May 8, 2019

sentient spiders and snake oil

On the third day of walking, I looked over at the wooden bridge spanning the creek, the bridge that I normally avoid because spiders, and saw two women coming down the steps, having crossed it.  They sat down on the steps to talk.  I viewed this as an opportunity to be seized.

I walked up to them and said, "Excuse me, may I cross?"  They said things like, "Sure, yeah, of course," and stood up to let me by.  And because I'm currently hypomanic, I blurted out, "Usually I don't go on this bridge because I'm afraid of imaginary spider webs, but you just broke them all for me," and they didn't say anything else, so I kept walking, right through the single long spinneret that was waiting for me, freshly minted by a sentient spider who knew I was coming.

I'm kind of miffed that the two women didn't acknowledge my yelp, but now that I consider it, I probably would have ignored me, too.

I am so tired of orphaned raccoons and ginormous snakes and psychic spiders being in my life.

I came home from work and The Kid and I set about cleaning up the basement (I may or may not have threatened to pour motor oil on his laptop keyboard to motivate this behavior).  I reached down to pick up an empty water bottle lying on the floor beside the TV stand, and saw a head retract in surprise.


His dad was laughing.  We'll settle up on that later.  Oh, yes.

P.J. is the person you want beside you in a crisis.  She's amazing.  She's made of steel and keeps calm and rational.  While I was gibbering, she was planning, and once again, we ended up with tongs, because of course we did.  "Kid, find me a box," she said.  Then with more urgency:  "Box.  Box.  Box!  BOX!  BOX!"  And then there was a strange dance where I was trying to catch the head of a very, very pissed-off snake in some tongs while P.J. was frantically blocking its access to the space behind the bookcases, which would have led to someone keeping vigil and me seriously losing face to a friend who's really into guns by asking to borrow at least three.

The snake started to go back there, and that's when P.J. grabbed it by the tail and held on tight.  It wrapped around her hand but kept trying to flee.  I never realized how strong snakes are.  I was trying to pull it out with tongs but making little progress, and I must have made it even angrier because then it oozed something sticky or snake-oily out of its tail, all over P.J.'s hands.

This is how it goes.  Whatever-it-is always pisses on her.

So now the snake was slippery and I had to get serious with the tongs, and we managed to pull it out, but I wasn't very close to the head and it could have bitten me, so we hurriedly threw it into the box The Kid had produced and slammed the lid onto it, and a second later realized that he had brought us a banker's box and there were two huge oval holes in the sides for handles and the snake was about to slither out of one of them.

Please know The Kid really is incredibly intelligent.  I blame the chaos of the moment.

We grabbed the tongs and a nearby folder and somehow hoisted the box with the lid held down with our thumbs and the tongs and folder pressed against the holes, and carried it down the driveway and across the street.  We dumped the snake out in the same spot as the raccoons, and by "dumped the snake out" I mean "Lille threw everything in her hands up in the air and it landed all over the ground and she ran away and turned and watched".

P.J. had to kick the box a bit.  Then she used a stick to try to get the snake to slither into the woods and I was screaming "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" and she stopped because the snake was coiled up like a garden hose at Home Depot before you've used it and gotten it all dirty and kinked up, and it clearly wasn't going anywhere.

We walked home.

The spider today, on the bridge, was the Universe bending near and whispering in my ear, "I can get you.  I can get you any time I want."


  1. LOL! That poor snake! You probably pulled it too tight like elastic, and now he's crumpled and has to go back to size before he can slither home.

    1. "That poor snake" can fucking find its own Netflix account.

  2. I think you did very well, and it was probably, ahem...highly likely, that it was a very good thing you didn't give into to impulse and borrow a gun (or three), Dog knows what you'd have hit but it'd probably cost you an enormous amount of money to get it fixed.

    I'm not sure what I'd do if I was confronted by a snake, I'd probably...maybe...eventually (after having several minor cardiac infractions) unfreeze and run and really, really desperately wish I had PJ, you and the Kid around.

    Having said that, I'd probably poke it too - never said I was sensible :)

  3. And aren't you glad you're Oirish, then? Yeah, you'd totally poke it with a stick. You're you.

  4. And where were the dogs when you needed them? I tell the cats and dog that we all have to pull our weight around the house. Animals are in charge of getting rid of creatures that don't belong in our house! Glad no one was hurt! Damned snakes!

    1. They're typically not let down into the basement, mainly because Molly finds dryer sheets and eats them, but we did let her down afterward and she was very interested in The Smells. Maybe next time - wait, WHAT? There won't be a next time ... right?