Cicadas have invaded

For those of you who have never experienced a "cicada season" or have never even heard of a cicada, consider yourself lucky. Growing up in Columbus, I'd heard of cicadas (or as we locals incorrectly called them "locusts"). They were random insects that you could hear in the woods and sometimes during the day, but they were just another insect. See picture below...


In Cincinnati, I have completely lost my innocence regarding these vile prehistoric looking bugs. Even 17 years or so, Cincinnati (I'm sure they are in other parts of the country/world, but I'm focusing on my month of hell here in Cinci) experiences a Cicada season where these bugs crawl out of the ground after hibernating for 17 years and latch themselves to a tree, fence, house - anything they can wrap their little legs on. They soon molt out of their shell (see pic below) and become the big ugly bug you see above.

Now, if these bugs just stayed in the trees and played their music, I would be fine. But, oh no, that would be too easy. Today I experienced Kamikaze cicadas - my windshield will never be the same. As I drove home from work, I felt as if I was under attack. The cicadas would smash into my windshield and leave bug juice running down the glass. If they were small little bugs, no problem, but these are monster bugs. Even turning my radio up full blast, I could block out the sound of the cicadas hitting the car, but I could still feel them. It's going to take me a while to recover. Thankfully, they are only around for a month - or so I'm told. I'm seriously considering taking a month hiatus 17 year's from now to avoid this whole "experience."

Below is my brave niece who excitedly met me at the door and told me that she had caught 13 cicadas at the park and brought them home so she can have cicadas in her backyard 17 years from now. She even demonstrated how one carefully picks up a cicada (should one have the urge to see these things up close and personal).

Why I do my job...

People frequently ask me if I like being nurse - it's difficult to put into words the difference between my career as an account and nursing. One of the big differences is the amount of humor that I find in nursing. A prime example...

As nurses, not only do we do a physical assessment of our patients at least once a shift (lung sounds, heart tones, amount of edema, etc..), we also perform psychological assessments. A basic psych assessment evaluates if the patient is alert and oriented to person, place and time. Typically, you can ask the patient 3 questions - What's your name/birthdate? Do you know where you are? and Do you know today's date? Sometimes that last questions is asked in different ways (heck, sometimes I don't know today's date)... I'll ask them if they know who the president is... Some of my favorite answers...

Person/Birthdate:
"Don't you know who I am?"

"I was born in 1923... you do the math and tell me how old I am." (BTW - a clever way of a patient avoiding the question about the current date)

Place:
"When in doubt, Bethesda North." (Obviously, this person had been asked this question many times and still wasn't sure where he was.) I had to sit down in the patient's room I was laughing so hard.

"It says right there on the board 'Bethesda North Hospital', chief. Is that really where I am?!"

Cow Patty Bingo

Just when you thought you've seen it all, I witnessed a new level of entertainment last night. Three of us ventured to a minor league baseball game in Florence, KY (a stone's throw from Cinci). The theme of the weekend (according to the ballpark) was Hill Billy Weekend. Not to be snotty, but I didn't think Kentuckians needed to specify a weekend to celebrate their culture. To me, that's like having "Geek Weekend" in Silicon Valley... I digress...

One of the highlights of Hill Billy Weekend was Cow Patty Bingo after the Saturday night game (which unfortunately, the Freedom lost to the Grizzlies 5-6). The locals were crushed. Cow Patty Bingo details... For a $5 contribution to the Boone County Animal Shelter, the contributor would get a utility-orange flag with a number on it. After the game, the contributors were instructed to plant their flag in the left outfield (in a roped off area). When all the flags were planted, Norman, the cow was led onto the field. From there, he walked among the flags while everyone in the stands stared at him and were praying that he would poop closest or even on their flag. For the person's flag closest to the poop, won the bingo and was entitled to 1/2 of the money collected for the shelter.


Poor Norman was suffering from performance anxiety was so many people staring at him. After about 15-20 minutes of being walked back and forth in a grid-like pattern, Norman finally lifted his tail and did the dirty deed. Unfortunately, I did not win. Maybe next year....


Are dancing chickens supposed to have pink hair?!?!