Weekend Update

I feel violated.

This weekend HoBiscuit and I went down to Virginia as moral support, and living/breathing second opinions, for friends who are moving there in a few months due to a job offer. We drove all over Virginia looking at over a dozen apartments in two days trying to help them find the ‘perfect’ place to live in for a year until they decide whether they’ll stay down there or come back to NY.

I, for one, hope they come back sooner.

Anywaste, we were in the parking lot of some apartment complex when my wife, the Lovely HoBiscuit, starts screaming and pointing at me. She’s hopping from foot to foot as if she were doing the pee-pee dance and turning in circles while screaming “Ew! Ew! Ew!” over and over again. Now, I’ve grown used to the reaction HoBiscuit has when the mind altering, GeekMan-isn’t-really-Quasimodo, love-potion-like cocktail of drugs I give her wear off, but something told me this was different.

The fact that she wasn’t pointing at my face gave me my first clue.

Then I noticed the feeling of a little extra weight on my back. And the weight was moving. Now, since I have the quick reflexes of a striking viper and the mental dexterity of a flying walrus, I quickly deduced that I was being attacked by some sort of creature that could sting me to death, like a giant Geek-killing wasp or a flesh-eating woodpecker. So, taking into account my years of training as a Green Beret Bonnet, I did exactly what I had been trained to do under such circumstances.

I panicked.

I started turning in circles while trying to swat the thing on my back and screamed at HoBiscuit, “Get it off! Get it OFF! I’m allergic to stings. Help me or I’ll die! Get it off! Get it off!” All the while HoBiscuit is screaming at me, “Get it off! Get it OFF! Don’t come near me! I’m not touching it! It’s disgusting! Get it off! Get it off!”

As you can imagine, you’ll never see either of us on Survivor.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I realized that it was not some super-sized stinging insect on my back, but a large, slow-witted and harmless cicada. Sighing in relief that I would not be dying this day, I calmly asked HoBiscuit to flick the little thing off me so we could go look at the apartment with our friends.

The look of horror I received was not encouraging.

After calmly explaining to HoBiscuit that cicadas are harmless bugs that would never hurt her, she calmly told me that she didn’t believe my lying ass because it looked dangerous to her and she would rather watch it eat my empty skull than risk touching it. After trying and failing to reach it myself, and after calming her down from hysterical to moderately anxious, she agreed to help me remove the bug as long as she didn’t need to actually touch it to do so. Then, trusting fool that I am, I turned my back to my wife and calmly waited for her to remove the bug. This may help you understand why I wasn’t prepared for her to start dancing from foot to foot while hitting me with her purse while screaming, “Ick, ick, ick!” Now, all you nature people out there shouldn’t worry because the cicada flew away before HoBiscuit was able to calm down enough to properly aim her Handbag Of Doom.

On the other hand, I’ve got three broken ribs.

As a last little bit of news, I managed to get a trucker’s tan while driving down to DC, so my left arm looks as if it’s been sewn onto my body as a spare part a la Frankenstein. I thought I would fix that problem by driving in reverse on the way home, but some police officers seemed to disagree with my idea. They said something about it not being safe to do 75mph backwards down a crowded highway as they gave me my tickets. This means I look retarded because I’ve got one tan arm and one arm that’s white as the driven snow.

I hate stupid tans.