Crickets, Meet Your Maker

Crickets and I have a love/hate relationship. As in, I love to hate them. Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about a cricket problem. The noise was everywhere, haunting me. I stalked the crickets for days before my shoe finally found them. After they were gone, I could still hear them in my head. That’s how bad it was. I suppose they enjoy coming out to pester me this time of year because…they’re back! Did you know it was cricket season? Thanks for the warning.

I’ve yet to see one inside my apartment, but they’re close. Too close for comfort. Every single day, I see a cricket inside the foyer. (The space between the outside door and my apartment door…that’s a foyer, right?) In the last week or so, I’ve killed a handful of them. I’ve lost track. What the hell is going on with my foyer? Let me tell you, I am damn tired of being afraid to enter my own home! I open the outside door, close it, and before I unlock the second door, I do a cricket/critter check. It never fails, there’s always one. The other day, there was one just over my door. I knew it would jump inside my apartment if I cracked the door open, so I stood there like a moron, waiting for the chance to smack the shit out of it.

Do you believe that it’s bad luck to kill a cricket? Do you also believe in Santa Claus? I think it’s pretty ridiculous to believe that a cricket is good luck, and that to kill it would bring bad karma. If that were true, then I’m cursed! Who died and made crickets special anyway? Crickets are basically deformed spiders. They may not use web, but their jumping skills are not to be underestimated. My handle trembles every time I’m about to smack the life out of a cricket, because, ewww…what if it jumps on me in an effort to escape my shoe? *Cringes* I usually have to take a few swings before I finally nail the sucker, therefore increasing the odds of the cricket jumping on me. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

I live in repulsion fear of these pesky critters. No matter how many crickets I murder, they keep coming back for more. I think they’re ganging up against me, trying to see how many of them can make it inside my home. I’m doing the best I can, but my boyfriend doesn’t seem to realize how serious this issue is. He left our apartment door open a crack yesterday. OPEN! The opening was large enough for a cricket to squeeze in. Simply unacceptable. I’m going to have to do something about that boyfriend of mine. How can he go on with his life, as if crickets weren’t a true menace to society my sanity?! How does he do it? *Sigh* Don’t worry about me though, I’m strong. I won’t let them win. They will not steal my sanity, not this time! (How can I lose something I never had to begin with? Yes, I just called myself crazy.)


P.S. Yes, I tend to exaggerate.

Sir, Did You Just Touch Your Penis?

I don’t particularly like shaking people’s hands. Especially people of the masculine, penis-wielding persuasion. See, believe it or not, there are still people who find it unnecessary to wash their hands after using the bathroom. Can’t fathom how anyone could be that ignorant/disgusting/stupid. Not washing your hands is never okay, but it’s somewhat forgivable for a woman. Usually, there is no need for a woman to actually touch her vagina during urination; that’s what toilet paper is for. And if a woman gets splash-back on her hands, surely good hand-washing would ensue, as women are generally disgusted by splash-back. Men, on the other hand, must always grasp their penis. Not properly grasping their penis would result in an inconceivable amount of splash-back. So, considering that men must always touch their penis, and factoring in how many men couldn’t care less about hygiene, how can one be comfortable shaking their penis-ridden hand? “Excuse me, sir, but did you just touch your penis? You’ll have to excuse me, but I would rather not shake your penis until I’ve gotten the chance to know you.” And truthfully, after getting to know the guy, you’d probably be even less inclined to shake their penis. Heaven knows where it’s been. That’s the truth, from my brain to your fortunate eyes.

P.S. I wanted to see how many times I could mention the word “penis” while still raising a valid point. I think I rose to the occasion. Pun intended. (I hope I didn’t offend any of you. I’ve been having so much trouble writing, that when this thought popped into my head, there was no way I could turn it down.)



These Situations

Situation: Monday morning, my alarm is being obnoxious.
What I should do: Get up and get ready for work.
What I really do: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Situation: Just finished eating dinner, followed by 6 pieces of Hershey’s Bliss, and some chips.
What I should do: Have an apple, then brush my teeth and stop eating immediately.
What I really do: Say, “Fuck it, I’ve already eaten all this crap, why stop now? I’ll start eating healthy TOMORROW.”

Situation: Sitting in the living room, wondering if I remembered to turn off the stove.
What I should do: Get off my fat ass and check the stove immediately.
What I really do: Say, “Fuck it, I trust myself. I’d probably smell it before it turned into a real fire anyway.”

Situation: Major headache, with no intention of going away.
What I should do: Take Advil, Tylenol, anything… Drugs.
What I really do: Whine about it and wait it out because I hate swallowing pills.

Situation: It’s Monday, my ass is sitting at my work desk.
What I should do: Be a good little worker and do my job.
What I really do: Write this ridiculous blog post.


CONCLUSION: There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. If you drew a conclusion along the lines of “lazy bitch” then shame on you. How dare you think such a thing…


What Was I Gonna Say?

Did you know that you can start to feel old at the ripe old age of 22? In a few months, I’ll be 25, but I feel like I’m going on 50. I know, I know, you want to tell me to shut my pie hole and be happy that I’m still in my twenties. I know I’m young, but I don’t feel as sharp as I used to. And if I’m feeling that way now, what hope is there for when I’m actually old? Okay, pipe down, I’m not calling anyone old. Age is just a number, and it’s all about how you feel. But if it’s all about how you feel…I feel old. Okay, go on, I know you’re rolling your eyes at me.

I’ve noticed little things here and there that make me feel…age-challenged. (I’m trying not to say old.) I know it’s perfectly normal to walk into a room and forget what you were looking for. (Right?) That happens to everyone at some point. Is it also perfectly normal to have a question for someone, but when you walk up to them two seconds later, you can’t even remember your own name?* Is it normal for this to happen very, very frequently?

I used to pride myself on my ability to memorize song lyrics incredibly fast. I had hundreds of songs in my head, and I’d never mess up a single word. Of course, that was then. This is now, and now I find that I’m forgetting bits and pieces of songs that were supposed to be stored in my head for all eternity. I know this isn’t such a big deal, but for me, it’s a sign that my brain cells are falling out of my head. And the fact that I just said they’re falling out of my head proves that I’m a frickin’ moron.

I’m sure I’m not the only one, but I actually find myself wondering how I got such good grades in school. I think we’ve all forgotten some of the things that were drilled into our heads back in school, but sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten everything. Okay, I still know that 1 + 1 = 11.** But for the life of me, I can’t remember anything about long division, or anything I learned about Science or History…especially History. English class is the only one that stuck, and that’s because I use English skills every day. See this blog post I’m writing? I’ve got mad skills.

almost want to go back to school just so I can put my brain cells to work. (Lazy bastards.) I hate that I can barely do math in my head, and that I find myself forgetting things more often than usual. I can figuratively feel my brain cells dropping like flies. (I can’t say literally because I literally can’t feel that, but…yeah.) Do any of you feel this way? Can you feel yourself heading towards stupid-ville with every passing day? Or do you think I’m a loser, and that maybe I should have kept this to myself, rather than pour my aging heart out to the whole wide blog world? I guess poor judgment is another one of my age-challenged symptons. I think I’ll go take a nap now. The computer screen is hurting my youthful eyes. Sigh…

*This post may or may not be a slight exaggeration.

**This was a joke. You do know that, right? Of course 1 + 1 = 3. Duuuhhh. (No, seriously, I know the answer is 2.)


Useless Tips And Tricks

Here are some tips and tricks I just KNOW you can’t live without. OR…here’s my pathetic attempt at covering up that I have absolutely nothing to write about today. Umm…yup.


Keep your cheeks clenched at all times: Ladies, I’m sure we all lose several strands of hair every time we shampoo. Some of those strands tend to slide down your back and through your crack. Proper cheek clenching can prevent this unpleasant situation.

Eat 5 grapes for each piece of candy or junk food: This is the perfect balance based on a fictitious study done by no one. You’ll never feel guilty about eating candy/junk food again. If you don’t have grapes, any kind of fruit will do. If you eat a whole apple, you can get away with eating an entire bag of chips.

Never fight with your spouse again: I know what you’re thinking…impossible! Here’s the solution. Anytime your spouse says something that pisses you the F off, do math! Try to recite a few multiplication tables, and you’ll soon forget why you were mad.

Headaches can get you out of doing almost anything: It’s not always easy pretending to be sick. Headaches are much easier to fake and can get you out of cooking, cleaning, working, sex…almost anything.

Life is short, so don’t waste it by cleaning: Now, I’m not saying to live like a pig. But cleaning is hard work and it’s a thankless job. If you clean too often, you’ll get depressed. Unless you can no longer tell what color your floors are, it’s not so serious. So relax.

We’re all going to die anyway, so don’t exercise too hard: If you really like exercising, go for it. But if you’re doing it because you think you have to, stop! Exercising doesn’t make people immortal. You will die one day. If you exercise too much, you might die sooner. Think about that.

If one boob is slightly bigger than the other, compensate by leaning: They say no human body is perfectly proportional, so don’t feel bad. If you lean a little, no one ever has to know which boob is smaller. As for men and certain down-there sacks, leaning won’t work for you. So sad.

If you get pulled over, be annoying: Be careful to be annoying but NOT obnoxious. This is a very fine line. If you’re annoying enough, they’ll let you go just to get you to shut up. It’s practically foolproof. Unless you wind up in jail, in which case…oops.

Understand that not all advice can be considered useful: This may or may not be one of those times. If you realized that, then you’re on the right track.



This Will Probably Bug You

It’s official, I’m a bug magnet. I am always, ALWAYS the first one to notice if there’s a bug in the room. I don’t know…I figure God knows just how much I love bugs, so he always puts them in my path. You know, it’s that whole God-has-a-sense-of-humor thing. We all know cockroaches exist, and that they will never, ever die. Well, in Puerto Rico, they exist a lot. They’re also a lot bigger here. A good two inches long. There are small ones here too, but big or small, a roach is a roach. Unfortunately, the small ones always manage to get into houses through the shower drain. Around midnight on Friday morning, I woke up to use the bathroom. I sat myself down on the toilet when something caught my eye. Oh okay, it’s just a roach. No big deal. Oh wait, yes it is. *Cue silent screaming* It was just outside the shower. Just as I was about to get up, the little sucker moved and hid behind the hamper. I left to get a heavier shoe to squish it with. That’s when I saw the second roach in the room across from ours. Great, just great. There’s an army of them. I thought I squished it, but I didn’t want to move the shoe, so I just left it there. (When I checked later in the day, there was nothing under the shoe. Drats.) I went back to the bathroom, but the roach was too fast for me. It escaped and hid under an end table with a super long table cloth on it. I lifted the table cloth to see if it would run out, but it didn’t. I hesitantly went back to my room, feeling extremely paranoid. I stared at the floor for a good five minutes, but eventually, I gave up and fell asleep.

Fast forward to Friday night. I had left the bedroom door closed while I was in the living room watching TV. As if a roach couldn’t get through a closed door. I went to grab something from my room, and when I opened the door, there was a fucking roach right at the entrance. See what I mean about God’s sense of humor? Of all the rooms, it had to be this one. I managed to squish it just before it ran out the door. I made sure I heard the crunch this time. (Are you totally grossed out yet?) I knew there was still at least one other roach running around, but I was happy to have at least murdered one of them. When it was time for bed, I checked the floors to make sure I didn’t see any roaches before drifting off to sleep. I woke up at 2am for a bathroom run. I grabbed my phone (it has a flashlight) and walked very carefully. Satisfied that I was alone, I opened the door. I turned around to shut the door and guess what? YEAH, seriously…the other roach was ON the door. I don’t know if Raid actually kills these things, but it definitely doesn’t prevent them from coming in, because I had sprayed that shit all around the door. Anyway, God was being generous this time because the little sucker was running across the door, and despite being half asleep, I timed it perfectly so that I shut the door just as it was on the edge. Crunch, crunch. I pulled the bedroom door towards me several times, to make sure I killed it dead. I grabbed some toilet paper, eased the door open, and removed the carcass from the door frame. Then I surveyed my surroundings, praying that there really were only TWO roaches.

You see what I mean, right? Two different days, waking up at two different times, and both times, I would run into these roaches? What…the…fuck??? And why must this happen when I’m trying to get some sleep? It’s really hard to sleep when you have BUGS on the brain. Anyway, now that I’ve successfully grossed you out, I think it’s time to end this post. I really hope I don’t see another roach inside this house for the remainder of my time here. You’ll pray for me, won’t you? And if I do have the misfortune of seeing one, I hope that I can kill it quickly. As a precaution, before going to bed, I’ll be putting a bottle of shampoo over the shower drain, in the hopes that no more roaches will get through. They’re not strong enough to move the shampoo bottle, right? Right? Hmph.


Side note: Is it strange that this is not the first post I’ve written that is entirely about bugs? Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C. Jeez, I have issues.

Yeah, I own this place.
Yeah, I own this place.

It Finally Ends

This is a continuation of “Stalker Much” and “Stalkers Never Really Leave Us.” I demand suggest reading them first (they’re fairly short) so that this final part makes sense. Yes, it’s finally over…

Dear John,

I’m not sure if you heard, but I’ve been detained. I am writing to you from a prison cell. A PRISON CELL! Can you believe that? The authorities tell me that a MAN filed a complaint about me, but I just know it couldn’t be you. You’re smarter than that. Hehe! I’ve been accused of stalking and unlawful possession of weapons. John, you didn’t tell on me, did you? My lovely weapons have been confiscated…all except one that I keep in my underwear at all times. It’s inside my dark place. You see why I do that, don’t you? I’m not dangerous, John. I just want to love you. I wish you’d bail me out. That would be the best thing for the both of us. That way, I won’t have to kill you.

I’ve never used my weapons for anything other than colorful threats. You believe me, right? I hate when people don’t believe me. It makes me so mad that I want to…never mind. Focus, Layla, focus! Be a sweetheart! Okay, I’m back! You really can’t blame me for wanting you. You have the most beautiful eyes, the most sensuous lips, and a bangin’ body. We belong together. Forget about me wanting to have your children. I just want your sex. It would be so good. I need sex at least 3 times a day. Dream come true, right? Guys love sex! I love you. Come rescue me, lover. I told my family about you. They are EXACTLY like me, except they’re a little crazy…and intense. But they were released for good behavior from the looney bin, so they must be okay. My weapon collection is nothing compared to theirs. I mean, bombs and…never mind. Who needs details? FYI, they know where you live. I’m sure you understand why I told them. So hurry up and come get me! I’ll be waiting, LOVERRRR. The touch of my hand isn’t enough to satisfy me anymore. Wink wink!!

Waiting to be rescued,
Your Princess, Layla


Message from Layla’s cell guard:

Dear sir,

This message was intercepted before it could reach you. Layla has been behaving rather, uh, inappropriately. She was coming on to all the inmates and guards…in the most disgusting inappropriate way. She also kept sticking her hand down her pants and saying, “I bet you have no idea what I’ve got down here!” Frankly, it was a little creepy. Many guards claimed that she had raped them in their sleep, so as you can understand, she’s been locked away in isolation, with no contact with the outside world. After reading her letter to you, we discovered the weapon she had concealed in, well, you know where. Rest assured, she won’t be contacting you anymore. I’m sure you’ll be relieved. I am including her letter to you because, well…I found it quite amusing. But on the off chance she manages to escape, you might need this for evidence. Good luck to you, sir.

I feel sorry for you

P.S. You might want to watch out for her twin sister. Yikes…

When It Rains, It Pours

When someone says, “Let’s go to a river today!” your first reaction is, “Okay, sounds pretty harmless.” Except it’s NOT. Not when nobody told you that you would have to hike all the way DOWN to the lovely river. I had sneakers on, but that doesn’t make me any more adventurous than I already am…which I’m not at all. So we started walking towards the entrance, which was paved, but was on a hill. We walked for a few minutes and then we got to an area full of dirt and rocks. You know how much I love dirt and rocks, right? At this point, for some stupid reason, my boyfriend was way ahead of me with his niece. I was with his other niece and his brother, and then the rest of the group was WAY behind. I headed down thinking I’d find my boyfriend soon enough. In hindsight, we should have just waited for the group that was WAY behind us. A few minutes in, my (brand new) sneakers found themselves face to face with some mud. I was pretty pissed. The fact that my boyfriend was too stupid to turn around and make sure we were following him just added to my anger. Sure, leave me to fend for myself. Does he not know me at all?

So we kept following the road, stopping every so often to scream his name. At one point the road went up…like way up, with HUGE rocks. I had to use my hands which I was not happy about. Finally, FINALLY, we heard my boyfriend coming…from behind us. Why? Because we frickin’ went the wrong way. Because he didn’t frickin’ wait for us. So we had to go back down the huge, slippery rocks, and like an idiot, he was walking way too fast. We eventually made it back and I realized just how far we had gone. There was a separate road going down that we hadn’t seen AT ALL the first time, and it was right near where the dirt and rocks began. So I did all that hiking for nothing. You can guess what kind of mood I was in. Of course, we had to hike some more to get to the actual river. So we walked down some questionable rock stairs, but at least they had built a railing. Until they didn’t. The very last (and steep) part consisted of large rocks, curving down, with nothing to hold on to. I cursed a lot, but eventually, my boyfriend helped me down. We were with a group of people, and I’m sure they noticed my less-than-pleased look. But after a few minutes, I felt better. And yes, the river was pretty. It had a lovely waterfall. The river was beyond freezing though, probably because it’s so damn far away from the sun.

Just as we were getting ready to leave, it started raining. I mean, why wouldn’t it rain? So we had to try to hurry UP those enormous rocks. Luckily, it was easier going up than down. But then we got to the dirt path, which was concerning, because it was now muddy. I was happy when we made it to the paved road, but guess what? It was a fairly steep slope…DOWN. All that rain and we had to walk down and pray that gravity wouldn’t knock us off our feet. Then we finally got to the car, which was parked on the grass…wet, squishy grass. It was awesome. Truly epic. I really wish I was more adventurous. People must think I’m so boring, but I can’t help it. I don’t enjoy doing things where falling is a definite possibility. But I survived without falling. It was coming down really hard then, but at least we were in the car. Not that we could see the cars in front of us, but hey, who needs to see? When we made it home, it was still raining, which is unusual since it doesn’t rain much in that city. My boyfriend said that he loves running in the rain and since we were already wet, I thought, why not? Why not continue with this adventurous day and do something new? So we ran in the rain like a couple of weirdos and it felt good. We didn’t even get any strange looks. I wouldn’t try that in New Jersey though. So that’s that. Wow, this post is way too long. It’s also my first post all year! Umm, so yeah, that’s it…so…bye now.



An Officer And A Gentle Drunk

Officer: Sir, are you okay?

Chad: Oh, hey officer. Yeah, I’m fine. Got wasted as hell, so I thought I’d sleep it off. Peace out, bro.

Officer: Sir, you’re operating a vehicle inebriated?

Chad: In-what-iated?

Officer: Drunk, sir, you’re driving drunk.

Chad: Oh, no, not at all. Do you see my car moving? Are you drunk officer? You should be careful with those donuts.

Officer: Sir, I’m gonna need you to get out of the vehicle.

Chad: Na, it’s cool. I’d rather just sleep it off. In another hour, I’ll be good as new..

Officer: Sir, please unlock the door.

Chad: Let a brother sleep, yo!

Officer: Sir, please respect the law and exit this vehicle.

Chad: Dude, I couldn’t be respecting the law any more. I pulled over so as to NOT accidentally kill anyone in my drunken stupor. If that’s not respect, I don’t know what is.

Officer: Please call me Officer Cockson, not dude.

Chad: Alright Mr Cock, I’m tired…do you mind?

Officer: This is your final warning. Please exit the vehicle.

Chad: Only if you’ll call it a car.

Officer: I’m warning you, sir.

Chad: Honestly, who calls people “sir” anymore?

Officer: Okay then. I’m writing out a ticket for operating a vehicle inebriated and for refusing to comply. License and registration, please.

Chad: Whatever dude, if it’ll make you leave any faster. You’ll leave me alone, right?

Officer: License and registration.

Chad: Jeeze, so serious. Where is that shit anyway…ahh, here you go.

Officer: *writes up ticket* Here you are, Randy. I suggest you call a friend to come pick you up.

Chad: I suggest you find a girlfriend and lighten up. With all due respect, Mr Cock man.

Officer: It’s Cockson. You’re lucky you caught me on a good day. And I’ve already exceeded my quota.

Chad: Lucky me. You’ve been sweet as pie.

Officer: Right. Have a safe evening, Randy. I hope this won’t happen again.

Chad: Don’t worry…what are the chances you’ll catch me next time?

Officer: *walks away shaking his head*

Chad: *looks at the ticket and thinks to himself* Man, my brother Randy is gonna kill me. I’ll just leave this little ticket in the glove compartment…he’ll find it eventually.

I wrote this ages ago, and was saving it for a rainy day. Well, it’s not raining, but I keep trying to write and it’s just frustrating me, so here you go. This isn’t spectacular or anything, but it’s Monday…are Mondays ever spectacular?


Bugs Have Feelings Too

When you stumbled upon my little blog, you probably never thought I’d be providing you with breaking news updates. That’s probably because I’ve never done so, therefore you’d have no reason to expect such a thing. But what do you know, there’s a first time for everything. (This post WILL be weird. And do you know why? Because I’m awesome weird.)

According to a recent study done by BunchaBull, we have reason to believe that approximately 90% of all bugs are suicidal. That is a very alarming percentage, indeed. Only a small 10% are true optimists, living life to the fullest, never knowing when they’ll have the misfortune of being on the wrong end of a shoe.

Sadly, the majority of these creatures are pessimists, believing that no matter how hard they work, they will never be appreciated. Rather than just letting things happen, they’ve decided to take the reins and end their miserable little lives. If you don’t believe it, just take a look inside your home. They are crying out for feces help.

House invasion is the most popular method of bug suicide. Possibly, it’s the only method. Notice the spider hanging by a thread, slowly making its way down to the floor. SUICIDAL. It knows you’ll see it and of course you’ll kill it. That fly buzzing around your ear over and over again, taunting you. DEATH WISH. That nasty whatchamacallit just chilling on the wall, daring you to do something. IT. WANTS. TO. DIE.

Why else would a sane bug just wander into a house full of humans? They have no will to live. Depression hurts. They know humans have little to no regard for a bug’s life, so this is a fool-proof suicide plan. We can do one thing to help, and that’s to kill them quickly. They suffer enough just by being tiny and disgusting. Our studies recommend keeping your shoe pressed firmly against the bug for a full 5 seconds. Otherwise, you might end up slicing off a couple of legs, killing an organ or two, and leaving them to die slowly. Tragic, truly tragic.

Not much can be done to avoid future bug suicides. There are very few bug therapists out there, and even fewer bugs who are interested in discussing their personal issues. Bug suicide is just another fact of life that we are forced to accept. It’s a cruel world. Do your part and be as compassionate as possible. A quick death is the best kind of death.

I knew you couldn’t have lived without this breaking news, so you’re welcome. Don’t forget, you heard it here first. 

© Lily F

Blog at

Up ↑