Screw you, Aragog

I don't like spiders.

Like, I REALLY don't like spiders.

I figured this out a few years ago. I mean, I always knew, but over the last few years it has become horrifyingly apparent that I really, really don't like spiders. People try to tell me "oh, the spiders won't hurt you, they are more afraid of you than you are of them." If that were true, the spiders wouldn't come anywhere near me because I would be THAT SCARY. Seeing as spiders still manage to find me on an almost daily basis, this argument is invalid.

I have perfectly good reason to fear spiders.

First of all, they are scary. LIKE REALLY SCARY.

Second, I have empirical evidence showing that they are the undead. I once killed a spider three times over the course of three days. The first day, I beat it with a wooden spoon and ran it down the sink. The next morning, it showed up again. I beat the little crap again and then ran it through the garbage disposal. The next afternoon, Zombie Spider made his third appearance. I knew it was the same one because half of its eight, disgusting legs were broken and mangled. Yet there it sat, the eight-legged demon, staring at me, daring me to do my worst. If I could speak spider (which would be a completely wasted skill on an arachnophobic, mind you), I'm pretty sure that it would have been saying "Come at me, bro." I spent five minutes beating it with a wooden spoon (the same one from Day 1), then turned the disposal on for another five. It didn't return.

Third, spiders are vengeful beasts. Case in point: the day that I killed Zombie Spider, his friend decided to pay me a visit. When I was sitting peacefully on the couch. How did he make his entrance? By descending inches in front of my face and, after I had screamed and fled, hiding in said couch, making couch-ing impossible for the following three days.

Fourth, they like to hide in my shower. Not cool.

Fifth, nothing normal has eight legs. NOTHING.

So when I say that I am afraid of spiders, believe me.



And I am fairly certain that there is a spider hiding in my garage right now. It has been there for the past few days. I'm pretty sure it lives in the wall that I have to walk by to get to my car every morning.

Here is a diagram of my garage:

Yellow areas represent areas of high spider density, and the dotted blue represents the path I must take to get to my car (the red blob) each morning. My half of the garage is a tight squeeze, to say the least. The way it works is this:

I run from the door to the house around the fridge and recycling bins to my car, being careful to avoid making eye contact with the spider infestation by my right front tire because if I can see them then they can see me and that is scary. I flatten myself against my car door and quickly scooch along until I am past the driver's door enough to open it, being careful not to hit it against the wall. Opening the door requires that I put a block that closes me off in spider territory again, so I throw my stuff into the passenger's seat and leap into the car, slamming the door as quickly as possible.

This happens every single day.

I need a Kleenex.

Am I the only one who looks up at the clouds during a storm hoping to see Mufasa?

What I should be doing:
1) College apps
2) Essays
3) Physics homework
4) Econ homework
5) Math homework
6) Sleeping
7) Having a life


What I am doing:
1) Watching Dirty Dancing on ABC Family
2) Wishing I could dance without looking like Elaine
3) Wondering why life doesn't come with musical numbers
4) Blogging



So yeah. This is my life, guys. Comment below if you can commiserate. Or you can just laugh at me. Either way is cool.

100!

This is my 100th post guys.

And I am excited!

I didn't think I would ever make it this far. I can honestly say that writing this blog has definitely changed my life, and I would like to think for the better. I love what I do, and I hope that over the last four months I've at least made a few people laugh or think.

SO THANK YOU FOR READING MY BLOG AND VALIDATING MY PATHETIC EXISTENCE.

I love you, followers. You make my day, commenters. And I would love to go through and thank you all individually, random people I know and love dearly who read my blog on a daily basis, but I don't want to embarass any of y'all.


I wish I could do something clever and witty to commemorate the big 100 posts, but I have college essays to write, and I need to find poor souls to read the drafts and whatnot. Applying for colleges sucks. I'm going to join the Peace Core. Or go live under the freeway. One of those. The end.

This happens far too often

I hear a few bars of a classic song like "Don't Stop Believing" or "Let's Do the Time Warp Again" coming from the adjacent room. I get excited and feel an unstoppable urge to jump up and sing/dance/the whole nine yards.

I then realize that the inhabitant of the adjacent room is playing her Glee CD.

Disappointment. Shame. Sorrow.





Like I was saying yesterday...

Brittni and I arrived at the football game and took our seats by my parents. No one was really around, but there was a good hour until kickoff. People slowly trickled in, and we amused ourselves with taking pictures and commenting on the hilarity that was the visiting team section.

People continued to fill in around us as the clock ticked down to zero. We assessed the people around us, scoping to see if anyone we knew was sitting in the vicinity and such. Finally, it was time for kickoff. And we met our dear friends.

1.) Angry Guy: Angry Guy was angry. Really angry. And by Jove, everyone was going to know he was angry. He was angry at the coaches for calling bad plays. He was angry at the quarterback for having sticky fingers. He was angry at the opposing team for doing well. He was angry at the referees for just about everything. He was angry at his boss and his therapist. (I'm just speculating about this. I don't doubt it, though.) Angry guy had perfected the skill "leaping up onto your feet the second an unacceptable call is made and pointing angrily at the field while yelling expletives so loudly that the players down on the field can probably hear you from your nosebleed seats." He made it an art form, truly.

2.) Ditzy 1 and Ditzy 2: Ditzy 1 and Ditzy 2 sat behind us with their friends Vapid and Clueless. These four said such gems as, "People are cheering, does that mean we scored?" and "If he ran to the far end, do we get a point?" Although each of the women was between fifty-four and sixty-three (just a guess), they spent the majority of the game attempting fruitlessly to take pictures of themselves with one of their iPhone 4's. It was...yeah.

3.) Male Stripper: Male Stripper was a big fan of the home team, and he wanted everyone to know of his deep-seeded love for the team. So, of course, the logical choice was to paint his entire chestular region red, front and back, and spend the whole game shirtless. And, logically, he wore Mardi Gras beads. 'Twould be silly not to. I'm thinking his mental train of thought went something like this: "Dude, I love this team. Like so much. I need to rep mah dogs. But this body paint and completely inappropriate necklaces don't speak loudly enough of my love for this team. You know what would make it better? A pound of silver body glitter. That's it. Done."

Needless to say, it was an interesting game. Watching the parade of drunkards wearing hooker heels attempt to navigate the hills in the stadium was entertaining (and disconcerting) beyond belief, I can assure you.



Today was a good day.

TOMORROW IS A BIG DAY

I was up too darn late last night doing those applications. But I can tell you, it feels incredible to know that, for two of the four schools I applied to last night, I am DONE. At this point, I actually do feel like I might be going to college. Maybe.

Tonight, Brittni and I went to a college football game. More on that in the morning. I have a BIG DAY tomorrow, so I need some sleep, guys.

NIGHT! :)