{no slacker}

I came home from work after a stressful day, totally exhausted. Paul is in the office writing a 10-page paper due tomorrow (which is a whole other story) so I'm just sitting here doing nothing. Well, doing nothing and taking a bunch of quizzes on Tickle. Here are some of my results:

Kristin, your pop culture IQ is 75, and you know the most about Fashion and Style

Kristin, you're Dr. Meredith Grey

Kristin, your room tells us you're Modern

Kristin, when it comes to email, you're a One-liner

Kristin, your TV family is the Huxtables!

Kristin, your body's telling you to Exercise More

Kristin, you're no slacker, you just put up a front. You’ve struck that balance between slacking off and keeping busy.

{age of discovery}

Marriage Log: Day 234

Kristin discovers that, despite initial appearances, Paul’s head is much larger than hers.

Just one those many amusing discoveries—and subsequent discussions—that come about while brushing your teeth together.

{double gross!}

I thought the cicada “invasion” was basically a crock—even with the giant bugs “fluttering” randomly about earlier this week. Well, it is a crock—in most of the city. It's not a crock, however, at all three entrances to our work building, where the entire international cicada population appears to have taken up residence.

The picture to the right--of the wall outside work’s front door--really doesn’t do the disgust justice. As my coworker put, “I’m taking a leave of absence until the cicadas leave.” To get inside (and out of) the building, you have to brace swarms of giant flying bugs and a blanket of crunchy cicadas carcasses (and if you get in before 8am like I do, you have to wait in it all for your electronic key to finally unlock the doors.)

Like we really need less motivation to come to work.

Yesterday, one my coworkers and I needed to bring a few boxes over to the off-site photo studio (which, although only 1.5 miles away, ended up having zero cidads). Fully expecting the swarm outside our building, we braced ourselves, and despite the huge boxes we were dragging, made a fast run for my car. But it's kind of hard to really escape the throng. The worst part of it was, we didn’t want let the cicadas inside the car, so we tried to haul the boxes into the backseat as fast as we could—which really wasn’t fast enough for flying cicadas. One ran into my head while I bent into the backseat. I freaked out and screamed and tossed the box, dumping all sorts of scrapbook paraphernalia all over the car. Grrrr.

Somehow we managed to get four boxes and ourselves inside the car and out of the parking lot without any cidadas hitching a ride. But other cowokers have not been so lucky. One ended up with a cicada in her knitting bag and on another car ride found one on her seatbelt. A girl near my cubicle found one on her purse handle while typing at her keyboard. Major freaking out ensued.

Apparently guys aren’t alarmed with the situation like we women are. They’re like, “Hello, they don’t bite.” It’s still distressing. Who likes to find a two-inch critter with orange-colored bug eyes in their handbag? The guys may make fun of us, but at least we borrow them for moral support while walking to our cars.


EDITED ON JUNE 17: No worries, the cicadas are almost gone now...just a few here and there, but no traumatizing incidences.

{gross!}

I’m pretty used to living in Ohio by now. In fact, most of the time, my daily life doesn’t even seem that different than life in California: By day, I edit books and shop at the LOFT; by night, I watch tv and eat ice cream. I make cards, get treats at Starbucks, hang out at local parks (although ours are free), dine at smoke-free restaurants . I even experience the occasional earthquake.

But then there are the times that the fact of my Cincinnati life smacks me right in the face: like dealing with insanely low speed limits, violent thunderstorms, and tornado watches (for the record, we haven’t had any actual tornadoes since I’ve been here). And now, cicadas.

The cicada "invasion” is an entirely new experience for me—and not a pleasant one I might add. In May, I heard rumors of the cicadas' impending invasion. Heard stories of the one I escaped four years ago. I waited and watched for the cicadas. And they did not come.

Until now.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate—they’ve been strumming their tune for a week or so now in spots around the city. I noticed the hum when I left work each day. But I had yet to see the so-called “invasion.” That was last week. Today is a whole other story.

Let me stop here and explain a little bit about cicadas. According to Wikipedia, “After mating, the female cuts slits into the bark of a twig, and into these she deposits her eggs. She may do so repeatedly, until she has laid several hundred eggs. When the eggs hatch, the newborn nymphs drop to the ground, where they burrow. … Some species have much longer life cycles … a 17- or occasionally 13-year life cycle.” This explains why Ohio experienced an invasion in 2004 and again this year. Wikipedia continues, “…they construct an exit tunnel to the surface and emerge. They then molt on a nearby plant for the last time and emerge as adults. The abandoned skins remain, still clinging to the bark of trees.” "Brood XIV" of the cicadas recently hit Southwestern Ohio.

So, I leave work today to the deafening cicada rhythm. Really, I could have used a pair of earplugs. I could hear the ebb of flow of their tune even as I drove with the radio blasting. But that’s not even the worst of it. As you drive—or heaven forbid, walk—you see cicadas flipping through the air. But not like you see a bird soar. Imagine how the dried leaves swoosh quickly, up, up,down, quickly swirling, several at a time as autumn sets in. Yeah, it’s like that, but with giant, ugly flying bugs. Gross! And if they’re not flying their silent, lifeless carcasses are littering the roads—and car grills. Double gross!! I’m assured that cicadas are “harmless” but I really don’t take kindly to the idea of any critter larger than pinhead bonking me in the head without my permission.

Fortunately, the cicadas where we live haven’t yet hatched so I’m enjoying a cicada-free zone at home. But I’ll beware.