem has been going on for about 4 months, but they are so teensy tiny and so efficiently killed by Raid that I didn’t bother to call Exterminator Ralph until we also had bed bugs. But he takes one look (and picks one up and puts it close to his face, ew!) and says, “this is a grain bug. They’re breeding in something in the cabinet.” Now as I am a short grrrrl, I have never ever ever looked on the top shelf of the cabinet. Nor have I really looked on the 2nd to top shelf. But Ralph tells us to take EVERYTHING out of the cabinets and throw out any non-canned good. We do this . . . and find . . . HUNDREDS OF BUGS! Mostly carcassi, but also some live ones meandering amongst the carnage. We examine each grainy item, and in a canister of basamati rice we find… 3 MOTHER LODE BUGS!!!! Like, 3 of the grossest bugs ever. They aren’t that big, but they certainly look reproductive. There were probably more than three, but three was all I saw before I screamed and retreated to the corner, tears filling my eyes and adrenaline filling my veins, while Exterminator Ralph looked at me with amusement and disgust and Athena looked at me with compassion and tranquility. Man is she good at this kind of thing. After seeing the Big Ones I wasn’t much use, as each successive item pulled out of the cabinet was covered in increasing numbers of the small ones.

After the cabinets are emptied, Exterminator Ralph douses the whole thing in poison. The poison seeps through the wood and drips onto everything in the world. He even poisons the ceiling. What a great morning! How I love watching my home be douses in toxic material! How I love knowing all my food and plates was within 3 feet of at least 500 little bugs and at least 3 motherlode bugs!

I decide to do my part by taking out the trash bag of grainy items and bugs of various levels of aliveness. As I’m doing this, it rips, and my Nesquick spills all over the stairs. Of course I don’t notice this until I’m on my way back up, and see my Hansel and Gretl-eque trail. I sweep it up, thinking of the fun times I have had drinking cocoa or chocoMilk with my friends, and am sad the Nesquick ended like this. Almost as sad as I am that my day started like this, sweeping up the Nesquick.

*You might be wondering where Mr. Rupert and Ninja were during this poisoning. They were (and are) next door at Melissa’s, Ninja quietly playing with Gus the pug, but Rupert frantically running back and forth crying plaintively: “MEOW! MEOOOOOW! MEOWWW!” Breaks my heart. Ruuuuuuu . . .