You know how some people (the same type of people who inquire, "Hot enough for ya?") will ask without fail, on your birthday, "So, do you feel one year older?"

Well, this year (for the first time ever) I can smugly reply, "Why yes, in fact, I do." This is so for a number of reasons. I began working a 40 hour week, and have been doing it longer than a summer vacation lasts. I started living on my own, really on my own. And paying bills. Shit, that reminds me, I have some that are about to become late. I didn't say I started paying bills on time. But nothing has been turned off yet, ok!

So yes, I feel lots older than last year this time. It's just about looking out for myself. Last night was a great example. I was ready for bed, and the last thing I was going to do was tie up my trash bag to take it out in the morning. Because I'm responsible like that. The only light was the one from my night stand lamp (which is just ten feet from the kitchen, because I live in a tiny box, remember?), so the kitchen was very dimly lit. But it was lit well enough for me to see an enormous freaking cockroach just chilling out in front of the door. I turned on the light, and he went into a little gap under the doorframe.

Well, first I was terrified. Then I was happy, because I figured out that the three roaches I've seen in that area of my apartment over the last two months (the first of which prompted me to buy twenty roach traps and put them under everything) were getting in through the gap, and not hanging out because I wasn't keeping a clean enough house or something. However, unlike the last two, which were already dead when I found them (presumably thanks to one of the twenty traps), this one was alive. And big. Thinking as quickly as I could, and suddenly feeling like I needed to put more clothes on to deal with a bug this size, I grabbed a SAIL magaizine that I have with my dad's pile of mail, and prepared to do battle. I used the subscription card to scooch Roachy out from under the door. He emerged directly beneath the rolled up magazine I had poised and ready--really, he never saw it coming.

Did I mention that this was one seriously big ass cockroach?

I mean, he was like, just shorter than a cocktail weenie. For real. And he made a mess. All over the magazine (sorry dad), the floor, and the door frame. I was pretty nauseated. Still am, in fact. But I averted my eyes, scooped his parts up between the magazine and the card, and threw them all away. I've got to tell you, I was extremely proud of myself. I didn't panic, or squeal, or just shoo him outside because he grossed me out. I killed the little bastard! One less roach in the world. Although ten million were being born at the same time. By the way, I don't want to hear any sappy bullshit about All Living Things. He's a cockroach, for chrissakes!

Then I got in bed, put in my earplugs, pulled on my mask, and went to sleep feeling very much a self-sufficient, bug-handling, non-wuss adult. In my Spongebob Pajamas.