omg omg omg omg

A tick bit my boob! It bit my boob! I'm gonna have gangrenous boobs or something!! You laugh, but I google imaged tick bites, and people's limbs were falling off. omg omg omg omg. I don't have time for lyme's disease or gangrenous boobs!

Why are bugs always attracted to my netherregions? Remember the mosquito, g?

I'm a human bug light

Ok, seriously there's something wrong with me.

My whole life things have hit me in waves. I'll go through a period of time when some object (inanimate or animate) will bombard me. Some might call it synchronicity--you know, when fate sends you signs. The thing is, though, that I must not pay attention to these signs because they smack me in the face like a herd of buffalo. Or maybe it's more that I don't understand the signs. I dunno.

And see, I have clumpaphobia. I hate big clumps of things. When I was a kid, I went waterskiing for the first time, and the boys next door thought it would be funny to steer me through a school of flying fish. I'm not sure if that started my fear of clumps, but it sure as hell didn't help it. It certainly explains why I don't like to swim in murky water with fish in it. Ugh.

So back to the bug thing. In college, it was crickets--thousands of them--EVERYWHERE! I even ordered a sandwich from Wendy's, and there was a cricket grilled right into my chicken sandwich. Then, right around the time I was making the big jump to Chicago, I kept getting harassed by butterflies. Ok you might think they are all beautiful and delicate, but I think they are blood thirsty beasts, really. They swarm around me all the time, and during this particular period of my life, they couldn't get enough of me. And then they were all over gifts that people gave me--stationery, stained glass little thingamabobbies. I did get a few particularly pretty butterfly necklaces, though, and then I decided that butterflies were ok as long as they were fake or really far away.

Then it was ladybugs. Freakin' millions of ladybugs. Then ants. And most recently, it was dragonflies. I went to a friend's house, and there were so many freakin' dragonflies in front of the house that I could barely get in. Then they appeared at my apt and on gifts and things. Then, this past week it was fireflies which I haven't ever seen in Texas, but now that I live in the boonies, I see them. And my moving boxes all have firefly written on them, and a coworker was just talking about some show called firefly. Very weird.

Ok, so that brings me to today. Today, I've been touched by every bug imaginable. This morning, I walked outside face first into a huge ass spiderweb in front of my door (and one very large spider). Then as I'm locking my door, a grasshopper (whom I've named Henry) was perched on my doorknob where he waits every morning and every evening when I come home. Then these very strange mosquito looking things kept hovering over me as I went downstairs. And then at work I was accosted by wasps.

And now for the WORST PART OF MY DAY! I went to eat at a nearby steakhouse because I had a craving for a bloody steak, and I decided to splurge on dessert because I just wanted some damn dessert. So I'm eating this brownie thing, and I suddenly feel this odd texture in my mouth. It's a little crunchy, but more than that, there's something long and scratchy going on. I almost swallowed it, but just couldn't bring myself to do so, and I reached in and pulled out of my MOUTH a freakin' roach leg. Oh dear God. It was a roach leg. It had the little jaggedy hair things and little foot things, and OMG it was a roach leg.

I'm scared fucking to death of roaches. Normally, if there is a roach even in the room, I'm out the door so fast (hey that's an idea for my marathon speedwork) that a puma couldn't catch me. Today, I just sat and stared at it. I'm not sure if it was the endorphins from the hurt foot I have that just kept me from screaming or if I was just in pure shock, but I just stared at it. Yeah, looking back, it was shock for sure.

My friend at the time was in the bathroom, and he came back and saw my face which apparently was ghost white. He said, "Are you ok? What's wrong? What's wrong?" in this sort of worried tone, and I just picked up the freakin' leg (omg, I was totally in shock) and handed it to him, my mouth still full of unswallowed brownie.

At this point, I'm hoping that he will say, "Oh, that's just some grass or a stem or a stick or some weed that the bus boy dropped in your brownie." Nope. He says, "Oh God. Oh dear God. Oh Kim. Oh are you going to freak on me? Where's the rest of it?"

And that's when my stomach dropped to my knees. Yes, I had just eaten a roach. I'm not sure how much of one I ate, but sure as shit, there was the fucking leg sitting there.

So my friend calls the waiter over who promptly calls over the owner.

Now this woman...hmmmm...how can I describe her? She looked like the grandma from the Addams Family--grey hair all tangled and matted, toothless, strange tumor jutting out of her cheek like the tip of an iceberg. Her shirt is half untucked, and she comes up to the table and growls, "Waddya want?" Seriously, her voice was cackly, like a bartender at some local dive bar with pickled eggs behind the counter. Are you with me, here? Scary, scratchy, esophageal cancer kind of voice.

And again, at this point, still in shock, I'm thinking to myself, "This isn't real. This isn't happening. I'm dreaming this." And I'm sort of happy in this stupor until my friend says, "Kim, are you going to talk?"

I can't. I can't talk. I try to, and all I can muster is this weird seal sort of sound. I don't even think I made that sound because they just stared at me. So my friend shows Hagatha the leg and explains that he doesn't wish to make a scene but that I just pulled a roach leg out of my mouth.

Hagatha then pulls out a knife. I'm thinking, "Oh dear God she's going to kill us" but instead she starts slicing the freaking leg in two. And she says (no exaggeration on the accent), "Nope. Tat ain't no roach leg. Tain't. I'm tha owner, and I ain't seen no roaches here never. We gots professional bug killers come here all the time, so ain't no way we have roaches. But ah'll give you your food for free because of tha mental anguich of thinkin' it twere a roach."

you can imagine where this story went from here, so I won't go into it, but YUCK!

And THEN I came home to Henry, my doorgrasshopperman, and did a little cleaning. I opened the box of trash bags and yanked one out absentmindedly, and a big ass dead bumblebee hits me in the face. OMG. I am totally going to bed. This is way more than immersion therapy.

Escape Part 2: The background story

I used to enjoy camping. I was even a camp counselor at a summer camp while I was a freshman in college. It was at this camp, though, that I lost my desire to ever camp (real camping) again.

The camp did have cabins. In fact, my first week there, I was on cabin duty. It was a pain in the ass. The director of the camp would come in at 9:00 in the evening to make sure that all counselors and kids were asleep in their beds. They would honestly poke around with a flashlight. well, one time, I was awake when they came by and was reading a book with a flashlight (no electricity). I got reamed out and, like a bad little Christian woman, lashed back at the man. OOOO...that didn't fly well. For the remainder of the week, they watched me like a hawk. I was called into the office everyday for something, generally because I hadn't earned my star yet (a star was given everytime you won a camper over to Christ). It was a contest. Finally, they made the decision that I was to be placed on outdoor overnight duty--camping with tents.

I was ok with this, excited even. The Texas hill country is gorgeous, and the thought of getting to sleep outdoors in the middle of it was wonderful. Plus, no one would come out to make sure that these campers got any sleep--no flashlights. We actually had power as counselors, and our job was to teach survival skills and only inadvertently win our stars. So the next group of campers came in, and my two partners and I packed them up and led them out into the hills on a day hike. One of my team members was in charge of inventory, and she said that we had everything. We set up camp and helped the girls put up their tents. It was then that we (one of the counselors and I) realized, we had no tents. We asked the girl who inventoried (a veteran counselor), and she said, "Oh, we don't get tents. We sleep open air to make sure that the kids are safe." GULP.

Ok, I'm still kind of ok with this. I set up my sleeping bag in front of the circle of tents and prepped for bed. The stars were fantastic, and the coyote howls helped lull me to sleep--almost. It was then that I heard it--the BUZZ. Yes, that's right, the one thing that ruins camping in Texas, our state bird, the mosquito. I had sprayed the entire sleeping bag and myself with off, but it didn't matter. They seemed to like the smell. I was wearing my jeans, and put on a long sleeved shirt, zipped up the sleeping bag to my neck, lay on my side, and put my hand over my ear because that's where they were trying to enter my body. I can't tell you how unbelievably hot it was--end of June in TX is muggy and about 90 at night.

I woke up the next morning ill with pain. My face and hands were swollen. Here's the bite count: 32 bites on one hand (the one inside my sleeping bag), 72 on the hand covering my ear, and a total of 56 on my face. We rounded the kids up and hiked all the way back to base, I got them settled and then went to the infirmary, where they scolded me because they had to waste a benedryl shot (For 2 hours they tried calamine lotion). The swelling finally went down, and it was then that I could actually count the bites I listed above.

That night, the counselors had to do a skit. In this case, it was a cheer. The head counselor, a cheerleader, made us form one of those crazy ass pyramids, and when they put me up on the top, a girl lost her balance and kicked her leg upwards into my knee. we crashed, and my knee had popped out of joint. I came down to the ground screaming, "FUCK." The crowd hushed, and all eyes were on me. I had said the F bomb in a church camp. Off to the infirmary again.

They wouldn't even start helping me. 10 people stood in a dark room with one lamp in my eyes (I know it sounds like an interrogation room, but i swear it's true) and yelled at me. When they asked if I had anything to say, I moaned through the pain, "Um...can I get my leg fixed?" They popped it back into place, gave me an ace bandage and sent me off on crutches. For the rest of the month, I was still on outdoor overnight. That's right, I hiked miles in the hills on crutches with a pack on my back and slept outdoors with a pillowcase over my head and socks on my hands. It worked.

A week later, I finally got to make my first phone call. We only had 1 week "off" (That meant that we were on day duty at the camp (my duty was working in the stables--They thought it would be punishment, but I loved it) and at night we could go out to the local Dairy Queen from 5-9 and make any phone calls. I called my parents for the first time in a month and a half. My dad said that he had been trying to contact me all day. Apparently, my mom had been in a car accident that day. The car was totalled, and she was in the hospital. He wanted to come pick me up. I asked the director for leave, and she told me that I couldn't--that I was under contract. Told my dad to pick me up anyway, and he said, "Nope. Can't break the contract." I was stuck, and couldn't make another phone call until 5pm the next day.

I sneaked out of the camp and hiked on crutches to a pay phone to call my dad for the update. Not 5 minutes into the phone call, a bright spotlight shines on me, and they tell my by megaphone that I am to put the phone down and come back. That was it. I wouldn't do it. I finished my phone call (finding out that my mom was ok, just bruised and scraped) while they pulled me away from the phone, and finally hung up, kicked them, and told them to go to hell, drop me, or I would bite them. Apparently, they believed me because they dropped me. I picked up my crutches, threw them down a hill, and hobbled back to camp, refusing a ride.

I was then pegged a "problem." They pulled me off of overnight duty and onto day camp. Day campers were 2 1/2 and 3 year olds who came to the camp for arts and crafts and the pool and then went home at 12. For the rest of the day and evening, the day camp staff had to clean latrines, cook meals, and do all the other dirty work. Yes, I had signed a contract with a prison camp, not a fun summer job. We shared a small cabin with stones missing and thus overrun with scorpions (literally big enough for two bunk beds and that's it) in a remote part of some woods off base. It was a 9 mile hike to the main camp, a hike we made every morning and every evening. We had to be on base at 6 am, so you can imagine the time we left the cabin and at night, the director had to inspect our cleaning work and clear us to hike back to the cabin at whatever time that was.

One morning, one of the day camp counselors and I decided to leave earlier than usual for work (about 4 am). We were tired of walking with the other counselors who were these two overly peppy twins from Baylor. Their peppiness hadn't won them enough stars, though, so they were outed to day camp life, but they were determined to still impress the Establishment and thus told on us for every indiscretion. We sneaked out before they awoke and took a leisurely hike without singing cadence (sometimes the director would drive behind us in a jeep making us sing, and even when he didn't, the bobsey twins would sing anyway). Suddenly, though, I stopped dead in my tracks. The woods were only lit by the stars and my flashlight, and about 4 feet in front of us, I saw an animal the size of a german shepherd but the shape of a cat. we stood there in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. I have no idea how long it was, but we just stood there, paralyzed. I was fairly calm because at this point it had not occurred to me what I was looking at. I'm thinking, "big--cat--what is it?" Then it made eye contact with me, the most piercingly beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They seemed to glow, and I was filled with a strange reverence for this creature--this creature--omg this creature is a mountain lion. I couldn't speak or move, just stare. It was as if she had me in a hypnotic trance. If I could paint what I saw, it would be the most magnificent piece of art. She moved a foot, leaned closer, and with a sniff and one last look directly in my eye, she made a graceful circle and walked away.

We were transfixed. I swear we didn't move for about 30 minutes. At some point, I whispered, "That was a mountain lion." My companion said, "yes, yes, I think so." I actually don't remember the rest of that morning. Somehow we made it to base, and when we told the director, he didn't believe us and scolded us for lying. That evening, though, we were justified. A local ranger came in and said that they had found a den of mountain lion cubs right next to our cabin and a mama on guard. We were asked not to return to that part of the woods. The director placated the ranger until he left and then just sniffed and grumbled that we had to return anyway. I mentioned something about breaking the law and calling a ranger back and blah blah blah. We moved back into cabin duty for the remainder of the summer.

Stay tuned for why this story is important.