Friday night I spent a lovely evening with friends doing one of my favorite things - baking. We baked and talked from 7 until almost midnight - laughing, stuffing ourselves with sugary goodness, and even doing a little dancing. It was fantastic.
When I arrived home late that night, all of those happy feelings left my body like the sound of a vinyl record when the needle slips off. I walked into my apartment where my roommate had kindly left a lamp on for me. As I reached to turn off the lamp I looked down to see thousands - yes, thousands - of bugs on the floor. Being one who has always prided herself on being the calm one when bugs and rodents are present (with the exception of bees, which I have an unnatural and debilitating fear of), I was surprised when I completely freaked out at the sight of them. Perhaps it was because of the sheer multitude of them, or perhaps the anger of yet another problem in my apartment. I hurried off to the kitchen and readied myself for combat with spray bug killer. After a good five minutes of dousing the winged intruders, I hopped into the shower to rid myself of the bugs-are-crawling-on-my-body sensation.
Only a few returned, so I wasn't that worried about it. Until today when I found out that they are TERMITES. Perfect. Infested with termites. If the people upstairs don't stop walking so heavily, the building is surely going to fall in, what with all the holes they are surely gnawing in the walls.
Not to mention, I also discovered the signs of a rat under the kitchen sink this weekend. That bastard ate my whole wheat couscous, and then returned it to me in the form of nasty little turds. He'll pay dearly for that.
I. HATE. MY. APARTMENT.