I am pretty disappointed I am one of the last people to find out about the new James Bond trailer

You are now reading the blog of an authentic apartment resident.

Who is updating in the middle of the school quad for lack of internet in said apartment, but well, a mere technicality. In spite of the apartment's lack of maid service, dish washer, automatically cleaning floors, draining shower, and flushing toilet, it is a one-of-a-kind gem.

We moved all our stuff in last Saturday, and since then have been drowning under a seemingly endless pile of what appears to mostly be my stuff precariously balanced on boxes and in boxes. I thought packing was bad. Unpacking is an entirely different breed of problem that I prefer to ignore until the last possible second, meaning until tonight, when I am forced to unpack in order to repack my suitcases to go home. And forced to face the very real possiblity that I won't be in my apartment until next January, but well, we'll see about this.

What I prefer to talk about now are the bugs who are laboring under the illusion that they can move in right under my nose without paying rent. When the building manager came to me yesterday to ask when it would be all right to have the exterminator come around, I opted for the next day. Why not? More time to dwell on the BUG pesticides that would be floating around in the room with the HUMAN occupants, that would PRESUMABLY only kill the BUG residents of the room. But I have my doubts. I'm beginning to think that my by-gone brushes with Raid when I thought I had to spray the stuff into my mouth and then spit it out onto the ants are the only reasonable explanations as to why I persisted in pronouncing "catastrophe" incorrectly for a good 16 years of my life. Anyhow, I did not follow a very obvious line of reasoning yesterday:

1. The exterminator would come to spray parts of the building only.
2. The bugs would duck out whole kit and caboodle to different areas of the building.
3. The different areas they would run to would be areas that were not sprayed yet.
4. This area would undoubtedly be my area.

So when I decided to do laundry at 11 PM, I opened the door to find a whole colony of flying ants and cockroaches grazing on the porch, ogling at me with wide, pleading, beady eyes, begging to be let in.*

*Translation - I was knocked to my feet the second I opened the back door as a very desperate, very ugly, very homeless collection of insects united, foe with friend, in a mad dash to make it into the OBVIOUSLY PRISTINE, unpesticided apartment.**

**Further Translation - I found a cockroach sitting dejectedly on the back porch step. But this doesn't mean there weren't plenty of flying ants around in the room, because had they all been men, I would have been the veritable female equivalent of King Shahryar in 1001 Arabian Nights.

These past few days, I have also thrown most of my better judgment to the wind as I have been madly scrambling to get furniture from occasionally dumpsters. But more on that later. I need to go home TO MY APARTMENT before it starts to rain.