he drinks a blog

it all started with earthworms. while i do not know if worms technically qualify as insects, i do know that, for all intents and purposes, i consider them bugs. wriggly, slimy, no-eyeballed bugs. "snakes!" i shrieked as a young boy of 3, running as fast as my galoshed feet could carry me, running for the safety of the house and chicken soup with saltines, running from the pink snakes climbing out of the ground to get me. "brett ryan, those aren't snakes... they're worms," my mother explained calmly, guarded from the summer misting beneath a red and white umbrella. "what's worms supposed to mean?" i asked her in a single, terse breath, then adding snidely, "little snakes?" she looked at me, hiding my fear of the snakey worms behind a brusque exterior. "they can't hurt you," she said. "they're blind." i believed her, jogging off to stomp in the awaiting puddles.

my rainy play-day coming to a close, i ran into our garage to remove my wet slicker and matching galoshes. my treaded boot hit the smooth concrete floor, and i was instantly on my back, cracking my head against the hard floor. beckoned by blood-curdling screams, my mother appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and garage. "what happened?" she inquired. "the little snakes made me fall," i said. "what?" she asked, intrigued. i pointed to the bottom of my boot. there, quite dead, was the mashed body of an earthworm - fat, juicy - strategically positioned on the ball of my foot. clearly, it had not been the wet boot, but rather the wet earthworm carcass that caused me to slip. this debacle, compounded with the numerous times throughout childhood that a fishhook went through a worm and into my thumb, spurned my longstanding ire for all species of bug.

building where the hated earthworms had begun to construct, june bugs contributed when they could. childhood memories of summer are dotted by the persistent thumping of june bugs against window screens. the bugs literally dying to get in; we dying slowly as if from chinese water torture. thump thump thump, their wings lightly buzzing behind the oh-so-discrete-yet-deafeningly-loud attempts at entrance. and on the off chance they'd somehow fight their way through the screen, they always found their way into the golden locks surrounding my tanned and freckled face of childhood. burrow, they would. burrow further and further into my hair, until properly positioned by the oracle of my ear, the buzzing of wings now seemingly an internal sound, as if the alarm of some biological clock had reached its hour.

mosquitos. need i say more? no.

for a year and a half in college, i lived with drew in an apartment that had seen better years. the entire 650 square foot box had one window, the bathroom ceiling was probably growing the cure for cancer, and several of the kitchen walls looked like california faultlines. here, our story continues, for what should one day appear from beneath the california crust that was our kitchen walls but ants - a large, productive, foraging colony of ants. we did not invite them. we were not terribly dirty boys. food was not left around to be taken by wild dogs or freakishly strong ants. yet they came in uninvited. they unabashedly explored the entire domicile. the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, both bedrooms, and yes, the cure for cancer bathroom, all were infested. oh, but brett, they're just ants. do you understand what it is like to find ants roaming the curved arc of your solid deodorant? how the hell did they get under the cap? maybe they sweat a lot. can you comprehend the emotions involved in discovering dead ant bodies on your remote? did i kill them or was this season of "the real world" really that bad? i'm blaming trishelle. is it possible for you to imagine the horror of encountering ants freely wandering the darkest crevices of your bedside goodie drawer? gives "catching the bug" a whole new meaning. i thought not.

much more recently, just off our back porch, a colony of ants moved in, and they're a rowdy bunch. constantly on the move and looking for prime real estate. i watch them from my bedroom window, waiting for the day they try to become our newest roommates.

i would have said new roommates, but that title has already been stolen. yep, silverfish has moved in, and i am so not thrilled. for starters, i thought silverfish were like waterphiles. now, i know i have a moistening effect on most people i meet, but i hardly change the atmosphere of a room. well, except for that whole lighting-up-a-room smile thing... regardless, what i think i know about silverfish does not explain their presence in our apartment. they like water (or so i think), yet i do not find them in the bathtub. i do not find them in or around the kitchen sink. no, i think they're stylephiles. i find them in my closet, sorting through all my last season goodness and scurrying for their lives when i approach for fear i'll hear them making fun of my wardrobe. they like to hang out in my window dressings, luxuriating in the velvety wonderfulness of my drapes. they tour paris, tokyo, and hong kong, wandering in and out of my small collection of antique postcards scattered across my dressers and bedside table. they love my room, and for that, i both love and hate them. these bugs and i - the silverfish and i - we could be friends... i mean clearly we have all the same interests and tastes, but... well... they're so ugly. they're like maggots with legs... and let's face it. faggots and maggots do not get along.

oh, and their name... such a lie. they don't look nothin' like silver fish.

our other tenants. my least favorite of them all. our spiders. now, i don't share the same dislike that most people do of spiders. i do not loathe spiders because of their creepy, slinky frame and multiple appendages; no, i loathe, abhor, despise spiders because they're so high-and-mighty. they just set up shop wherever the hell they feel like. they keep a clean house, but it's a repulsive one, nonetheless: stringy, sticky like cotton candy, practically invisible, and, oh, it tastes like hair. thus, i avoid spiders like the plague. i don't engage with people like that, much less creatures of the wilderness. however, the spiders will have nothing to do with that. they just forced themselves upon us. oh, you don't want us in your living room... well, yeah, about that, you see that's just not really going to work for us spiders. you see we really like your living room, so don't mind those boxes over there, that's just nancy setting up her web. oh, and could you two keep it down during the day, we're really more nighttime people. thaaaaanks. they just do whatever the hell they want. no regard or respect for others or their privacy. hell, they even ride the l. like what, they heard a rash of flies was ravaging north broadway, so they have to hop the redline from downtown to uptown. no, i don't believe that. but yes, it happens. it happened just the other day. i was riding along quietly (well, as quiet as i do) with the roommate, when these girls point to this guy and tell him he has a spider on his shoulder. i immediately flip out. go all twitchy and paranoid that this bossy, little piece of shit bug is going to try to come home with me. it'd totally use some cheesy line about stars in my eyes or an angel falling from heaven or something. anything to get a place to stay. freeloading sons of bitches. yeah, that's right, i called charlotte a bitch. and she is... do you think the farmer had her sign a lease for that corner of the barn doorway? i don't think so. she just up and took it.

now, i'm on the lookout for spiders on the cta, and if i see any, i'm totally asking to see their farecard.

cheapskates.

posted by brett @ 2:11 PM