Now it's the flight of the gigantic, angry, furry, brown and orange moths.
I'm not scared of many creatures in general, but the one thing that freaks the absolute shit out of me, is flying things. Sometimes it's ballsy, aggressive small birds that seem to like taking pieces of my hair, sometimes insects, like those leatherjackets, (otherwise known as big, long legged spiders with wings, or the bugs that look like giant mosquitoes) That my dad has to come kill for me, sometimes bees, and always, ALWAYS, moths.
I'm not to keen on mice either, but that's another story.
When I was living with The Jewish Princess in our first apartment, last year, right around mid-May to this time of year, we lived in a little one bedroom apartment that we shared. It was close quarters, and we had a lot of stuff that we tripped over on a regular basis. At any rate, this little cramped apartment had no screen door, and a tree that was right outside of our apartment balcony.
There were these "new" gigantic moths, (And when I say "new" I mean it struck a chord of terror in my heart that I've never felt before.) and when I say they were gigantic, I'm not joking. They were approximately an inch in length, and when the wings were outspread, they were about an inch to inch and a quarter in width. The furry bodies, were approximately the thickness of my pinky finger (I don't have small fingers, so these fuckers were FAT) and had a proclivity for kamikaze bombing. Usually at my head. They're angry bastards, these moths. And I swear to god, they sense fear, like dogs do, and take advantage of that fact.
They decided, since the tree outside was quite tasty, and the apartment sliding door was open most of the time without a screen door keeping the nasties out, to try to visit the TJP/Glamazon residence on a regular basis. Needless to say, these visits created a stir in the apartment, with much girlish shrieking and chasing about with cans of hairspray ensuing, and a rather comical attempt at us turning all the lights out except for the chandelier and chasing this thing around, thinking that two so called hunters, were better than one terrified twentysomething chick running AWAY from it. (Yah, that's me. Good guess.)
My most vivid recollection is having to get up at five in the morning after a night out with TJP at Mavericks, (I believe) and having to pee, really REALLY badly. Half dressed in a push up bra and bluejeans, I stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and had a HUGE example of aforementioned moth smack me dead center in the forehead, pinging off in another direction to come back for another shot. Yeah. I wasn't pleased. I was faced with the dilemma of needing to pee quite badly, and a terror of flying insects. I didn't scream, but I was damned close. Next scene sees me whining in an exaggerated, panicked whisper at the bedroom door, "Elizabeth! There's a MOTH in the bathroom and I really gotta pee!!" followed by some incoherent mumbling from her side of the bedroom. Something along the lines of, "Just go pee...Mumblesomethingmumblemurmur." Flash to the next scene of Linds. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like some disgruntled, demented amazon, clutching a pair of very fashionable wedge sandals, one in each hand, clad only in push up bra and jeans, hurling viscous obscenities at this infuriated moth whapping itself mindlessly against the mirror. I'm assuming it was trying to hit ITSELF, since they seem to be pretty violent, and pretty pissy personality-wise. I lost both of my sandals in a pithy attempt to bash the shit out of this moth, finally trapping it in a huge plastic glass, only to spray the shit out of it ruthlessly with hairspray, via a crack of space I allotted it at the opening of the glass and the counter top. I finally got to pee, cackling and taunting the moth through the cup, shying away like a beaten dog whenever it flopped towards me, getting more and more stiff as the hairspray dried. He deserved it, the fucker. No moth is going to make me pee my pants. Scream like a little girl, yes; but I'll be damned if I pee myself.
Needless to say, I was horribly traumatized, and quite happy when we moved into a huge 2 bedroom a month and a half later, in the same building with screens on all the doors and windows. I did gain a little bit of confidence after killing ten of them, and coming up with my own system to end their reign of terror.
Not for long, apparently, as they seem to be back in the Burnaby neighborhood where I live, inciting my girlfriend to laugh at me during coffee tonight as one smacked against the hood of her car, and I spat curses at it. Do I feel stupid for being afraid of something small that is probably more terrified of me than I am of it? Hell yes. Am I still inordinately scared of them? Uhhh, yup.
They're baaaaaack! And I'm keeping my hairspray handy this time.
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