I believe that when you kill a bug in your home – it’s bigger juicier meaner bug friends are watching – and will come back and kill you in the middle of the night. The louder the crunch when you step on it – the larger the group of bugs that will be signaled and warned. It may not be a rational thought – but it’s mine – and it rings in my giant crazy head every time I approach a beetle, or spider, or something I don’t know is on some endangered list. I still think it’s illegal to kill a cricket or praying mantis but I don’t know how you’d get arrested for that if you do it in your own home. I’m sure we’ll find out when we get to heaven – yes that’s where I’m going – that there were cameras on us the whole time and I’ll have to watch the videotape of me on an endless bug kill spree loop. That’s not gonna be fun.
I went to Chicago for a wedding this past weekend. It was not your ordinary wedding because the bride was reality television star Jenni Pulos from “Flipping Out” and there were quite a few cameras rolling on the ceremony. As an alcoholic I don’t travel well – not because I’m worried about sucking down the mini bar – but because I don’t do that well out of my home element. I tend to hate – oh – everyone I don’t know. The weekend started out fine enough – until I left my house. First stop the airport – first problem – giant talker sitting next to me in first class. I believe this should be one of the rules of first class – no talking. I don’t care that you were late to the airport or that you lost your keys or your luggage or your mind. Shut it down – I’m busy ignoring you. The second rule should be – no smelling – as in, dude – get some fucking deodorant. Max Von Sydow was my flight attendant so I was worried he was going to die the entire way to Chicago. The couple next to me was slamming Bloody Mary’s like you read about and the smell of vodka was deafening. It was 7 a.m. P.S – you may have a drinking problem. Once in Chicago everything went quite smoothly – except for the part where I was afraid to put my feet on the hotel carpet or sit on the bed because I’m convinced if I had some kind of spooge light the whole place would be a splatter of blue. I sense other peoples DNA the second I walk into a hotel room. The wedding itself was beautiful and the bride truly stunning and so clearly madly in love – but it’s always awkward being the single girl at the wedding. Couples don’t really engage singles at a wedding – they’re too busy pretending that the romantic ceremony has rekindled their love for one another. It’s downright nauseating – and I know you’ll go back to hating each other the second you get home. I don’t dance at weddings so that part of the evening is also weird. Everyone got up to do the “something embarrassing” dance and I stay seated at the table eating all of their red velvet wedding cake. How would they know the cake came while they were out sweating to the oldies. There were two chocolate fountains. I was asked to leave the area after holding my wedding cake under the white chocolate one. It seemed like a smart combo to me.
On the way out of town I passed the Chicago Tribune building – a beautiful old structure housing scads of brilliant writers and journalists. You could sense the decades of talent oozing through the walls. I thought about the fact that one day that building would probably be gone – as well as all the newspapers in our country. I’m thrilled the invention of the internet allows me to spread my words quicker than a newspaper – but I’m not breaking a story the nation needs to hear and until you see the headline “Woman Killed In Own Home By Angry Bug Mob” – we should probably keep buying the paper and keep ink alive!