Woke up this morning to find a cicada buzzing around under my covers. In bed. With me.
If you have never seen a cicada, understand that this is not a good thing. A Cicada is an insect somewhere between a horse fly and a cockroach, roughly the size of a fat man’s thumb, aggressive and loud, somewhere between 15 – 20 years old. It is an ollllld ass bug. And it was in my bed. So I screamed, got the vaccum cleaner hose, sucked it down. Now it’s buzzing and thumbing around in the vacuum canister as I sit here writing this. Not gonna feel bad. Nope. Eff him. Let him rot for an hour. It’s my birthday, and monster bugs in the bed is a helluva way to wake up.
|Mingo candles by Mod Cloth.|
Yup. My birthday is Sunday. I’ll be 35. Bill Murray will be 64.
Weird fact: Bill Murray and I were born on the same day in the very same hospital. I’m not sure what the makes us, but I’d be cool if he like wanted to show up and dance at my party. Just sayin’.
And while we are on the subject, and I am feeling put-upon and entitled by surving the Cicada Horror of 2014, here are some other things I want for my birthday:
1. Benedict Cumberbatch dressed as Mr. Darcy coming out of a lake in a wet shirt. Why is this not a cake topper? Who is going to make money off of this one?
2. A tour of the world’s finest cat cafes. An excellent place for a birthday party!
3. Whose flamingo bike is this and how do I get it? Pinterest is no help, they don’t ask these kinds of questions on Dateline, and I for one demand answers.
4. The David Bowie exhibit is coming to Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art in four days. FOUR DAYS. I’ll start working on my eye makeup tomorrow.
So that is what I know about that. Now I’m off to release the hellion cicada from his dusty chamber, followed by a morning of epic thrifting in farmtown and some apple picking — my favorite birthday tradition.