Note: the following story contains no exaggerations. At all. Seriously, it all happened. Unfortunately.

I just killed a motherfucking cockroach. Yes, this post deserves any expletives that might happen upon it. I was on the phone with my parents, chit-chatting about the monotony that is my day-to-day, when I saw a softball-sized thing crawling up my bathroom door. Now, living in the garden apartment, I’ve gruesomely murdered my fair share of in-ground creatures– centipedes included (for curious readers: I will absolutely move out the minute I see a rodent.) Usually I leave Fergus to chase after the flies or moths that might get in, but this fist-sized demon monster was above his eye level, and I know my little hound too well– he’d be far too scared of this cockroach than it would be of him.

“BlaaahhhhhCockRoachAaaaahhhhh!!!! It’s antennae are as long as its body!!!!!!!!!!!”

Lord knows Papa K and T-Bone probably laughed a million at my expense, but this.was.not.funny. Mom said something about bug spray or hairspray, but I barely had time to heed warning before dropping the phone and grabbing my nearest weapon of choice– a lint roller.

“FERGUS! FERGUS! FERGUS!” I waited until the cockroach had crawled to the back of the bathroom door so I could sneak attack it with hairspray in one hand, lint roller in the other. I tiptoed in to barrage that insect (are they insects? Arachnids? I’m too freaked out to Google it) with the will and power of something reminiscent of the attacks on Fallujah. Unfortunately, I recently ran out of Garnier aerosol and was left with stealing Avon pump spray out of Mom’s bottom drawer last time I was home, so my weapon of choice was not as effective as I feel it could have been.

I triumphed too early when the ol’ roach went down– he was brilliant at faking dead. Just when I’d released the first vice grips on my heart, the little fuck start running along the baseboards toward the safety of the back of the toilet. Long story short, the cockroach got almost down the hall to my room until I finally worked up the guts to just bash it to juicy pieces with the lint roller. My entire bathroom floor is now covered in hairspray, Fergus can’t stop sneezing, and I guarantee you I won’t get a MINUTE of sleep tonight after knowing that things could be crawling all over me in my sleep.

Alive? Check.

Functioning? Barely.

Hugest, weirdest, craziest, most stressful time in my life? You betcha.

…and I still haven’t even moved into my apartment yet! Soon, though. My name is officially on a lease– I’ll be in before next week after some maintenance is finished.

I’ve essentially become best friends with NPH’s family. The only part I don’t like is how long of a commute it is from their suburb into the very touristy part of the city where I work.

Until I move, my life is a cycle of getting up super early, riding the train, working, riding the train, eating, sleeping, repeat. I know, so glamorous. Afterward, it will be less riding the train and more… TV watching? Far too exciting to handle, beware.

To my family who’s been wondering: I have not yet signed any lease, and I haven’t moved to Chicago more than the boxes piled in the backseat and trunk of my car. I start my job in two days, so technically I’ve moved, but I’m still hanging out through the graciousness and hospitality of NPH’s family. When it does come time to settle for good (this weekend???) all my stuff is all packed and just waiting in IC for a moving van.

I was going to embed a video from last week’s episode of South Park, the best few minutes of television ever to air in the history of cable television, but Viacom pulled it from YouTube. Just know that Slash was on as some sort of mythical Santa Claus character, and I’ve never been more proud.

One large pat on the back goes to me for remembering to continue updating you on my apartment hunting saga.

When we last left off, I had only seen two places. Thankfully, that number has at least tripled, and I feel much more optimistic about the fact that I most likely won’t be sleeping on a park bench when I begin my job in a week (!!!) Last night, I saw a one bedroom in Buena Park that restored my faith in the Chicago rentals market. It quickly became the top contender, though I still had a day full of appointments to get through before making a decision.

I woke up quite early on this rainy morning to look at a few places in Logan Square. One was a hell no from the beginning, but the second was AWESOME, but not worth it location-wise (close to public transporation, kinda sketchy neighborhood.) And then, I found it. IT. The place. The place. (Or so I thought?) Right next to the lake– like RIGHT next to the lake– dishwasher, huge bedroom and living room and larger kitchen, air conditioning, elevator, fitness center. The catch: they only take dogs up to 20 pounds. Now, I will be the first to tell you that getting a dog in college was dumb with a capital D, but I’ve made my bed so will now lie in it. And to be honest, I’ve gotten pretty attached to that hound, and I don’t want to live my life in Chicago without NPH and Fergus. (And for those of you wondering, he’s visibily not 20 pounds, and will only get bigger. Fergus, I mean. Well, Neil, too.)

Disgruntled, discouraged, I went to view my final place. It’s actually really great, and made me much less sad about possibly have to do my dishes by hand. It might not have a dishwasher or a lake view, but getting both of those things on my first time out would just make me spoiled! It’s actually closer to downtown, and is in a much more “happening” (yes, I just threw down vocabulary expected from only a geriatric) neighborhood than my above dream apartment. I will sleep on it, and see if the other place is willing to take my adorable hound, as my realtor really wants me to do so he doesn’t lose the sale. Either way, I really hope to be back in Iowa City at some point tomorrow because, as lovely as this has been, I just wanna go home. Which I won’t be able to call that for much longer. Sad face?

(I realize that by labeling this “Part I,” I’m pseudo-promising at least one follow-up post. We’ll see what happens.)

I’ll start by thanking everyone who attended one of my three graduation festivities this weekend. I ate too much, drank too much, and got to spend quality time with people I probably won’t see for a while. I’m currently in Chicago to find a place to live before I start my job one week from tomorrow (cue heart attack-like breathing.) Today I only have three appointments, tomorrow I have five or six. The first one today was just a giant NO before I even saw the inside. As Natalie said, who thank goodness came with or I would have been bored and lost, “If it looks like this during the day, you probably don’t want to live here at night.”

The second place I looked, the place that is RIGHT DOWNTOWN in a great neighborhood, steps from bars, restaurants, shopping, civilization (and most importantly my office) was ok. Just ok. Not Holy-Whizbang-Sign-the-Lease-Right-Now as I was really hoping it would be. It has a lot of “Pros”– price, only on the second floor, fabulous location, almost everything included in the rent, but it’s a studio, and I’m just not sure how I feel about living in one room for at least a year. I’m also really looking into subleases because I don’t want to rush into finding a place and signing a longer term lease when I really have no idea where I want to live. Alas, I will trudge on through more appointments, more smelly hallways, more treacherous driving and parking situations. I really don’t want to be here all week. Don’t even get me started on the actual moving in part. Maybe my boss will just let me sleep in the office.