Okay. I will now tell you something about myself which may change the way you think of me. Unless you already think of me as a dillhole; then not so much a change for you, perhaps more like moving (promoting?) your thinking of me into douchbaggy territory.
Sometimes, even when I am alone, and engaged in mundane tasks, I still sort of perform, by which I mean, I play the role of “Myself” in the scene where I clean the lint catcher before putting the laundry in the dryer, for instance. I’m just going about my boring ass business, but sometimes, I carry this weird hyper-awareness which causes me to sort of “act” - as if there were an audience watching me. Uh-huh. Yeah. I know. I’m sure there is a clinical name for this. But this is not my point, dear reader.
My point is: currently, there ARE hundreds of eyes watching me as I go about my boring ass (and sometimes stinky) business (I was talking about garbage in that previous parenthetical, okay? Jeez!), the small buggy eyes of a hundred or so CRICKETS. Whoa, nelly.
We opened our front door today, and there was this cricket, who had apparently been knocking for some time, because he barreled inside without so much as a how-dee-do. Strange, thought we, overly aggressive Texan cricket bastard. Well, we’ll fix his wagon. (MYH has asked that I not portray him as taking part in saying something like, “fix his wagon” because it is too old woman-y. So imagine only me saying that.) And we threw his little hoppy ass down the hall, so he could knock on #351’s door. (#351 did not share his handtruck on our move-in day.)
Then we opened the door in the stairwell only to be greeted by a chorus of chirping. On the ceilings, walls, in the garage, just every dang place except ones I can’t mention in polite company. I was expecting Charlton Heston to hop down the stairs shouting “Let my people go!” Guess it’s a yearly thing with the crickets. They come, there will be some sort of cricket cleansing, and then someone will come a clean up all crunchy remains.
I don’t know how to close this one up, and MYH has made some tomato soup and grilled cheese, so…
Filed under: Bring Grammy A Bourbon, Things About Me | Tagged: all the world's a stage for CRICKETS, crickets, crunchy, unresolved issues
Are you sure they are crickets? There are these things in the midwest called cicadas (aka seventeen-year locusts), and they swarm and are extremely loud and when they molt, they leave their empty carcasses inches deep all over the place. Everywhere you walk it’s CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH. We had ours here in Illinois last year, but I don’t know about TX.
I understand they are a good source of protein.
Yep, crickets. We have the cicadas as well, but they are not infesting the building. I went and talked to Sweet Gay (Possibly Closeted) Ted, the Second Assistant Apartment Manager, and he said the crickets just show up this time of year, in biblical proportions, all over the city.
And um, protein….have you been watching that crazy Bear Grylls on Man Vs. Wild or something? Protein indeed. Unless you maybe have some kind of yummy recipe up your sleeve.
oh you have no idea how much i love this. not that I’d be happy if they were in my home, but the “how-dee-do” really got to me!