Spiders. Horrible Followed By Adorable (See hedgehog post that follows)

My husband is like Mr. Rogers. Pleasant, kind, smiley and non threatening. And he rarely swears. Until I screeched a string of billigerent curses when I reached for my toothbrush and saw this spider. The spider induced Brian to join my chorus of the angered/heebie jeebie curse song.

I HATE SPIDERS

No. It's not the worst one I've seen. That's what this post is about- the worst I've seen and the worst I just learned about.
This post is not for those who jump on the chair and pray the house burns down around them just to avoid coming into contact with the godforsaken eight-legged ick that somehow ended up in the sink.
But for those of you who like this creepiness- well, you're wrong in the head and read on.

Ew. Enough with the spider in our bathroom. It got squished with a rock in the parking lot. Ew. Ew. Ew.











Ready for more?
We were talking about our icky escapade when a soldier told us about the camel spiders of Iraq. Lovely.

Huge fuzzy things that eat lizards. These spiders covet shade and will chase soldiers to stand in their shadow. Yay. They jump too. Double yay. They can leap pretty high to attached themselves to a camel's shady side. The camel will roll when a few horrifying hopping hobos need to be evicted. That sends them scattering. Hopefully not in my direction.

Here are a couple pics of camel spiders.

Cute. This one is eating a lizard. Hope it got salmonella poisoning and died, died, died.

I don't know if they were fighting (which bored soliders place bets on) or mating or just participating in cannibalism. Fighting, mating and cannibalism- sounds like a kinky date.

Now boys and girls.
There is a heaven and there is a hell. How do I know? Because a demonic molecule escaped and propped itself up in my Uncle Alan's closet in the jungles of Puerto Vallarta. My brother, husband, sister, brother-in-law, niece, nephew, parents and I saw it.

Paralyzed in fear, a few of us saw it unfold it's nine inch, scarlet toothpick legs, rear up and while flashing its barbed scorpion like pinchers- heard it hiss. IT HISSED AT US!

It was a mere two inches shorter than the spray paint can when on all eight legs. The door slammed shut, I have no idea who did it but was glad they did. Retreating to the living room, we all did our best to shrug off the evil that had entranced us.

We all spent the next twenty minutes sitting on couches or chairs with our feet off the floor. Backs beginning to shriek with tension and muscle spasms- we (all but Alan and my folks) lept into the van and drove home in a mad rush.
Giggling the entire way, we shuddered convulsively and swiped at microscopic dead skin cells that felt like little creepy crawlies. It was a long uneasy evening.


Mama spider was in the garage going over her baby roster, "118. 118?"
"Here Mommy!"
"There you are. Did you eat the newborn twin humans up the road?"
"Yes Mommy."
"Good. 119?"
"Here."
"120?"
"He's out on the town eating stray dogs."
"Thanks 243. 121?.....121? Has anyone seen 121?"
"Mom. He's trying to freak out some tourists."
"Huh." she scoffed, "If they think little runt 121 is scary they should see Mommy when she gets her silk thread in a bunch."

Palm Sized Bittersweet

Right off I want you to know this little guy is blind. One eye is gone the other was permanently closed. I teared up when I realized it. It broke my heart- but please notice he is smiling. Okay? Still need a Kleenex? I did.

He was sleeping by the pool when I found him. When he woke he walked until he bumped the wall. A moment later he  found the water and had a few sips. Content, he continued along the wall, stopping to sniff an ant pile then disappearing into the shrubs. I haven't seen him since.

Wheeeeee! Oh crap.

Safety first. Um.

Not here.

Not exactly cripple friendly.

Maybe for the suicidal skater.

Where the sidewalk ends. Off a cliff.

Okay, I'll do my Shel Silversteinism here.

I cannot walk here,

without pant-wetting fear.

So high up.

So far to fall.

Flying would be fun,

the landing- no fun at all.

This new, solid stone ramp was also very, very slippery. Yay safety!

NEW! But Not Improved

I did something today I’ve never done. Aired out my dirty laundry. Well, it was formerly dirty.


Laundry. Mindless/incessant loading, unloading, folding and my least favorite- PUTTING IT AWAY. I have no idea why I drag my feet over such a small task. It irks me to no end no matter how many “spoonful of sugars” I choke down. I detest, loathe, despise, hate it.


Now, here on Crete, I expected to find a “Launderia” like they have around the corner from our hangout in Mexico. The kind of place where they weigh your bodily odored clothes and in two days they hand you a clear plastic bag filled with everything clean, folded and remarkably compact.


I searched. Nope. No one we asked knew of a place either.


So, I go to the hotel’s basement (which is appropriate- laundry feels like torture so a dank dungeon is a perfect setting) where I find two washers and no dryer. Then I realize I’ve seen dryers everywhere since I arrived. The au naturale kind of dryer. Old school dryers of the “apron and wicker basket on a beautiful ‘The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music’ spring day” kind of dryer. (I must be on a Julie Andrews kick.)


A rectangle of aluminum, which looks like a makeshift harp of the white trash variety, sat on our patio.


Crap.


That’s the dryer.

Hoping that years of reading and watching Little House On the Prairie would pay off, I summoned the spirit of Laura Engles and approached. It was easily enough unfolded and erected. Very simple. Thinking this was good, I was hopeful that my domestic tendencies would take over.


My sisters are laughing at that- domestic tendencies, they know all too well I was deprived of that gene.


Anyway, hoping I possessed something intrinsic over something so menial, a t-shirt was hung. Then I stopped. The autistic/problem solving devil popped up on my shoulder, “Do you really think you should put that in front?”


“No.” To the middle it went. All things long and heavy to the middle. All things lightweight and shorter to the exteriors. Happy, I seemed to catch on and quickly filled two “third world solar/wind powered appliances”.


There’s a curious older man staying next door with his wife. He’s always alone, pulling me aside to comment on the mundane- my least favorite subject- the weather I’m currently standing in. Boring. When my husband isn’t around the man asks what I’m doing for the day- I always reply, “Running around. Errands. Paperwork. The gym.” And then top it off with a glance at my watch and, “Geez, gotta go.”


Those things I can handle. It’s his eye oogling of this chubby, sagging, well below average female husk. What the hell he’s smarmiliy smirking about, I have no idea but it makes me uncomfortable.

 My fluttering in the breeze wardrobe is currently in perfect eyeshot of Mr. Observant’s patio. I quickly realized that I really don’t wish him to get a look at my underthings. Call me uptight Victorian- but I took them down and hung them in the bathroom like my Grandma used to do.


After they’ve all been dried by the Mediteranian breeze, I plucked them off their strings and made myself immediately put them away. The scent is preferable to any dryer sheet but the chafing of stiff jeans is unpleasant on this honky’s skin. This afternoon I will begin an extensive hunt for the elusive “please do this crappy necessity for me” place that I know exists.

Blissed, Blitzed, Blessed and Bloated

Ahhhh, sun.

A day volunteering to clean the beach with our fellow fireman friend Marc, for his Greek friend Bobby.

A glorious day, warm enough for shorts but cold enough to turn men from outies to innies if in the water too long.

Marc helped Bobby at his bar- the white jug was nearly full of grappe when we got there. We polished off a few glasses. Per hour. Bobby polished off an entire bottle of Captain Morgan's Rum all by himself. Wow, he was absurdly drunk, it was incredibly entertaining.

Some other Greek peeps showed up- great folks. The very lovely looking woman who sat beside me with her high end sunglasses, pimped out fingernails and designer sweatsuit had me staring. All that time, money and effort and yet she didn't seem to notice she had the mustache and beard of a high school boy? Yes, yes, I know I'm being rude- but all that effort and no wax? No tweezers? Here I've seen six year old girls with five o'clock shadows. I don't think I'll ever adjust to seeing that. Ever.

Marc, Gayle and Bobby at the table overloaded with meat, cheese, wine and Greek salad. And soda. And chips. And beer. And olive oil. And fresh bread.

So much and so good.

Marc and Gayle are fantastic people. Our sponsors that guide/warn/educate us. Very fun and very funny. Instantly liked them from the moment we stepped off the plane wiped out and in dire need of a shower and another shower (my hair was sooooo greasy).

"Drink," says Bobby.

"Sure," answers Brian and then swigs the entire glass.

Yanni (Johnny) flipped flesh on the grill as the rest of us flopped about in chairs and on the sand.

Another great day on the island of Crete.

Safety First. Except Here.

Oh hell. Two things freak me out- power lines and being buried alive. And germs. And heights (because I want to jump because I am broken in the head. The falling part would be fun it's the landing/smashing/splattering that sucks.) Okay, that's more than two. Sorry.

Anywho, I wish you could see the copper cable laying casually across the road that we were instructed to drive over. Yep. Two guys wearing RUBBER gloves installed a power line. You know, just one pinhole in those gloves and they're crispy.

They're like the idiot Steve-O of power companies. Here's to all things zappy!