Six bugs on my arch nemesis list

***WARNING: This post contains pictures of very scary bugs and one of Michael Phelps with lobster pincers.***

I think that I'm a pretty friendly person, but, like every other bat-shit crazy person I know, I have a few arch nemeses lists floating around. Unfortunately, I can't publish the list of people who are my arch nemeses because it would probably look suspicious when live scorpions turned up in all of their sock drawers (are you listening, Nickelback?). Because I can't list the people who I've declared as my arch nemeses, I'm giving y'all a list of bugs that are my arch nemeses. To be honest, there isn't much difference between the two lists (are you listening, Nickelback?).

1) Roaches
Ok. Roaches in Texas are like a genetic experiment gone horribly awry. They are roughly the size of a Volvo. They have terrible legs, they have creepy antennae that can feel their way into your soul where they will definitely lay babies, and they bite. (What's that? They don't bite? Well then, Bill Nye, explain to me how the fuck they eat.)

FIG. 1
Pictured: A fucking roach. That is fucking biting.

Also, roaches are aggressive. Don't look at me like that. A couple months ago, I woke up and walked out into the kitchen for a drink. There was a roach on the ceiling and he was approximately three feet long and he had a switchblade knife pointed at me and was wearing a bandana and a Guns N Roses shirt.

FIG. 2
Rough Approximation

He twitched his wings at me in Morse code, saying "if you take one step closer to me, I will fly into your hair and bite you" and then he charged at me to send me a message. To which I responded "Oh! Sorry!" and turned off the light and ran out of the kitchen as fast as I could (which, truthfully, isn't very fast). You read that correctly. He charged at me. Which is aggressive.

While roaches have always thrown me into mild states of cardiac arrest, I put them on my arch nemeses list after I woke up one morning with a roach on my arm. I screamed, simultaneously faceplanting out of bed while attempting to claw my own shirt off. I stood up with my ankles twisted around each other, the roach on my face and my shirt somehow stuck around my head. I tripped, screaming, and fell onto the bed which I bounced off of, screaming, and fell onto the dog's kennel, which I bounced off of, screaming, and fell into the wall, which I bounced off of, screaming, and faceplanted on the floor again, half naked with my shirt still somehow tied around my face. And the roach was still on me. Basically, I added roaches to my list the day a roach turned me into a half naked human pinball and won a battle of wills.

2) Water bugs
According to scientific research that I have just made up, water bugs are a combination of very scary pinchers, roaches and Michael Phelps, which are three of the things I'm most terrified of in this world.

FIG. 3
This seems legit. And you brought this on yourself, Michael Phelps.

Because my parents wanted to increase the possibility of death for all of us growing up, we had a pool. Inside this pool on occasion, were extremely terrifying water  bugs. From now on, we'll refer to them as Michael Phelps monsters. First, let's take a look at these things:

Fig. 4
"What's that, sir? You also come in Terrible Monstrosity size?"

That's a Giant Michael Phelps Monster. I used a giant Michael Phelps monster for a few reasons. First, it's easier to see all of their terrible nightmarish qualities when they're blown up to gargantuan proportions. Like their terrible eyeballs that can see all of your fears, or their terrible backs that are meant to trick you into thinking that they're a leaf you can pick up in your pool until it squirms out of your hands with it's terrible slippery body and lunges for your face. Second, I used a picture of a giant Michael Phelps monster to show you that they come in gargantuan proportions, which is probably God's way of saying that he wants me to die of a heart attack in the middle of a swimming pool.

Have you ever been peacefully floating on your back in your favorite Hello Kitty swimsuit in your parent's pool (this was a while ago, like at least two years) when suddenly it felt as though an Orc or a grizzly bear was clawing at your ass cheek? And then you remember that Orcs aren't real? And that there are no salmon in your pool so it's probably not a grizzly bear? And that's when you start to panic because you realize that there is a Michael Phelps monster loose in your swimsuit? I put Michael Phelps monsters on my arch nemeses list when I ended up almost drowning in a swimming pool because I freaked out and couldn't find the Michael Phelps monster that was loose in my swimsuit.

3) Mosquitoes
Mosquitoes made it onto my list last week. I know that's weird because they're kind of the worst creation in the history of things that have ever been created, but none of them have ever given me West Nile or Malaria, so honestly, I thought we were cool. I mean, yes, they're like terrible tiny vampires. But according to teenagers and 40-year-old moms who are pedophiles, vampires are sort of in right now.

Last week, I was driving home. My car is a convertible (an AWESOME convertible. As awesome as six Aston Martins except it's a PT Cruiser) and a mosquito flew directly into my eyeball. I'm not good at physics, but the velocity my car was travelling plus the velocity at which the mosquito was flying equaled approximately one million miles an hour, which equaled about seven millions pounds of force against my eyeball.

FIG. 5
These calculations seem correct.

This caused me to almost kill myself and several other people on the road. And the policeman that pulled me over because he thought, I am assuming, that I was drunk, did not quite understand what I meant when I said that a tiny vampire was trying to eat my eyeballs. So I put mosquitoes on my arch nemeses list last week when one caused me to almost kill several people, attracting the attention of the Friendswood Police, who then gave me a ticket for my expired registration.

4) Brown Recluse spiders

FIG. 6
Because holy Christ, that's why.

I have lots and lots of irrational fears, like that I'm somehow going to get eaten alive by an escalator or that any time I sit in a recliner, I am definitely going to fall over backwards. One of my more rational fears is that I am going to get viciously attacked by an entire colony of brown recluse spiders and doctors will have to remove all of my limbs and most of my boobs. Oh. That's not logical? Go Google "brown recluse spider bite" for me. It's ok. I'll wait.

FIG. 7
The bite is literally too terrible for me to post. So here's a picture of Richard Simmons.

Did you do it? Was it the most terrible thing you've ever seen besides anything starring Jennifer Lopez? If you didn't search for it and see the horror movie that results from one of these bites, first, that was probably smart, and second, all you have to do is picture the most terrible, disgusting wound in the whole world and then multiply that by exactly one fuck-ton. I put brown recluse spiders on my arch nemeses list as soon as I discovered that they lived in Texas, most likely in my attic, and then concluded that they had become self-aware and were planning an uprising.

5) Silverfish
First, look at them:

FIG. 8
"What? Oh I'm just hanging out. Trying to lay eggs in your brain."

Second, silverfish are like that really terrible socially awkward guy no one invited to the party and he refuses to leave.

FIG. 9
"But I brought French onion dip."

I'm just going to throw a few things out there:

• They eat books
• They live anywhere I am currently trying to take a shower
• They eat books
• They feed primarily on carbohydrates without getting fat, which means they are officially better at life than me
• They eat books
• They apparently live in piles of expensive bras
• They eat books
• Some species of silverfish HAVE NO FUCKING EYES, which somehow makes it even more frustrating that they always know where my arms are when I'm trying to simultaneously carry something and not touch a silverfish

FIG. 10
"Enemy arm at 6:00! Let's go, Comrades!"
(Also, silverfish sound Russian in my head. I blame the Cold War.)

I put silverfish on my arch nemeses list when I was four days old and someone tried to bathe me and I'm 100 percent certain there was a silverfish on the wall trying to crawl onto my arm.

6) June bugs
These are the things I know about June bugs.

FIG. 11
...besides, "I hate them."

• They have creepy legs
• They are like stupid kamikaze pilots that aim specifically for faces
• They do not know what the word "June" means
• They are like the very dumb and irritating cousins of Egyptian Scarab beetles
• They are apparently delicious, based on the number of June bugs my dog brings into the house and tries to eat, only to let them go so they kamikaze right into my face
• If you are a lifeguard and have to keep the pool clean, approximately seven trillion will accumulate in the skimmer baskets. When you try to get them out and have nowhere to put them, another lifeguard whom you incorrectly assume is a friend will suggest that you set them on fire. Several of them will, as it turns out, not be as dead as you originally thought  and will begin to fly at you out of anger and retribution.

FIG. 12
It was pretty hard to find a picture of this.

I put June bugs on my arch nemeses list when I was 20 and a lifeguard named Chase suggested I set a pile of presumed-dead June bugs on fire and three flaming undead June bugs attempted to kamikaze my face.

So that's it then. I'm pretty selective about what goes on this list, but I'm sure I'll be able to update it with equally terrifying arch nemeses bugs eventually. (Are you listening, Nickelback?)

***Also--I've added a subscribe-by-email thingie to the right hand side of the page if that would make life easier for anybody. Like my mother. Who had this conversation with me the other day:

Mom: I've never read your blog.

Me: Mom, are you serious?

Mom: It's not my fault! I don't know how to get there!

Me: Type in my blog name in Google!

Mom: What's your blog name?

Me: Seriously?! Diary of a failed anorexic!

Mom: Jennifer! No one wants to read about anorexia. That's not funny.

Me: Diary of a FAILED anorexic.

Mom: Oh, I get it. That's kind of funny, I guess.

She keeps me humble.***

Four Things That Really Suck About Being Fat

I know what you're saying. This should be the shortest blog post ever.

I'll take things that suck about being fat for $1,000.  What is "everything", Alek.
I didn't even ask the question yet. But that is correct, yes.

There is literally nothing that doesn't suck about being fat. With the possible exception of surviving an ice age or an accidental fall into the Bering Sea a little better than the average person. Or maybe being able to wrestle a Snicker's bar from a hungry bear if necessary. Those things notwithstanding, the number of things that suck about being fat equals precisely everything minus three.
What's that you said? Quit eating? Then go exercise? Problem solved?

Oh yeah? I hadn't thought of that. Eff you. Also, pie is delicious. Also, pie wanted me to tell you "eff you" as well.

Fig. 1

Anthropomorphic Pie: "Go eff yourself".

But listing "everything" instead of writing an actual post is the most terrible thing anyone could ever do, ever. Besides watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Watching Brad Pitt as a creepy old baby is probably the most terrible thing anyone could ever do, ever. Anyway, to avoid being responsible for the second most terrible thing anyone could ever do, ever, here are the four worst things about being fat.

1. Skinny Jeans

I'm not talking about skinny jeans that come in a size 0.  I'm not even talking about skinny jeans that come in a size 8. I'm talking about the jeans that come in a size 24 and are on a table surrounded by other clothes that could double as either sails or tents. Are you being condescending, clothes manufacturers? Are you trying to be ironic? Are there air quotes around the word "skinny" in your skinny jeans and you're laughing hysterically behind the earring turney thing at me as I pick them up and stare at them angrily and skeptically? I'm not an idiot! I'm not going to walk into Abercrombie Kids or  wherever the hell it is skinny people shop and march into the dressing room with an armful of skinny jeans because Apple Bottom clearly doesn't understand what words mean!  Also I have never walked into an Abercrombie because I do not want to be asked politely to leave. I am very well aware that when I put on these "skinny" jeans, I will look like a snake that is trying to digest a beach ball.

Fig. 2

"What's that, Torrid? I wear a size four in these? I'll take six pairs, please."

So eff you, "skinny" jeans. Go back to WetSeal where you belong. (side note: WetSeal is still open? Really, 1997?)

2. Wicker

First off, if you own wicker furniture, you're basically saying, "eff you, fat friends. Your kind isn't welcome here. You will either sit on my elf furniture or you will sit on the ground. Because we both know you're not going to stand."

Look. Wicker furniture will likely disintegrate as soon as we sit in it. Who is this for? Mice? Kate Moss? An Olson twin? Why do you even have this?!

Let's face it. I'm not going to try to wedge myself into a tiny wicker chair. For more than one reason. The first reason is that it will likely still be stuck to my ass when I attempt to stand up. If I were to hypothetically sit in wicker furniture, I would have to test the chair-welded-to-ass situation by sort of gradually standing up, but wicker furniture is always like three effing millimeters off the ground; there's no such thing as a gradual attempt to stand up because, in the interest of full disclosure, fat people don't use their hamstrings. So, because you're not able to gradually stand, you've got to try to leverage your weight and spring up in a reverse gravity situation.

And now a chair is stuck to your ass.

So you either A) fall down immediately, or B) stand up and try to subtly remove the chair from your ass. (Spoiler alert: there is no subtle way to remove a chair from your ass) And it's really hard to look cool with a tiny wicker chair attached to your Weeble ass.

Fig. 3

Exhibit A.

Another reason fat people hate wicker is because, if for some reason we do sit on it, when we get up (and have removed the chair from our asses) the backs of our legs look like honey baked hams.

Fig. 4

Mmm. Delicious.

3. Spanx

Spanx, if you're not familiar, are like a gigantic Ace bandage that is supposed to constrict blood flow to all of your extremities so that you can't breathe or move while simultaneously making you look about 1/8 of an inch thinner. There are different styles, but they are generally worn from your neck to your ankles. I bought my first pair of Spanx when I passed by a mirror at Macy's and thought someone was behind me but it turned out to be my own ass. Also, Spanx are terrible. Have you ever tried to pry on a pair of Spanx? I'm assuming that the large majority of male readers have not. Here's what it's like. Go find jeans for a toddler. Now get them wet. Now run around and get sweaty. Now try to pull them over your calves. Did you get that far without falling down and hitting your head on a nearby dresser? Congratulations. You beat me.

Fig. 5

Somebody call an ambulance. And my lawyer.

Look, Spanx. You're supposed to make my life easier by giving everyone a false impression of exactly how big I am. But when I come out from changing winded, exhausted and sweaty, IT'S REALLY OBVIOUS HOW BIG I AM, SPANX. Also, I don't want to have to take a nap when I'm finished getting ready because I'm injured and exhausted. Also, fun fact, Spanx make you feel like a human sausage.

4. Crossfit

Let me open this by saying that I know several very wonderful, funny, bright people whom I love deeply that do Crossfit, and despite my deep love and devotion to you, fuck off.

Quit jumping off of boxes! What does the phrase "snatch grab" mean?!  "Crossfitting" and "Crossfitters" are NOT REAL WORDS, CROSSFIT!!!

Also, there is no possible way a fat person can do any of this. How many pull ups do  you want me to do? If the answer isn't zero, we're both out of luck. I'm not supposed to eat anything dairy? Then what am I supposed to order when I eat Mexican food? If you say a salad, I'll kill you where you stand. Also, and I am aware that this is about to make me sound jealous, especially considering that I'm starting to get concerned that if I gain any more weight I'll collapse in on myself like a neutron star, but some of you are making yourselves too skinny and it's making me look larger by comparison.

Anyway. If you do Crossfit, fuck off. Unless I love you. In that case,fuck off please. And when you come back, bring me a pie. 

Fig. 6

I've been waiting for you!

The day my friends tried to kill everyone with bacon (and jorts)

You know those days when you sleep in until noon, hung over from four days of drinking that started with seeing a midget strip show, and a person you deeply respect, but makes terrible decisions calls you and says, "Come over to Selena's. They're making everything with bacon. Chris will be wearing jorts."?

No? What are you doing with your life? Let me back up.

Last week, I went to see a midget strip show with the Person I Deeply Respect but Makes Terrible Decisions. (aside: watching a midget strip show is not something I would consider a terrible decision.) The night quickly turned into a swirling vortex of tequila, $8 domestic beer, tiny boobs, vienna sausage fingers and many different forms of sexual harassment. Coincidentally, this night was also possibly the first and likely the last time I would ever be motorboated by a sort-of-famous porn star midget. After that, we went to a club where men were line dancing and it was a very real possibility that we were going to be kicked out of a Whataburger drive through.

The point I'm trying to make here is that this night very quickly devolved into something that was far beyond the realm of our control, which lead to the rest of the week and then the weekend careening out of control as well, kind of like what must have happened with Gallagher's standup routine. Yes. A Gallagher reference. Because Gallagher is fucking timely.

Fig. 1.1
"I had a lot of funny material. But I'd rather not use it."

So Midget Strip Show Wednesday melted into Sleep Through Biology Class Thursday which melted into Happy Hour Thursday Night which melted into Bad Karaoke Friday which melted into Sonic The Hedgehog on Xbox Friday Night which eventually melted into Baconpocalypse Saturday.

I woke up Saturday, still hung over from Bad Karaoke Friday, and my phone rang. The Person I Deeply Respect but Makes Terrible Decisions (from here on out, we'll just call him Josh. To protect his identity. If I didn't want to protect his identity, I'd tell you that his name was Josh Morgan.) was calling to let me know of several other terrible decisions that were scheduled to take place that evening.

"Come over to Selena's. They're making everything with bacon. Chris will be wearing jorts. We're pregaming now."

Because obviously, the plans for the evening were so tame, pregaming was a necessity to assure that bad decisions would eventually emerge from their bacon-wrapped coccoons to evolve into beautiful, atrocious decisions. Like a butterfly whose defense mechanism is that it looks like vomit.

If you're not lucky enough to know my friend Selena (theoretically, because this is the internet, the vast majority of people reading do not. Objectively, because only six people read my blog and all of you went to school with me, you do) and her husband Chris, then you are not aware of how amazing they are. The only way to accurately describe Selena is this: Picture a unicorn. And on top of that unicorn is a puppy. And on that puppy is a tiny saddle. And in that tiny saddle is a prairie dog who is holding a popsicle for you. And that popsicle is a banana fudge bomb.

Yep. She's that amazing.

Fig. 1.2
It was strangely difficult to find a picture of this.

And there's no other way to accurately describe Chris than this:

Fig. 1.3
Back off, ladies. This man and these jorts are spoken for.

The most important thing I want you to know about that photo, is that it was not taken on the day of Baconpocalypse, but on a completely separate day entirely. Which means he wears the jorts with a fair amount of regularity.

This was not the day to start realizing that Josh makes terrible/awesome decisions.

When I got there, there were already pieces of chicken wrapped in bacon on a grill. There were cheese sticks covered in crushed jalapeño chips ready to deep fry. There was bacon covered in brown sugar and drizzled with Jack Daniels in the oven. Josh was in the process of wrapping corn in bacon. There was cheese wrapped in venison, wrapped in bacon and dipped in beer batter frying. Someone made meat balls out of venison, I'm pretty sure with the express purpose of allowing a really drunk group of people with rapidly climbing cholesterol to say repeatedly "try these balls" and "she bit my balls". Because we're adults. That's why.

Also, there seemed to be a lot of Jack Daniels involved. And what happens when there seems to be a lot of Jack Daniels involved? That's right. Mel Gibson's career.

Fig. 1.4
"I AM THE MOST NORMAL MAN ALIVE! NOW NO ONE HAS LAKER'S TICKETS!"

The Jack Daniels seemed to be a key ingredient in a lot of the dishes for Baconpocalypse. And, while it was not used in the recipe Chris invented for bacon shot glasses ("bacon, muffin tin, oven, GENIUS!" I believe were his exact words) Jack Daniels was definitely a catalyst.

Take the liquor, the bacon, and the several sweet deer with soulful eyes (I'm assuming) that gave their lives so we could eat them in terrible ways, and it wasn't long until people started exhibiting signs of bacon madness. (That is the scientific term, in case you were wondering. No, you do not have to look it up.)

Here's a short rundown:

• Selena walks outside. Chris is playing air guitar. His buttondown shirt is not serving its purpose. "I see we're already down to two buttons," she says. "I have to let the hamburger meat breathe!" he says, rubbing his chest with pain in his eyes.
• "Where are the jorts?" I ask. Chris immediately leaves and comes back out in jorts, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. He is now down to one shirt button.
• Several people are upset that there are no more dead animals around which to wrap bacon, while others glance nervously at their dogs in the back yard.
• Lyndsey, another amazing person, who was also an instigator of hilarious ideas, keeps saying "this bacon has no idea what I'm going to do to it."
• CCR is being played. Followed by Tenacious D. Followed by Social Distortion. Followed by a rap song by Chris and his friends that sounds professionally recorded.
• We run out of tequila, lime and triple sec, so I start making Chris's margaritas with Jack and margarita mix. He does not notice. In fact, he says, "this is straight tequila."
• Selena throws a bacon-wrapped chicken leg at Chris. The reason was at first undetermined. Later, someone will ask why there is a chicken on the floor. No one will know the answer.
• People find out the hard way that, while the bacon shot glasses are "genius", they are not water tight. They eat the shot glasses in protest.
• People begin playing the blues on various guitars in the house. The songs are about bacon.
• Chris and Josh take shots of Jack mixed with bacon grease in legitimate shot glasses. They do not regret this decision enough.
• Lyndsey convinces Chris, in his jorts and cowboy boots, to stalk a pedestrian who is jogging in front of the house. Chris runs after him. The man is not interested in training Chris. Chris is upset because he "could have been the next Rocky."

The night ended with some of us passing out on the couch (me, because I'm a terrible guest) and others of us helping to clean up, (like Selena and the most adorable girl you've ever met, named Sierra, who is saved in my phone as Sierra Who Is Awesome, which was a drunk statement and not a drunk question), so it seemed as though everyone got out ok, even though it's realistic to believe that it would have been entirely possible for everyone to die of a heart attack.

You know that scene in Apocalypse Now when whichever crazy ass Sheen that was turns into a roiling ball of insanity? And he starts breaking things and screaming and cutting his face and flying and getting into a fight with Faruiza Balk? (Also, I think maybe I'm combining Apocalypse Now and the fight scene in The Craft). That’s more like how it felt the next morning, when there were several Facebook statuses decrying bacon.

Fig. 1.5
"AFTER ALL WE’VE BEEN THROUGH!?!?!”

But we all got to see Chris chase down a pedestrian in jorts, and you know what? If that’s not the American dream, I don’t want any god damn part of it.