Yesterday, I shared my story about the peeping cricket in my shower with The Mechanics. Here’s what happened.
Me: Y’all! Last weekend, I got in the shower, closed my eyes, and washed my hair. When I finished and opened my eyes????? THERE WAS A GIANT CRICKET SITTING ON THE SHOWER CURTAIN!!!
Kevin: Did you kill it?
Me: NOOOOO! Are you crazy? How do you kill a
giant bug when you’re naked?
Kevin: KB. Look. Next time you get in the shower take a lighter and some hairspray. If you see a bug, TORCH THAT BAD BOY.
David: Yeah. JAMES BOND HIS ASS! (David then began singing the 007 theme song pretending to torch crickets in every direction).
Cliff: (referencing the TV show True Blood) Maybe that cricket was a shape shifter. MAYBE the cricket was your 80 year-old neighbor coming to watch you take a shower.
Me: OH GREAT. Listen. I captured the bug and put it outside, but here’s the thing. I also have an ant problem. I CANNOT SAVE ANTS. I’m distraught. I have to kill them.
David, Cliff, and Kevin looked at me like I had farted loudly.
Tony: (with faith worthy of a mustard seed in man form) KB. It’s simple. Just put up an “ANTS NOT ALLOWED” sign. That should take care of the ants.
Mechanic logic. There’s nothing like it.
The lightning bug painting was done by my dad. I added the sign.
As I got in the shower this morning I was singing “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story (I have no idea where this came from). I was also plotting how I would kill a zombie if I lived in a Walking Dead scenario because, well………..zombies. Deep in thought, eyes closed, I began the monotonous task of washing my hair. When I opened my eyes to reach for the conditioner, I saw this guy peeping me from the shower curtain. At first I was like, SPIDER because my eye site is bad. A scream welled up in me as if Norman Bates himself was standing on the other side. Then I realized it was just a cricket and the scream reduced in size. I know all of you bug assassins are saying, “I would smash that bug into next year the minute I saw it.” Ask yourself though. You’re naked. There aren’t many options for smashing. What do you REALLY do? Me? I stopped singing and began talking to the cricket. We came to an agreement that his life would be spared if he didn’t jump on me. He heard me. Actually, I’m thinking my piss-poor singing probably hypnotized him and he didn’t hear a word I said. After drying off and getting dressed, I snapped his photo and deposited him outside. Afterwards, I went to WalMart to buy ant killer. I realize the irony here, but ants are IMPOSSIBLE to save.
This past weekend I witnessed the joining of two souls in matrimony. The word “beautiful” is too weak of a word to describe this wedding. Both the bride and groom cast a golden glow over us all creating a magical night. It was the type of event that might cause a heady poet to haphazardly scribble down words worthy of Wordsworth on an abandoned cocktail napkin. I myself had melodious words banging around in my head begging to be written.
That was until………………..
I was standing outside during the reception with my childhood friend, Tim. His gaze seemed to lock on something just past me and he said, “If you were going to get a tattoo, what would you get?” Flippantly, without thinking or bothering to see what he was looking at, I said, “A martini glass………….a piece of chocolate……. FRIED OKRA………. you know the things that mean a lot to me.” He looked at me with childhood brotherly affection, laughed, and then returned his glaze to where it was when initiated the conversation. I decided to follow his gaze. He was focused on the tattoo of an electrical outlet (the photo) eternally printed on the arm of an elegant young woman named Lauren standing behind me. An electrical outlet tattoo is not something you get on a whim. It has meaning. At that moment I turned back to Tim and started talking 5,000 miles an hour in melt-down fashion, “Wait. THIS IS SERIOUS! I don’t know what I’d have tattooed on me. Does this mean my life has no meaning? I mean, my daughter’s best friend has her Grandmother’s name on her back. Do I not care about my grandparents because I don’t have their names tattooed on me somewhere? I guess I could get something tattooed related to my children.” I was totally stressed. I abruptly stopped and turned around to ask Lauren about the electrical outlet tattoo to confirm my stress was real, but Lauren had left.
By this point the tattoo question was tattooed on my brain. I had another opportunity to approach Lauren and ask about her tattoo. Thankfully, she took no offense to my questions and patiently talked to me about tattoos. It turns out, her electrical outlet tattoo was chosen because of an interest in borgs, but the meaning has evolved to represent the energy she hopes to share with others in her work as a social worker. She is proud of this tattoo and wears it as a badge of honor. Knowing how difficult social work is, I understand this tattoo probably more than any other.
I have no plans to get a tattoo, but I feel like I need to be able to answer the question. What badge of honor would I choose? Tim’s question is a question we should all be able to answer whether we have intent to tattoo or not. I’ll get back to you when I decide.
What we have here are the three wise mechanics of grilling. When it comes to grilling, they see no evil, speak no evil, and hear no evil. Grilling is pure art for them. They are the Michelangelos of meat.
Today was grill-out day at work. Conversation around the grill never fails to make laugh. The talk around the grill today was about fireworks since Kevin is the Donald Trump of firework sales. Every year, he gives me a firework. I’m like his charity case. Last year he gave me a firework called “Highway to Hell.” This year?
Me: You should see the firework Kevin gave me. It’s called, “My Favorite Martian.”
Cliff: What does it do?
Me: It EMITS SHOWERS OF SPARKS……..yes all caps.
Kevin: KB there’s no telling what will come out of that thing.
Me: Maybe it’ll shoot out a boyfriend. I have dated some real aliens ya know.
Me: NO!! Weirdos
Kevin: You know there is a firework named The Energizer. It lasts for 5 minutes.
Me: (giggling) What made you think of that?
Kevin. KB. I don’t know, but look. Check it out. I have smoke bombs that last 5 minutes. I’m going to set off a few, crank up Metallica, and begin my firework show. Nobody will have a clue what I’m doing and then BAM!
Dear Lord, please let Kevin survive July 4th with all 10 fingers and at least one eye.