The Spider Chronicles - Shake, Rattle and Roll

My husband and I were enjoying a tv show this evening, when I happened to look up and saw a large spider rappelling down from the ceiling right in front of me.

We were both sitting in recliners and it was going to end up in my lap if I didn’t do something fast.  I couldn’t sit up or stand up because it was already too close.  I started scrambling further back in the chair (which isn’t easy to do in a recliner) when suddenly I felt the whole thing tipping over backward, with me along for the ride.  I cracked the back of my head on a table behind me and was pelted by falling debris from the side table that fell over with the recliner.  

I yelled from the floor, “Get it!  Get it!  Get the spider!”

I’m sure my husband thought I was crazy at this point.  He struggled to get up from his recliner and decided to pummel the bottom of my chair with a pillow in order to stun the spider into submission to give him time to get up out of the chair and kill it proper.

Meanwhile, I was trying to right myself by rolling off the back of the capsized chair and managed to crack my bad knee in the process.  I was laughing, crying and hyper-ventilating all at the same time.

My husband had managed to get up and was going to look for the spider on the floor.  Unfortunately, he didn’t close his recliner all the way.  It sprung open and knocked him in the legs, which made him lose his balance and stagger around, almost taking out the tv and cracking his bad shoulder.  More laughing, crying and hyper-ventilating, on my part, ensued.  

I went to the bathroom to collect myself.  When I came back, my husband informed me that it got away.  

This spider didn’t sing, didn’t dance, didn’t even talk to me, but my husband and I almost died trying to defend ourselves. 

Well played, Stealth Spider, well played.

The Spider Chronicles - Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Since it would be really boring for me to say, "I killed a spider," I write crazy stories instead.  Highly embellished, but sprinkled with truth, here is an installment of the Spider Chronicles for 2019.  Enjoy.

A short time ago, I was looking in the mirror and combing my hair after my shower.  Suddenly, I saw something large and dark fall from the bathroom ceiling behind me.  

I cautiously looked behind the trash can and saw a big reddish-brown spider.  Listening harder, I could hear it singing, “This old man, he played one, he played knick knack on my thumb…”

“What in the Sam Hill are you doing?” I demanded.  Shocked, the spider turned to look at me.  

“Oh! I’ve heard about YOU from the yellow sack spiders.  You always managed to get the upper hand with them, but not with me!” it squeaked.  With that, it tried to scuttle along the wall, but it was no match for the mighty flyswatter. 

After disposing of the body, I was lost in thought, disturbed that my nemesis had been in contact with spiders from the old country.  Just then, I noticed a swarm of brown ants on the wall by the trash can.  We had an ant problem earlier in the year, and seeing them made me irritated that they were back.

As I got closer,  I realized, to my horror, that they weren’t brown ants at all.  It was a swarm of about 50 baby reddish brown spiders!!!  That spider I killed wasn’t auditioning for a children’s tv show at all.  It was a mother singing to its babies!

I quickly jumped into action.  Grabbing a paper towel, I went on a massive killing spree.  The bathroom was filled with the din of their tiny screams of agony.  I was very thorough in my attack.  I was determined that not one would escape to warn headquarters.  

Finally, I was down to one last straggler.  It begged and pleaded.  Then it tried to bribe me with the promise of information on more of my enemies.

So I killed it.  Nobody likes a snitch.

The Spider Chronicles - Return of the Ninja

Since it would be really boring for me to say, "I killed a spider," I write crazy stories instead.  Highly embellished, but sprinkled with truth, this is the first installment of the Spider Chronicles for 2015. Enjoy.

Since moving into my new place, I've been lulled into a sense of complacency regarding the spider ninjas I normally encounter.  I've seen a few lower-level scouts, but none that can compare to my former residence.  All that came to an end two Fridays ago when I went downstairs to take a shower. 

I was minding my own business, like I normally do, when something in my field of vision caught my eye.  I glanced up at the top of the shower surround and noticed two legs suspended in mid-air above the shower wall.  After staring intently at the legs for a minute, I determined that they were not moving and concluded that the spider was dead. Continuing my shower, I looked up at the legs every couple of minutes and was relieved to find their position unchanged.  

I stared extra intently when I was about to wash my hair, since my eyes would be closed for the duration, making me vulnerable to attack.  I washed my hair with lightning speed; soap suds and water flying everywhere.  When I was done, I quickly looked up:  the legs…had…moved.

I shut off the water and catapulted out of the shower in 0.0001 seconds flat.  And then I heard it; high-pitched giggling coming from the top of the shower.  I looked up and saw two orange glowing eyes glaring at me.  It appeared to be a nemesis from the Yellow Sac order.

"Why were you playing dead?  And what is that hanging around your neck?" I queried.

"That's none of your business!" he squeaked belligerently.  "And these? These are my headphones," he said as he yanked the tiny speakers from around his neck and jammed them on his ears.

"Oh yeah?  Why does a ninja need headphones?" I laughed.

"It's my workout music." he countered in a deadly whisper, yanking them back off his ears and cranking up the volume.  Straining really hard, I could just make out the lyrics to House of Pain's 1992 hit "Jump Around."

"Seriously?" I chortled.  "You're going to need better workout music than that if you think you can beat me.  I've killed the best!  I took down Kumonga, for Pete's sake!"  I rushed to the other side of the room and grabbed an implement of destruction.  I wasn't about to be bested by this amateur!

So I tried to kill him.  And missed!!!!!

That little sucker could jump up and down and move faster than a dog in a bacon factory!  And like the ninja he was, he vanished in a puff of smoke.  What a disaster!  I've been fighting spider ninjas since 2012 and have never missed a target.  Until now.  I searched and searched, but it was no use.  I finally started some laundry and trudged back upstairs in defeat, hoping that I had somehow hit my mark and only failed to find the body.

A short time later, I remembered that I needed some hangers for my laundry, so I went back downstairs, only to find that part of the basement floor was now a pond!  What in the world was going on?

Off in the distance, I heard some faint giggling and the obnoxious strains of "Jump around! Jump around!"  My worst fears were realized – a spider ninja had gotten away.

The Spider Chronicles 2013

Since it would be really boring for me to say, "I killed a spider," I have been writing crazy little blurbs when I kill one.  Highly embellished, but sprinkled with truth, the following are the Spider Chronicles for 2013.  Enjoy.

September 12, 2013

I shut off the shower, grabbed a towel, and looked down to see a hairy spider come scuttling toward me. I asked him if he knew who I was. He said that he had heard legends about me, but legends were made to be disproved. 

So I killed him. I may be naked, but I'm not defenseless.

October 8, 2013

As I was frantically rushing around the kitchen this morning getting ready for work, a spider suddenly came moonwalking out from under the stove singing in his high-pitched voice, "Billy Jean is at my door. She's just a girl..." He froze mid-step. I looked at him. He looked at me and squeaked, "HEE-hay," while busting a move.

So I killed him. It was too early in the day to witness a spider grabbing his crotch.

October 12, 2013

Spiders come in 3 sizes in my new home: medium, large, and….Kumonga. (http://youtu.be/Mo0jNw9LFLU) I have only had to battle Kumonga once, a few months ago, and I hope to never have that displeasure ever again.

Late last night, after entering the bathroom and searching the perimeter, (as I always do now since the spider ninjas like to ambush me there) I spotted one of the large beasts on the wall. He wore a hooded black cape and only his glowing yellow eyes could be seen. 

Unlike the medium ones, who like to sing and dance, the large ones prefer to stare silently. I immediately went on the defensive and demanded to know what he wanted. In a soft, deadly voice he said, "Your liver. With some fava beans and a nice Bordeaux."

So I killed him. I have zero tolerance for a spider who can't even quote a movie line correctly.

October 28, 2013

I walked into the bathroom and noticed a piece of fuzz on the floor. Then I squinted intently and realized it was a miniature version of the spiders that are normally trying to ambush me. His eyes darted nervously to me and then back to the floor.

So I interrogated him, "Do you sing and dance?"
"No!" His voice was high-pitched, like fingers on a chalkboard.
"Do you quote movies?"
"No!"
"Well, what DO you do?" I was starting to get irritated.
"I tell limericks."
"Oh?"
"Oh yes!" he squeaked. "There once was a lady in the shower, whose…"

So I killed him. There's nothing worse than a dirty peeping spider.

Close Encounter of the Bird Kind

This isn't about one of life's frustrations, but rather a pleasant surprise....

It was a beautiful start to my ride home tonight on my sparkly green trike (motorcycle.)  Poofy clouds in the sky, cool breezes and tree-lined city streets.

Suddenly, a pigeon flew out of one of the trees and down the street in front of me.  I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except right after the pigeon, a ginormous hawk swooped down out of the same tree, wings fully spread, chasing after the pigeon.

Don't get me wrong, we have plenty of hawks in the city.  But typically they hang out on top of the street lights, high above the freeways.  This was on a regular city street – flying right beside me in the next lane over!  I'm just not used to seeing them that close.  It's wingspan was huge!

I did a double-take as it flew beside me, thinking that's not something you see every day!  The hawk did a double-take looking at me, probably thinking the same thing.

And the pigeon was probably thinking....I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!

I just wish I could have gotten a picture of that breath-taking bird of prey.

Stealth Mode

Back in June of 2011, I towed my VW trike down to Paragould, Arkansas, to have the transmission converted from manual to automatic, among other things.  Almost two years later, and I was finally able to bring her home this Memorial Day weekend.  It's at the very end of the journey home that this story takes place.

Two whole years; I could hardly believe it.  I never would have dreamed it would take so long.  I had so wanted to ride home, but the engine hadn't been properly broken in yet, so it was recommended to trailer it.  A friend went with me and let me borrow a trailer.  It was a tight squeeze, but we finally managed to get the trike tires stuffed between the wheel wells of the trailer. 

Approximately 14 hours later, we arrived at my friend's house at 1:30am.  After much pushing and prodding, the trike was extricated from the trailer and ready to roll.  Exhausted but happy, I planned to use my last bit of energy to make the maiden voyage home.  I pulled away from the curb around 2am.

The sound of the purring engine, the cool wind whipping past, it was exhilarating! Cycle therapy at its finest.

The ride was going fast and soon I was on Highway 394.  But as the Penn Avenue exit approached, the engine suddenly died.  I quickly took the exit and coasted to the intersection.  Just as I reached the intersection, the engine came back to life and I started driving down side streets to see if the engine would continue running.  It did, and I eventually drove back to Penn Ave to get back onto the freeway.  I noticed a trooper had someone pulled over a block behind me and I could see flashing lights on the freeway below.  Apparently the cops had a sting set up for drunk drivers on this lovely Memorial Day weekend.

While I was waiting for the light to change so I could enter the freeway, the trike died.  Crap!  I quickly shut everything off.  My trike has two gas tanks with a lever to switch back and forth.  When I was leaving, I asked my friend to turn the lever to the main tank.  I took off my glove and felt for the lever below me.  It was set to the auxiliary tank instead of the main tank.  Whew!  Easy fix!  I flipped the lever and quickly stuffed my glove back on.  The stoplight was beginning its third rotation.  I was sure if I didn't move soon, the trooper  in the next block would come to see what my problem was.  I really didn't feel like talking to the police at 2am!  Trike started easily, light turned green, and I was off!

Before I reached Highway 100, I passed three more troopers with cars pulled over.  It sure is a good thing I don't drink and drive! 

As I was heading up Highway 100, a car pulled up beside me.  My trike tends to draw attention, so I am used to this.  I looked over at the car, expecting to see someone giving me a "thumbs up" but the guy was gesturing wildly.  Oh great, a psycho!  Just what I need at 2:15am!  Then he rolled down his window and tried to add yelling to his wing flapping.  Ugh!  My mind started racing through all the things that could be wrong with the trike, but I just shrugged at him because there was no way I could make out what he was saying.  Finally he quit flapping and started pointing toward the front of the trike.  Now we were getting somewhere!  I raised myself above my short windshield and looked....  Crap!  My lights weren't on!  I yanked them on and all was right with the world.  Crazy Man sped away.  Thank you, Crazy Man, you're the best!

I had been in such a hurry to get back on the freeway that I had forgotten to turn on my lights.  My current headlight is rather dim and the highway lights were bright.  I never even noticed.  And apparently the troopers didn't either, because I passed three of them while I was riding with no lights and not one of the troopers came after me.  I will have to thank the person who did the work on the trike for giving me a stealth mode option. 

Oh.  Did I mention my trike is green?

Don't cry over spilled oatmeal

For those of you who have ever had a difficult in-law live with you, this one is for you.

The best way to describe the state of my mother-in-law's mind at the time of this incident would have to be delusional.  For the whole time we lived under the same roof, she always seemed to be in her own little world where nothing else mattered but her wants and desires.  I think she would have been happiest if we had relinquished the reigns of the household into her "capable" hands.

This story took place in our kitchen, late at night, on one of the hottest, muggiest nights of the year.  Our air-conditioning had never been the greatest.  When the sun would beat down all day and the temps were in the 90's, we were lucky if it was 10 degrees cooler in the house.  Trying to sleep in that weather was always difficult for me.

My mother-in-law loved to cook large batches of food that she would nibble throughout the week.  Unfortunately, she loved doing this at night, usually around midnight or later.  The problem was, I had to get up in the morning and go to work.  Struggling to fall asleep in the heat and then having to endure the smell of her food as she was cooking, did not make me very happy.

No matter how many times I told her to cook during the day, (since she didn't have a job and was home all day) it always ended up being close to midnight before she'd pull out the Le Creuset cast iron pot.

Her favorite thing to make was oatmeal, a whole vat of it at a time.  

On this night, I saw the telltale signs around 11 p.m. or so.  Pot on the stove. Oatmeal container next to it.  I started to get worried.  With the heat I didn't know how I would get enough sleep to face the next day at work.  I politely asked if she could wait until the morning, since it was supposed to cool off the next day.  I thought I got through to her.  It would have been a first, but I was hopeful.  I went back to my room.  

About 5 minutes later, the smell of oatmeal danced down the hall and into my nostrils.  It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but I knew what was coming next.  She always put creamy JIF peanut butter in her oatmeal.  Not only would I have to endure the extra heat and humidity that boiling food on the stove would cause, but now I would have to try to ignore what smelled like peanut butter cookies wafting through my room.  Peanut butter cookies….I love peanut butter cookies!  Aughhhhhhh!

I tried to stay calm.  I tried to be understanding.  But why, when she always did what she pleased and didn't care about anyone but herself.  Anger started rising.  Must…stay…calm.  I knew if I went out there it was going to be ugly.  Patience…..understanding…………PEANUT BUTTER!  A scream ripped through the inside of my head, "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!!!!"

Down the hall I went.  I was about to do something I had never done before in my entire life, I was going to completely lose it.

Mother-in-law was at the stove, merrily stirring her bubbling vat of faux-cookie-smelling-oatmeal.  I gritted my teeth.  I went over and opened the kitchen door that leads out to a nice screen porch and flipped on the lights.  Circling back, I grabbed a couple of pot holders, went over to the stove, and whisked away the vat while she was still stirring.  Then I barreled out to the screen porch, fumbled with the screen door with my hands full, stomped down the wooden steps to a cement patio, and hurled the cast iron pot, and the sloppy glop within, toward a sloping flower bed a few feet away.

By this time, mother-in-law had wandered out to the screen porch, dazed and confused and angry.  

"Well!  Bring it back in here so I can wash it because I'm not going out there to get it!" she said in her annoying clipped, snotty voice.

Is it possible to go beyond completely losing it?  Why yes, yes it is.  And I went.  Completely.  Beyond.

While she was speaking, I had started back up the steps, but at her words, I stomped back down them again.  I rushed toward the flower bed, not seeing a landscaping rock hidden in the shadows, and fell to my knees.  I was up on my feet again like a springing cat.  I felt no pain.  I dashed over to the pot, no potholders this time, and yanked it up by the handles. I think the heat of my rage was hotter than the pot, because it didn't burn me.

Like a discus thrower at the Olympics, I hurled that pot with all my might into the back yard.

"Well!  It can just stay out there because I'm not going out there to get it!" she quipped in the same snotty voice.

"GOOD!" I yelled back, "IT CAN STAY OUT THERE 'TILL HELL FREEZES OVER!!!!!"

I stomped back up the steps to the screen porch as she wandered back into the house.

"Well!  Now I don't have enough oatmeal to make another batch!" she fumed.

"GOOD!" I yelled at her again, stomping down the hall and slamming my door as hard as I could.

I still didn't sleep well that night, but I sure got a lot out of my system!  That pot sat forlornly in the green grass for a couple of days before we called a truce.  

While writing this, I got curious and measured the distance I hurled that silly pot.  Approximately 35 feet.  Not bad!