Warning: This blog entry is rife with the expletives AND capital letters, because I am talking about GIANT FUCKING COCKROACHES. For the faint of heart (or my Dad, who finds cursing to be low-class), please avert your eyes.

Thurday night I had a horrible encounter with a GIANT FUCKING COCKROACH.

I should preface this whole blog entry by saying that I HATE roaches, fear them intensely and find them completely horrifying and repulsive. There's not one thing in the world that I hate more. NOT ONE THING.

I am fine with spiders! They eat other bugs and thus are a force for good! When they're in the house, I try to catch them in a glass and put them outside!

Spiders are helpful and wear hats!

I am fine with mice and rats! I saw a mouse in our apartment once, and it wasn't scary at all! I just went out and bought a bunch of those ultra-sonic pest control things that you plug in and that probably don't work!

Mice are cute and hug strawberries!

Giant roaches, however, cause a sort of horror-disgust-hatred-paralyzing fear combo in me. SEVERAL times when I have seen a roach, I have been so frozen in fear that the only thing I can do is just stare at it. I can't kill it because I'm too scared. But I can't go into another room because then I won't know where it went. It's terrible. I have had staredowns with giant roaches for the better part of an hour.

Fuck you, roach!
I don't care how cute this cartoon picture is!!

If you are my friend, do not fuck around with me and make jokes about roaches. One time when I was working on a movie shoot, a girl said to me "Ooh, Courtney there's a roach on your back!', then giggled as I freaked out. Once I realized it was a joke, I'm pretty sure I screamed "YOU FUCKING BITCH" in her face.

I would also like to add that I am from Houston, Texas, HOME of the giant cockroach. Home of the giant FLYING cockroach. My entire childhood was spent being traumatized by giant roaches. It doesn't matter where you live, it doesn't matter how clean your house is, and it doesn't matter if you spray for bugs. If you live in Houston, you WILL see giant roaches. They live in the trees and they can flatten their bodies and squeeze under ANYTHING. Fucking gross.

Last night's roach episode brought back a number of horrible roach experiences from my life:

1. When I was in elementary school, I was at my Dad's house after a softball game, and I went to use the bathroom and a FUCKING GIANT FLYING COCKROACH flew out of the toilet paper roll as I was SITTING DOWN TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. I yanked up my pants, threw the bathmat over it, and stomped it to death with my cleats. Satisfying.

2. One time in high school I was laying down in the living room watching TV when I looked up and saw a GIANT FUCKING ROACH on the ceiling directly above my head. I got up and swatted it off the ceiling with a broom and it FUCKING FLEW AROUND THE FUCKING ROOM. When it finally landed on the floor I bashed it to death with the broom, screaming bloody murder the whole time. I drove over to my friend's house afterwards and was so crazed that I almost got into a car accident.

3. Another time in high school, I was up late studying with a friend for a Chemistry test, and we went out to the kitchen to get a cupcake, and there was a FUCKING GIANT ROACH SITTING ON ONE OF OUR FUCKING HOMEMADE CUPCAKES! Pigging out!! He was so enormous that his butt was hanging off the edge of the cupcake. It was disgusting. The next morning, there was a big hole in the frosting where that stupid fucking roach had been eating.

4. Once when I was home from college, I Lysoled a giant roach to death in my mom's bathtub, and then was so disgusted by its dead body that I just left it there. The next morning, my mom just thought a roach had died in the bathtub. But it turned out that I had sprayed so much Lysol in the tub that a week later the finish on the bathtub started cracking and peeling and had to be totally replaced. Oops.

5. One time when I had my cat Milton, I was sitting on the couch eating some lunch and was absent-mindedly playing with something with my toe. Then I looked down and realized that it was a fucking dead roach. Ag! But then I realized that it had clearly been killed by my cat because its wings and legs were chewed off. This pleased me. I hope that fucker suffered.

6. One time in grad school, I had left a bunch of dishes in the sink too long, and when I went to clean them up, a fucking SHIT TON OF FUCKING GIANT ROACHES swarmed out. My friend Mark was there and he killed all of them, which was amazing. I later made out with Mark, which I think was at least partly a thank you for killing all those fucking roaches.

Since moving to Los Angeles, my encounters with roaches have been minimal. To me, the absence of giant roaches is hands down the NUMBER ONE BEST THING about LA. Better than the weather, the mountains, the oceans, whatever. Number one best thing is no giant fucking roaches.


Thursday night I was sitting on the couch at about 1am when I looked up and saw a GIANT FUCKING ROACH sitting on the door of one of our shelves near the bathroom. It was fucking HUGE. And just sitting there.

I wanted to spray him with some Raid, but it's always terrifying to try and kill a roach that's on the wall. Because I know that giant roaches WANT TO FLY INTO MY FACE. They know that this would traumatize me forever and/or cause me to have a heart attack. But I assessed this roach and decided that although he was enormous, he was probably not a flier. I haven't been around a flying cockroach since high school!

So I got as close as I could stand (not that close) and sprayed him with some Raid. He freaked out and ran into the cabinet and I figured that was the last I'd see of him. But all the sudden he booked it out of the cabinet and started running all around the door frame. I screamed and sprayed him again and then he fucking took off and FLEW ACROSS THE ENTIRE LIVING ROOM. It was a fucking horror movie. I was screaming and spraying Raid at him the whole time. He finally landed on the wall on the other side of the living room, tried to climb into the blinds, and fell to the ground. One of the kittens started playing with him (it's about time, kittens!!!), but I couldn't take any chances, so I just drowned him in Raid.

About that time, Todd (who had been sleeping, as he had to get up at 6am) came out of the bedroom because he thought I was being murdered. He was glad to see that I was alive, and even did me the favor of picking up the dead roach and throwing it away! Hooray! However, he also pointed out that I had sprayed Raid all over everything in the living room. Oops.

But that fucking giant roach is DEAD! I win, fucker!!!


Disneyland Birthday

Just went to Disneyland on my birthday. It was RAD. Why?

1. It's free on your birthday. Free!!! Or if you have a season pass, they give you 72 bucks in Disney cash. 72 bucks!!! Spend it on Disney junk!

2. They give you a giant button to wear that says it's your birthday! Then all day long, people wish you a happy birthday! When I walked in the gates, the old guy ticket taker immediately noticed the button and said, "Well, happy Sweet Sixteen, young lady!" Terrific.

3. Disney's dedication to theme. I love being called an "aviator" or a "bobsledder" just for being on a ride. The best one was when we got done with the Toy Story ride and the ride operator said, "Welcome back, toys!"

4. The 4-year-old in sunglasses who rode the Ferris wheel with us. He was loving it in a very zen way. He broke out into a tiny grin every time I screamed.

5. While waiting in line for the Ferris wheel, hearing the white guy announcer say "Bienvenidos a Mickey's Fun Wheel!" about a thousand times. I don't know why I found this so entertaining.

6. Performances that spontaneously appear in the street. I was looking for a place to eat lunch, and a float full of High School Musical singers and dancers sailed by. Later we were trying to cross Main Street when a dozen people on stilts in crazy outfits came dancing down the avenue in front of us.

7. Little girls in princess dresses.

8. People wearing Mickey or Goofy ears, especially the mopey-looking teenagers. Hilarious! And lady with the entire Magic Castle and all the Disney characters tattooed across her entire back. Holy shit! Who are you??

9. Disney policy is as long as you're in line for a ride at closing time, you still get to ride it. This is an excellent policy.

10. Hugging a person in a giant costume. Will I ever get too old for this? I hope not.

It reminds me of when I played Barbie at a Toys R Us opening several years ago. It was awesome. Got to dress as Barbie for 3 days and get hugs from little kids. (My goal was to un-brainwash the girls by telling them that math is fun, but that quickly went out the window when I realized it was funner to just to get hugs.)

Being Barbie was way better than being one of the characters with the big heads, because you're basically just yourself, but in a princess dress. In those other costumes, you can't even see. I had to wear the Strawberry Shortcake costume for a few hours one day and the head was so enormous that I had to steady it with my hands just to keep it from falling off. Kids come up and hug you, but you can't even see where they are. Not so with Barbie.

My friend Carolyn thought it was awesome when she came to visit me on the job, and saw a little kid RUNNING across the store to hug me. I dropped to my knees and gave the kid a full bear hug. Pretty rad way to spend three days.

Welcome back, toys!

Bloody Nose, Bloody Knee

Tonight in softball practice, I was trying to catch a ground ball that took a nasty bounce and it hit me right in the nose. Hard. The first thing I felt was total stupidity. I mean, who gets hit in the face with a softball? Children. Goofballs. People who can't play softball. I felt embarrassed because I thought I might start to cry, so I just covered my face with my hands and started walking towards the outfield. Then I looked at my hands and realized they were all bloody. Yikes!

I was really hoping my nose wasn't broken. I kept thinking about how your nose is always growing because cartilage keeps growing forever, and that people who get hit in the nose a lot (like boxers) end up with bigger noses because all that pounding to the cartilage makes it grow more. (It's definitely possible that I made that last part up.) But I really don't need my nose any larger. The Davis family has a history of large schnozes. My grandpa had a big ole crazy nose, which I remember as being constantly red. When I was a kid I had a pretty fat nose. Apparently my Dad used to say to me, "Don't worry, Courtney, we can always get you a nose job." I don't remember this at all, but I'm sure it scarred me internally somehow that I'm still working out. Thanks, Pop.

But my nose isn't broken. Or at least doesn't appear to be. Although the bridge of my nose is currently swollen, which I think makes me look like I have fetal alcohol syndrome.

Or like Rocky Dennis from Mask.

I made Brian take a picture of my face all bloody so I can at least remember that I'm 2% tough for having a bloody nose (98% ridiculous).

I also bloodied up my knee in last Friday's game when I attempted to slide into 2nd base. I was running to 2nd and I saw the shortstop catch the ball and I thought, well I might as well try and slide. I didn't want to just run right into his tag. (I should note here that I've never slid into a base before in my life.) Anyway, I stuck my feet out in what I thought would be the start of a slide, but somehow ended up tumbling forward onto the ground on my hands and knees, and then kind of rolling over. I can't really explain the physics of it, but I can say that after I tumbled to the ground and skinned my knee, I realized that I wasn't even near the base. Sigh. The shortstop was pretty horrified.

I have never been coordinated. When other girls were learning how to do handstands and flip-flops in gymnastics class, I couldn't even do a cartwheel. A front roll was the about the best I could muster. I am not well-balanced. I like to blame it on my tiny hands and feet, which are too small for my body. It's the reason I don't wear high heels very much. (Okay, one of the reasons.) I used to wear heels more often and I would fall down all the time. I've fallen down just crossing the street.

The upside to all this is that our rag-tag softball team is on a 3-game win streak. This Friday, we play for the championship of the losers bracket. Yeah!!

Rocky Dennis

Vanity, Thy Name is Davis

I'm really not too vain of a lady. I don't wear a lot of makeup. I dress like a 12 year old boy. But there are certain cases where my vanity will emerge. I'll totally buy an overpriced pair of jeans (worth it!!) I like to look good in my Halloween costume (not slut-style, like "sexy Little Red Riding Hood", more cool-style like Axl Rose or Futuristic Robot Warrior). And I am kinda obsessive about my skin.

I've had skin problems my whole life. Been on Accutane twice and loooooved it, despite misgivings from my physician Dad who took the heart and liver risks way more seriously than I did. It's a hardcore medication. I remember reading on the package that possible side effects included "sudden night blindness". (What did I care! My skin was clear!)

Accutane also causes major birth defects. When you're on it you have to take monthly tests to make sure you aren't pregnant. On every single pill in the package, there's a picture of a pregnant lady with a circle slash over her:

No Pregnant!

The little pregnant lady tabs would usually fall off when I punched the pill out, then my cat would play with them and later I'd find them in his litterbox.

But even with the crazy fetus-deforming drugs, I still got some acne. Last couple of years, I've noticed scars on my chin. They bug me. I'd talked to my dermatologist lady about getting them lasered off (yeah!) but didn't decide to take the plunge until April when I saw myself in footage from Steve's new movie. HD is rough.

The lasering takes a few treatments. I got the first one a couple of months ago and another one on Monday. They put this numbing cream on you, but it still feels like they're sticking burning hot needles into your face. Both times I've thought to myself, "Oh, this is what it might be like to be tortured." (But who cares? I'm getting scars removed!)

The worst past of the lasering is that for several days afterwards, my entire chin is clown, clown red. No exaggeration. It looks crazy. I walk around all day and forget how crazy it looks. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and I'm like, good Lord. I look bananas. No one asks me about it, of course. But what do they think is wrong with my chin? Sunburn? Bicycle accident? Some sort of skin disease? (But who cares! Scars be gone!)

Extra awkward side note for today: Felt weird all day because of the clown red chin. Then later was in a work meeting and realized that one of my shirt buttons was unbuttoned.

I can never be one of those put-together girls.


There's Plenty of Crying in Softball

On Friday we lost to a team called Beverly Hillbillies for the second time this season. We lost our first game to them by 8 runs (which I thought was a lot until we lost a recent game by 14). But Friday's loss was much more heartbreaking, because we played our best game of the season and were actually ahead for most of the game. Then they came back to tie it in the last inning and they ended up winning in extra innings. We were all pissed.

Even though our team as a whole played well, I personally played super shitty. Highlights included:

1. I did a crappy job of batting all night. I never made it on base once, and actually swung and missed the ball in 2 different at bats. Swinging and missing a slow-pitch softball is totally dumb. That's all I can say about it.

2. I was our third out in 2 different innings.

3. I was also the first out.

4. It was my fielding error that allowed the other team to score the winning run.

5. On the same play, I also managed to injure my thumb, which is now all bruised and swollen:

At the end of the game I felt like I was about to cry. I managed to keep it together during the "good game, good game" part, but as soon as I walked off the field I got all teary. Then I think someone said "Are you okay?" and it was all over. Hello, crying in front of coworkers.

I don't worry too much about crying in public because I've been doing it my whole life. I've cried in front of teachers, bosses, co-workers, salespeople, doctors, cops, strangers, you name it. I cried in front of a guy at the post office once. Another time I cried in front of the lady working the Taco Cabana drive-thru. I remember crying in 1st grade about my penmanship (I thought that the way that I wrote the "y" on the end of my name wasn't up to par). Whaddaya gonna do? It's how I'm built. Anyway, crying is supposed to relieve stress and make you live longer. So at this rate I'm going to live to be a thousand.


Oh No We Didn't!

Oh yes we did!

We finally won a softball game! Triumph!

We had lost our last 2 games, making us 0-4 and tied for last place. Our third game we lost 13-8, after briefly being ahead in the top of the 4th and then totally blowing the lead and getting demoralized (our style!) The best part of the game for me was probably the bunless hot dog that I snarfed down about 5 minutes before the game (left over from our company potluck earlier in the day).

I missed our fourth game because I was out of town. I was afraid that our team might actually win it, and then I would feel like I was the weak link. But we ended up losing 22-6, our worst loss yet. (Not the weak link!)

I was excited about this week's game, because we were playing the other 0-4 team. Battle for the gutter! We figured it might be our only chance to win one. Plus their team name was "Touchdown" so I was hoping that meant that they didn't even understand that they were playing softball.

Touchdown turned out to be pretty bad, so it was some really uglyball out there. Todd commented that there were very few actual hits from either team. Mostly just errors. We scored 7 runs in the first inning, but then just watched our lead slowly erode over the next several innings. Touchdown tied it up in the 6th, but we were able to eke out one more run, to win it 8-7. We all went bananas when it was over, probably obnoxiously so, but we were just glad to have won one. We're not the worst!!!



RIP David Carradine

Whenever I see David Carradine's name I'm reminded of a great story from my friend Caroline.

Several years ago when Caroline and I were living together in Austin, she and I decided to forgo our sensible life paths and work on movies instead (she quit a job at Public Strategies, I quit a PhD program in Psychology). Our first movie jobs were as unpaid PAs on an indie feature called Natural Selection. It was written by two friends of ours, and starred David Carradine and Michael Bowen.

My job was working in the production office, but Caroline got to drive all the actors to and from set. One of my favorite stories from the shoot was when Caroline was driving David Carradine around. He was eating some fast food in the car, and when he finished eating, he simply wadded up all his trash, silently rolled down the window, and threw all his trash out the window. Caroline was horrified but said nothing. When she told me later, I couldn't believe it. Who throws trash out a window?

Since I moved to LA, I found out the answer: it's people in LA! I can't tell you how many people in LA I've seen chuck trash on the ground. All types of people. I saw a guy in a BMW in West Hollywood chuck a bag of trash out of his car. I saw some guy in Eagle Rock just casually throw a bag of trash on the ground as he was walking down the street. The sidewalk outside our apartment is constantly littered with Styrofoam containers, half-eaten hamburgers, and soda cups from the dumb-ass middle school kids walking by our place who think the floor is their trash can.

We don't play that in Texas, people. We throw trash in a trash can. If you're not from Texas, you might think the slogan "Don't Mess With Texas" is some stupid George Bush thing, but it's actually from a really awesome anti-littering campaign from the '80s. And it worked! We don't throw trash on the ground! Wise up, LA!

In Memoriam