In an attempt to back-pedal on the introspective-here-is-my bare-naked-soul blogs I have been writing, I will attempt to pen a series of "humorous" (I hate people who put words in "quotes" for "no apparent reason") pieces on the more mundane aspects of life. If they suck, I'll go back to the FML genre.
First up: bugs. Not a fan. (I wasn't kidding about the mundane part, was I?) I know, I know-who is? But I find people's reactions to different insect species fascinating. (Really? This may be one reason why my life sucks. Note to self: mention this in next therapy session.) No, wait, hear me out. Some people absolutely freak out at the mention of the word "spider". Others can sort of tolerate them. I'm okay with them, as long as I don't see them move. If they start doing their creepy Spider Walk, then I'm out of there. This is why I don't kill them, because if I go after them, they'll start to move and I'll have a stroke. There is a spider who lives in the corner of a window in my kitchen. He lived there before I moved in, over a year ago. I sat down and had a talk with him the first week and said I had no problem with him living there, as long as he tidied up after himself and would only come out after dark. We shook hands and he has abided lawfully to our contract. I say good morning to him every day while I'm fixing coffee. And this is in no way pathetic or introspective, so shutthefuckup.
My son hates cicadas. Something to do about how we forced him to go to Boy Scout Camp every year. I don't want to talk about it. But I kind of like them. I mean, I like the sound of them; the sight of them creeps me out, but I like the rhythmic cadence that gently lulls. . OMG!!! It's a cicada!!! Get that thing away from me!!! Ahhhh. . . . .okay, I'm okay now. And on to. . . .
Yup, the Grand Muthafucka of them all, Roaches. Nobody likes roaches. If you ever do meet someone who likes them, you should get very, very far away from that person as soon as possible. They are the Reality TV of the Insect World (random thought: I hate people who use quotation marks indiscriminately but, obviously, have no problem with irrational capitalization of words. Gonna be a busy therapy session on Monday. . . .) and, much like RTV, they always come on when you don't want them to. I once had an apartment that had a cockroach nest above my bed (unbeknownst to me) and I woke up one day with roaches falling on my face. (See therapy note, above.) I have a friend who told me his uncle got one in his ear. These Abominations of Nature go places you wouldn't want your lover to go, let alone a cockroach. Why are they still here? Let's face it, our country has hit its peak, we're on the downhill slide, forget the economy and healthcare and new designs on quarters--if a politician ran on a I'm Going to Kill Every Motherfucking Cockroach in America platform, he'd win in a landslide. As long as by "motherfucking cockroach" he meant "motherfucking cockroach" and not gay guys. I wouldn't vote for him then. (Two-part note: A: those quotations marks were justified; B: Notice I use the pronoun "he", not "she". That's because if either Sarah Palin or Michelle Bachman become president I'll kill myself and will no longer care about cockroaches. Oh wait, C: I'm not going to mention the quotation marks around "he" and "she" because it's now driving me crazy.)
Well, you get the point. And I realize I'll get tens of thousands of letters (read: 0) from readers who feel slighted because I ignored their least favorite bug, but I can't do everything people. And, technically, I am at "work".