Monday, February 23, 2009

Love hate

Remember when I did this?

And I was so excited and proud that I let this fuzzy little guy have like 10 second of free reign on my hand/forearm?

Well no longer. Last night this guy gave me the major heebie-jeebies-- dream style.

Justin and I had just moved into apartment 88 in our new "complex" (slash beachside luxury condo.... sigh), which was very poorly marked, by the way. It was a nice place. Not too nice, though (which was strange considering all the apartments opened up to a common area with several hot tubs and pools and oh yeah, the beach.) On our first night there, we were tucking in for the night when Mr. Creepster's (pictured above) older, bigger, blacker, and hairier father decided to invade our room and start scurrying across the wall. Sleep tight!!!

Needless to say, Mr. Creepster, Sr. had to be stopped. But tell me folks: how do you kill a Tarantula? You can't very well squish it between your fingers and the wall with a paper towel. Emma (my co-worker) suggested maybe employing a shovel, which would have probably worked had we not just moved in that day and been shamefully without shovel. Well, in my dream, the best thing we could think of was to get the top of a butter dish and somehow catch the tarantula on the wall in the butter dish and then slide a piece of paper between the butter dish and wall (much like you can do with other un-squishable spiders that you find around the house that are not anywhere near as large as tarantulas). Well in the time that it took us to go get the butter dish, the tarantula fled the scene and we couldn't find him in the room anymore. Justin found another, much smaller, typical house spider and insisted that was the spider we had seen and smooshed it and wanted to call it quits! But I knew that MCS (Mr. Creepster, Sr.) was still around lurking.

Well don't you worry friends. In the end, it was me who found MCS as I pulled back the covers to get back in bed (HE WAS IN OUR BED!!!!! GROSS!!!!) and I kept my wits about me enouch to coax him into his little butter dish holding cell and then I threw him out the window. Justin kind of disappeared after his triumphal teeny spider squish. And that's where the dream ended.

I think this dream stems from several places:

1) When I was in first grade and my family was living in my Grandma Brooksby's house while she was on her mission, there was a spider in my bed one night. My first grade self was sure it was a black widow (aren't all black spiders?!) Well, my parents dutifully looked for the spider for quite some time, but we could never find it!!! Gross, right? And then, they wouldn't let me sleep on the couch for the night. I had to sleep in my bed with the spider! That's enough to scar a child.

2) I have had some nasty experiences with spiders, one example being the one found here.

3) One time, toward the end of last summer (but after we had moved to Logan) Justin and I were leaving home to go somewhere. I slipped on my shoes by the door, went outside and got to the top of our mini flight of stairs when I felt something inside my shoe. It kind of felt like a giant cotton ball. It was soft, but annoying, so I took my slipped my shoe off to shake it out. And what came out on my foot? A GIANT HAIRY SPIDER!!!! I kicked (which flung the spider back into my shoe), squealed and made a heebie jeebie noise ("uuuguiighhhgh!!" I think is how that noise is spelled) and Justin came running out to me yelling "There is a spider in my shoe! Shake out my shoe!!! Uuuguiighhhgh!!" Justin nobly shook out my shoe and smashed the spider on our sidewalk. In fact, you can still, even after all the fall and the winter, see a faint brown spider squash mark on the sidewalk. Do I kick my shoes around a few times and slip my foot in and out a few times before actually deciding to keep my shoes on in the morning now? I most certainly do.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Here you go

For those of you who didn't believe that sleeping outside on Christmas Eve sounded that bad, here's a good picture. This is us Christmas morning.