latest  archives  guestbook  about me links 

 email

08.26.2004 - 11:26 p.m.

Thursday

It's late August/early September in the Puget Sound, and Mr. X is on the crawl.

Mr. X is in dire need of some female companionship, you see. Driven by an unstoppable force of nature; the passion to court, to mate, to woo. Ah, Mr. X, you romancer, you sender-of-red-roses, you want nothing more than to grasp the object of your desire and whisper sweet nothings under the glorious, glorious light of the moon.

You could even say Mr. X be wantin' to get some action for his pedipalps.

Who IS this object of mystery? Why, none other than the dapper Tegenaria gigantea*, out looking for some ladies.

* I do not suggest you follow that link if you had something planned for the next 48 minutes of your life other than craning your neck around wildly and patting down hairs on the back of your neck. I'm just saying.

Mr. X is the aptly named Giant House Spider, and apparently this is the time of year he emerges from whatever godawful corner of hell he calls home and starts moseying around Seattle, lookin' for love.

Truly, if these things weren't SO incredibly horrifying, SO monstrously, comically huge, SO pants-shittingly macabre in appearance, it might be easier for me to objectively deal with them. For instance, when encountering one of Mr. X's kind in the guest bathroom early in this morning, it would have been great if I could have had the following internal monologue: Hmm, that spider must have been distracted in his frenzied lust by the lure of water, and is in fact now doomed by his inability to climb back up the slippery tub wall. Sucks to be him. I'll just chalk this sighting under "Educational" and move on with my business. Tra la la.

Instead, it went something like this: Oh my fucking GOD it's lurking there in the DARK waiting to leap onto my FACE with all eight of its hairy, hairy legs KILL ME NOW DON'T LET IT TOUCH ME AAAAAAGH.

Thing is, they're just too damn freaky. Perspective goes flying out the window when it's 4 AM and the massive dark shape in the bottom of the tub reveals itself when you flip on the light.

You know you've got a fucking tarantula in the house when your husband, who ordinarily loves to scoff at your girlish "eek, a spider, kill it!" episodes, shakily emerges from the bathroom and asks where the broom is. Ho ho, not so brave now, Mr. I Can't Believe You're Freaking Out Over That Tiny Thing, are we?

So Mr. X. I hope he finds what he's looking for. I hope she's got a great set of cephalothorax, and I hope she's about 23908130 inches from my bedroom.


last ::: next

40 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland