Day June Something

June 14, 2009

I wish I could remember the days. At least June 14th will be memorable. Bugs ‘R’ Gone Laundry–correction: the rockin’ Bugs ‘R’ Gone in Toronto–dropped off my material (literally) goods today (see how much I like these folks in a previous post, on Bedbugger.com, etc. etc.–again: rockin’).

So, I’m surrounded by plastic bags, sitting on a plastic chair, holding a plastic spray bottle, looking at my plastic (i.e. garbage bag) curtains.

It’s the world of the future now. I’m giving the Epcot Center a run for it’s money. Kidding, Disney. Kidding.

Number of bags returned: 15
Strangest moment: Realizing someone washed my padded bras
Best moment: Realizing I don’t have to look for loonies to clean my stuff
Grown up thought of the day: Leaving most of my clothes in bags until I move in September
Most cherished item returned: PILLOW!

Mood:

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Okay, is this done yet?

Tired of, and not in order of importance:

  • So many showers
  • Living out of zip loc bags
  • Going for broke because of the constant laundry and said zip lock bag purchases
  • Vacuuming
  • Feeling like a social freak
  • Itching
  • Scratching

K, is it done now?

How about now?

Now?

Mood:

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Day 10

May 30, 2009

Stream of no-sleep-and-no-play-make-Travolta-crazy post.

Supervisor: “You’re looking a little…”
Me: *Stares back with hollow eyes, scratches arm, back. neck.*

The apartment is a quarter full. No metaphor. It’s the truth. Over 20 bags of misc. tossed. Why did I need 15 scarves? It’s Canada, but…

Let’s be positive shall we?

Dear Whomever-Big-Dude:

I am gateful for the following:

  • The lack of sleep brain wave that inspired me to purchase orange (for that shock of colour) garbage bags and hang them as drapes while mine are being washed: Call it PVC Chic.
  • Eating a black bean burrito with Drover; Drover allowing me to annex her sour cream.
  • Two layers of mattress encasements on my mattress and box spring. One cheap vinyl. One tear-inducing expensive allergy/dust mite encasing.
  • The plastic containers my grandmother sent up with my family to put my bed legs in, and the carpet tape that lovingly hugs my bed legs.
  • Drover kindly and awesomely taking care of the wee cat while my place is covered in deadly stuff; wasn’t keen on the kitten’s small liver and kidneys being subjected to the post-fumigation fumes. Thanks Drover. Hi, kitten! HI!
  • The echo in my mostly empty apartment: HELLO, HEllo, Hello, hello, o, o, umbrella, ella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh, eh, oh, oh, oh.
  • And last but not least: Jody and Dan of Bugs ‘r Gone Specialty Laundry Service in Toronto. In the beginning, I found my clothes–hell, everything cloth or upholstered–the most scary. What lurked? How would I clean it? How many loonies? Oh, god: the realization there are only 2 washing machines in my building. Queue email to Bugs ‘r Gone. Within a couple of days (they would have showed up in two hours had I needed it, or been that organized), I had arranged a pick up. Jody was a saviour on the phone the when I spoke with her, full of helpful tips and a sense of humour. And Dan didn’t blink at my, oh, mountain ‘o double bagged contractor bags full of clothing, coats, towels, pillows, blankets, cushions…my life. They were completely professional, good spirited, and encouraging. My kind of entrepreneurs. What a relief to not be doing all that laundry, wondering: Is it hot enough?

Did I mention my dad and aunt came up to help me prep my aparmtment for fumigation. Well they did. They drove 4 hours to sleep in a buggy apartment and help me. They rule. And so does my mom, who orchestrated many treats, food, and buckets of cleaners. And my grandma. And and and.

After the fumigation, I stayed at Drover’s for two days (taking utmost crazy precautions not to transfer anything–think ID in a zip lock bag, bagging my shoes outside the door, changing clothes immediately (and those were clothes worn immediately before I left my place, freshly laundered and taken out of zip lock bags). Came back last night and started the vaccuuming mania and put on the first encasements. Grossed out by finding a half-dead bb. Put it in tape and then in tupperware in case I need to call in the exterminator. Call it the burden of proof not so much of a burden anymore.

Well, the laundry bell is almost ready to ding ding ding. And I need sleep. May have actually been able to sleep last night (encasements and all), but my neighbours–who I imagine to be alien-frat-hosers from the dimension of suck–decided that last night was the perfect night for a rip-roaring balcony party. A call to the cops later…I got some sleep. *This much*

Looking forward to sleeping soon. And to the weekend and finding moments to be normal.

Mood:

TheShining1980

Ps: I’ve been putting my laptop on top of a non-stick muffin pan. Take that, bbs! I mean, if you’re not already dancing under my keys.

Day 4

May 22, 2009

Afternoon, Drover. Thanks for the walk in the park yesterday! Llamas! Clouds of midges!

Bite update: Sexy welt on my right forearm.

Sleep update: Remained awake and paranoid until 1:00 am. Fantasized about falling asleep on the subway on the way to work, being rocked back and forth from Downsview to Finch.

Just received a great call from a Toronto Health Inspector. He provided me with some helpful and reassuring information on some of my concerns.

“What about my cat?”
“Talk to the POC regarding what pesticides their using, the length of time the cat cannot be in the apartment post-treatment.”

“Can I visit Drover?”
“Yes. Launder and hot dry your clothes. Don when leaving your place. Bring nothing.”

He gave me his direct line for any future questions. I may tattoo it on my right hand.

My landlord forwarded me an apartment fumigation prep document, but still no word on the inspector–when he or she is arriving at my apartment. My mantra: Today, today, today. Sing it with me kids!

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Day 3

May 21, 2009

Morning, Drover.

Note: Inform landlord of heart condition, added stress, blood pressure through the roof = inspection notice.

The inspector is coming either Friday or Monday from my POC company of choice (as per the recommendation of an incredibly kind and well-bb-versed coworker).

And my family is coming on the weekend to assist with cleaning and they’re dogged cleaners. Hooray!

But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t crying my eyes out again this morning. But that doesn’t mean I just didn’t freak out a small piece of apple skin that landed on my arm. But that doesn’t mean, doesn’t mean, doesn’t mean…

Mood:

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Day 1

May 20, 2009

Crying. Crying when I wake up. Crying during breaks at work. Crying when talking to people at Public Health Toronto. Crying over my tasty, tasty T.O. street dog.

Crying that I have to go home to bed bugs.

Mood:

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