Mrs. Spikey Spider

Okay, I admit it. I'm scared of spiders. I don't have a fear of spiders, I have a FEAR of them. But the terror one feels at the thought, or even site of a spider is nothing compared to the terror one can inflict on others when a great struggle between man and beast ensues.

Hurricane Frances was approaching slowly and painfully. The storm had occupied every waking thought for most of the residents of Florida for nearly a week and it was the day before landfall was scheduled (the first time - she took an extra day getting here). We'd done all the regular hurricane preparations: put the shutters up on the windows, bought some candles and flashlights, after a small brawl bought the last package of toilet paper at Wal Mart, and roughly 86 gallons of water (which, I've heard, is Florida tradition). We'd also done the obligatory store-hopping, which is also apparently traditional, because all the other Floridians were doing the same thing at the same time. Stressful is too bland a word to describe the conditions in Andrew-country when a large hurricane is approaching. It might not be the hurricane that causes post traumatic stress disorder after a hurricane. It just might be trying to buy D batteries and plywood that causes it. Someone should do a study.

Evening rolled around and it was supper time. The kids were hungry, and since I'd not delivered on my offer of McDonald's for breakfast, I decided to go get McDonald's for supper. It was hot and breezy, a typical tropical day. I hopped in our van and drove to the local McD's. The line wasn't too long, for which I was grateful: the fewer the customers, the greater the mathematical odds that they will be able to fill your order correctly. If you go when it is really busy, your odds of getting your double cheese burgers plain and your Quarter Pounder with Cheese without onions or pickles is roughly the same as being able to find D batteries at the stores on the days leading up to a hurricane in South Florida.

I was sitting in the van with the windows rolled down, chatting with my two year old daughter and enjoying the cross-wind. I felt something on my shoulder and turned my head to see a creature that I couldn't fathom with my mind, it was so frightening, but by instinct knew it was a spider. I felt the sting as it bit me, and simultaneously, I lost my mind. I think it is sheer luck that I'd gone to the bathroom before I left for McD's, or I would have lost control of my bladder as well. The spider, a Florida Jeweled Spider, was a black spider with a white oval crown about an inch across with red SPIKES coming off of it in a sunburst pattern. I can tell you this now, because I did the research on the Internet when I got home, so that I could identify it. Prior to that, in my mind, it looked something like a miniature version of the creature from Alien, only with red spikes, so sure was I that it must have been an alien creature that bit me.

I screamed. It seemed a natural reaction to having such a scary-looking thing somewhere upon my person! I screamed a LOT. Jumping out of my skin would have been my first choice, but the laws of physics continued to apply, so I merely jumped as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I was belted in, and the jumping pushed me so forcefully into my seatbelt that I was unable to unhook it. Now, while all this is happening, the shrieking and the jumping, my foot became disengaged from the break pedal, where it had previously been very effectively inhibiting my van's progress forward in the line. Suddenly there was something else doing that job just as effectively: a white Lincoln Navigator. Something managed to click in the rational and reason center of my brain that had enough power to stick my foot back on the break pedal and take my hand and use it to apply the parking break. Then I had to consciously choose to move back toward the spider, hanging in the window from a silk thread. That was a true testament to the power of will over the power of gut-instinct-run-amok! I was then able to unlatch my seatbelt. I reached in the floor of the van and grabbed a bottle of water and chunked it at the hanging spider. My screaming had softened to a mere holler. I finally managed to dislodge the spider from its thread and send it flying, Gene-Wilder-like: straddling a water-bottle-cum-rocket (okay, for those who haven't had Latin, that is COOM, and it means WITH or ALSO as in graduating magna cum laud, or graduating with great distinction - this means that the bottle also contains the properties of a rocket - it is not a sexual toy water bottle).

I looked up, realizing that I'd actually hit the person in front of me. I got out of the passenger side of the van and asked the woman if she was okay. She assured me that she was, so I went to get my insurance information for her. Both our vehicles appeared to be fine. Scanning the area of the driver's side door for Mrs. Spikey Spider, I got back in the van. I pull out my wallet and look up:

There, in the take-out window of McDonald's I can see quite possibly every single employee working in the store, crammed about 6 deep into the four foot by four foot square area. They're craning their necks to see the woman who was shrieking and screaming and fighting the unseen attacker in her car. One of them leans out of the window (it is entirely possible that she was forced out the window by the sea of humanity pressing at her back, attempting to observe the spectacle) and kindly asks, "ARE YOU OKAY!?"

"Yes, I am. It was....," I hesitate because I know how this is going to sound, "...it was...a spider. It bit me." I had to explain that it bit me, because if it had just sat there and looked at me my behavior would seem so much less reasonable...right?

The woman I hit appeared at my door, "Are you all right?" She was a little concerned, obviously, so I explained, "It was a spider. It bit me." And there it was: the look. It wasn't a compassionate look, to be sure. It was the look I knew I would be getting from my husband, but at least I was prepared for what he'd think. No, I couldn't escape it with this woman.

"A spider?" She was obviously astonished.

"Yes, the freakiest looking spider I've ever seen. And it bit me!" See, if I hammer home this point it will eventually make my behavior less....well, just less.

"I thought you were being attacked." And the look deepened. As did, I'm sure, her certainty that I am a complete nutter. Stark raving mad. "I rolled up my window because I thought you were being attacked."

I tried to explain, "I've got a phobia of spiders." But with the words out of my mouth, I realize it didn't do much to convince her of the absolute sanity of my actions. There was no impressing her, though. She was pretty certain I'd gone round the bend.

She reassured me that she wasn't worried about the car. I guess she was becoming more and more concerned about the mental stability of the woman who hit her and didn't want to set me off. Who knows what I might do if provoked! After all, you should have seen what happened to Mrs. Spikey Spider. She quickly took my personal information and beat a hasty retreat.

My daughter, who had witnessed the whole event, was insistently repeating herself, "W'happened, Mamma?"

"Mommy got bit by a spider, Julia."

But it must not have quite registered with her two-year-old mind, and instead of thinking 'spider', she thought 'specks of dirt': when she took her bath that night she expressed a sudden fear of the dirt in the bathtub. As irritated as this made my husband, it couldn't compare to the crushing guilt I felt at knowing that I may have just passed on a generational curse:

Fear of small dark-colored specks.

My mom has no love for bug-like creatures, nor my brother. I loved them until the day my mother screamed her head off at me for having a caterpillar crawling on my hand. I threw the fuzzy little guy into the wall and have had terrible fear of all things crawly ever since (I don't imagine it was anything less than utterly traumatizing for the little caterpiller either). We're hoping that being two, my daughter will have time to overcome her fear of dirt specks, as life will be so full of them. Dirt specks, that is. Hopefully not fears.

The van. A few minutes after Navigator lady hurriedly pulled away from the McDonald's I had to go through the humiliation of actually pulling up to the window and paying for my food. I tried to smile and hide my face at the same time. It had roughly the same effect explaining that I was simply phobic of spiders: it served to make me look loonier. While waiting for my 20 piece nuggets the van began to smoke. Now, we were going to trade it in possibly that very weekend for a brand new minivan with a dvd player and sliding driver's side door and no spiders (yes, that is standard). But now I'm looking at the radiator over-boiling and realizing that its value is decreasing in inverse proportions to the cost of my hurricane insurance premiums. The people who work in the McDonald's are watching me out the take-out window again. I'm pacing around my van, trying to ignore them. Hoping and praying they don't try to call somebody.

I call my insurance agent and get a 24-hour help line. I tell the lady what happened and when I start crying again, she is amazingly sympathetic. Something tells me she hates spiders too. Maybe I should call her back and we could start a club. My hubby shows up and rescues the day. We drive the kids home (only to discover our daughter is now afraid of dirt specks in the bathwater and hurricane Frances is delayed - apparently someone explained to him that if you're flying into Miami it is traditional to be delayed).

I'm okay. Mrs. Spiky Spider didn't make me sick. She was harmless. Except to all the frightened people around me who found themselves suddenly in the midst of a science fiction movie where a woman is attacked in her van by a terrible, unseen force. She vanquished the evil with a water bottle and still managed to pick up her order! Crazy? Like a fox!

October 11, 2004 (Happy Birthday Sam!)

Some online friends of mine have been having fun with me about a story I told them a while back. Oftentimes, when I come online they beep at me. It has to do with a story I told them a while back.

A few years ago, somebody started calling me on the phone and beeping at me. I haven’t a clue as to who it is, but they’ve followed me to three different houses, in two different states. Not even caller ID has given me an idea what this mysterious beeping is. Initially I figured it for a fax machine, but I’ve tried letting my fax machine answer and it is just too annoying for all the human callers I get (about 99.9% of all the telephone calls I get are from actual people; well that is if you generously count telemarketers as human beings and not 6-limbed aliens – for faster dialing, you see - from a commerce planet bent on domination of Earth through starvation of all mankind by making strategic telephone calls at dinner hour). So I scrubbed the fax machine idea. The non-alien callers were appreciative. They don’t like getting beeped at any more than I do.

The mystery of the beeping caller has gone on for about 6 years. Every three to six months, sometimes several times in a day, I get a rash of these calls where I answer the phone:

“Hello?”

“BEEP!”

“*sigh*” and I hang up. The beep has been known to leave messages on my answering machine, as well:

“You have 62 new messages…message 1: BEEP!…message 2: BEEP!….”

I explained this odd occurrence to some of my online friends. The general rule for chat room behavior where I like to spend some of my free time (free as in “stolen from my children and husband – costing me a proportionate amount of time spent dealing with behavioral and neglected feelings issues as time spent talking to friends and strangers whose faces I’ve never seen) is: 1) be as cheeky as humanly possible on a regular basis and 2) have more fun in your room than they do in the other guy’s room. Not really bad rules, as they translate into competitive good-times for everyone. I stay away from the more adult chat rooms. Very little conversation of any value occurs there. But science fiction fans tend to be a jocular bunch, so we congregate and spout off as much as possible. It is good for releasing the tensions and stresses of RL (netspeak for real life).

Our banter led us down the corridors of this story one evening and they decided to assign my sub-nick (sort of a second nick name) as such: BEEP! And now the common belief is held among a certain group of people that I am actually a government-programmed assassin. The phone calls are actually my handlers calling to activate me and now whenever someone BEEPS at me online it is expected that I will take up arms, stealthy arms, and seek out someone to eliminate.

Today it was my neighbors across the street. They are playing the car stereos again. To quote from a favorite columnist of mine: they were going boom boom boom in my ear in a very honky tonk fashion (quite possibly the funniest quote I've ever read). I understand that there is something very desirable in most cultures about having the biggest, loudest, and shiniest of anything. The family across the street from me is very popular among those who drive colorful and loud cars. I don’t mean loud-looking, although that applies (metallic chartreuse with fuscia for a car color…just…um…wow). I mean loud enough to rattle my concrete house so violently that the lighting fixture over the kitchen table dances to hip-hop. It’s actually quite talented. Perhaps I should enter it into that Dance 360 show competition. Surely there is a reality show out there somewhere for lighting fixtures looking to make it big in pop stardom. All kinds of lamps, track lighting, and chandeliers doing their weekly turn in front of millions of screaming fans who call in to vote for the jiggliest of the bunch. Lighting Idol.

I digress. The point is, someone BEEPS and I then grab my weapon and take out the family across the street for making my kitchen light break dance. It all sounds terribly amusing. It’s just a little imaginative play, right?

Until you take into account that their car stereos tend to wake up my sleeping toddler on a semi-regular basis. Have you ever lived with a toddler? Do you have any idea how a mother yearns for naptime? Unfortunately, instead of naptime becoming a time when mom relaxes, it becomes the time when mom obsessively tries to keep all noise from reaching the sensitive ears of her sleeping child, in theory buying her an hour or two of time to do something besides change diapers and clean up smears of peanut butter off the television…or the drapes….or the cottage cheese ceiling (yes, its happened. Don’t ask me how because I haven’t a clue.) And when you are the parent of children older than said sleeping child it becomes something that goes a little like this:

“Son, what are you doing?”

“Going to the bathroom.”

“Are your feet actually touching the floor!?” (whispered in maniacal fear)

“Well…um….yes, mom.” He gets that look that says ‘this isn’t going to be good for me.’

“Do you realize that your sister is sleeping?! Can’t you do that without your feet actually touching the floor? They make so much noise!”

He thinks for a minute, eyes up and to the right obviously trying to find a way to avoid what comes next. “I can’t.” He begins to lean from one foot to the other, doing the ‘I really gotta go, can we hurry this along’ dance.

“Okay…just be quiet!” She winces as he tiptoes hurriedly to the bathroom.

A few moments later you hear the flush.

“Son!” Mom whispers, about to come complete unglued as she flies to the door of the bathroom. “What do you think you are doing!?”

“I was going to the bathroom.” His look says, ‘We just went over this.’ He really is a bright boy. (His mom is a figgin’ genius, but he’ll not learn that until he is a middle-aged man because the stresses of raising four children DO THINGS to a woman’s mind.)

“I know that. I’m talking about all that noise! What was that noise for?” She takes him by the arm and sweeps him out of the bathroom (which is unfortunately located directly across the hall from the sleeping child’s room) his feet never touch the floor.

“You mean the flush? You told me I have to flush!”

She’s caught now. There is no way out of this one. Of course she told him to flush. They weren’t doing it and it started getting quite scary in their bathroom, untold number of “uses” started to float a distinct and unsavory odor through the house. They were actually starting to flush regularly and now she stood on the brink: contradict herself and possibly keep her precious sleeping child ASLEEP, or enforce the more rational rule and look like she’d gone ‘round the bend to her 8 year old child (she really didn’t want to consider that she already very much appeared that way to her child, as anyone would except other mothers who have been through this daily dance). “You’re right. You have to flush. It is just so loud and you’re sister is sleeping.”

“Yes ma’am.” He now has the ‘I really want to get away from this crazy woman’ look.

“Okay? So just try to be quiet, PLEASE???” And he is gone. Mom glances furtively at the baby’s bedroom door, and not hearing any cries for release from her crib, she tentatively returns to her computer for a little “me-time” in the chat room.

About that time the people across the street decide to grace the entire neighborhood with their current musical selection and the whole house is literally rockin’. The baby wakes. Naptime is OH-SO-OVER!

In that moment, the idea of the BEEP! and getting activated and having a target and eliminating a true threat to the peace becomes a very attractive concept. Very attractive, indeed.

BEEEP!

As most of you may know, I am un-employed and a full-time student. In my spare time however, I do a lot of graphic design, photoshop work, as well as video editing/producing. If you ever need a hand, please don't hesitate to give me a shout! Please look at these photoshop pics of my friends in Finding Jimmy Hoffa!

The Blister Exists

Psychosocial

Joey Jordison Drum Solo

I must start off by clarifying that the only reason I watch this show is because Mary watches it and I choose to sit through it with her. Never really cared until now. For those that are not in the "know", this happy "douchebag" couple is Jon and Kate Gosselin, the stars of the TLC hit "Jon & Kate plus 8." It has been reported over the past few months of Jon's alleged infidelity to his wife. I WILL NEVER ATTEMPT TO JUSTIFY THIS. So no beating me over the head for my views please. Jon has had his picture taken with Deanna Hummel, a 23 year old school teacher, outside of a local bar. There are many other photos like this, this and this but they leave me wondering about his decision making abilities more than his cheating heart. Married men should not be photographed with "strange" women driving their brand new Nissan 350z Nismo. Never. And there is a video swimming on the web of what is supposedly Jon leaving Deanna's house early one morning. That video is horrible. That could be John F. Kennedy as far as I know. I really do believe that Jon is "throwing his newspaper onto Deanna's front porch" if you follow me, but he is not the only person to cast stones at. Kate Gosselin, by what I have gathered by watching the show, is a straight jacket fitting session shy of the Sunnybrook Mental Institution. And overbearing. She treats Jon like a child. A better name for the show would be Kate plus 9! According to reports that I read yesterday, Kate used to give Jon a $5 daily allowance. WTF? He is a grown ass man! $5? He must have spent a lot of time at Arby's or Subway because that is all you can do with $5 dollars! It was also stated that when they sextuplets were born, they were given a 14 passenger van, to which Kate never thanked the donor and traded the van in because she didn't like the burgundy color paint job. I mean, you could go on forever with the way she treats Jon on national TV, her O.C.D. and the rumor of her affair with her security guard. No one but them know the truth. Jon.........a douchebag! Kate stated that during filming for their show that Jon wasn't around because it was Jon's weekend off. WEEKEND OFF? You have 8 kids PLAYER! You are NEVER off! Kate..........a douchebag! She even came out on the season premiere and admitted that she had been too hard on Jon over the course of their marriage and that she regretted it. I know the ladies are gonna blast me for that, but if it was Jon talking down to her like that on national TV.........there would be issues. I really do not pity either one of them. The kids are the ones that are going to suffer. There is going to be a massive case of "CHILD STAR SYNDROME" sweep through that household sooner or later. I hope this family the best, but this debacle will go nowhere fast. No matter your opinions, they both are wrong and need to do an episode with Chuck Norris where he roundhouse kicks the shit out of both of them to get them back on track!

For those of you that have been following this whole Miss USA, or more appropriately, Miss California debacle, I think it has gotten a little (dare I say) out of hand. I was trying to stay away and not voice any concerns until I read today that Shanna Moakler resigned as the Miss California Pageant Director.

To catch anyone who does not know about this up, I will briefly give you a sequence of events. On April 19, Carrie Prejean was named the runner-up in the Miss USA pageant. During the pageant, she was asked a question by the King Douche of the World, Perez Hilton, regarding her views of same-sex marriage. She stated that she believed that marriage should be between a man and a woman, igniting a cultural debate. Then a few pictures surfaced of her in her panties with one revealing a nipple-slip. Many felt that she should have her Miss California crown removed. Why? For speaking her opinion? For taking a few pics that showed her beauty? I just don't get it. Pageant officials say she violated her contract by lobbying on behalf of an anti-gay marriage group. What if her answer would have been the other way around? Would that have violated her contract or FULFILLED it? Is there a motive here? I believe the same that she does and could care less what others do in their own time. I love my GORGEOUS WIFE and that is how I roll. Then today.............

........Shanna Moakler resigns her job as the Miss California Pageant Director because...

"I cannot with a clear conscious move forward supporting and promoting the Miss Universe Organization when I no longer believe in it, or the contracts I signed committing myself as a youth," she continues. "I want to be a role model for young women with high hopes of pageantry, but now feel it more important to be a role model for my children. I am sorry and hope I have not let any young supporters down but wish them the best of luck in fulfilling their dreams."

That is the POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK of the year!!!!! Wasn't Shanna Moakler the December 2001 Playmate of the Month? Role Model and Shanna Moakler need not ever be used in the same sentence. "High hopes of pageantry"? Does that lead to high hopes of pornography? What exactly are you protesting here? Your on/off relationship with Travis Barker is INSANE! Maybe Miss California could offer you some marital advice!

And before I forget. Perez Hilton. That was the greatest attempt ever at character assassination. That question was baited like a 50 foot trotline. She would have caught flak no matter how she answered it. It just wasn't the way you wanted it answered. I applaud Carrie Prejean for being honest. I mean, Perez kinda did her a favor. Can you tell me who WON the Miss America pageant? Didn't think so. All I know, I think Perez Hilton should......

1) Shut the fuck up!
2) Stop acting like the huge Diva he is
3) Stop trying to attack people's character
&
4) Pick on someone more his level. i.e. Shanna Moakler

This is a site about my friend Ashlee Hillis, and the journey she is about to embark upon. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. If you can help with any type of monetary contribution, please do so. (There are links on her website.)

These pictures sum it all up!

Mother Nature was a bitch for all that planned on attending this event. The day started out around 12:00 for me, in Little Rock. Patrick and I headed out for what was sure to be good times. After a last minute stop at Wal-Mart and a Dollar-Menuairre shopping spree, we headed to the show. We were held up in traffic for an hour and a half when Patrick realized he had left the tickets at the house. We learned as we left that a severe thunderstorm was in the area and they were not letting people in the gates. Anyways, we headed back, got the tickets, and went back to the venue. Thanks to my Mario Andretti-esque driving skills, we were able to jump ahead in traffic by a good 2~3 miles. When we got to Faulkner Lake Road, we were informed that parking was no longer available at the venue. We parked under the I-440 overpass and got to steppin'. We walked about 2 miles to get to the gate and as soon as we got there it was evident why parking had been shut down. The field was soooooo muddy, everyone was getting stuck. Patrick and I immediately found Jeff Cage, who had our passes, and proceeded to the stage. We got there just as Hurt was going on. The guys from Hurt, knowing the show was badly delayed due to weather, cut there set short to get things back on track and later announced they would play for free Sunday Night at The Rev Room for EdgeFest ticket holders! What a CLASSY move! MAD RESPECT! Pat and I had the opportunity to visit with Aaron Lewis from Staind for a while and decided that he is a pretty stand-up kat. Drowning Pool, Chevelle & Staind kicked mucho ass. Then Slipknot! HOLY SHIT! The knocked it out the park on the first song, (sic). The show ended up being, for the most part, great. The weather did not cooperate at all, but that you cannot control. I want to say "Thank You" to my homeboy Patrick for the V.I.P. hook-up. It's not everyday you get to stand on stage with the likes of that many great bands. I had a great time and can't wait to do it again.

Friends, those who already know help me out here. On Saturday night, June 20th, The Anger Mis-Management Comedy tour will be making a stop at Eden Park in Pine Bluff. Their will be 4 comedians at this show and you can see them all for just $10. The Headlining comedian for the show will be none other than my friend and the Voice of the Angry Revolution, ANGRY PATRICK!!! (check out Patrick's blog in Sync Weekly here.) The host for the evening will be Michael "Doc" Davis and you will also get the winner of the first annual Arkansas' Funniest Person Contest, Chucky D. The fourth comedian will have to be a surprise. Tickets for these shows go fast, so I wanna give you a little heads up. Currently, there are 2 means by which you can get your tickets. They are as follows:

1). Send me an e-mail. I have tickets at the house I would gladly deliver or mail to anyone, anywhere. If you prefer this method please send me an e-mail to matthewesquire@gmail.com and leave me a number that I can contact you, and we will make arrangements.

2). At the bottom of this post is a link that will send you to Patrick's PayPal and you can order the tickets there. Same applies to this method. I will mail or deliver them to you.

As a resident of Woodlawn and a homeboy, born and bred in Pine Bluff, I realize there is not much to do around here. All that will change on June 20th. THIS IS THE REAL DEAL PEOPLE!!! This will beat a night at Bad Bob's or All-Star any day of the week. $10/4 comedians. I encourage all of you to tell your friends and get your tickets NOW. The show is already sold 1/3 of the way out and seating is limited. Don't wait.

Okay. After the huge response I received to the posting of the timeless classic, Chainsaw, I received this little ditty in my e-mail. I must warn you that this is not safe for children, not safe for work and hell to be totally honest, you probably shouldn't listen to it! Don't send hate mail. Enjoy. Chainsaw (remix)