Gather 'round, my children, and I'll tell ye a tale. (Or three.)

Tale One
The Big-Ass Cockroach vs. Lauren

I've never actually seen a real cockroach save for those safely encased in a bug box at Denver's Butterfly Pavillion. This probably explains why my glasses-free eyeballs didn't immediately recognize the big black being attached to my wall as one of the free-range variety. The moment inside my head went as such:

Doo doo doo I'm just minding my own sweet business...nothing special going on, no SireeBob Lauren's brain tra la la ho hum...hey...HEY...what the...HEY HEY HEY wassat? Wassat WASSAT!?? Is that...no, no it can't...my GOD and FOR THE LOVE OF MOSES. Ew ew ew EW EW EW EW EW EW I HATE MY LIFE I HATE MY LIFE I HATE MY LIFE I HATE WALLS WITH FIST-SIZED BUGS ATTACHED TO THEM WALJDFKJDSLFKJLKDJFLKSDLFKJL JESUS HELP ME.

Also included were roughly four to five air-depleting gasps, a lot of peering of the disbelieving persuasion, and several "ew there's a ginormous bug in my apartment and I don't know what to do" dances. And after warding off a couple major panic attacks, then came the Plans.

Plan A consisted of burning down the Japartment but I ran out of matches.

Plan B was to fly my Dad out to take care of the bastard but I had to scratch that because I didn't want to pay for the taxi ride back from the airport since the trains close at midnight and cab fares are ridiculous.

[Plans C through Q edited out for graphic language and action.]

Plan R is the one that finally took.

It included attaching a long piece of packing tape over an empty cardboard jewelry box leftover from the birthday-present-getting-extravaganza of yesterweek to trap the roach's unwelcome behind in and to be taped to the wall (the box, not his behind). Round 1 didn't fare so well as the force with which I slammed the box on the wall made the sides ricochet off and ALSO effectively dislodged his hold on the wall causing him to drop, bounce off my chest, and continue, unharmed, to the ground. It also effectively caused the most banshee-inspired howl I've ever let out accompanied by another icky bug dance. Really, I had no idea I could scream that loud. I wondered why my neighbors didn't immediately start knocking on my door inquiring about my status of aliveness when I realized they were likely dead due to their blood curdling and all.

Plan R.2 proved a failure in the form of a brief, wince-filled standoff with him behind the curtain and me waiting for him to show his buggy self. It ended with me finally shaking the curtain and icky bug dancing some more. At least I got some good cardio in.

Thankfully, Plan R.3 proved successful as I gently (lesson of too much force learned) rested the cardboard dungeon over the roach's head and then dropped nearly 800 pages of weighted protection over it thanks to my newly finished-copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Chalk it up to yet another evildoer finished off by Potter 'n friends. The roach is no more.

Tale Two
Marked Territory

Coming across other Western-world foreigners isn't an anomaly here. I work next to a large train station and bus terminal and am often in the downtown area where the cool hip foreign-people-attracting happenings happen. I pass one or two taller, fatter, lighter-haired people per day, giving a polite nod or purse-lipped smile not intended to communicate anything other than "you're probably just as confused as I am, ol' Chap, too bad, eh? Watch out for seizure-inducing robots."

Last night, however, I spotted a foreigner in a spot where I've never encountered another of my ilk -- at the grocery store one station away from mine. It was surprising as 1) I've really never EVER seen another foreigner there and I frequent the place twice a week, 2) the area around the station is developing and akin to boonie-ville, and 3) he was wearing a large traveling backpack, suggesting a brief stay and not a permanent residence, so why the heck would he have been here?

Once I recognized the intrusion I sort of balked in front of the store's sliding doors, not knowing whether to perform my usual "yes-we-both-recognize-we're-outsiders-isn't-that-hilarious-hee-hee jovial times" facial expression or to grab the nearest pitchfork and run after him shouting "get off my property!"

Honestly it really, really weirded me out. Throughout my shopping I kept seeing his head bobbing as he walked quickly up and down the aisles, clearly with no set path and obviously retracing steps already taken, searching for familiar brands no doubt, probably being startled at the minuscule jelly jar sizes and their equally humongous prices. I thought of offering help. "The shredded cheese is over here!" I could have yelled. "It took me seven trips to recognize the packaging! And here's the best ramen brand. Stay away from that one with the goblin-looking thing on the front - it tastes like rotting pencils!"

But I didn't. Instead I got more and more defensive at his infiltration of my precious marketplace, getting all shifty-eyed and perturbed, thinking I'm the one supposed to be squeezing by the always-in-the-way elderly locals and making the check-out clerks nervous -- how dare he just barge in here like that and rifle through my marked territory! I didn't pee amongst the lemons and lotus roots for nothing you know. Next time, I'm out for blood.

Tale Three
Heh

The other night I was on my way home and on the train spotted a girl playing a sea-foam green Nintendo DS that perfectly matched the shirt she was wearing and I didn't know if it was kinda cute or totally totally lame. After staring some more and going back and forth for a bit on the decision (admittedly 14-minute-train-ride-thoughts aren't on the most weighty of topics) I was leaning greatly toward totally totally lame until I looked down at my red iPod that matched my red nails...and...red undershirt and...red purse.

Final decision: coordinating (purposefully or not) technology with one's outfit is super super uberifically awesome and not lame at all.

(But boy was my face...also red. Dang.)