Hello beautiful readers, it's been awhile! (Last post: July 2016) You all know how much I love and cherish this blog (And each and every one of you, you marvelous people, you!) so why does it take me so long to update between posts, I hear you ask? well, there's 3 possible reasons for it: 1) I am a breathing pile of human garbage, that is super lazy about writing new posts. (Clearly the most unlikely of the three scenarios.) 2) There are no more spiders in my life. My house and the places I go are entirely devoid of spiders in every respect. 3) There are so many spiders, everywhere, that documenting my run-ins with them has become a pointless exercise, like an Eskimo writing about snow, or politicians writing about lying (political burn!)

So which of these answers is it? Well, I think we all know in our hearts that it isn't #2, and #1 is so far fetched as to be entirely implausible, leaving #3 as the only possible answer. So what possible run in could I have had with a spider that was so bad that I would write about it? I'll tell you (because that is the entire purpose of this blog) but it is a tale so fraught with horror, so filled with peril that I advise my readers who are weak of heart to visit their doctor. (Not because of this post. Just because if you have a weak heart, visiting your doctor regularly is a good idea.)

Now this year has been a busy one for me. Due to the nature of my job, I've been gone from my house a lot, and when I am home I haven't been cooking much, which is sad because I love food and cooking is a minor hobby of mine. Anyways, I finally had a day off and the motivation to cook, so naturally , I decided to make spaghetti (Or as it is known around here, the Bachelors Best Friend. Although, having been a bachelor so long, I have basically perfected my recipe. Al dente noodles, with fresh herbs and roasted peppers in the sauce... I digress.)

Anyways, I pull out my sauce pan, set it on the stove, and guess what fell out? If you guessed a spider, then clearly you have read this blog before, (or just read the name. It's not very hard to figure out.) However, it wasn't a spider. It wasn't even an earwig (#2 on my list of things I write about on this blog) In some ways, it was much worse.

What fell on my stove was a spider carapace, the husk spiders shed when they get too big(!) for their exoskeleton. Imagine opening someones closet, and finding a suit made out of human skin inside because the serial killer got to big for the old one and had to find a new one. Better yet, don't imagine that, because that is a horrifying thought. However that was basically my reaction when that dried out husk fell onto my stove top.

Now it turns out there are actually cultures where people eat spiders. I found a picture, and I'm going to share it with you, my delightful readers, because I want you to suffer the way I did as I was researching this blog post. (Warning: the following image is super gross and horrifying if you're not from Southeast Asia)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Don't say I didn't warn you! Here it comes!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

I know this because my friends and family send me all sorts of spider related shenanigans on Facebook, apparently because they are deeply into schadenfreude.

However, even knowing that spiders are some sort of yummy delicacy in other parts of the world has not convinced me that I want them in and around the food I prepare, especially since I only found the shell and some web from this spider. In case you're not Sherlock Holmes, that means that there is a living breathing spider somewhere in my pans cupboard, and presumably it's angry, since I broke its web and (involuntarily) stole its former flesh-suit.

Now, I have gradually become accustomed (sort of) to the spiders I run into. At first, when I'd see one on the couch I'd freak out. Now the spiders have full custody of the couch when I'm out of the house and every third Friday. It used to be that if I saw a spider on my bed, I'd rave and flail about and then write about those shenanigans here. Now I'm like "Dude, I'm trying to sleep. It's my turn to be the big spoon." Point being, spiders just don't have the same impact they used to have on me.

However, I'm not OK with spiders in my food. More specifically, I'm not OK with spiders building their homes in my cooking pans and then leaving their skin suits everywhere. (If you MUST have a skin suit, the least you can do is have the common decency to hang it in the hall closet, where your victims can find it and get a proper jump scare out of it. That's Evil Villain Suspense Building 101!)

They say that the average human eats an average of 8 spiders per year in their sleep, which I'm very happy to debunk entirely as an urban legend, started by some lady to show how some people will believe anything they read on the internet. (http://www.snopes.com/science/stats/spiders.asp) However, it would appear that no matter what Snopes says that I am on my way towards my yearly quota, and I don't even have the dubious distinction of being asleep for it. It seems that there are only two rational explanations for this: 1) The spiders in my house have taken over to such an extent that they now feel safe climbing into my cookware and making themselves at home ("Hey bro, do you mind if I crash in your sauce-pan for the weekend? The old lady kicked me out from under the couch and took custody of all 8,000,000,000 kids. It sucks, but I'm hoping that the kids can visit soon and I can introduce you.") or, 2) They know how much horror comes from the idea of having a spider in your mouth and are doing it deliberately, as a practical joke. ("Alright guys, we got him really good those other times we hid in the bathtub and his shoes, lets really kick it up a notch for this next one. Ideas? Holy cow Karl, you're saying you're willing to sacrifice your world class flesh-suit collection just to freak him out? I'm putting you in for a promotion!)

SO that's the situation in my house as it stands. Now, I don't know about you, but I am a man who tries to live my life by a certain code. Call me old fashioned, but I believe in things like "Honesty", "Integrity", and "Not letting Spiders push me around in the Comfort of my Own Home". I'm going to put my foot down and firmly, yet quietly, complain about it on this blog. Because you know what? When you live with as many spiders as I do, you don't risk taking a stand, lest you fall victim to another "friendly prank" and wake up in a bed with 8,000,000,000 spider babies laughing at your screams of horror. I just hope they don't read this blog...

So busy asking if I could I didn't ask whether I should.

Well, friends, family, and loved ones, it finally happened. I had a run in with a spider that met all the criteria for me to do a new spider post. (Namely, I ran into a spider, and my reaction was funny enough to document.) Naturally, this blog is the most important thing in my life, coming in far ahead of family, friends, my actual job that pays me in real, American dollars, physical comfort, and so on. So why does it take me so long to update between posts, you ask? I'll tell you: any professional writer knows that the key to good writing is accurate research. So that's what I've been doing. Tons and tons of research. Now, to the layperson, this may look like me sitting around, watching funny videos of kittens on the internet, but I assure you, this is a vital part of the process. Because, you see, if I sit around long enough, spiders inevitably build webs all over my house, get productive jobs at the Horror manufacturing plant, get married, eat their husbands heads, and settle down to have 10,000,000,000 babies. You know, the american spider dream.

And once they've done all that, one day I will decide to do something that will cause me to meet one of them. And that's what this blog is all about. Take, for instance, what happened to me today.

So, once a year my mother's side of the family gets together for a family reunion, there are games and swimming, and this year I'm pretty sure someone said we are having a bouncy castle. So you can imagine how excited I am for this event. Anyways, I needed to pack for this momentous occasion, and naturally my first thought was: "I know! I think I'll subject my nearest and dearest to what I like to think of as 'music' and bring my guitar!"

Now, I believe I've mentioned before that my living room looks like it was designed as a labyrinth to contain the Minotaur, but if the architect of said labyrinth only had access to guitars and amplifiers. There's a lot of musical crap in the living room, is what I'm trying to say. At any rate, I've made a few (mostly futile) attempts to clean and organize, with the result that my guitar cases mostly live behind the couch. You, know, the place that basically doubles as suburbs for spiders (Or the outskirts of Hell, as I prefer to call it.) (Not its real name, of course. The developer wouldn't allow it. They had to choose between "Willow-Brook Farms," and "Oth'pthalla, the Unmentionable Lands, Where Hope Goes to Die.")

You can see where this is going.

Anyways, I get out my guitar case and there are a few cobwebs on it, but nothing crazy. Exactly what you would expect from the aftermath of just having destroyed the homes of fifty spider families.

As I go to unzip the case, however, I notice what appears to be an egg sac on one side of the case. Now this will not stand. Research is research, but I refuse to let some eight legged horror from the shadow realms hatch it's evil brood all over my sweet beloved guitar's protective case. So I got a screwdriver to scrape it off (as one does,) and squished the ever-loving Jiminy crickets out of it with my flip-flop. (Of course.)

If that was all, I wouldn't be writing this today. I squish egg-sacs all the time. Literally dozens per day. (Not literally.) Anyways, I go to put my guitar in the case, and right there on the front of me is an enormous freaking spider!

This is where my years of training took over. I started my attack with a psychological element, by jumping backwards and saying all the curse words I know. I did this based on the assumption that the spider had laid the eggs I had just destroyed and I presumed that like all mothers, (especially mine) she would be offended by the cursing and it would distract her from the fact that a) I had just killed all her children, and b) I fully intended to kill her as well.

Now, the spiders I usually deal with in my household are wolf spiders, which means that they look terrifying, are tremendously quick, and are basically completely harmless. If it wasn't for the fact that they usually choose to show up in and around my personal business, I would have no problem with them at all. This spider though, was a different beast. It was round, and glossy, and I was 99% sure I had discovered the famous and horrifying black widow in its natural habitat.

If you read my last post, concerning horror movies, you will remember that I mentioned something about the questionable motives of their protagonists. Basically, the inevitable urge to do really silly things that may or may not get them killed. Now given what I said at the beginning of this post about research, it would be very easy to write this off as a courageous, or even (dare I say it?) noble attempt to keep  my beautiful and nice-smelling readers informed with the most up-to-date information on what spiders, exactly, live in my house, but I cannot tell a lie. Basically, sometimes you do dumb crap because you feel like it. Probably there is a psychological term for it, and I wish I knew what it was, because it would make justifying my stupid shenanigans much easier

At any rate, I grabbed my trusty screw driver, and attempted to flip it over to verify said Black-Widowness. And this is where things got really weird. Usually when you start missing around with spiders, they run away as quickly as their horrifying number of  legs will let them go. This one did not do that. It actually curled up into a ball and tried to wait it out. Now, at this point, it would be nice to say that this touched me, and I let this loving spider mother loose outside, or some hippie crap like that.

I did not do that.

Having verified an entire lack of black-widow markings, I grabbed my flip-flop which was conveniently handy from earlier, and squished that spider as though I was second place in a spider-squishing contest and the front runner and I had a million dollars bet on the outcome.

Now happily secure, I went back  to packing my guitar when to my dismay and horror, what do I find, but a second egg-sac tucked INSIDE my case! You might think that this would make me happy, because it proves the success of my research program, but oddly, that was not the case. I was forced to fish out my handy screwdriver again, fish out the egg-sac, and crush another 10,000,000,000 babies into oblivion.

Now that I have got myself onto an FBI watch list for typing the sentence "Crush 10,000,000,000 babies," and coincidentally having written the most metal lyrics ever at the exact same time, I'm forced to take a long hard look at my research program. Now clearly, it's been a rousing success, based on the criterion of "Number of Spiders Evan is Forced to Interact With Annually," however, after dealing with it's aftermath, I'm forced to conclude that this particular branch of research is not only unnecessary, but ultimately may hold negative consequences. So, after due consideration, I've decided to not only shut down that particular program, but to start new research in two separate fields: "Mental Health Effects of Arachnids in a Closed Environment," and " "Fire as a Method of Reducing Arachnid Populations in Urban Environments." Based on the success of my previous research, I hope to publish within the next year!

The Webcorcist

Let's talk about horror movies for a moment. Now, I am not a particular fan of horror movies as a genre, partly because I don't particularly care for the subjects presented, but mostly because I don't like being made fun of just because I happen to have a very high-pitched scream ("Like a two year-old girls, but more piercing," in the words of one cruel but accurate colleague.)  However, over the course of my life I have picked up enough to know some of the common tropes, and -hear me out here- I think I am living through a horror movie. Now, I know what you are thinking: "Ha. Yeah right. A few spiders does not a horror movie make." Well, I can see how you might think that, but just sit right back and prepare to be proved wrong by the Wrong-Prover.

Here are a few of the reasons I am convinced that I am living in a horror movie:

1) I keep finding spiders around my house in every conceivable location.

2) Did you even read what I just wrote? Seriously, that should be a good enough reason for anybody. However, if that's not enough, here are a few more reasons.

3) There are always premonitions and foreshadowings and whatnot that something is going to go badly, right before I, for example, am forced to fight a spider naked in the tub wielding only a shampoo bottle and the tattered shreds of my sanity.

4) I run into a spider (i.e, Monster) and am forced to fight desperately to retain my life and/or sanity. (See reason 3.)

5) There is a lot of screaming and running involved. (See reason 3 again.)

6) You realize there are literal movies that have been made about this scenario, right? Like, more than one. MANY movies have been devoted to the idea that spiders are horrifying and will destroy the world if given the chance.

7) I have reason to believe that this house was built on an ancient indian spider burial ground. (Indian Spider Burial Grounds are a real thing, right?)

There's another aspect of horror movies that I would like to address, though, since we're on the subject. As I have brought up in the past, the motivations of horror movie protagonists are often suspect, at best. When you are spending the night in a haunted mansion, or whatever generally noxious location you are at, how come they never leave immediately? I mean, places with reputations that bad must have them for some reason, right?

I have a theory about that, based on my own experiences. Maybe you move into a new house, and sure, it's a little creepy, what with hearing footsteps in unoccupied rooms, and an occasional spectral face manifesting by your bed and watching you sleep, but overall it's a nice house. Plus, you don't even have to deal with pesky neighbors, because everyone on the neighborhood ignores you (or just crosses themselves in your direction.) Besides, you just spent all that time and effort to move, screw doing that twice in the same year, amirite?

So things go on like that until one day, you realize that the ghostly chill in the air has driven your heating costs up to entirely unreasonable levels, plus that old priest and young priest won't quit coming to your house and begging you, for the sake of your immortal soul, to leave, and on top of that you have had to mop up the blood from the walls like 5 times today. (And don't even get me started on those evil twins that keep wanting you go play with them!) It's unsustainable!

Basically, my life is like that horror movie. I've been going along, dealing with spider after spider, until one day I realize that basically my life consists of mostly killing spiders, with brief breaks in between for eating, sleeping and school.

I'll give you an example. Today I noticed that my nails were getting a little long, and could use a trim. Totally mundane, right? Wrong. Oh so very wrong. I picked up the trash can to clip my nails into, because I am not a complete barbarian, and noticed there was a little spider web at the base of it. "Crazy how these spiders are getting everywhere," I thought to myself as I checked carefully to see if I could spot the little guy. Seeing nothing, I resumed the task at hand. Grasping the nail clippers firmly in one hand, I got ready to cut directly into the trash and THE SPIDER WAS RIGHT THERE IN THE TRASH, STARING AT ME WITH ITS EIGHT BEADY EYES!

You may notice the structure of this is exactly like a jump scare in a horror movie, and that's exactly how it worked out. They build you up, with the hero walking slowly down the hall, slooowly opening the door, letting the music crescendo, and then... Oh, it was just the cat. And then they turn around and HOLYCRAPTHEMONSTERISRIGHTBEHINDYOUAIEEEEEEE!

Anyways, I was of course traumatized and horrified by this experience, but then I killed it with a decorative candle (because it was close by, and there is nothing manlier than using a sheerly decorative implement for raining unholy fury on your enemies) and moved on with my life. That's what has happened to me. I experienced what amounts to basically the second act of a horror movie, and then I was like, "Meh, no biggie," and finished clipping my nails because, hey, they needed it.

And that, I am convinced, is how horror movies happen. Basically, you just become really jaded to all the crazy stuff happening around you, and move on with your life, because what are you supposed to about it? I mean, today I found a spider leg sitting on some papers and was like "Oh, that's weird," and dumped it in the trash. Now, I feel like I shouldn't need to say this, but just in case your flight just got in from planet We Don't Have Spiders Here, What's the Big Deal? and are not accustomed to human customs and culture, THAT IS NOT A NORMAL REACTION TO FINDING A SPIDERS DISEMBODIED LIMB!

But the worst part of all that is this: horror movies don't end with the hero having a jump scare and then laughing it off. Horror movies end when the protagonist confronts the monster, and that monster is usually the biggest, scariest version of whatever crap he's been dealing with through the whole movie. So now I am convinced that there is an enormous spider waiting around somewhere (possibly in my garage) waiting for me to confront it so I can get some closure on this whole thing. Or worse yet, all the spiders in my house are going to gang up and create one giant, Voltron-like Mega-Spider that re-forms every time you cut off one of its limbs. Or it may take the form of a supernatural entity composed of the spirits of the hundreds of spiders I have killed since moving here. I just don't know. But just in case, I am ordering an industrial size barrel of raid, a beekeepers suit, and a military grade flame thrower. And if you hear about the west side of Provo burning to the ground, I just want you to know that I did it to save humanity from The Dark and Ravenous Spider-God Atlach'Nacha.

Spi(der) Hard

Earlier this week, my little sister made a comment about finding a spider in her shoe, and how much she didn't enjoy that experience. To which I replied lightly, perhaps even mockingly. I made it seem like, because there are so many freaking spiders in my house, that I have become accustomed and maybe even hardened to casually finding arachnids in my domicile. Little did I know the horror I would reap as a result of my hubris...

Let me start by saying, as I so often do, that tonights events were preceded by a sign, or a foreshadowing, if you will. After a busy day of pretending like I want to graduate from college at some point in my lifetime, I was ready to relax and unwind. And what better way to do this than by creating sweet music, or alternately, depending on your views, creating an unholy cacophony (those who have heard me play guitar vary widely in their interpretation of the experience.) At any rate, as I was preparing to play, I noticed a tiny movement on my carpet.

(May I digress for a moment and talk about the problem with carpet manufacturers? Specifically, the ones responsible for creating the pattern that was used on the carpet in my home. At first glance, you would say that my carpet looks entirely nondescript, and you would be correct. It is a pattern that entirely lacks descripts. If I were to imagine the conversation that led to its creation, it would go something like this:

Management Person (To the designers): Guys, I know the seventies were a fun time for you, but it's time to reign it in, fellas. No more of this 3 inch shag, alright? It's a new age, and we need something simple to maintain.

Designers (in unison): Awww, come on, do we have to?

MP: Yes, you do. And while you're at it, I want you to go easy on the colors, too. Maybe do something in beige and tan. Something that won't show off dirt too much!

Designers: But it's booooring!

MP: I know, guys, I miss being able to design with chartreuse and lime green as the main colors as much as anyone, but times have changed. It's not what the people want now!

Designers: (muttering rebelliously under their breaths)

MP: Guys, I'll tell you what. I know how much you miss the old times, so... (whispers conspiratorially) maybe throw some brown in there for old times sake, yeah? I know you guys have had fun with brown in the past, right? And maybe, just maybe, if we all work together on this, the company will spring for tickets to Carpet Con out in Topeka this year!

Designers: (In unison): Yay!

Anyways, they did such a good job emulating that "basically the same as the desert" look that they made what basically amounts to perfect wolf spider camouflage throughout the majority of my house. Seriously though, the spiders blend in so well with the carpet that when they hold still, they are effectively invisible. Even when they move, all it does is create the frightening illusion that my carpet grew legs and has decided to walk around, which is something that I do not want, even in the best of circumstances. I mean, I can't even think of a situation where I would want my carpet to be self-mobile. That seems like the kind of thing that Steven King could write a novel about. Anyways, rant over. Back to the good stuff!)

Ummm, so what was I talking about again? Oh yes, I spotted movement on my carpet, and my house being what it is, was entirely unsurprised by the presence of a little wolf spider scuttling along amongst the metric butt-ton of guitar pedals and cables that I consistently try to pass off as a home decorating motif.

And what did I do? I laughed it off! I was all, "Oh, a tiny wolf spider? Pshh, I deal with spiders constantly, who cares?" And then I shredded some Ted Nugent on guitar, just to show the spiders how manly I am! (Just kidding, I don't know any Ted Nugent on guitar. In all honestly, I am only even aware of, like, two Ted Nugent songs. But whatever I played, it was still super macho, probably.)

And then, my hubris at its height, I decided to add some more guitar pedals in, because, hey, my neighbors can only call the cops so many times before dispatch starts ignoring the calls, right? So I go looking through the jungles and thickets of mic stands and amplifiers that constitutes basically all of my living room that isn't actively covered by couches.

And as I searched, looking for that one perfect pedal that would complete my tone, I looked behind my couch and saw a shirt lying on the ground (don't ask why. You'll be happier, and so will I, because you won't be judging me for having shirts behind my couch.) And in my innocence, I thought "maybe my pedal is under that shirt for some reason" So I grabbed the shirt, and...

(Click here before you read any further)

There was not a spider behind the shirt. No, that actually would have been a relief. There were not even two spiders behind the shirt. THERE WERE THREE, COUNT THEM THREE SPIDERS, BEHIND MY COUCH. THERE WERE THREE BEADY-EYED ANTENNA-WAVING EIGHT-LEGGED MONSTROSITIES STARING BACK AT ME AS THOUGH I HAD WALKED INTO A PRIVATE MEETING OF SATANS MINIONS ANONYMOUS! ("Hi, I'm Lothar, Flayer of Damned Souls, and I can't stop flaying damned souls.""Hi, Lothar!")

The worst part of the whole thing was how calm the spiders were that I had discovered their hiding place. They all seemed to be pretty chill with the whole situation. I, on the other hand, was... not. They seemed to take this in a stride as well though. "Whoa, dude," they seemed to be saying. "Chill. You don't see us freaking out when you invite friends over. Also, watch your language. I just got all 8,000,000 of the kids to sleep."

Once I had regained coherence, quit yelling and subdued my gag reflex, I took stock of the situation. It was one against three, and I definitely had the height advantage. However, what I do not have is four extra limbs, fangs, venom, or a multiplicity of eyes. So they definitely had the advantage in all those departments. Plus, their numbers had entirely unnerved me. All I could think of was "What if that one I let go earlier is behind me now? What if he brought friends?"

I had to arm myself, and fortunately, the entry to my house provides a wide variety of options for those trained at the dojo of the sandal. There are at least 5 pairs of boots, flip-flops, and shoes scattered around at any given time. My first thought (naturally) was to go for the flip-flops, based on my observance of their past effectiveness. Unfortunately, the only pair available were not of the sturdy variety. I would say they were more the "my roommate has had these flip-flops as long as I have known him, and they were flimsy foam to start with" variety.

That left me with shoes, or boots. Boots, while great for anti-arachnid stomping, are not great for footwear-fu due to their ungaily dimensions and bulk. So, that left me with shoes. Unfortunately, the experience of finding so many spiders in an unexpected place, combined with my sisters comments from earlier, made me extremely paranoid. I was forced to pick up my own shoes by the very tip, shake them gracefully yet vigorously to ensure a lack of spiders, and then use them like John McLane uses machine guns (Deftly, and often.)

And then... have you ever seen Die Hard? The best one, by which I mean the first one? (Obviously.) Remember how John McLane kills every terrorist in the building, except for the last one who (Spoiler alert) seems to come back to life and is then dispatched by Johns cop buddy Al? This was prevented from being exactly like that by only two things. One, the spiders didn't have sophisticated European accents. And two, my roommate was already in bed, so when I went back and found that first spider, I didn't have a buddy who would dramatically shoot it in the face as it tried to get its revenge. Instead, I was forced to hit it in its stupid spider face with a shoe, much like its comrades.

Remember my last post, where I talked about being super paranoid? I admit that, on occasion, I have been known to exaggerate for the sake of comic effect within the confines of this blog. My fear of spiders has been grossly embellished, nay, perhaps even overblown. But let me tell you truthfully, that after what happened tonight, I am legitimately convinced that every surface in my house that I cannot see with my bare eyes in a given moment is literally swarming with spiders. Every time an air current brushes my leg, it seems to be Shelob's younger sister, hellbent for revenge. I regularly hit the back of my neck, just in case a spider has sneakily managed to land there unnoticed. And should I walk through an actual spiderweb, my calisthenics should instantly register me for the 2016 Olympics brand new "Flailing and Screaming" event. So after all that, all I can say is: Rachael, I'm so very truly sorry for taking the spider in your shoe so lightly. It will never happen again.

Prepare to die...

I think I am being honest when I say no one, least of all me, expected a follow up on my last blog post this soon. "Give it a week," I thought to myself. "Let the novelty wear off. Better yet, give it another six months." That will give people time get nostalgic and wonder, "Hey, what ever happened to that earwig guy?" (Hopefully no actually thinks of me as "The Earwig Guy." If you do, please stop now.) And yet, today inspiration fell into my lap. Literally into my lap! It was horrifying, of course. With that being said, come with me now, on a journey to a happier time. A simpler time. Come with me, to earlier this afternoon...

Oh, life was so good then. I didn't have to work, and I got to sleep in. A beautiful start to the day, made even better by sitting around and eating a late. ( It was ramen, quick boiled and just slightly al dente. A meal fit for an impoverished and lazy king. Actually, it may be time for me to go food shopping soon...) Be that as it may, the day was only slightly spoiled by running into an earwig as I was washing up afterwords. Sitting behind the sink, complacently eyeing me and no doubt thinking in its earwig-y way "A-ha! Here is an easy target. Fat and happy after a late lunch, he will be an easy target later. The earwig high command will be so pleased. I may even get that promotion to Nuisance First Class!"

Well, I made short work of that line of thought, let me tell you what! Thinking quickly, I grabbed my soap dispenser (no shampoo bottles being handy) and let go with a nice left and plenty of follow-through. The earwig expired on the spot, and I went on my way, the day having been saved and my mood only improved by the quickness and painlessness of the victory. At least, that's what I thought! If that had been all, I wouldn't be sitting here, sharing my exploits with you. 

What I didn't know is that the first earwig had only been a scout, a mere ruse to get get me off my guard!

It was at this point that I retired to my bath, content in the knowledge of a job well done. I had completed my ablutions, toweled off, and was preparing to attire myself, when some hunch - nay, some PREMONITION caused me to look down before putting my foot through my under-drawers. And there, staring up at me from my underwear, was an earwig. Wait, let me repeat that: THERE. WAS. A. FREAKING. EARWIG. STARING AT ME FROM THE DEPTHS OF MY OWN PERSONAL UNDERWEAR!

Needless to say, my emotions were mixed.

I felt Stunned of course, because there was an earwig in my underwear. Loathing, also because there was an earwig in my underwear. Terror, once more because there was an earwig in my underwear. Bewilderment, for the reason stated above.  Sad, because of the same, previously stated, point. But embracing and overarching everything else, like unexpectedly finding out your pillow is a 50 pound slug, was Horror, because (everybody say it with me now) THERE WAS A FREAKING EARWIG IN MY THRICE CURSED UNDERWEAR!

In my previous post I took care to emphasize that while I was forced to squish my earwig adversary beneath the crushing embrace of a shampoo bottle, there were no hard feelings in this encounter. We were enemies, yes, but mixed with that feeling were strains of admiration and, dare I say it? Yes, even companionship. In this encounter, there was nothing of the kind. My reactions were swift, and possibly even a shade heroic. (If there are any single ladies reading this, I want to assure you that my ability to dispose of vermin with a single, steely swipe of my shampoo bottle is second only to the late, great Bruce Lee. I assume this is what all women desire most in a mate, so, uh... sup?)

I started by letting out my own personal version of the rebel yell, which starts low with a series of quick, yelping cries, followed by a gradually ascending warble that increases in timbre until it reaches more of what I would personally describe as a "hellish" volume. This gets me in the mood for battle, and could in no way be described as "girly" or "really, it's just an earwig, will you quit screaming already" by anyone, particularly my roommate. 

My morale taken care of, the next move, as any general will tell, is to confront the enemy on your own terms. I did this by gracefully extending the undergarment in question to arms length and shaking it firmly but gracefully until the earwig in question was deposited upon the bathroom floor. Unfortunately, this gesture resulted in my losing sight of the creature for a moment, which resulted in a moment (only a moment!) of panic. My shampoo bottle, favored weapon and stalwart companion in troubled times, lay across the room in the tub, and my way there was blocked a creature who could probably slice my toe clean off with a single swipe of its crushing pinchers, or at least maybe pinch me slightly and give me the heebie-jeebies. 

But, there! On the bathroom rug! A movement. The enemy is in sight! Now I just have to figure out how to retrieve my erstwhile weapon while maintaining all of my digits intact and un-pinched. Now, keep in mind that in this moment, due to the circumstances of this attack I am still in the raw, as it were, graced only with what God granted me upon my birth and my natural fortitude. 

That made the whole situation somewhat more... Volatile as you can no doubt imagine. Now, I have to face this earwig au naturale, confronting my inner fears and insecurities, as well as the be-pinchered form of my foe. Mano-a-mano, He rushed at me and in that moment, I dug deep. My whole life seemed to flash before my eyes, and I knew what I had to do! I seemed to become one with my primitive ancestors, and just like they did when they were rushed by a bug smaller than their pinky toe, I leaped!

Now was my moment! I had overcome all the odds, and now, my weapon in hand I prepared to meet my foe!

And then with all my force, I brought my weapon to bear and made him a two-dimensional replica of his former self, as imagined by Picasso. It was a glorious moment, and it was only slightly lessened when I remembered that I was completely nude. (I bet you forgot that too. Kind of makes things weird, huh? Try not to think about too much.) Anyways, I think that's what my primitive ancestors would have wanted. In honor of the moment, I have also christened my shampoo bottle "The Vermin-Crusher." It only seems fitting.

Now, though, with my revenge complete, my life has suddenly become full of doubts. Sure, I killed two earwigs today, but surely they were only the outliers. More will come, and my life has become a paranoid dance. I can't bring myself to trust anymore. If there was an earwig hiding in my underwear, where will the next one be? In the tub? (Yes.) Hiding in my shoe? Heaven forbid, in my own bed!? They say Macbeth got pretty paranoid, but all he had to worry about was being assassinated by his friends and having his country turn on him. I mean, it's not like he was in danger of getting a nasty nip on the toe with a pair of disease covered butt-pinchers! I guess I can take comfort in the thought that if my body is found, covered with pinch marks and sans toes, at least no one will question why I am carrying a shampoo bottle covered with earwig corpses.

P.S. If that happens, I request that at least one you come to venge me. Preferably by donning a sweet mask and training for years in remote monasteries with the worlds foremost experts in shampoo bottle-fu.

P.P.S. It turns out there are more good "Princess Bride" Quotes than I have room for in this post, maybe you should just re-watch the movie. I'm going to.

A Viking Funeral

Well, it's been awhile since I wrote about any spiders, but tonight I had an experience that forced me to hit the keyboard again so that I can regale my (mostly hypothetical) audience with more stories about my vermin related shenanigans. And I can imagine you all out there, hanging on my every word and whispering to each other "What hijinks did the spiders get up to this time? I bet it was super crazy, because all of his other stories about spider hijinks are super crazy!" Well, sorry to disappoint all 5 of you, but todays post has nothing to do with spiders.

Of course, if it's not spiders, your next guess is that it was probably an earwig. And you would be correct, as long as you actually guessed earwig. If you didn't, you probably haven't read this blog before, so maybe you should go read my last post. It's ok, I don't mind waiting. I thought the last one was hilarious when I re-read it just now. It made laugh out loud (Like most of my own jokes. At least there's one person who finds me funny.) Anyways, hopefully your back and ready to hear about some earwig tomfoolery.

So today I got home from some super awesome social activities with tons of friends (most likely) and decided to take advantage of my 1st world status by visiting my indoor, climate controlled commode, and (I'm really trying to be delicate here) taking care of certain, necessary bodily functions. Now this is something that I quite enjoy, taking a little break from the cares of the day, thinking about my life and perhaps doing a little light reading (yeah, I'm one of those people.)

Anyways, my porcelain throne is located in such a way that I am right next to the tub when taking care my necessaries. Of course, you can see where this is going. There I am, contemplating the mysteries of life, the universe and everything, when I take a casual glance to my left and see an earwig, moseying around the inside of my tub. Now, this actually isn't that big a deal at this point (Maybe a 3 on my patented vermin alert scale (1=being aware that bugs are everywhere, but not being able to see one at the moment, to 10=Actually being eaten by army ants.)) I am a grown man, and as long I can see it and it's trapped in the safety of the ceramic super bowl, then things are good.

And for a little while, things remain at that pleasant, friendly state. The earwig (we'll call him Max) almost seems friendly, if you ignore the fact that he's a walking plague carrier and has a huge pair of suspicious pinchers on his nethers. I'm just curious about whether or not he can even climb the porcelain. Imagine my chagrin when I find out that yes, he can. Max is a natural born rock/porcelain climber. Once he gets to the top of the tub, he starts heading in my general direction, and things start getting a little tense. (Maybe a 5 on the vermin alert scale (5=There's a bug, and it's headed in your direction))

Now, I tend to be very relaxed (lazy) person around bugs. If they aren't hurting me, then usually we can co-exist in a mutually beneficial manner. However, it happens that when one is making an airstrike on porcelainistan, (as it were) that one is in a very mobility reduced state. This makes for a vulnerable feeling, and I dealt with this feeling by arming myself with a shampoo bottle (one of my favorite bath-time weapons.) Oh yeah, and I also hit Max in the face with said bottle. It turns out I may overreact when encroached on while negotiating the release of the chocolate hostages.

Now, Max dealt with this rather over the top display of hostility in a rather unexpected manner. He literally went and curled up in the corner. Now granted, we are talking about pincher-butted little disease vector, but I must say it kind of disarmed me. I felt little bad. Like, if someone barges in on you while you're assembling Lincoln logs (so to speak) it's embarrassing, sure, but most people don't react by braining the trespasser with a shampoo bottle (as far as I know. I mean, maybe you do. I won't judge, since now I'm a member of that club.) However, at that point I was willing to let bygones be bygones. I even put away the shampoo bottle, and went back to doing some paperwork for Mr. Brown.

At this point though, Max decided he'd had enough. Realizing he was on deaths door, he decided the only way to redeem himself was through Kamikaze, trading his own life for the toe of his adversary (I assume.) At any rate, he came out of his corners, pinchers ablaze and ready to make some trouble. (6 on the vermin alert scale) Let me tell you, seldom has any man grabbed a shampoo bottle quicker. Now it was man versus earwig, eye to compound eye and no holds barred. Max was injured, but I was hampered by my pants being on the floor and having to maintain a constant high-pitched scream. (To keep my morale up. Not because I am in any way intimidated by a creature 1/4 of an inch long.)

And then I struck. A lesser earwig would have curled his legs up and expired, but Max was no ordinary earwig. He shook it off and made a valiant shot at cutting off my toe with his pinchers. I responded by screaming like a little girl and flailing wildly with the shampoo bottle. But one of the blows hit! That should finish him, I thought. But I had underestimated my opponent. Pinchers held high, Max kept coming. Truly, a noble effort. But this time, I took my time. Only whimpering a tiny bit, I aimed and landed a third hit. At last, Max lay still, defeated only by the cunning of his adversary. (Well that, and because I'm like, 1000 times bigger than him. But mostly my cunning.)

Needless to say, such bravery should be rewarded. Max was my enemy, but in the moment of his death he became something more. He became a very flat, unresponsive enemy. I would do for him what I hope my friends would do for me, if I died attacking a total stranger in a bathroom. I scooped him up with the softest kleenex I had, and gently set him afloat, to join his ancestors in the excrement encrusted pipes of their sewer Valhalla. He died the death all earwigs wish: squished on the bottom of a shampoo bottle accompanied by the shrill, dog-deafening screams of his enemies. Rest in peace, you magnificent pincher-butted son of a gun!

The war is growing, and I'm losing

A very common saying is "the friend of my enemy is my friend." No, wait, that's not right. The real saying is "Any enemy of mine is a friend of my enemies." Hang on, that's not..  Maybe "My enemies friends are a friend indeed?" At any rate, basically there is a saying that when two people fight , if a third one joins in he will be someones friend. Any general worth his salt knows that if he can force his enemy to fight a war on two fronts, it will make his job much easier, what with having to deal with fewer of his opponents at any given time, draining resources, etc. With that being said, a war has been declared in my house that I could just as soon do without. Who is this new enemy, I hear you ask, fighting valiantly with me against my arachnid oppressors? Earwigs. Stupid. Freaking. Earwigs.

Here's the thing. Earwigs haven't been an issue for me since I was about six years old and was told that they never use their stupid butt-pinchers on people. After that, they were quickly relegated to a background role where they were basically 100% irrelevant in my life. A pest that occasionally needed to be disposed of, but no more.

However, starting sometime at the beginning of this year, I started noticing them more frequently. There would be one, kicking it on the kitchen counter. Sometime later, yet another one, moseying along the floorboards in the bathroom. Once in a while, a particularly uppity one would decide that hygiene was lacking in his life, and decide to jump in the tub. Basically, after a while it went from being "Oh, there's one of those creatures that's 100% irrelevant to my life" to being " Really? Another one?" and then recently to "If I see another #$%$ing earwig I will *&#@ing declare jihad!"

The problem is, earwigs are, when reduced to the essentials, basically cockroaches. Cockroaches with freaky pinchers on their butts, that they use for who knows what kind of freaky stuff, (since apparently they don't pinch people.) Now, I have had to deal with cockroaches in my life, some of them mind-bogglingly, disgustingly huge. (See: I lived in Brazil.) However, cockroaches, despite being foul and disease spreading vermin of the worst kind, are basically cowards. You turn on the light, and they scuttle away. You come closer, and they scuttle faster. It's basically their entire modus operandi: be disgusting, and then run away and be disgusting somewhere else when the lights come on.

Earwigs, on the other hand, do not scuttle away as soon as they spot you. Based on my recent experiences, I would say they're more like that one irritating acquaintance (everyone has at least one) that never knows when they've outstayed their welcome. They hang out, sharing your bathtub and making disparaging comments about how you're starting to get a little chubby, and have you heard about this one diet, and have you thought about maybe starting to work out once in a while, until you're forced to hit them with a shampoo bottle. (Maybe your acquaintances don't do this. If so, count your blessings.)

On at least three instances in the past two weeks, I have picked up my book, only to see an earwig hanging out on the binding. "Hey," it seems to say. "Whatcha reading? Oh, this one? I read that, I hated how the protagonist died at the end and the love interest married the villain. Anyways, don't you think maybe you should be reading a diet book or something?" Of course, I am then forced to batter it with every move in my (considerable) vermin bashing arsenal. But they still don't get the hint!

So, hopefully by now you're beginning to see my dilemma. Spiders, especially spiders that you come upon unexpectedly on your blankets right before turning off the light to go to bed, are terrifying looking little bastards. Especially the wolf spiders I deal with on a consistent basis in my home. With their freaky fangs and ability to blend directly into the carpet, they are seldom welcomed with open arms in my home (unless said arms happen to be holding a cinder block.) However, they do eat earwigs. And for that, I would happily allow them to keep living in my home. In fact, I'm beginning to think it's my fault that the earwigs are running rampant now, since I spent most of the last year killing off their main predator with a shoe. 

The worst part is, what with the wolf spiders thinning out the earwig herds, the spiders just get bigger and faster, while only the strongest, most cunning earwigs survive. In either case, I'm forced between a freakishly fanged, eight-legged rock, and pincher-butted disease-carrying hard place. If the earwigs win, I'm stuck opening the bathroom door face to snarky face, hearing comments about my weight from the tub, and if the spiders win I end up with a spider hanging out on my pillow right before lights out, asking if I'm comfortable and do I mind if he's the little spoon tonight? With those choices, fleeing the country is beginning to seem like the best option.

Undead Spiders: Bad Thing, or the Worst Thing?

Last week, I left you all with a crazy cliffhanger, in which me and three compatriots mounted an expedition into the hot tropical night to view the remains of the infamous "Spiderzilla."(If you haven't read it yet, maybe you should go back and do that now, so that you have context for todays post. It's cool, I'll wait. Back already? Cool, let's do this.) As expeditions go, I would rank it somewhat below "D-Day." If I'm being perfectly honest, it probably only ranked slightly above "Getting up in the middle of the night to use the restroom." Be that is may, we were well equipped with one tiny flashlight and the flip-flops on our feet. Ah, how young we were, how full of the heady optimism of youth! Little did we know the horror that awaited us under that beautiful equatorial moon!

The expedition went smoothly at first, walking to the neighbors sidewalk where the mangled remains... um... remained. Conversation renewed, commentary was made regarding the beasts magnitude, thoughts were put forth on the forthrightness of the neighbor ladies involved. All in all, a most agreeable nights entertainment before heading back to our well deserved rest. We began the retreat to our domicile, and in fact had renewed the conversation when we realized one of our number was no longer present!

This Brazilian, emboldened by our earlier success had remained outdoors, to poke around and see what else was around outside. Well. I could have told him what a bad idea that was. Who knows what Lovecraftian horrors were lurking out there in the darkness? What eldritch horrors, that would rip out a mans sanity from just a single gaze upon their twisted visages? And twisted, eldritch horrors were exactly what he found, in the form of Spiderzilla's mate, lying in wait on our doorstep with fangs at the ready.

We were alerted to this fact by the... less than manly screams of our companion. Now, to be fair, this Tarantula was at least as large, if not larger than its compatriot. Its black eyes were probably sparkling balefully as it gazed on our quaking forms. I mean, it was pretty dark, and we didn't have a porch light, so I couldn't really tell, but... most likely baleful. Entirely full of bales, if I had to guess.

Having become alerted to this demon-in-spider form, we sprang immediately into action by jumping up and down, yelling at each other, and telling each other what to do in no uncertain terms. I was hindered by the fact that I barely spoke any portuguese, and settled for circling the outside of the commotion, yelling incomprehensibly, and hoping I didn't catch the spiders eye(s).

It took us much longer than the forceful ladies next door, but eventually, we settled on a course of action. Those ladies, of course, went with the direct and aggressive Sandal-to-the-Head-Fu. We were somewhat hampered in the sandal offense by all of us being entirely unwilling to get close enough to the spider to hit it with a sandal. So we settled on using our apartments dilapidated broom, which we then took turns using to beat the holy Moses out of Bride of Spiderzilla.

We were probably scared of something like this happening.

Now, that seemed to have solved the problem. Bride of Spiderzilla was little more than a twisted mass of hair and evil, and I decided to retire to the shower (a twice-daily necessity in those tropical climes.) However, once I got done, I was immediately regaled with tales of the undead! Bride of Spiderzilla had returned from the dead and attempted vengeance, and my roommates had been forced to go head-to-head with a tarantula using nothing but our trusty boom once more.

Now, in horror movies, you can see what will happen next, and you can hear the music building. The hero ignores all good sense and returns to the monsters lair, passing through creaking doorways, past racks of torture equipment and KFC buckets full of human eyeballs. And of course you scream at the screen: "No! Why would you go in there! That doesn't even make sense!" Well, let me tell you a life lesson. Curiosity is what leads to more ill-advised decisions than maybe anything else in the world. You think "I wonder what is in the basement of this poorly-maintained shack in the middle of the woods?" And the next thing you know you are running for your life through the woods from a man with terrible personal hygiene and a hook for a hand.

Point being, it was curiosity that led me outside again to see the mangled remains of the Bride of Spiderzilla. And just like the mangled monster in a horror movie, Bride of Spiderzilla crawled back to life one more time, just to make sure I would never trust anything ever again.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I lit fire to the porch of a Brazilian apartment in the middle of the night.

Flashbacks to the pest

You know, I wasn't always this way when it comes to spiders. Once, I was interested in their biology. Once, I was interested in the role they play in the environment. I don't know when that changed... Maybe... Maybe that all changed once I had my first run in with a tarantula in the wild…

(Cue Wayne's World cut scene fingers. Doodly-doo, doodly-doo, doodly-doo…)

Long ago, I spent several years in Brazil, because that is the sort of manly and intrepid person that I am. Now, the thing about Brazil is that Americans only know two things about it: They love Soccer there! And, isn't it like, the jungle or something? And, indeed, a great deal of Brazil is covered by the Amazonian rain forest. What Americans don't realize is that a country as big as Brazil actually has a variety of ecosystems, one of which (much to my surprise, once I arrived there) is desert. Cool. (Or should I say Hot, HAHAHA! Never mind. Ahem. Anyways...) So, I had arrived in the desert of Brazil, and had only been there about two weeks when the following events occurred.

Allow me to set the scene. At the time I was living in a series of four-plexes, and our apartment was at the very end, on the bottom floor. I was living there with three other guys, two Brazilians and one other American. Due to the circumstances of my time there, I was were required to go everywhere with a buddy. So one fine, warm day, I was returning home around lunch time with my buddy. (All days in Brazil are fine and warm. In fact, the weather being what it is, most people wear flip-flops almost every day, and almost everywhere. An inconsequential point, one might think, but one that enters the story later with a vengeance.) Anyways, on this particular fine, warm day, as we were passing by the neighbors house, we heard a piercing shriek, so naturally, being the caring, supportive neighbors we were, we stopped and craned our necks for all we were worth to see what was causing the ruckus.

Now, time may have clouded my memory of this event, but this, roughly, is what happened next. The door bursts open, followed very closely by two neighbors, a middle aged lady and her daughter, launching out what, at first glance, would appear to a large mouse or a small cat. (Or possibly a regular size cockroach. They grow things large in Brazil.) Of course it turn out to be none of these things. It is… (Dun Dun DUUUUUUNNN) a very large Tarantula. (Wait, you weren't surprised by that buildup? Oh yeah, I guess you are reading a blog about my experiences with spiders. Maybe I should quit wasting so much time on exposition.)

Now, I had previously supposed, being a naive young man, that living around such things would harden the populace, and make them blasé to the encroaches of the native fauna. However, in actuality, it turns out that there are some things that People, in general, just do not like. There may be exceptions, of course. I personally know some people who appear to be the Crocodile Hunter of Spiders (if you will) picking them up, playing with them, and giving them adorable nicknames (Furry-Butt, Googly-Eyes, Harvester of Damned Souls, etc.)

The point of all this, is that the two ladies dealing with the spider appeared to be not in the least hardened to having tarantulas in their midst. They put their hands on the first weapons they could find, and attacked that spider as though it had threatened to hit a baby with a hammer. Of course, it being Brazil, the first things they could lay their hands on were their sandals. And if you do not think that an ordinary flip-flop provides an effective weapon, clearly you have not spent much time around women of latin descent. Indeed, rarely, if ever, have I seen two pairs of flip-flops dual wielded with such stunning ferocity. It brought to mind some lesser known Jackie Chan film, if the antagonist in such a film had been a spider the size of your hand. (Unless you have small hands. The point being, it was not a small creature.)

Now, it has taken me quite a while to tell all of this, because I tend to be long-winded, but it happened in the space of a few seconds, so me and my friend were left there in stunned amazement, looking at what looked like what would happen if there was an explosion in a internal-organs-and-hair factory. Naturally, it was an event that stuck in our minds, so that night we shared the story with the other guys in our apartment, spending as much time as possible focusing on "how BIG that thing was! It was like, check out this plate, ok? Kind of like that!" This naturally led to curiosity on the part of our companions, so flashlights were retrieved, and an expedition was mounted to view the remains of Spiderzilla. This of course, led to the events of next weeks installment, which I like to call "Revenge of Spiderzilla: the Bride of Spiderzilla!"

(To Be Continued...)

(How was that buildup? Was that better? I'm still getting used to this "having space to write whatever I feel like" thing.)

(P.S. I also added a follow by email thing, so if you feel like it you will get an email anytime you want to hear about spiders, and I also happen to have written something about them here.)

Making an offer they can't refuse

Well everyone, I knew I would be telling you stories about the crazy shenanigans spiders always try and pull at my house, but I had no idea it would be so soon. Apparently the last spider was simply a scout, sent as a ruse. Tonight I came home, only to find the spider equivalent of Luca Brazzi hanging out on my doorframe, staring at me with its multitude of beady eyes and making comments about how "flammable my stuff looks" and how "it would be a shame if anything were to happen to it."

Well, I don't know how many of you have seen the movie "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," but what happened next was pretty much nothing like that. However, I did high kick Luca the Spider right in his stupid eight-eyed face. I like to think that the last thing that passed through his mind was my shoe. But only moments before that, he was probably registering surprise at how good a man of my... heft, is at at high-kicking things.

In conclusion, as a final reminder to any spiders who may be reading this, the brown smear on my door signifies that Luca "The Spider" Brazzi sleeps with the fishes. And I'm taking this thing to the mattresses.

The calm at the eye of the storm

For those of you who love stories of man vs. monster, daring escapes and cunning foes, bravery, sacrifice, and desperate courage, you will be delighted to know that I saw the years first spider in my house just now.

Photographic Proof

Here it comes you guys. Once again, I have been attacked by an abhorrent eight-legged aberration of nature in the privacy of my own home, in the comfort of my own couch! This is spiderpocalypse that I have dreaded since the day that I ran that spider down the disposal (To be fair, that still makes me laugh.) They are gathering, and in the coming storm, no one shall be safe. To prove the horrors that I have undergone, I include a photo of the hell-beast in question. (What do you mean, you can't see it! It's the brown spot next to my hand! No, not that one. The other one, right above... right... Yeah, that one! Above my hand. No? maybe you should get a magnifying glass.)

 Anyways, let this serve as proof that I have never once exaggerated the horrors I go through on a practically hourly basis in this spider-pit I call home.

Now, the moment you've all been waiting for! The next installment of Evan Versus Like, A Million Spiders. (Spoilers: the spider dies at the end.) So a couple of days ago, I was making myself a nice, home-cooked meal, because that is the kind of capable and versatile Man that I am (Ladies.) As I went to put dishes in the sink, I became aware that there was a large (my perceptions may have been warped by the heat of the moment, but it appeared to be the size of a small kitten) wolf spider in the sink. 

Now, many people would find themselves put out by such an occurrence, but not yours truly. With a calm and determined air, I did what any other rational individual (and I am thinking specifically of Abraham Lincoln here) would have done: turned on the disposal and used the sprayer to wash it down.

A simple, painless victory, you would think. But now I am plagued by doubts. Much like the protagonist of "The Tell-Tale Heart," I'm beginning to think my actions were ill-advised. I haven't seen any spiders since then, but given how common they were before, I believe they may have witnessed the demise of their comrade and are now biding their time and plotting a counter-attack. Should I die suddenly, make sure the coroner checks for the fang-marks of a thousand revenge bound arachnids.

Another one...

Another wolf spider crawled on the wall just before I went to bed. *yawn*

The first skirmish

Hurray, it's story time with Evan again! So as I am sitting here on my couch, another freaking wolf spider (for simplicities sake we will call him Ralph) comes crawling along over the back rest, you know, minding his own business. Of course, being a man, I do not jump up and scream, because that would bring shame to my dojo.

Anyways, after not jumping up and not screaming, I notice that Ralph has disappeared back into the depths from whence he came. Now let's be real, with a beard like the one that constantly graces my chiseled jaw, it is basically impossible for me to feel fear, or even mild paranoia. So when a light breeze caresses my arm, I do not jump and flail around, thinking that Ralph has returned. Nor do I curse and hit my own arm when I get a mild itch that anybody would have mistaken for the bite of a Ninja Spider returning for vengeance after having been startled by sudden high-pitched noises in it's vicinity. No, I just lay here, as cool and collected as any man has ever been. You should all be proud.

(P.S. I am going to need backup ASAP, preferably with a flamethrower.)

The Beginning...

I am usually a pretty live-and-let-live kind of guy RE: spiders, however, if I have another wolf spider that closely resembles Shelob crawl onto my bed one more time right before I'm about to go to bed I may declare jihad.