My Cranky Pants have spiders in them.

I woke up super cranky. I had HellCat Frowny Face happening, and I was complaining in my head the second I was conscious. I am doing everything with a tinge of anger. I checked my cell phone for messages, as it was charging right next to my head. I noticed that it wasn't done charging just yet, and I gave an exasperated sigh. I threw the covers off with a little too much force, and moped over to the bathroom. I noticed that it was nice and clean, and thought "Whatever. I have more cleaning to do today."

My thoughts turned to my cobweb-filled bank account and my inoperative Jetta. I bit my lower lip. Then, my thoughts went to the fact that my sister can't take me to pick up my car this morning from the shop, making me lose another day of work. Now I have to inconvenience a friend to take me all the way to Santa Monica...

I also have a major bug bite on my left side just below my waist that is KILLING me. I think it must be a black widow bite...and this will be my last entry.

I have noticed lately that I've been running into a lot of spiderwebs at night. I hate that feeling, because they linger and you never can quite get them off. You have to wait for that certain shift in the air around you to somehow magically lift the web off your face.

I do not love spiders enough to own one and let it crawl on me. However, I am not scared enough that the sight of them makes me call my dad in another state and beg him to kill it, either. I believe that spiders and I can co-exist peacefully. I don't kill them on purpose, and they generally don't bite me. But I suppose you could say that spiders and I are dancing a delicate, fragile ballet and at any moment, one of us could fall and rip our toe shoes.

What?

Anyway, webs creep the shit out of me. I still don't trust spiders. I think the ones who wander into the Treehouse are merely misguided arachnids who need some direction and compassion. The ones outside of it, though, are bloodthirsty killers. They are not dancing a dance. They are mowing over prey with steamrollers. And the web is how they catch them.

Every time I pass through one of those milky white traps, I am convinced that a huge spider the size of Abe Vigoda is going to scuttle out of the darkness, just past my sightline, and put his pincer-mouth-thing on my head and suck. So, as a result, I squeal like I did when I was seven.

Here is an exerpt from a recent conversation I had with my Man.

Me: Oh, you. How I love walking through this wooded forest with you at midnight. It's so beautiful.
Him: Oh, and me as well, my buttercup. Hark! An owl, my darling!
Me: Oh, it is lovely. Let us walk through this thick patch of trees to examine it further, pookie pie.
Him: Certainly! I will lead, in a masculine display of masculinity. Let's go!
Me: My, it certainly is dark.
Him: Yeah, perfect for fucking.
Me: What did you say?
Him: Nothing, my sweet.

Somehow, even though I am following my Knight, I am the one who ends up entangled in a web.

Me: EEEEEKK! I am going to die a virgin!
Him: What?
Me: Nothing. Get me out before the spiders come to kill us all!

Or something like that.

I know the fear is unrealistic, but I can't shake it. I am always convinced that the sequence of events is #1: Get caught in web and #2: Die. I believe that I have cheated this truism for over two decades, but it can't last forever. And unfortunately, I live smack in the middle of a Hollywood Hills Jungle. We have raccoons, skunks, rats, coyotes, rabbits (gasp!), and spiders.

So if this site somehow goes untouched for a couple weeks, you know what's happened.

ocho piernas, OLE! g