Shirl's Scary Spider

I had no more than got lathered up in the shower when I heard the phone ringing. Annoyed, I grabbed for my towel and dripped my way into the bedroom. As is often the case, as soon as I picked it up the line was dead.

Soap stinging my eyes, I pulled the towel towards my face and saw this:

"Oh, hello!" I said to the wolf spider.

(that's not entirely true, I screamed like a little girl and added a little bit to the puddle of water at my feet...but, this is my story, and I'm stickin' to it)

"Where'd you come from?" I asked.

"Aw, man." he said. "Hope you don't mind, but I needed a place to crash for a few days. I was stayin' at this Shirl woman's place, but I overheard her sayin' she was gonna poison me!"

"Well," I replied. "I really don't want you staying here; I've had some trouble with some poisonous spiders and have been thinking of really nuking this place with some chemicals..." I trailed off, not wanting to insult him by speaking of the annihilation of some of his fellow species.

"You talkin' 'bout those Brown Recluse in your crawlspace?" he asked. "Man, don't mess with them, they won't hurt you as long as you don't let them bite you."

Duh, I thought.

He went on. " 'Sides that, you should catch their show with the Black Widows, they do a takeoff on West Side Story, only instead of Sharks and Jets, it's 'Fiddlebacks vs. Hourglasses'. Man, the dance numbers, all those legs..." .

"Nah," I told him. "I'm not much on off-off-Broadway stuff."

"I wouldn't take up much space." he pleaded. "I could sleep in your shoe...?"

I violently shook my head, shuddering at the thought.

"Aw, c'mon dude." he persisted.

Nope, I told him.

"You should use a little fabric softener next time you do a load of towels." he said, pouting at my refusal. I tried to explain to him about softener making them less absorbent, but he interrupted me:

"Say!" he exclaimed. "Wouldn't you like a talking spider around? Especially one as handsome as me, go on, get closer, tell me who I look like!!!"

Thinking to myself that I seldom have friends over and that the few friends I DO have come over WOULDN'T ever come over again if they saw a spider, and especially never again if they heard one speak, I politely looked him over and replied:

"Uh...Fidel Castro?"

"No, no, no!" he said impatiently with a wave of several legs. "Look at me from THIS angle." and with a clittering of tiny claws he shuffled around like a miniature Sherman tank, showing me his profile from the other side.

"George Clooney, right?" he declared. "When he's gotta beard, cantchoosee?"

I really couldn't see it; Dennis Miller, maybe, but George Clooney?

Any day now...

...KVII-TV in Amarillo will ask me to stop submitting photos. I suspect they're only humoring me for the time being, but little do they know it's not a good idea to encourage an anal-retentive obsessive/compulsive.



That's a sum-total of one minute of fame...but who's counting?

UPDATE: They showed the pic just before going to break, then said something about Indiana Jones and his fear of snakes, then when they came back, showed the photo and read the "title" and both the anchor and the weatherman...

(who is much balder than I am, BTW. I think most weathermen ARE bald, come to think of it. That might be a career option for me down the road, hmmm...)

...commented on the "long title".

I didn't "title" it that, they can title it as they wish . That was the description, because they never say WHERE the pics are taken, not the ones I've seen.

They'd better be glad they didn't make fun of my "basking in the sun" bit. That's the first time I've ever had a chance to use that phrase, so it's not like I'M wearin' it out.

On the other hand, they read the "title" for another photo of mine they chose.

I think I understand the subtle jibe they gave me on this last photo: they want more alliteration. I don't blame 'em, they can recognize an alliterative genius such as myself, I'm sure.

I simply didn't want to overwhelm 'em with

"Sunday Sun Shining on Sleepy Snake"

14 More Years of Bad Luck

I've broken two mirrors in the last month.

At least my life will be consistent. I must have broken two mirrors 14 years ago, but have blocked the memory from my mind.

I priced them the other day at Wal Mart; a decent hand-held one is around eight bucks. Sheesh. I can't think of anyone, including myself, who would pay eight dollars to look at me.

Still, I need one when I shave my head.

Travellin' Band - CCR

Human Beatbox

Use the keyboard to activate the Hyperactive Machine

Silly Squirrel Story

I belong to an MSN photography Group, the highest ranked one in the category. In this recent thread

(edit to add: link removed because it is no longer valid as MSN Groups were discontinued several years ago) is a pretty good shot of a squirrel that made me think of how my folks loved to watch the squirrels in their back yard, putting out peanuts and not even caring (too much) that the tree rodents cute, loveable creatures also ate their birdfeeder empty. I believe my big sister has problems with that and has tried all the gadgets/gimmicks to keep them out of her bird feeders.

It also reminded me of a friend of my dad's; they had a lovely, shady place right on the creek and the century old cottonwoods were full of squirrels. We were down there late one summer afternoon and our family friend was showing my pop how the squirrels would come when he called them. He took a nut from his shirt pocket and tapped on the tree, making some "tik-tik" sounding call.

Sure 'nuff, here came a squirrel from a hole in the trunk of the tree; this man backed up to the tree and the squirrel jumped to his shoulder and took the nut from his hand. I was about ten yrs. old or so, and I thought it was SOOOOOO cool looking, that squirrel sitting there munching away on the nut held between its two tiny paws. It ate the meat, cast away the bits of shell after it was done, then to my amazement, climbed face down into the guy's pocket and nabbed another nut! Again, it perched nonchalantly on his shoulder and ate.

"I got almost all of 'em like this 'un here." said dad's friend, and at the same time, rubbed his nose with his forefinger, making an audible inhaling "Sniff". It was an odd mannerism he had, one my dad always said prefaced a bald-faced lie.

I think there was some validity to my dad's theory- after all, most Texans, myself included, are known to sometimes stretch the truth...but maybe not THIS time, because the squirrel, apparently frightened by the sudden movement of the finger, PLUS the "sniff" (which, come to think of it, would be more like a backwards "snort") sound rewarded my dad's friend with a quick, hard bite on his earlobe, which then sprang off his shoulder and scampered back up the tree.

Let me tell you something and take it to heart: If I ever obeyed anything that my dad told me, it was to respect my elders, the "seen, not heard" type of child and not speak unless... yada yada yada. It's not a bad thing, and I don't resent it. I still try to respect my elders, but there's getting to be fewer and fewer of them.

The thing I remember most about this long ago scene is not the squirrel bite, nor our family friend's reaction, but my own. I KNEW I shouldn't laugh, but Lord help me, I was having trouble. I alternated between my face splitting open like a watermelon in the August sun and doing my best to show the proper amount of concern, lest I embarrass the adult. After all, the ear was bleeding "like a stuck hog" and blood was staining his shirt. I'm sure it hurt, but the expression on his face wasn't one of pain, but something like the shock of betrayal.

MY ears were hurting trying to hold back my grin. You know what I'm talking about, it's almost like a funky little earache, you know you can't laugh, it's like you get a small shot of helium gas in those lymph glands, the mumps ones, they start to tingle. It's a warning sign you're about to explode with laughter. You want to laugh SO bad. It's like when someone farts in church, y'know?

When my dad started laughing like an idiot, I figured it was safe for me to laugh, too.