Monthly Archives:: April 2011

They Keep Showing Up

You know what I’m talking about. My most feared and loathed of all creatures. Those eight-legged night-stalkers that wait until you least expect it to pop up in your face and say “Bahaaa!! I’ma getchu sucka!”. They stay lurking in the shadows all day and night until they are certain you’ve forgotten they are there, and there they go again! Stomping on your hopes and trampling all your dreams.

Just yesterday I encountered not one or two, but FOUR of these craptastic fellas in the basement, waiting to hop into my clean laundry pile and hitch a ride upstairs so they can more easily attack me in my sleep.

As most people know, and as you can tell from what I’ve said so far, I have an oddly ludicrous fear and paranoia of these things. I sense them when they are in the room. I see even the tiniest little bugger when other people have to search even after I’ve pointed it out. And yet I’m so incredibly phobic that I cannot even get close enough to kill one, much less clean up the aftermath. It’s bad. And it’s a good thing I don’t live alone.

However, I will say that the one spider I can deal with are daddy long legs. Maybe it’s knowing that they can’t possible hurt me if they wanted to, or the fact that I used to play with them as a kid. But I’m pretty sure it’s due to the fact that I picture them as a lanky, doofy thing with a cartoon smiling face.

All other spiders are fair game. They can be minuscule, and to me they are terrifying. But the fear does grow the larger the spider is. But I imagine all spiders are out to get me. They know I am more afraid of them than anything in this world, and they thrive on the adventure of encroaching on my safe space, my once bug-free house, and semi-normal basement. But the basement to me is now their space. I cannot go down those stairs without the feeling of something watching me, waiting for just the right moment.

I’m quite certain that these beings could withstand the fiery depths of Hell and return to taunt me. Laugh at my uneasiness and feed off of my anxiety.

Next step: Have a spider-free house. Good luck to me on that one. They always know where I am. And they will come for me.

Welcome to Meijer..? Or not.

Walked into Meijer after work today. I didn’t pay much attention on the way into the store, but usually I’m focused on whatever my trip purpose happens to be. In this case, a tasty soda. But that is no matter.

On the way out, however, I happened to notice the “greeter” of the day. Generally it is one of two or three different people that I recognize as being there ALL the time, and they generally say their own masterfully planned versions of “hello” or “goodbye” that I’ve heard a thousand times, and I pass by and am on my way.

Today it was not one of those textbook, lovable door people. It was an older woman. She had one of those short, old-lady, mushroom top style haircuts, and an awful scowl on her face like she was preparing to take somebody down if they tried to cross her. She was old lady Hitler.

Not only did she have this fowl look on her face, but she was maybe five feet tall. And pushing 90 pounds. Tiny, tiny Nazi lady. Standing with her arms crossed. Like she was a brick wall and you were about to make a swift, strong movement and bust through.

The entire way to the door she stared straight ahead, as if she were staring me down, but was careful not to make eye contact. Didn’t want to look TOO serious.

I still somehow expected to hear the usual “Have a nice day” or “Come back again” or whatever other insanely generic statement she could come up with… but I was sadly mistaken. She just continued to stare. Straight ahead. Not even budge. Or blink. So angry.

She was too mean, too all-powerful to even do her job. Or even crack a smile like it really wasn’t the end of the world, after all. And it made me so very frustrated.

I go to my job everyday, and do my job. Is it so difficult for everyone else to just do the same?

But either way, this little old tyrant woman is probably still standing there, finishing her shift as the “greeter” that doesn’t speak, and simply wants to destroy every human that walks through those magical electric doors.

Crack-Head Barbie, Such Serious Words

I like to think of myself as a relatively nice person. Or at least, I am generally nice to people that talk to me for any reason. Otherwise, I have no business with them and won’t talk to them either way.

But this isn’t to say that I don’t have a critical or judgmental side. I do. I won’t lie. I like to talk about and complain about people. Especially people that I don’t know and have no earthly intention of ever meeting.

The other day I saw a woman having a meeting, and she was dressed nice enough, business-like pretty much. But man oh man did she have some orangey, bleached-out puff hair. This along with a ragged, worn-out, fake-tanned face. Now I realize this is common practice for many individuals, and is widely accepted in social situations—although I am not involved in many of those things—but sometimes people just need to say “NO!” to leather face.

Either way, I referred to this woman that I’ve never met as “Crack-head Barbie.” Not to her face, of course. But she looked a little like this:

Well, let’s just say I know someone very… spiritual?.. who happened to hear me say this. And his response was, “Well that’s not very Christian of you. You should listen to one of my sermons”. Then he proceeded to tell me about his anger management sermon he gave, and how I need to get rid of the hate in my heart and fill it with more love.

So I said, “There are just some people that I cannot find love for.” And he continued on to tell me that I should. That he loves everybody. So apparently that means that I should, too.

And how this means that I have anger management problems is beyond me. I am cynical, yes. But angry? With problems managing that anger? Not so much. I do get frustrated and annoyed quite easily, which is probably why I am so completely pessimistic about everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. But I am far from angry.

If I were an angry person, you would probably see remnants of past acquaintances and uncomfortable furniture and faulty kitchen appliances everywhere. And I would be rotting away in a prison cell, or even solitary confinement for shanking someone that bothered me. And that has yet to happen, so I think I’m okay.

I do get a little peeved when I can’t get comfortable on the couch, though. We need some better couches. I guess if I shred them in anger that might be a good excuse? Maybe not a good idea. That would just give the cats a giant pile of shredded fluff to get devoured by, and I don’t feel like digging them out. However, I just imagined destroying them Wolverine-style (X-Men) and that would be awesome.