Trying not to throw up

I spent most of today moving. Moving and peeling pieces of tape off of my face. The second part of that sentence is more interesting than the first so I shall elaborate. The movers were peeling huge strings of packing tape off of those blue blankets they use to wrap furniture in and leaving large balls of it on the floor. I couldn't exactly help them with anything else (weak wrists and I'm, well, the opposite of graceful) so I thought I would clear up the huge tumbleweeds of adhesive that were gathering around my new apartment. I picked one up and while opening a large trash bag with my other hand inadvertently hit myself in the face with the giant tape ball. I peeled it back and immediately checked to make sure I still had eyelashes and eyebrows (I did, phew!) before I then checked to see if the movers saw me do it. I mean, how embarassing! Seeing as how I just made it the subject of the first paragraph of my blog, I guess I'm over the possible embarassment.

I'm trying not to be pissed at the state of my apartment. I'm trying to just feel grateful that I finally have an address. But I am pissed. I'm living in someone else's apartment -- it is a legal sublet that I am renting in a co-op building. Before I moved in, the owner told me that he scrubbed all of the appliances and fixtures until his "hands were raw" -- direct quote. So imagine my surprise when I found all of the following within the first ten minutes of walking into this "clean" apartment:

1) a half-used box of butter in the butter bin
2) actual mold growing under the crisper bin
3) a smelly bag of ice and two half-filled ice-cube trays in the freezer
4) three dead bugs and their still living friend in the sink
5) a pile of ants feeding on another of their friends in the middle of the living room
6) potting soil under the radiator, and seeping out onto the floor
7) a large hole in the area under the sink, with a bucket and bowl covered in someone else's hair
8) more q-tips than I cared to count on the bathroom floor

Well, you get the picture. I couldn't sleep there -- it was too gross. So for the rest of the week, I'm going to go to work from my mom's house and spend my after-work hours cleaning my new apartment and trying not to throw up. Why oh why did I ever leave Vegas?