Me Vs. Nature: Part II - Natural Enemy.

MONDAY - 2:21AM: I sit, unable to sleep. Sleep was taken from me tonight by the incursion of an old enemy. Hopefully, by the time you're reading this I'll finally be able to go to bed. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning.

Mrs. C and I had settled down for bed. The lights were off, the room was cozy, everything was right. Sleep didn't come as quickly as it normally would, but eventually I began to feel consciousness slowly slip away. Like an old movie reel slowly whirring into operation, the random images that would be my dreams began to flicker in my mind. Sleep was coming, and I gladly welcomed it.

...

But this was not to last. From the part of my mind that was still semi-conscious, I could sense a disturbance. This was further emphasized when heard my wife next to me growl in frustration. It was then I came to just enough to hear what it was. Something had gotten all the dogs on the street riled up and they were all barking their heads off. Not the first time. I decided to ignore it and apparently so did Mrs. C.

Soon the lights in my brain began to flicker again as images began to fill my subconscious. I wasn't fully asleep when I felt it. A prickly feeling move across the back of my hand. In the dark my eyes opened as I flung my hand upward. That's right! A COCKROACH had just run across my hand!

*Shudder*.

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I knew what it was instantly. At that moment, all it took was one fluid motion for me to be up, out of bed and flicking on the light switch. At this point I should point out that I'm not one to go into a panic when I see one of these things, but I will not - under any circumstances - tolerating them actually touching me. All this stems from something that happened a long time ago. An event that has been indelibly etched into my brain and may forever haunt me...

You see (*lays down on couch, clasps hands on chest and looks up at ceiling*) it all began when I was about 5 years old. I remember it well. I was getting ready for bed and putting my PJs. I had just buttoned up my shirt when I felt this strange prickling sensation on my stomach. Curious, I undid the buttons to see what was the cause of this sensation and there, running up my little chest, you can guess... Our gazes met, I shrieked, it flew away. I've been scarred since. It was a brief encounter but, since then, I've made it my mission to kill any of these creatures once they dared to venture into my personal space.

You understand.

Anyway, during this most recent encounter, my movements woke Mrs. C just enough to ask me what had happened. I told her what was going on and she, not being overly concerned, pulled her covers again.

I know, right? You'd think she'd at least be worried, especially since the hand the bug crawled over was the one that was thrown over her shoulder, which meant it was only inches from her face. Nothing! She wanted to sleep and nothing was going to stop her. Or at least she tried to. When she realized I wasn't taking the light off until I found the bug, she decided to use the opportunity to go to the bathroom.

It didn't take me long to find it. I've discovered over the years that cockroaches aren't very good at hiding when they're spooked and usually scamper around the place like crazy. This time was no exception. I grabbed a slipper and brought its existence to a quick end. By the time Mrs. C came back into the room I was already back in bed, satisfied that I had made the world a safer place. My wife, however, just gave me this kinda look and nodded before she flipped the light off again.

Honestly, she should have been thanking me. No appreciation whatsoever!

We settle in again. Several minutes passed as we lay in the dark. Satisfied that the ordeal was over I tried not to let the earlier excitement get to me and waited for sleep to come. Then... I heard a familiar fluttering.

Me: Son of a bitch!

Mrs. C: What?

Me: Another one just flew right above my head!

Mrs. C: GROAN!!!

Needless to say, the light was again. Only, this time Mrs C didn't bother to get up. She decided she was going to leave me to face my demons alone. This new invader was smarter than the last one and stayed hidden. After a few minutes I decided to call it quits and go back to bed. But it was no good. Did you know that if it's quiet enough, you can head them scurrying about? Well if you didn't, yes, you most certainly can. It was decided. I wasn't getting to sleep this night.

The cause? My best guess is that, for the first time in days, it rained yesterday. And this wasn't just any sprinkle either. The rains came early in the morning, poured for a long time and never really stopped until evening. Even when it lightened up, it continued all day. This, I suspect drove them from the vacant overgrown lot next door, seeking drier ground. Our open window was just the invitation they needed.

As for me, I got up, grabbed the can of bug spray and went into the living room where I surfed the web until sunrise. I couldn't spray the room since Mrs. C is still peacefully asleep in there so here I am. The bug spray is in case they decide to follow me outside too.

I'll sleep when the sun comes up. I'll be safe then.

The Voices In My Head.

We all hear it. The voice that tell us we can be more, do more, be better, go further, push harder... That is the voice that drives us to go beyond our limitations and sometimes we can achieve greatness because it pushes when we think we don't have it in us to take that next step. Let's call that voice "Drive".

But then there is that voice that tells us the opposite. The voice of "Doubt". Doubt tries to convince us we can't go on. That whatever it is we're working towards isn't worth the effort. We'll hear it say, "Who are you fooling? You know you can't do this. Stop making a fool of yourself! Who are you trying to impress anyway?" He's an asshole.

Doubt is just as strong, sometimes even stronger than the Drive. Sometimes, all it takes is that that one split-second for it to whisper to you and all the strength and motivation you thought you had  when you first started seems to just vanish. Then everything falls apart. Unless Drive can come back and convince you to pick yourself back up again.

These two voices are forever warring inside my head. No matter what I'm doing, they're there. One example is when I'm at the gym. I'd be lifting weights when, all of a sudden...

Doubt: You can't make those last five. You know you can't! Look! You're doing it wrong. I'm sure you are. Hah! Three more? You aren't going to make it. Look how your are is shaking... Dude! Wait! I thing you pulled something!

Meanwhile, Drive is there too, screaming in the other ear.

Drive: C'mon! You can do it! You know you can! Just this last five, Vinny... now four... now three..!

They're both really annoying, to be honest, and sometimes I wish they'd just take it outside and settle things once and for all.

Then again, maybe not...

Nowadays, as I continue to deal with the harsh reality of once again being unemployed, I'm faced with not only the worry of mounting bills and the feeling of diminished self-worth, but their constant bickering as well.

Doubt will ask me why I'm still wasting my time with journalism after The Paper fired me, or tell me I'm a burden for not being able contributing to the finances. 

"Just sit there! Watch TV. Surf the web. What's the point of sending out all those applications? All you'll are more crickets!" Doubt will say. (He contradicts himself, I know. But, like I said, he's an asshole.)

At this point, the other guy, Drive, will then rebut with a, "Ignore him! You won't be a burden once you get out there and start working again. And you will start working again. Just keep trying." (It's even worse when he brings out his cheer squad to back him up.)

And those are just a few examples...

Still, as annoying as the voice of Doubt is, I can't totally ignore it. Left on its own, Drive can be pretty much an asshole too. He can push you to taking chances you shouldn't and going so far you end up going over the  proverbial (maybe even literal) edge. It might look good on one of those motivational quotes to say "throw caution to the wind", but that voice of Doubt can, on occasion, be a voice of reason that keeps you from crossing lines you know you shouldn't. The hard part is knowing just when he's right.

The Time I May Have Set In Motion The End Of Mankind...

I've mentioned our little war we've had going on with the ants that seem to be in such large numbers around here. We've managed to get the situation under control (and our electric kettle working again) but the war with them is ongoing and one of the things that we always have to look out for is any food left out in the open. It's weird but that seems to attract a lot more of them.

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Usually, when we go into the kitchen, at least one or two the little buggers are always there, scouting for any carelessly exposed food to run home and tell the others about. And they don't miss a thing. To deal with this, we rely a lot on either putting things into sealed containers or in the fridge, but that practice isn't always followed.

Like last night. Someone left the bread out on the counter and, as you may have guessed, they found it and they were loving it. Since it was just the last bit of it, I wasn't too broken up about tossing it...

But then, you see, I kinda had this bright idea...

Before I tossed the bread, ants and all, I... thought... I'd just... putthebreadinthemicrowaveandkilltheantsfirst! Just for a few seconds.

Anyway, it didn't work. Thirty seconds later, I took it out and they were still scurrying around all over that bread. The only difference now was the bread was warmer and this was starting to get their attention, but they weren't really trying to get away. So I put it back in again. This time, I gave it 45 seconds more.

DON'T JUDGE ME!

By the way, did you know that bread does this weird, melty thing when you nuke it for too long. I did *not* know that.

To my surprise, the ants still survived, but they definitely didn't want any more of that bread. I guess at this point, it must have felt like trudging through hot, white mud. I forgot about them for a few seconds as I examined the new gooey consistency of the bread and hadn't noticed most of them were getting away. Many even made it back to the crevices and cracks that provide them safe passage around the kitchen.

It didn't occur to me until after that I had just exposed them to all those microwaves and sent them back to mingle with the rest of the colony. So if there's some new ant-borne super virus sweeping the earth in the near future, um, my bad.

Worse yet is if the ants develop super intelligence and begin waging war on human kind. I mean, they're already way too organized as is. Have you seen the video that shows the inside of an ant colony?

No way these things should be made any smarter!

This one's totally on me, guys! Whatever comes, just know I accept full responsibility and they'll probably come after me first for killing so many of their brethren in our earlier skirmishes anyway.

A Total Pain In The Neck.

Literally! That's my current affliction. I woke up at 2:39 this morning to a sharp, stabbing pain in the right side of my of my neck. At first I thought Mrs. C had finally had enough of me and was implementing the "til death do us part" clause of our marriage contract. She, however, was fast asleep and I wasn't bleeding, so I know she didn't try to stab me.

It has only gotten worse since then, which I think was compounded by the fact that I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. This, in turn is due to the pain I'm currently experiencing. It's a vicious cycle.

I've spent the majority of the day laid up on the couch bitching about it being consoled by some of you on Facebook and Twitter. Thanks. Even though it does hurt when I laugh (and turn my head, and lie down, and sit up and even breathe) I appreciate the you guys trying to make me feel better.

Added to that, a little sniffle I've been fighting off for the past few days seems like it's decided to take advantage of my weakened condition and I'm starting to feel a little feverish.

Resulting from all this, I've decided to take the afternoon off from class and sulk recuperate.

Well, I think I've griped enough for today. How are things on your end?

Sometimes It's Nice To Know You're Not The Only One.

As I have mentioned in the past, I use to be in banking. I also mentioned that, due to the poor handling on my part of some situations during that time, I was forced to leave it. It's okay, though. I'm over it.

As I've also mentioned, my wife works for a bank as well. She was lucky. She did data entry there and never had to see a single customer. There was a down side, though. She worked on evenings and our, then, routine was me leaving for work with her fast asleep and her coming home from work after I was already in bed. I used to joke that we were only married on weekends because that was when we actually spent any kind of time together. After multiple transfer requests, they got tired of her... persistence and now she's a teller, working the day-shift in a regular branch.

Because of my experience on the customer service side of things, I try help Mrs. C learn from the mistakes that I made. I warn her from time-to-time about the various perils and, especially, the crazies she'd inevitably meet.

For example, there was the time I had to decline someone's loan because his demands were impossible to meet and he wouldn't listen to reason. There was just no way to approve it.  He, however, said I declined his loan because I was racist. He neglected to take into consideration that we were both of the same race when he made the charge though.

Another time, there was this guy who would apparently come in every few months to complain about discrepancies on his credit card statements. Even though I was in loans, the person dealing with him decided to shovel him off on the next available person and basically conned me into seeing him. By the time I realized he wasn't applying for a new credit card, it was too late.

It was during this meeting that the customer confided in me that the bank was conspiring to hide the truth about his credit card info and that he finally had proof. That proof being his "real" credit card statement versus a "phony" copy the he was provided with.

Customer: You can see it right here! The bank's logo on my copy I got in the mail is red. This other copy they gave me has a black logo.

Me: Okaaaay... What else?

Customer: What do you mean? Mine is obviously the official thing because it's in color. The one they printed and gave me isn't so it has to be made-up.
Me: But the information on both is exactly the same.
Customer: *blink*

Me: Who gave it to you?

Customer: Them. Over by that counter just now.

He was pointing at the CSR counter across the floor. They only have a black and white printer there.

But, this past Wednesday morning was Mrs. C's turn. Like so many of my customers, her encounter had her a state of bewilderment that lasted for about half a day.

Customer 2: I'd like to make a withdrawal.

Mrs. C: Sure. One second... I'm sorry. You don't seem to have any money in your account.

Customer 2: But my disability comes in at the end of every month.

Mrs. C: Wait, please. Let me check the history. Oh yes. It did come in at that time. But it looks like you withdrew it already.

Customer 2: I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about this months payment. It should be there. It comes in at the end of every month, you know.

Mrs. C: Um... sir. It's only the the 17th.

Customer: *blink*

Mrs. C: It isn't the end of the month yet.

Customer: But... the full moon already passed...

Mrs. C: Okaaaay... (places hand close to panic button).

Luckily, her customer left soon after that without incident. I assume to consult with the moon again and make sure their schedules sync-up.

Knowing the crazies exist and actually encountering them are two different things and you almost never know what's going to happen next. Almost makes me nostalgic, to be honest.

Not really.

This Enemy Mine, I Know Him Well. Soap Scum Is His Name.

I grew up a renter. My parents have never owned their own home. Still don't. As a result we - my parents, myself and my two younger sisters - have had to move from time to time. Now, a married man myself, I carry on the proud tradition of non-home ownership. I do intend to rectify this one day but that isn't the point of this story.

While I've made it clear before how much I think moving sucks, one of the things about it that bugs me more than anything else is...

The bathrooms.

Whenever I move into a new place I always have to come to terms with having to use a shower that was once regularly used by someone else. What makes this especially weird is that I don't really consider myself a germaphobe. As guys go, I'm as disgusting as any other, and proud of it. Of course, this wouldn't really be an issue it the shower was new and untouched by human gunk. But we all know how hard to find and costly virgin bathrooms are nowadays.

That last part read back kinda weird...

Anyway, The house we just moved into is - let's just say - on the more mature side. While the landlady did redo the entire kitchen, the shower was woefully as old as the rest of the place. It may have been cleaned after the previous tenants moved out but it wasn't by me and before I considered it fit for human (or at least "my") use I had to deal with it. These are the step-by-step events that took place that day:

- Getting my self physically and mentally prepared: I start with stretching. Then I do some quick shadow-boxing (Soap scum can be aggressive, you know) and give myself a good pep-talk and promise myself a drink for after I'm done.

- I assembled all the necessary items: bleach, detergent, disinfectant cleaner, bleach, bucket, scrub brush, tile and grout cleaner, bleach (I use sulfuric acid if they'd let me).

- Briefly, I give serious consideration to making a hazmat suit from garbage bags and rubber bands. Fortunately, good sense prevailed and the idea was abandoned. That and I didn't have enough rubber bands.

- When the actual cleaning process was underway, I realized that I was starting to feel a little lightheaded. This was from the high concentration of chlorine bleach I used in the cleaning mixture I concocted. After stepping out of the shower and getting some fresh air, I added some more bleach to the mixture and pressed on.

You can see why Mrs. C prefers I clean the shower. It get's done right!

Finally, I was finished. When I was done I felt like I needed a good shower. I removed my clothing (to be taken to a local crematorium for incineration, later) and stepped in, confident that the demons were exorcised. Then I saw it. There, right in front of me, in the teeniest hairline crack that was in this one tile.

Is that a tiny... brown... smudge?

What’s More Fun Than Moving?

The correct answer would be:

Having to move and jury service. Both. at. the same. time.

Outstanding…

Even better than that is that they both keep dragging out. We were all ready to go yesterday when we found out our new place wasn't ready to receive us. The landlady had some workmen in to install a new kitchen and they left a huge mess. So we move today instead.

As for the jury service, I wasn’t one of the jurors selected for the current case so I have to go back next week. AGAIN! I know! Awesome, right? There’s nothing an unemployed person likes to do more than drag his ass out of bed, get dressed and head into the city to be bored out of his mind all day. This may sound familiar. That's because that is exactly how an actual job is like. Right? But, seeing as I'm not getting paid for this I'm going to go to have to conclude that I am, in fact, still unemployed.

Anyway, as easy as it would be to get into a full-on rant about all of this, I’m going to change the atmosphere a little. Being that this is my first time doing jury service, I’ve decided to share a little what I’ve learned so far:

- The building that houses all of the courtrooms is called the “Hall of Justice”. I've only been in it a few times but I can confirm with a reasonable amount of certainty that the Super Friends do not operate from this building. Very disappointing.

The building doesn't even look the same!
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- Our legal system here in Trinidad and Tobago is based on the British legal system. That means the attorneys and even the judges (known as magistrates here) all wear long, flowing, black robes. All they’re missing are hoods and sickles.

I object!
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- Jurors don’t get robes. Or hoods, or sickles. What the hell is up with that?! Aren't we all part of the team now? We’re helping you all do your jobs, people! How about letting us show some team spirit here?

- The attorneys who gracefully glide across the floors of the (impostor) “Hall of Justice” are infinitely more intelligent and important that that we are and ever will be. They know that and they want us to know that too.

- In the courtroom, cell phones are supposed to be turned OFF. Not on vibrate. Not even on silent. The magistrate hates when you disobey this rule. She will stop whatever is going on to express, at great length, her displeasure at the buzzing sound caused by a cell phone disrupting the courtroom’s recording equipment. She get’s really pissed if you text during proceedings.

- Finally, the magistrate – at least the one in the courtroom I’ve been sleeping in assigned to, anyway - does not have a gavel. The hell!?! I thought that one of the perks of that job. If I’m going to be judge, I want a freaking tiny hammer I can bang to shut everyone up, dammit!

I picked all of this up and I haven’t been sitting in on an actual case yet. Who knew there was so much I could learn about the judicial process?

Some People Need Feel In Order To Learn.

Have you ever had the urge to just put someone over your knee and give them a good spanking? I don't mean in some kind of freaky, sexual fetish kinda way (I know you were thinking it. Don't lie). What I mean is, sometimes I see people out there who seem to desperately need a little positive punishment just to let them know that their behavior is unacceptable. You know who I mean. This applies to most celebrities, Wall Street execs and basically all politicians everywhere.

Public figures and corporate moguls are not the only ones this would apply to, of course. There are a lot of average Joes and Janes out there that we interact with on a day-to-day basis that need a good old hide-tannin'. Like people who text while driving, or chew with their mouths open, or insist on trying to hold a conversation with you while you're on the phone. Basically people who should have had a bit more discipline instilled into them as children.

Case in point: The other day I was in the pharmacy. I was at the counter waiting to get a prescription filled, just happily minding my own when, just a few feet away, I hear a young boy begin a rant about some health drink supplement his mother was buying him.
"Please, Jay, relax." his mother urged, "It's good for you."
Jay, who I'm certain couldn't be more than about ten or eleven, replied, "You know what's good for me? Soda! That's what's good for me." and he stormed off to the other end of the drugstore, leaving his mother there at the counter.

You sure it's wrong to just leave 'em there?

If young Jay's little outburst, or the way he ignored his mother as she sheepishly and unconvincingly called out to him, wasn't enough to rub me the wrong way, what came next would surely seal the deal. Defiantly, he stomped across the room but soon noticed that the energy he was investing into his tantrum was being wasted as his mother was engaged in conversation with the pharmacist. It was then he decided to amuse himself in other ways. As I watched, he picked up some candy from a small rack and shoved it into his pocket. He turned to walk away but then he noticed the security guard's stern eye on him and he quickly replaced it. He then turned his attention to the cashier behind one of the counters. One by one he picked up every single item on the counter and ask every question possible about them. The poor girl, trying to be nice (big mistake, because he clearly didn't deserve it) patiently indulged him. Meanwhile, his mother, who's attention was back on him returned to her timid chant of, "Jay... Jay... Jay..." over and over and over again, which, of course, he continued to ignore.

I know many are against the idea of striking children. But then you run into the gems like my friend, Jay, here and you can't help but question those beliefs. But, for those who are against corporal punishment being used on children you'd probably be right. The truth is, while the boy's behavior was bad enough,  his mother obviously needed to be way more stern with him than she was and her obvious failure to assert some more authority only served to enable his behavior. As we say here, "some children are brought up and some are dragged up" and I shudder to think what kind of adult she was preparing to send into the world. That's why I think you'll all agree with me to nominate Jay's mom to receive the honor of:

"The Tanned Hide"

Point of Note: If you're going to google the word "spanking", make sure your
safesearch is at least on moderate. There are sick, sick people out there.