(no subject)
So I'm not sure I've mentioned my "irrational" fear of spiders.
Irene Cara and her awesome shirt are off to the Mets game, but she totally did not get my horrifying experience this afternoon. We had our very own "You're afraid of fish; I'm afraid of dying in a hail of shrapnel. Who's crazier?" discussion in re: spiders and feet. She's apparently not afraid of bugs; I, as alluded to above, am fucking terrified of spiders.
Hey, guess what was in my apartment today.
So there I am, drowsing on my futon, listening to Remy and some FOX asshat call the Sox game on my MLB.tv, when the Stud Who Hits Bombs... well... hit a bomb to tie up the game. So I open my eyes to watch the dugoutsquee -- and notice a GIANT SCARYASS BUG on my ceiling.
I am quite literally frozen with ("irrational") fear. Because I don't know if I've mentioned this, but SPIDERS SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME! And it's giant black, multi-legged body is just hanging out in my apartment, and I would quite frankly rather move out than have to get within five feet of it. (What if it's got crazy superspider powers and JUMPS at me? What if it skitters off into some crack in the wall only to skitter back out tonight when I'm asleep and TOUCH ME? ::gags::)
I dig up a magazine that I don't want (can't keep something that has touched/killed a spider, because -- UGH) and throw it at the spider/cricket/giant bug from hell. Of course, it's on the angled portion of the ceiling/wall, so the magazine... (I dunno, I was busy squealing and twitching, so I didn't get a really good look at what happened)... the magazine lands on the floor and the bug/spider lands on the windowsill, but doesn't move. So... yay? But -- stunned or dead?
And do I really have to get near it to dispose of it in some way?
I inch closer and -- it's so fucking big it has, like, STRIPES! Which makes me think -- OMG, Black Widow spider* (not that I've ever seen one)!! It's pissed and it. will. kill. me.
I'm really dreading going any closer to it at this point, so I stubbornly sit on my futon and pretend like I'm watching the game, glancing over at that disgusting grossness on my windowsill about every five seconds. And I swear I see a twitch.
So I call em_meredith and whimper. She suggests vacuuming it up. (No, no new vacuum yet -- soon.) Making incoherent noises of fright, I drag out the vacuum and tell Em I'll call her back. I mince a little closer and peer at the Gauntlet of Stuff on my windowsill -- my grandfather's old (nonworking) silver barometer thingie, my Green Monster candle from zoecole, and three picture frames.
I grab the barometer while making panicky whimpering noises, and the spider doesn't move. So I get about a quarter inch closer and grab the candle, still no movement. But the frames are nearly on top of it. ::shudder:: I take a little walk around my living room to work up the courage to get even closer, and then as fast as possible, I reach out, grab the frames, dump them on the floor, fire up the vacuum, and -- OHMIGOD, IT's ALIVE!
And skittering -- albeit slowly -- up the window.
At this point, I am shrieking loudly enough to scare my cats, and I force myself to move toward the giant striped MOVING spider from hell and swipe at it with the vacuum tube and -- then it's gone.
It didn't fall onto the windowsill, so I'm assuming it's vacuumed up.
Then it occurs to me -- what if it's in there alive and madder than hell? Give myself a little pep talk -- Macha, do NOT drop the vacuum and run away from it. You can't actually move out of your apartment. Be a woman and deal with it. -- I rush into the kitchen and vacuum around the cat food dishes, listening to the loud pings of those cat food Death Pellets shooting into the vacuum and -- I hope -- killing the spider if it's still alive.
I'm pretty much hyperventilating at this point, but I vacuum the rest of my living room. The only notable moment was the fluff of fur that I saw floating in the air in my peripheral vision and the resultant jump/shriek/drop-vacuum-handle combo of terrifiedness, but whatever.
Then I lock the vacuum back in the closet and pray that the Giant Hideous Spider of Death and Scariness is really most sincerely dead. And then I call Em and scare the crap out of her by starting the game-update-phone-call with some variation of, "Omigawd, it was awful and terrifying and I nearly cried and I think it's dead, but what if it's not? Oh, and the Sox tied up the game." Heeeee.
And that story? Is why I need a boyfriend.
Not flowers and candy and car-door-holding. I need someone to kill spiders.
*I seriously almost just threw the hell up finding that link -- there are PICTURES! UGH UGH UGH!
In happier news, during my self-imposed exile from The Spider Apartment, I worked some on the Firefly epic, and I think I've broken through the giant wall of suck, so... yay? ::g:: I've only been working on it for seriously almost a year. Sad, sad, sad.
I also nearly ended up in tears at B&N reading the intro to Roméo Dallaire's Shake Hands with the Devil, because... oof. We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families very nearly killed me to read. Just... so fucking tragic and infuriating.
Irene Cara and her awesome shirt are off to the Mets game, but she totally did not get my horrifying experience this afternoon. We had our very own "You're afraid of fish; I'm afraid of dying in a hail of shrapnel. Who's crazier?" discussion in re: spiders and feet. She's apparently not afraid of bugs; I, as alluded to above, am fucking terrified of spiders.
Hey, guess what was in my apartment today.
So there I am, drowsing on my futon, listening to Remy and some FOX asshat call the Sox game on my MLB.tv, when the Stud Who Hits Bombs... well... hit a bomb to tie up the game. So I open my eyes to watch the dugoutsquee -- and notice a GIANT SCARYASS BUG on my ceiling.
I am quite literally frozen with ("irrational") fear. Because I don't know if I've mentioned this, but SPIDERS SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME! And it's giant black, multi-legged body is just hanging out in my apartment, and I would quite frankly rather move out than have to get within five feet of it. (What if it's got crazy superspider powers and JUMPS at me? What if it skitters off into some crack in the wall only to skitter back out tonight when I'm asleep and TOUCH ME? ::gags::)
I dig up a magazine that I don't want (can't keep something that has touched/killed a spider, because -- UGH) and throw it at the spider/cricket/giant bug from hell. Of course, it's on the angled portion of the ceiling/wall, so the magazine... (I dunno, I was busy squealing and twitching, so I didn't get a really good look at what happened)... the magazine lands on the floor and the bug/spider lands on the windowsill, but doesn't move. So... yay? But -- stunned or dead?
And do I really have to get near it to dispose of it in some way?
I inch closer and -- it's so fucking big it has, like, STRIPES! Which makes me think -- OMG, Black Widow spider* (not that I've ever seen one)!! It's pissed and it. will. kill. me.
I'm really dreading going any closer to it at this point, so I stubbornly sit on my futon and pretend like I'm watching the game, glancing over at that disgusting grossness on my windowsill about every five seconds. And I swear I see a twitch.
So I call em_meredith and whimper. She suggests vacuuming it up. (No, no new vacuum yet -- soon.) Making incoherent noises of fright, I drag out the vacuum and tell Em I'll call her back. I mince a little closer and peer at the Gauntlet of Stuff on my windowsill -- my grandfather's old (nonworking) silver barometer thingie, my Green Monster candle from zoecole, and three picture frames.
I grab the barometer while making panicky whimpering noises, and the spider doesn't move. So I get about a quarter inch closer and grab the candle, still no movement. But the frames are nearly on top of it. ::shudder:: I take a little walk around my living room to work up the courage to get even closer, and then as fast as possible, I reach out, grab the frames, dump them on the floor, fire up the vacuum, and -- OHMIGOD, IT's ALIVE!
And skittering -- albeit slowly -- up the window.
At this point, I am shrieking loudly enough to scare my cats, and I force myself to move toward the giant striped MOVING spider from hell and swipe at it with the vacuum tube and -- then it's gone.
It didn't fall onto the windowsill, so I'm assuming it's vacuumed up.
Then it occurs to me -- what if it's in there alive and madder than hell? Give myself a little pep talk -- Macha, do NOT drop the vacuum and run away from it. You can't actually move out of your apartment. Be a woman and deal with it. -- I rush into the kitchen and vacuum around the cat food dishes, listening to the loud pings of those cat food Death Pellets shooting into the vacuum and -- I hope -- killing the spider if it's still alive.
I'm pretty much hyperventilating at this point, but I vacuum the rest of my living room. The only notable moment was the fluff of fur that I saw floating in the air in my peripheral vision and the resultant jump/shriek/drop-vacuum-handle combo of terrifiedness, but whatever.
Then I lock the vacuum back in the closet and pray that the Giant Hideous Spider of Death and Scariness is really most sincerely dead. And then I call Em and scare the crap out of her by starting the game-update-phone-call with some variation of, "Omigawd, it was awful and terrifying and I nearly cried and I think it's dead, but what if it's not? Oh, and the Sox tied up the game." Heeeee.
And that story? Is why I need a boyfriend.
Not flowers and candy and car-door-holding. I need someone to kill spiders.
*I seriously almost just threw the hell up finding that link -- there are PICTURES! UGH UGH UGH!
In happier news, during my self-imposed exile from The Spider Apartment, I worked some on the Firefly epic, and I think I've broken through the giant wall of suck, so... yay? ::g:: I've only been working on it for seriously almost a year. Sad, sad, sad.
I also nearly ended up in tears at B&N reading the intro to Roméo Dallaire's Shake Hands with the Devil, because... oof. We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families very nearly killed me to read. Just... so fucking tragic and infuriating.