The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Friday, December 01, 2006

God? I Need a Man!

Everyday when I get home, I have the same routine. Walk into the apartment, put the bag down, take off the shoes and hang up my coat. Then change my clothes so that I can get the smell of "work" off of me, turn on the radio and take a deep breath to relax from the day.

Yesterday, I had an adjustment to my regular routine. I was about to turn on the radio, when I heard the squeaking sound of the mouse living under my radiator. The next thing I remember was that I was standing on the opposite side of the apartment. Yeah...I don't like this new roommate. I looked at the radiator, and goose bumps formed on my arms.

Something looked different though, and I realized...the mouse was once again stuck to the glue trap. I walked over to my bottle of scotch (which I keep for medicinal purposes only) and poured myself a hefty glass, which I quickly swallowed in two gulps. I then sat on the floor across the apartment from the radiator and attempted to get my courage up.

I'm one to pride myself on being fairly independent. I'm a firm believer in that I have to take care of myself. I don't need a man to take care of me. In prior relationships, it's been the deal killer when men want to take on that role. An offer of help is fine, but don't try to take care of me. That philosophy, was thrown out. "God! I need a man!" I thought. It's the man's job to kill the bugs and remove the dead rodents!

Three hours later, I was able to move closer to the radiator and with a flashlight, able to see the furry rodent (who was no longer moving) on the glue trap. All I had to do was find something small to stick under the radiator and pull the trap out. Put the trap in the trash and take the trash out.

You might as well ask me to solve a Rubick's Cube puzzle, but like it or not, I was going to have to do it. Mainly because I had called nearly every person I knew that lived close and nobody was answering. I looked at my computer and considered placing an advertisement on Craigslist.

Want to get off?
GWM, 36, talented top, hot bubble butt bottom, and insatiable in the sack, looking for someone who's got the courage needed. I've got a dead mouse in a trap in my place. You come here and get rid of it, and in return, you can have me anyway you want and need. 5 minutes of work, and 12 hours of pleasure. It's a good pay-"off", and you will be paid handsomely.

I won't post the picture I thought of using, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to place the ad.

Instead I took another swig of the scotch (this time from the bottle). I took a pen from the drawer, and pulled the trap out into the open. All the while I was chanting "oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...". God didn't answer my prayers. The mouse did.

It twitched.

I screamed and ran to the front door.

The fucker wasn't dead yet! I went over to the trash bag and put the bag over my entire arm, placed the bag over the dying mouse and trap, and picked up both with the bag. I used a 15 gallon trash bag for a 2 inch long mouse. I don't think the bag was big enough.

I tied several knots in the bag and ran to the front door, pulling with all my strength to open it quickly. Not very good since I didn't unlock it yet, but my mind was in panic mode and I quickly unlocked and ran the bag down the flight of stairs, out the front hallway and put mouse, trap, and garbage bag in the trash bin.

I then realized I had broken out into a cold sweat. I ran back into the house and showered for about 30 minutes, before having more scotch to calm my nerves.

Patrick - 2:30 PM -

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