Oh my god. I can’t even right now.

Ew.

It’s so gross. I can’t.

Okay, so, like, I know the realities of city life… but… so far, I have not had any direct encounters with cockroaches in my own house. My safe space. My cave. My little retreat where I can hide from the world.

Tonight I experienced a home invasion from an extremely large cockroach. It was so big and so gross and it ran right at me when I walked over to my kitchen sink. Forever traumatized.

I cowered in fear on the other side of the apartment as it peaked out at me with its creepy little antenna from the sink. I couldn’t handle it. I just couldn’t. In that moment, I resorted to my primal cavewoman instincts and did the only thing I could think of: I called the nearest man for help.

This was my neighbor, who I had literally just spoken to on the roof maybe 20 minutes prior. Not even. So when I knocked on his door this time, I knew he wasn’t in a bad mood and I knew I wasn’t interrupting anything.

“What do you need?” He said.

“There’s a cockroach in my sink and I need you to kill it for me. I can’t. I literally just can’t.”

He looked at me in disgust and replied, “And you want me to do it? Who do do you think I am?!”

“I don’t know! Someone who has more experience dealing with cockroaches in Hong Kong than I do! You’re the one who has lived here your whole life!”

He reluctantly agreed and followed me into my studio to assess the situation.

“Wow, that’s a big one,” he said. “Gross.”

“Yeah, exactly! So do something about it!”

He went out into the stairwell to fetch the communal roach spray.

“Is that going to work?” I asked. “I thought they were indestructible.”

“They are,” he said calmly. “But this generally works. You just have to spray it multiple times, like this.”

He sprayed the cockroach dead and left me to dispose of the remains alone. I couldn’t deal with it, so I changed my clothes and walked over to the cantina instead. Just you wait until I get three strawberry magaritas in me. I’ll go full Mexican Mafia on your bitchass!

I realized as I walked up the stairs through Central that my confidence in my neighbor had been slightly shaken. He wasn’t as ready and willing to take charge of the situation as I had hoped. I mentally added, “Confident in his ability to take out a cockroach” to my checklist of requirements for a future partner.

In that moment, I couldn’t deal only think of my Russian. If he had been there, he would say, “Do not worry, Liz. I am big strong alpha male. I kill cockroach for you, then feed it to bear I keep in pit back home in Mother Russia.”

Oh, if only.

That’s hot…

The other expat sitting at the bar tonight has not been helpful. He overheard me telling my friend this story and he said, “Just wait until the rats come into your apartment and run across your bed while you sleep.”

“Has this actually happened to you here?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a sadistic laugh. “Just wait until the rats come.”

Pure fucking nightmare fuel.

Dear god.

You know, I was having a good day today before that happened.

Horrifying. I can’t even. Just the thought of its dead body waiting for me back in the sink is enough to fuel my nightmares for weeks. So fucking nasty and gross. I just can’t.

Now I’m mad at my neighbor for making me do this by myself. Like, come on, man. You’re a man, man. This is supposed to be your job!

Okay, enough dwelling on this. I need to get Mexican Mafia wasted and dispose of the body.

Have a good night!