Spiders And Bug Spray And Coworkers..Oh My!

Warning: This post is about the spawn of Satan. It is about evil incarnate.  Just accept it.

Last week, my close to ideal working conditions took a concerning twist.

One of my coworkers found a large spider under his desk. It freaked me out, but I was able to maintain a modicum of composure.  I use the word “modicum” advisedly. Secretly, I was ready to run for higher ground. But due to imminent teasing from fellow employees, I sucked it up.  Sort of.  They all got a pretty clear picture that spiders are the proverbial chink in my otherwise rock-solid armor.

I’ve written concerning my paralyzing fear of these vile creatures before, but my history with them is ongoing, and thus post-worthy. Or not. Either way the writing does me good.

The offending arachnid was disposed of and I was at peace for the moment.  But only after I’d moved my personal belongings off the floor and checked my own workspace. I told myself it was a glitch, a hole in the wall of the corner office. I was safe from eight-legged intruders.

Today, ugh. Hanging out, waiting for pizza, and another coworker, one who works a scant ten feet from my desk, comes out of his office bearing a small box containing a spider larger than the last one. This one was big enough to produce its own weather system. It was black, gnarly, and repulsive.

To his credit and my chagrin, he took the box outside and freed said arachnid. It was still in the world. Did he put it on my car? Would it show up with friends later? Karma be damned. Kill the thing and kill it good.

During the melee, I stood at the ready with a can of bug spray and turned into a facsimile of myself, only with less control.  My heart raced, nostrils flared, and I threatened poison to the face of anyone who dared approach me with the box. They laughed, they thought it was funny. I was in survival mode.

The short story? My fate is sealed. I’ve now divulged my greatest fear to snarcastic fellow employees looking to see me squirm, and perform like I did today–out of reckless fear.

My pleas for fumigation fell on a boss’s deaf ears. After all, he’s from Texas where they grow BIG spiders.. not the relatively wee one we found here.

Here’s what I’ll do: Be aware of my surroundings, be ready to spray poison, and be thankful they’re not scorpions–the only thing I can think of worse than spiders. Rodents? Bring ‘em on. Roaches? Pshhh. Even tiny spiders I can dispose of on my own.

The big ones can burn in hell, which, I suppose, is where they came from in the first place.

Meanwhile, my watch is vigilant, the spray can at my side, and I’m practicing how to be cool.

Gahhh. I’m a dead woman.

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Love Me Some R&B

You know the feeling you get when you wake up after a dream–a dream about someone?  Maybe it’s someone you’d never dream about on purpose, but, well.. there they were.. and now, you have that fuzzy, goofy, anything’s possible sensation?

That’s how really good rhythm and blues makes me feel–goofy.  I’m not sure why, and don’t really care.  It’s just the way it is.

Give me some Four Tops, Isley Brothers, and Temptations.  Throw in the O’ Jays, Dramatics, Tower of Power, and top it off with some Blood, Sweat and Tears. OK.. pile on Earth, Wind and Fire while you’re at it. I keep thinking of others to add to the list.  It all gets me silly and I play my favorites until the CD dissolves into vapor.

I’ve discovered common components in the R&B that gets my nod.  The vocals have a gritty quality.. like the singer’s been chewing on sandpaper, or just recovered from strep throat.  I’ve gotta have brass/ and or and strings.  A good bass line doesn’t hurt.  Choreography like the Temptations mastered sweetens the deal–it’s an art form.

And.. this is very important.. R&B has to be cranked.  LOUD.  I have to hear every nuance. This is why MP3 players with headsets don’t work well for this kind of music.  I’ve got to feel it.. not just hear it.  It has to surround me.  Becoming one with the music gets real and I can do anything. Wow.

I realize the evangelical nature of this post. It’s just one woman’s way of being in the world.. and it works for me.  Music can challenge my senses.. it invites me to a higher (or lower) road. It is a little like a drug.  And R&B is not the only genre I love.. but boy howdy, it sure is way up there.

(SLH — I know you loved you some R&B, too.  Groove on in the stars above me.)

Just finished writing this to “Ain’t No Woman Like The One I Got” by The Four Tops.

Oy. Bring on the goofy.