Can't have nice stuff!

I have a good job that lets me buy nice stuff sometimes. I have a new-ish car. That is nice, but someone thought it would be nicer if they poked a hole in the rear taillight during my business management final. I have another older car. It's pretty but not as nice, and gets only 8 mpg on 91 octane gas. I have a horse. He is usually nice, as long as the chiropractor is not involved - which is most of the time lately. I have this brand new computer. I thought it was nice, but the built-in wireless card sucks monkey-butt. That's right, you heard me. Monkey. Butt.

As I typed this first paragraph, it disconnected five times. I'm a fast typist - 65 wpm, according to my most recent certificate. My wireless woes don't stop there. I like downloading podcasts, and I can only get about 10% at a time until the connection cuts out. This computer is fresh out of the box. Like any girl, at first I kept telling it, "it's not you, it's me." Later, I would repeat those words in my head, while showering it with patient and loving attention. I even brought in outside help, allowing my boyfriend to toy around with it.

I blamed the router. I blamed the duplex. I even tried blaming the black widows - who knows where they plant their egg sacs sometimes! Now it's time to blame the real source of the problem. In case you never hear from me again, I just want you to know that first it took out the phone lines so I couldn't call for help. I think that spider's ghost has taken over my computer's brain through the wireless connection ... it's just a matter of time ...

Kiss of the Spider Woman

Yesterday, I noticed that the black widow I cleaned on Tuesday was shellacked to my bathroom wall. It appeared to be a last-ditch effort at revenge - I'm preparing to paint the room this weekend. How fitting to have a poisonous spider painted into the wall ... I can only imagine that would count as normal wear and tear on the duplex. I would like to see my deposit money again someday ...

By the way, which one's Pink?

This morning I had a bad case of freeway hypnosis. Driving West on I-80 is like staring at a beginning artist's exercise in perspective drawing, except that the lane lines move.

After about twenty minutes, I overtook a big rig tractor without its trailer. It was a brilliant royal blue color, with something written on the back. Grateful for something new to look at, I watched it as I approached. In an airbrushed cursive arch were the words, "Comfortably Numb," and cavorting under the arch was a picture of Stimpy of Nickelodeon cartoon fame. I am not sure I like the idea of these truck drivers going home to smoke weed and watch cartoons while listening to Pink Floyd.

I pulled up alongside the tractor, curious to see how sober the driver looked. He glanced down at me and I stared at him, saucer-eyed, for just a moment. Mr. McFeely from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood was in the driver's seat. Minus the mailbag of course, and with an enormous white walrus mustache hanging over his mouth. I continued down the road home...

Arachnophobia

It's black widow season here in Davis and my joy is nearly boundless. I've had five sightings in the past few days, all in delightfully unexpected places. Don't get me wrong, I love spiders. How could I not, as an equestrian. It's flies that I have to hate. I've had a comfortable peace with the spiders in my house until quite recently.

Monday morning was a cool, breezy and beautiful garbage collection day. I walked out barefoot to drag the cans to the curb, carefully avoiding the crunchy snails on the sidewalk. As I tilted the toter back onto its wheels, the grandmother of all black widows spilled onto the ground with an audible thunk about half an inch from my big toe and began scrambling for whatever shelter she could find -- namely, my toes. Never a morning person, I became quite nimble for a moment.

When I was a child, my mother declared war against these beautiful critters. When she discovered one under the kitchen sink, she would invert a plastic produce bag over her hand, grab the spider and knot the end of the bag. The hapless victim would then be laid out on a cutting board, unceremoniously smashed repeatedly with a rolling pin, and neatly disposed of in the trash. I thought it unnecessarily brutal at the time. Now I think I am beginning to understand ...

They hide under my Firebird and nest in the paper bags I save for the recycling. This morning, I discovered a tiny, brazen one building a web in broad daylight just under the lip of my bathroom counter. My other 50% once told me that he tried to kill a black widow with Windex, but she only got shinier. Soooo ... I tried my Clorox bathroom cleaner with Teflon. This one was not only a much deeper, gleaming black afterwards, but seemed to get bigger in an impossibly Incredible Hulk-style moment. After glaring at me balefully for a moment with each and every eye. she hid deep underneath my counter. I can only hope that she will give me fair warning as she prepares her Teflon-coated revenge.

I , for one, welcome our new arachnid overlords.