June 5, 2018

spiders need to read a self-help book of some sort

I agree fully with Allie Brosh regarding spiders.  My approach to spiders is identical to hers:

Ironically, spiders seem to adore me, so that I'm unwillingly a party to a fucked-up relationship of unrequited love and attraction.  You can't take out a 50-B restraining order against the entire class Arachnida.  I checked with the courts.  I'm even friends with one of the judges, who would totally swing it for me.  But you can't.

Consider people who think that if you find a spider in your home, you should gently scoop it up and set it outside so it can get on with being a spider.  I have four gillion problems with this.  First of all, it can now procreate because that person just became a spider pimp.  Also, they touched it.  This violates the basic human visceral fear of all things that want to kill you in your sleep because it brings them joy.

Except for the brown recluse that tried to kill me in my sleep when I was eight years old by biting me right on the neck, spiders gleefully infest my life.  Somewhere along the line, they decided that they would appear to me at every opportunity, like angels to Joan of Arc.

If I am walking behind someone who is taller than I am, I can still walk through a string of spinneret spider shit that was not there three-quarters of a second earlier, when the person in front of me passed through that point in the space-time continuum.  It ends up in my face, not theirs.  This is physically impossible.  That fact alone might be why I hold on to a small bit of agnosticism.  Clearly there is a great deal about the space-time continuum that we do not understand.  The closest we come to understanding is Schrodinger's spider web and my front yard is the box.

I also see spiders that others think aren't there.  I see so many spiders that they're all, "Um, yeah, okay, sure."  I'll point.  "See that spider right there?"  And P.J. will squint and say, "Right where?"  And I'll point even harder and I'll say, "Riiiiiiiiight there, see it?"  And P.J. will say, "Yes, dear," which is the English way of saying, "You're clearly smoking crack and I wish I could have some because it's obviously some high-quality shit but I'm just going to say okay for now to shut you up because it's easiest this way."  But I swear on a stack of god-damned Jack Chick tracts that it's there.  It's always there.

I have a hiking stick my son bought in West Jefferson when he was six because he fancied he would become an avid hiker immediately, based solely on being outfitted with this stick, and then he forgot about it later that day and it became mine.  It has a leather wrist-thong on top and it's solid, and whenever I have to mow, I first take it and go through a routine of swinging it around the crape myrtles in my front yard (except we're down to three crape myrtles instead of six because the school bus that crashed in our front yard last winter took out half of them, which was awfully kind of it because I hated those trees with a passion), and the magnolia tree, because all of them are infested with spiders and webs.  I swing it through every space between branches.  I ought to film myself doing it some day so I'll know how ridiculous this looks to the neighbors.  No one has called the police or tried to get me readmitted to the psych ward for looking like Inspector Gadget pretending to do martial arts with imaginary nunchaku, so there is that.

Once I have ensured that my kung fu moves are complete and there cannot possibly be any spider webs present in my walking path, I commence mowing.

On average, I walk through four webs.  Sometimes five, and sometimes only three.  They love me.  They want to be with me.

Last weekend, one had the little spider balls to lower itself from a tree branch right in front of my face.  I'm pretty sure it was a child of Ungoliant.  Maybe the balls weren't so little, come to think of it.  I swung at it with a stick and probably hurt its feelings because it just wanted to have a pleasant conversation with me, or get my autograph, or it was stalking me.  These spiders need to read a stack of self-help books about healthy relationships and when she's just not that into you.

A lot of wolf spiders end up in our basement.  As David Sedaris says, if you live in North Carolina and you have a basement, you will have spiders.  Fortunately, P.J. and I take a "scorched earth" approach to applying insecticide to the exterior of our home each spring.  We rain down death.  Then we call in guys with large sprayers full of more death to cover the inside.  This means all wolf spiders appear to me as upside-down gray things with curled, drawn-in legs, just inside the basement door.  I approve.  Of course, this makes us absolutely terrible liberals.

I think the spiders need to start seeing other people.  Or other people need to start seeing them.

We're hiring a lawn guy.


  1. I have a healthy respect for spiders and geckos because they kill and eat flies, mosquitoes and waterbugs aka flying cockroaches! SHUDDER@!!!! So I kind of take the old "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" approach to spiders! Still, I fully understand where you're coming from and now I have a bad case of the heebie jeebies! Off to take a shower!

    1. I was told to respect house centipedes for the same reason, but that isn't happening!

  2. Only so much can be expected of any of us! I'm not into centipedes or crickets either! Who came up that having a cricket in your house is supposed tp bring good luck?!!!!

  3. I walk my dog and her three cousins daily on my sisters' farm I HAVE TO have a spider sweeper stick- which i chose daily that must be light, no bark, and possess a couple of off branches - to catch those nefarious webbings. Even when i'm certain i have swept the air in front of me, i will invariably get one across the lips. Why are they way up here? Doc