"I'm Not From the Country!"

"Just because I own a gun doesn't mean I can't be afraid of roaches!"

Bang, bang, bang. Squish.

The end.





Oh, you wanted the rest of the story? I suppose I'll oblige.



The other night, I walked into the laundry room to get some clothes out of the dryer, and when I turned on the light, there was a HUGE cockroach just hanging out in the middle of the floor. I was under the impression that most roaches will run away when the light gets turned on, so, with that impression in mind, I assumed he was dead. I continued toward the dryer and THEN IT MOVED. And, naturally, I screamed bloody murder.



I picked up my shoe, which I conveniently left in the laundry room and started swatting at this roach like a crazy person (I mean, I suppose I am a little on the crazy side). BUT IT WOULDN'T DIE.



AND IT STARTED FLYING.



TOWARDS ME.



So, of course, I ran away screaming to Sara because I, for some strange reason, assumed that she'd come and save the day and get rid of this terrifying bug. I convinced her to come to the laundry room where we were both standing in the doorway yelling at one another, trying to decide who was going to kill this thing that I don't understand why they were created. Nobody likes them; at least, nobody who is sane. Hahaha. Anyway! As we're standing there yelling back and forth, the stupid thing starts flying again, and we, being the mature college seniors that we are, run away screaming like Freddy Krueger was standing at the window.



I attempted to convince Sara that I'd already tried twice to kill this roach and that it is now officially her turn. She didn't go for it. Upon me telling...well, it was more along the lines of yelling at her that it was only fair (See? We totally act our age all the time), she retorted that she was not from the country, and I suppose by her logic, that made her exempt from killing a bug. Lies.



I did end up manning up and beating that roach into smithereens without anymore attempts by said roach to attack me, though. Yay for happy endings.

And. Here. We. Go...

While I had planned on having at least an introductory post that possibly included all the wonderful Pinterest crafts that have occurred already in this house, the latest news in the Cherry House supersedes that by far. Unfortunately, though, that plan I had isn't being superseded by something exciting or great...okay, maybe it's exciting, albeit slightly terrifying.

Up until today, I've been the only one living in this house because three of my other roommates have been off gallivanting around foreign countries (they know that my bitter jealousy comes from a place of love :] ) and the fifth roommate couldn't move in until today. Anyway. This house is old and it definitely has it's quirks, but I have yet to have any major problems.

And jumping a little bit...I promise all these random thoughts will come together into a cohesive story...at least, that's the plan. For the last few days, I've been in my hometown because my cousin got married (yay!). The wedding was last night, and I left first thing this morning to come back to good old Sherman. After nearly four hours on the road, my parents dog and I pulled into the driveway that was no longer empty (yay for roommates moving in!). I immediately ran into the house to let Sara know that I was home and to go to the bathroom (hey, a route44 soda + no stops = emergency). Next step? Take the dog for a walk because he's been in a kennel for the past two hundred and something miles. I put on his leash and take a lap around the house. When I get to the back, I see glass on the ground and am immediately perplexed. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the screen had been cut and ripped off and the glass had been broken. I ran into the house and screamed at Sara "What happened to our house?!" Since she hadn't been living here, she had no idea what was going on either. I walked into Jill's room to see the damage on the inside. Glass everywhere. Blinds ripped down. Heart sinking. And here's a picture so you can get a better idea...

Like I said, heart sinking. And beating quite a bit faster than normal. My next thought was something along the lines of "Oh no, someone broke in and stole stuff" (although, let's be real...it wasn't that G-rated). I ran to my room and noticed that if there was a thief involved, they were incredibly stupid because nothing was missing. And if it is, it is so insignificant that I have to yet to notice it's absence.

We called our landlord immediately and he'll be over later today to fix it. The next call was to the parents, who told me to call the police. (My mother also wanted me to ask the police for a special favor in that they come by the house at night to make sure we're all safe since we're a bunch of college girls living on our own; thanks, Mom, but no. We'll be fine.) I did, however, call the police and they told me that since nothing was stolen, it would only be criminal mischief and the chances of anything worth it coming out of were slim to none.

And, somewhat surprisingly, I'm not really freaked out nor do I feel unsafe being here. It just annoys me more than anything. Hopefully, this will be the first and the last time anything of this nature happens. If it does happen again, the chances of this house being empty are not very good and well, they really don't want to see the five of us mad and defensive.