I live with a really cool French girl named Judith. She moved in about a month ago, and is only staying until April. She speaks some English (but not all of English-- she asks for words sometimes), and cooks a lot. She has a lot of cute French friends, and wears really cute clothes. She is from Paris, where she studied fashion design. When we were interviewing room mates, my housemate Patrick the Witch and I were completely charmed by our new French friend. What her real calling is, however, is jewelry design. If you're in New York this weekend, you should come check some of it out at the Young Designers Market this Saturday from 11-7. I really want one of Judith's necklaces (like the one pictured just to the left there), but I'm not entirely sure that a boy can pull off the look. I'm ambitious, though. And for some reason I seem to think that necklaces (pendants, really) make me look thin, refined, rich, feminine, dangerous, and chic. Like La JohnJoseph. I don't know if it really works like that but I want that necklace, dammit. But seriously, go check her stuff out. It's all gorgeous and handmade and pretty cheap and you can brag to all of your friends about it in a year when she gets super famous.
Been thinking lately how glad I am that the mouse in our kitchen has been making himself scarce. I hadn't seen it in almost a week. Last night I thought to myself "Wow, it's so cool how it seemed like we had mice, but then that problem just totally resolved itself without any intervention on my part."
Last night when I came home from work, Judith told me that at night, in the walls, she thought she heard a mouse. She made a little gesture with her hand to indicate the English word for "scratching". This bums me out! I wish we didn't have mice. Or, a mouse. I reassured her that a) it was a mouse, not a rat (which I feel comfortable saying-- I've only seen mice in the kitchen, never rats, thank god) and b) that even with scratching the mouse would not claw it's way through the brick wall (tho I have no way of assuring this). She also told me that late at night, she thought she could hear mouse squeaks. I am not so sure, our downstairs neighbors have a lot of loud birds, I want that to be what Judith was hearing. If I'm completely honest with myself, though, I will admit that I, too, have sometimes (once) late at night SWORN that I heard the tell tale high-pitched call of hungry mice, scurrying through the walls.
I went to the kitchen to start cooking dinner and saw a tiny gray mouse dart away from the kitchen sink and jump into the stove top, into one of the burners. Oddly enough, the pilot light on the stovetop range has been continuously blowing out lately, but only on that side. It makes me think that the mouse is darting in and out of the oven and exinguishing the pilot light, making it slightly more difficult for me to make coffee and oatmeal in the morning, I have to constantly re-light it. We almost never use the actual oven itself, and I think we ought to start, if only to inadvertantly kill / cook the mouse. That is how I would like to deal with the problem: to unwittingly end up killing the mouse without thinking about it. I can't bear myself to set traps, because how can I set a trap in an oven? Ditto for poison. I sort of wish I could borrow a cat.
Last night I had dreams of the walls vibrating, shaking with the amplified sounds of thousands of mice, screeching to break free and jump into bed with me. I woke up lying on my stomach with me left palm pressed against the wall, listening to my downstairs neighbor's parrots squaking at dawn.