Bitch 3x Diaries

An opinion piece

by Marci Baun © 2006

Wednesday, Charlie was home sick, but I continued with my new schedule of going to the gym and swimming. However, the schedule was delayed by about an hour. Not a big deal, really, right?

Uh, no. It is a big deal where I live because I live near a school, and we don't have a driveway. As the schools here don't bus the kids, that means parents drop them off and pick them up. Streets not designed to handle the load of traffic created by this scenario are overloaded with rude drivers honking their horns, stopping in the middle of the street, and parking in front of my house. So, when I returned home a little later than usual on Wednesday, I had to park a ways down the street and carry Aurora about two or three houses. There were cars parked in the same place since 8 am. (We have a two-hour parking limit except for permits.)

Before I left, around 11:30, I called parking enforcement to have them come and mark the car tires. At two, I returned. Not one car had a ticket. I was not a little miffed. We have to pay for our permit and prove that we live on this street in order to buy one. What good is a two-hour parking limit if it's not enforced?

Charlie called and had the police send out the parking enforcement again. He ticketed quite a few, but that one silver van sitting in the same spot in front of our house all day. I called again. Angry. (Just the day before, I had to carry Aurora down the street in the pouring rain because there were cars in front of our house. Again, they had been there for over two hours, but no tickets.)

When I asked why this particular van hadn't been ticketed, I was informed that the van had been moved. Uh, no, it hadn't. I can see the chalk on the tire.

"Well, ma'am. According to our parking enforcer, the car was moved."

"But, it hasn't," I protested. "I know. I've seen it. I see the chalk mark."

"Well, he said that it was. Ma'am, even if the van was moved six inches, the van has been moved and cannot be ticketed," she replied.

"What? That's ridiculous," I said, ready to strangle someone. What kind of messed up law was that? Why bother with parking restrictions when you have that kind of stupid loophole? It makes the laws about as ineffectual as our pest control.

Which brings me to cockroaches. We have an infestation of them in our attic. These aren't those little German ones. No, these are those disgusting city sewer cockroaches. You know the ones: 2-3 inches when full-grown, brown, huge, and gross. They've been there for the past — oh, I don't know — six to nine months. Every two weeks, I call our pest control to come back out and spray for them. He comes, and they disappear... for two weeks. Then we start getting the half-grown cockroaches falling through the grate in our shower, shimmying out from behind the hood over our cook top, and finding the remains of them on our floor after our cats have finished with them.

Yes. It's lovely.

Then, this last time, I insisted they bomb the house. Well, our pest control person came out without the bombs, but some stronger stuff that "should kill them all. You shouldn't have any more problems with them."

Promises...promises... I don't want promises. I want dead cockroaches. Every single one of them dead.

That first night after he sprayed, two came down from behind the hood. The next night, we found two more on another wall. The cats were after them. All four were full-grown roaches! Then, it was quiet for a couple of days. We were hopeful that we'd seen the end. Nope. Last night, I turned to open the fridge and let out a yell loud enough to wake the last emperor of China. On the handle of the fridge where I was about to place my hand sat the mother of all cockroaches. Grabbing Aurora, I retreated to the living room while Charlie caught the fast, little sucker. Tonight, another huge one dropped down from behind the hood right after I finished cooking dinner. Luckily, it didn't drop into any of the food. However, my pest control guy has told me that food attracts cockroaches.

Really? That's nice. What am I supposed to do? Never eat in my house again?

This time, this is it. No bomb, we cancel our account and find someone who will bomb our house. This is ridiculous! We pay them good money to keep our house free of these pests. Good job, don't you think?! I'll tell you who they are if they don't fix the problem.

Then there are the ducks that like our pool. Actually, I have nothing against the ducks, but if we allow them to stay in our pool, it would cost us an extra $150 dollars a month to pay for fungicide, it would destroy our filter, and their excrement stains our concrete.

Every time I chase them out, I feel guilty. I know that the only reason the ducks return every year is because this area must have been a wetlands where they mated and lived for the spring and summer months for centuries before we came. Man, in his infinite wisdom, decided that turning the wetlands into a concrete channel was the best for all concerned. Where are the ducks to go but in our pools? Honestly, I don't blame them. I blame those with little care or foresight for the environment. The least we could have done was replaced it with a lake for them, but we didn't. So, now, we have ducks in our pool... until we chase them off.

When I walk across the concrete channel, misnamed "creek", I see these poor ducks swimming around down there or sitting on the side out on the concrete for all to see. Normally, ducks would nest in a nice secluded spot to protect their eggs. It gets me every time.

How can the top of the food chain be so inept? Don't ask me. I'm a member.

Marci Baun is the editor-in-chief of Wild Child Publishing and Freya's Bower. The above article was first printed in Wild Child Publishing's now defunct magazine in the Spring of 2006. Wild Child Publishing ran as a magazine for over seven years. Interviews, book reviews, ebook reviews, and movie reviews are still available for reading, however, they now focus on ebook and print publishing.

Note on the cockroach infestation: After much convincing, Ms. Baun managed to talk their pest control person up into the attic. Since that time, her house has been cockroach free.