Great. Now you've done it.

I once wrote a column for the school newspaper about my extreme phobia of crickets. I know "extreme phobia" is a bit redundant, but it's the only way to describe my paralyzing fear of them, and of the sound (and feeling) made when stepping on them. Oh, god. My blood just went 30 degrees cooler. I may be dead. I don't know.

See, every summer, my mom and stepdad's house (which is on a farm) is infiltrated with a whole mob of crickets. Big ones. Everywhere. I'm not talking "Erin, you're so silly, there are 10 or 11 in the basement." No. I'm talking you open the silverware drawer and they're in there. Yes, they, as in more than one.

They're in the bathtub. In the dryer. In the toothpaste drawer. Under the computer desk. In the cereal bowl I set on the table. Under the couch where I sleep. Outside, in my car.

Mom's house isn't dirty; it's just when it's July through September, it's cricket season in the country, and Mom's house happens to be in the country. (Ha, like I how I planned my wedding to be AFTER cricket season? So I won't be crying about bugs on my wedding, or losing sleep the nights before the wedding because I'd be sitting up with a flashlight and a shotgun, just daring one to crawl out of its hiding place -- and, no, I've never shot a shotgun).

It's so bad that for a while, I avoided going home when I'd either, A.) have to spend the night, or B.) have to spend long periods of time inside. Outside you can run. Inside, they can pin you between a wall and, well, another wall. Some may call it a corner. I told Mom it was because I LOVED paying to do my laundry in the machines in my apartment's basement, with all the creepy people and the abusive parents and snotty-nosed kids. Love, love it. I told her I didn't need to be fed. Nothing wrong with eating a little PB & J every day. I think she saw right through it.

So, extreme phobia. Got it? OK. Are you prepared for this? I'm not sure I am. But it's time to bring up the purpose of this dreadful blog: They've found more. As in, crickets that -- how wonderful is this!? -- hadn't even been discovered by scientists. Sure, right now, they're in Arizona. But someone just ticked 'em off, and now they're going to come out of the cave and hop eastward. WAY TO GO, GUYS. WAY TO GO. YOU'RE THE REASON WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.