On Monday, I went up to visit my niece Courtney and her boyfriend Cole. They attend Appalachian State in Boone, NC and both live in an apartment complex that functions as a College Disneyland. This apartment complex is a vast and fantastical place, designed for and used exclusively by college students. This College Disneyland status is especially true in front of Cole’s place, which faces a parking lot cul-de-sac. It is used for the parking of cars, shenanigans, and mayhem.

As we parked in front of Cole’s, we saw three shirtless college guys standing in a line, their hands clasped in front of themselves like soccer players facing down a penalty kick. A moment later, we saw why they felt the need to protect themselves. A guy on a balcony a football field away had an industrial strength slingshot, loaded with a water balloon. Soon enough and a player was hit on the shoe. He then “drank ten” as BOTASTIC would say. (At parties, BOTASTIC likes to encourage people to “drink ten.” The definition of “drink ten” is open to interpretation.)

A storm was brewing. Right after our arrival, the skies opened up, releasing a downpour. The game continued. Courtney and I, deeply similar creatures in many ways, looked at one another and said, “I want to play.”

At that point, Gary arrived, fresh from the gym. Gary is a big, affable dude who works out a lot, knows everybody, and is both hyper masculine and easy going. In case I am not painting a clear enough portrait of who Gary is, let me explain Gary’s job. He works for the apartment complex as the garbage collector. Why? Because this job allows him to scavenge all the unopened beer bottles and liquor that the residents leave behind. Primarily at the pool, but also everywhere else. In fact, as he got out of his car, he displayed his newest prize – a bottle of his favorite amber.

Courtney hassled Gary into joining the game with us. Another neighbor, who happened to be wearing a water balloon fight t-shirt with a target on the back, didn’t want to join. When he learned Courtney’s aunt was playing, he was shamed into it. Two girls from a few houses down, Emily and Emily’s Friend, also wandered out into the downpour in order to stand in a line and let somebody sling missiles their way. These people were not previously acquainted with one another, but at college Disneyland, this hardly matters.

There was a break in the action to fill more water balloons. One of the original players, Drew, yelled, “WE SHOULD HAVE A PARTY TONIGHT!” Gary said, “It’s Monday.” Drew replied, “I WORK AT SEVEN WHO CARES.” Drew was pretty drunk.

As the balloons were filled, the sun started to break through on the horizon. College Disneyland sits on top of a hill, with remarkable views all around. The golden sunset, filtering through the clouds and the rain, was a gorgeous sight. Emily and Emily’s Friend said, “YOU GUYS. THIS IS AMAZING.” They were not wrong.

Ammo replaced, we once again took our spot in the parking lot. I keep checking my back, looking for a rainbow. I knew it was coming. It had too. The rain was too intense, the skies too dark, the sun too bright for there not to be a rainbow. While I checked for the rainbow, Courtney loudly and aggressively talked trash to the water balloon slinger, who kept missing us.

Finally, the rainbow burst into being. I yelled, “Look, you guys, look! Look at the rainbow!”

Giant Gary turned to take it in, and that’s when I learned just how much Gary loves rainbows. Everybody was enthused about the brilliant rainbow, but Gary was seriously freaking pumped.

All the while, Cole took pictures of the event from his own balcony.

The game continued, the rainbow got even brighter, and then a second full rainbow joined the first. This was too much for Gary, Gary who loves rainbows. He shouted at Cole, “HOW’RE THOSE RAINBOW PICS COMIN’, BRO?!”

How’re those rainbow pics comin’, bro.

Never in the history of the word “bro” has “bro” found a better sentence to be in. It was beautiful. It was magical. It was delicious. I looked at Courtney, who was similarly savoring the taste of this gift from heaven, and said, “‘Merica.” She agreed. “‘Merica.”

It was then that the water balloon slinger, perhaps responding to Courtney’s harassment, launched a perfect shot straight into Drew’s bare stomach. He went down, rolling in agony on the asphalt. It seemed overdramatic. Then he moved his hand away, revealing a fairly horrific contusion. It had a white center surrounded by a dark red welt that was already turning purple. “I’m so glad I’m drunk,” said Drew. “Otherwise this would really hurt.”

After he got back to his feet, I wisely addressed him, a sage elder. “When you wake up in the morning, there’s going to be a moment where you don’t know what happened. And then you will say, ‘Oh, that’s right. Water balloon.'” Drew thought this was way funnier than it actually is. The rest of us, many of whom were stone sober, all gathered to take a good look at Drew’s hematoma, and then, without a word, we disbanded, each wandering away from the line. Thanks to Drew’s sacrifice, we suddenly understood the game we were playing, and just as suddenly, decided we’d had enough.

All good things do come to an end. Including Gary’s rainbow. But Gary wasn’t content to let the dream die. Unconvinced his bro had taken an adequate rainbow pic, Gary grabbed his phone and went chasing after the rainbow. I told him it was fading, there was no point. Gary begged to differ. “NAH, MAN. IT’S BRIGHT AS F*** OVER HERE!”

I walked a little way, following Gary in his pursuit. And lo! Gary was right. The descending leg of the rainbow was still bright as f***. For a moment, I watched him as he took pictures, unapologetic in his enthusiasm. We could all be more like Gary, I think. Because if you can’t get excited about a double rainbow while standing in the rain in the middle of College Disneyland as water balloons are slung at you from a balcony 100 yards away and you’re with one of your favorite people in the whole wide world, then I don’t know what you can get excited about, because life doesn’t get much better than that.

I wish this was a fun, clever, pun-ny title, but it isn’t. I mean it literally. As in, being ashamed of insects.

Over the weekend, I heard friends bonding over millipedes. Millipedes have gone wild in South Carolina this summer. It reminded me of a similar phenomenon back in LA in the early 2000’s. Ants were everywhere in Los Angeles, absolutely everywhere. At the time, Evan and I were living in an apartment in Hollywood. I loved that place. It was big, bright, clean and airy. It had been remodeled right before we moved in, but it still had its cute retro kitchen. All kinds of fun.

But it had ants. Initially, it had ants in the way one thinks of ants. A trail of ants to the sink, a trail of ants on the floor. And then there was was one day when I noticed way too many ants near the closet. Inside the closet were coats and a container of cat food. But not an airtight container of cat food. I opened the closet door.

Horror show, you guys. Complete and total horror show. If someone put this scene into a movie, you’d say, “This is ridiculous, impossible! I don’t believe it!” But it wasn’t impossible. It was real. There were rivers of ants running down the coats and into the cat food. Rivers. There was so many of them clumps of ants would just go into free fall.

I literally went into shock.

Here are the signs of shock:

• decrease in blood pressure.
• rapid, weak, or absent pulse.
• irregular heart rate.
• confusion.
• cool, clammy skin.
• rapid and shallow breathing.
• anxiety.
• lightheadedness.

I had them all. And I am not, in any way, shape or form, a pansy. But my brain took one look at the rivers of ants and it said, “Nope. I’m done. Checking out.”

But I couldn’t check out. I was home alone and who would you call for such a thing anyway? So I got to work killing ants. I had no bug spray, so I sprayed them with Windex and wiped up huge masses of them in paper towels, then put them into plastic bags. It took time, a lot of time, to kill them all. At least an hour. Maybe two hours of doing nothing but killing ants. I went through an entire bottle of Windex and switched to a different cleaner of some sort.

When I was done, I was covered in sweat and felt like I’d run a marathon. Evan got home from work and, I strongly suspected, didn’t really understand what I’d been through. I don’t know if anybody ever could. I’d lived a scene from a B grade horror movie, one without enough sense to show a little restraint.

Thing is, there is someone I could have called – my landlord. She was a nice Irish woman named Gráinne. And if you’re wondering if I avoided saying her name like the plague, yes, yes I did. “It’s your birthday? Well, have a lovely birthday…you…lovely lady, you.” But I didn’t call Gráinne for help, and not just because I couldn’t pronounce her name. It was because I ashamed of my insects.

Here’s the thing. I kept that place clean. Maybe not immaculate all the time, but generally speaking, definitely tidy and frequently actually, for real clean. And yet I felt that I was culpable for the ants. Somehow, those ants were my fault.

Somewhere along the way, I decided to ask somebody else about it. “Do you have ants?” I asked. Their eyes went wide. “YES! Yes I do have ants!” As it turned out, everybody in Los Angeles had ants. Everybody. It became my favorite thing to start a conversation with, because people were always so relieved – nay, absolutely thrilled – that they weren’t alone in their shame-inducing ant infestation. It became an instant bonding point. Frequently, people would say, “I thought it was because I was dirty.” And I’d happily reply, “Nope, it’s not you! It’s everyone!”

And that’s the thing about shame. It does not survive exposure. It’s a lot more like cockroaches than ants. Once you flip on the light, shame goes running. Here’s the other thing about it. Everybody has ants, metaphorically speaking. Whether it’s things you’ve done or things that were done to you, everybody has ants. And cockroaches. And it’s not fun to turn on the light. There’s that moment in the dark where you know, you KNOW, once you flip the switch, there’s going to be that unpleasant moment where the cockroaches are out in the open. But then they scatter. It’s worth flipping on the light.