EEEEEWWWW

Okay, it's going to be another post without pictures. That's because I'm kind and considerate and don't want to squick you out.

Because here's the thing: summer in Florida includes mandatory visits of Palmetto Bugs. If you've never seen one of these beasts, the first thing you should do is spend 20 minutes or so thinking about how lucky you are and then congratulate yourself for living somewhere reasonable.

Palmetto Bugs are Florida cockroaches. They're 2-3 inches long, not afraid of light, and they FLY. The effing monsters FLY. They also run toward you if you startle them. And they bite.

Bander is horribly confused by them. At first, he thought they were mice (yes, they're that big). One got in the house last night and he started chasing it until he actually got close, and then he got all big eyed and ran away. When a bug is big enough to scare away a hundred pound dog, it's pretty big.

I used my patented Palmetto Bug killing technique, which is to flap my hands like a wounded chicken and do my Special Roach Dance while I scream for Jesse to come kill it. When he isn't home, I either stun them with a broom and sweep them away - since I don't have to get any closer than the length of the broom handle - or, if I miss with the first whack and make the giant bug angry, I run away. Since they fly and I can't, this involves a lot of panicking and slamming doors. Of course Jesse is reading this while I type and keeps reminding me that they can crawl under the doors and now I'm afraid to ever sleep again unless I can find some sort of combo jammies/beekeeper getup.

Bugs are gross.

It's About Fricken Time.

Well, I got the computer fixed.

First he slowed down. Then he hung up. Then, in his infinite wisdom, Calculon the Third (C3) decided it would be fun to turn off the sound. And as a last bit of defiance, he told our printer, Gutenberg, to stop the presses.

Now I know that some of you would say that I neglected the poor thing, and that really he was sick, and needed to be taken care of. I know that some of you will recognize these symptoms as some attention seeking cry for help. But the truth is, our machines are on a Machiavellian machination of machina über alles. They hate us.

They're trying to kill us.

Really.

We've had more coffee machines than Angelina has had kids, hers or others. Jackie has been electrocuted by the crock pot. I've had various fingers almost severed by hovercraft, fans, and other sharp pointy electrical things. We may be the first people, ever, to hurt themselves with a clock radio not in a bathtub.

So.

They're trying to kill us.

Really.

Will Wierd Willy Win?

In a rural town, an hour east of my home, is a cemetery with one particularly infamous resident.

Weird Willy was a terrible murderous criminal in his lifetime, and his heinous deeds resulted in an isolated grave, for no one wished to buy plots in his proximity. When he was buried in the 1920s, local townsfolk marked his grave with a stone that had engraved upon it a curse.

It attracted dare devils every Halloween, those who were brave enough, followed the directions - run three times around the grave clockwise, and three times counter clockwise. More often that not, bad luck befell those who dared- often in a big way.

The curse came to an ugly head when almost ten years ago, Weird Willy came a callin' to a known crazy in town. This fellow was well known for his love of drink, penchant for freely dabbling in chemical substances and wild incoherent ramblings. One night, "Jason" threw a party, as friends gathered to celebrate , "Jason" was compelled to get up to other business.

He abruptly abandoned his own party and went, armed with supplies in his truck, to the resting place of Weird Willy. Upon arrival at the desolate graveyard, he proceeded to exhume the remains in the dark. He took with him every last bone, and placed the sightless grinning skull on his dashboard like some macabre trophy.

It was near his home that he was caught by police for speeding, but "Jason' didn't stop until he reached his driveway. Party goers streamed out of the house to see what the commotion was with the police. But as the officer approached "Jason's" car he was mortified by the discovery of the skeletal remains, "Jason" held the skull in hand and calmly introduced the officer to his new 'friend'.

Needless to say, Jason was immediately arrested. Weird Willy was returned to his grave and laid to rest again. "Jason" faced many charges and an extensive psychiatric evaluation. Surprisingly that night, his blood tests returned clean.

The curse may have been Weird Willy's way to escape the clutches of death. For "Jason" was the second victim of an addled mind to dig up the cursed bones.

Still the question remains... ...who will be next?

Sleep of the Damned

I love nappie time.

I rarely get enough sleep. Actually, I don’t need a whole lot – I get pretty darn restless after about six hours and want to get up, like I’m bored lying there. I get tired and burned out, though, like anyone would, and thus my weekend treat: naps.

I like to zonk out for a couple of hours in the afternoon. My husband, a preposterously kind and indulgent man, sees my eyes glazing over at around two pm and drags me off and puts me in bed. This is always accompanied by me crankily announcing that I’m fine and I can take care of myself and I don’t WANNA lay down, even while I’m walking into walls. He ignores all this and tucks me in. And of course I really do wanna lay down, so I stop arguing eventually and drift off into a lovely, lovely nap.

There’s only one problem.

Afternoon sleeps are when my dreams really get rolling. I get virtual reality dreams, I talk in my sleep, I have horribly realistic nightmares. Beyond nightmares – I get something called sleep paralysis.

There was one episode, a few years ago, that made a lasting impression. I was alone for the afternoon, sleeping blissfully, when I heard the door open. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t move – I couldn’t get up, or scream, or anything.

Someone walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed; I could feel the mattress sag under the weight. I was still unable to move.

Slowly, I felt them pull the blanket away….. I was absolutely terrified, trying to scream, and hearing only pathetic squeaks.

And then the paralysis released.

I woke up, opened my eyes, and saw (drumroll)...

NOBODY.

Everything was perfectly normal.

The door wasn’t open, no one had come in, and the blankets were still in place.

If I hadn’t found out about sleep paralysis, it would have made a hell of a ghost story.

Happy Halloween

I have a lot of very vivid dreams (more on that to follow tomorrow). There is one unusual sort of nightmare I suffer from, and those are the ones my husband has.

Get this.

A couple of months ago, I’m lying in bed, when Jesse shakes my shoulder and says “Honey, slide out of bed RIGHT NOW – there’s a giant spider over you. Get out of the way so I can kill it!”

He makes sure I am wide awake by yanking my pillow (!) to safety while my head thuds onto the mattress and I consider what he has just said. He has my complete, undivided attention, of course – as a matter of fact, I am buck naked, wide awake, and standing in the doorway ready to make a run for it before he finishes the sentence.

I know there are those big honking orb spiders in our back yard, and I am in constant fear that one will *shudder* crawl on me and I will die from a fatal attack of the willies, so I am more than speedy at running away while he kills it to save me.

He uses the purloined pillow – which I will be expected to sleep on after this – as a weapon. (His term is “pimp hand”, because apparently I live with Snoop Dogg or something.) He’s really swinging it, whacking the holy hell out of everything on my side of the bed.

I’ve had a little time to think, while this goes on. As a matter of fact, now that I really consider it, it’s 3am and pitch black. I ask, “Honey, can you see the spider? What kind was it?”

“Um, it’s gone.”

“Okay… how did you see it in the dark? How did you know it was going to land on me?”

Slowly, using the interrogation method, I uncover the fact that he DREAMED there was a spider coming to get me. I find it very endearing that he saves me in his dreams, but on the other hand it’s 3am and I’m wide awake with kind of a headache from all the whacking sounds and the willies have arrived and I’m not sure I want to get back in bed EVER and certainly not right now.

My husband is snoring. I’d kill him, but then there wouldn’t be anybody to save me from the actual giant spiders.

Pic 1: Ivan Makarov Pic 2: Mimpy