dreamYou may have heard of me. Well, not of me. But of my fear of spiders. It’s legendary.

Have you read about the woman who burned down her house trying to kill a spider?

Yeah, that wasn’t me. But it could have been. And I’m pretty sure that one day it will be.

For now, though, it’s only a dream. More accurately a nightmare. That I had last night. And one that made me totally pissed off at my husband.

I’d accidentally somehow climbed into a blanket that had sides. Bigger than a sleeping bag. More like a constricting duvet cover.

That was weird, but not too bothersome.

Until the spiders.

Since it was a dream – I keep having to remind myself that – the spiders showed up. There were five of them on the floor near me.

They started out looking like super pale daddy long legs. Giant super pale daddy long legs. That were the size of my hand.

The spiders came at me, nice and slow. With that feeling of impending unavoidability. The feeling that you get in a horror movie, when Jason is going to get you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I started screaming for my husband to come save me.


I tried to roll away, but since it was a dream, I rolled back.

The spiders began changing colors.

Their bodies turned pastel like Easter eggs while their legs stayed a spooky translucent white.

I tried to roll away.

I screamed to my husband for help.

I rolled back.

The spiders changed colors again. Brighter. Darker.

They moved more aggressively, more quickly, more pissed off.

I yelled louder.

They moved faster.

I rolled harder.

I yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled.

They ran and ran and ran and ran.


I crushed them.

Landed on top of them.

They crunched.

They stopped moving.

I screamed even more.

And finally. Finally. Finally! My husband showed up.

Too late.

I was trapped on top of dead spiders. And he had no idea what was wrong.

I woke up.

So freaked. So grossed out. And so, so, so mad. At my husband.

I’m not crazy.

Posted: April 3, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Image from Morguefile.comExcept, well, maybe I am. But this isn’t me being crazy. This is just weird.

Last Friday, I got up and headed to my craft room upstairs. I had a craft show on Saturday, so I needed to sneak in an hour or so of work so I’d be ready.

I always leave the alarm on when I’m upstairs and in the house alone because, well, it can be kind of creepy home alone up there.

So I was hiding up there, trying to get stuff done, and there was a loud bang.

I jumped and freaked the fuck out because it was coming from the front of the house. It sounded like someone hit the front door with a battering ram. Or maybe there had just been a massive accident out on the street.

Then I heard voices.

I went downstairs because I’m an idiot and too curious* for my own good.


The front door was closed and locked, the alarm was on, and nothing was outside.

Except the stereo was on. (The pic is showing a record, but it was just the radio…)

I know my radio wasn’t on. I hadn’t been in my office yet, and it was off when I went to bed. Plus, it made no sense why the radio would be on but then suddenly get loud when there was that noise.

Totally. Strange.

But here’s the thing that made it ever weirder – when I did finally come down to get to work in my office, the top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.

I think my office is haunted.

*Did you know the full saying is curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back?

Get Lost

Posted: February 5, 2017 in Uncategorized

Image by susieholder.com

I lost my phone.

And that’s a problem because I can’t ask people to call my phone to help me find it because I can’t call them to ask them to call me because I can’t find my phone.

And the fact that it’s almost always on vibrate because I don’t actually want to interact with other human beings on a regular basis makes it worse because if I were to ask someone to call me, I’d have to go around the house listening for a muted buzzing, like when you leave your vibrator on the bed and accidentally turn it on and then you’re all confused (at least, that’s what a friend told me).

And they sell those “never lose anything ever again” things, but I’d forget to attach them, and then I’d lose them, too.





I’m hiding at Starbucks

Posted: January 30, 2017 in Uncategorized

Okay, got freaked out this morning. Admittedly, I do watch way too many horror movies, and so I automatically go to horror movie happenings


Super scary looking doll, but it’s not mine. 😦

when weird shit happens.


I think I’m totally justified in this freak out.

I was up in the craft room, prepping for my show this weekend (come see me at Country Side Park and give me money for goods and services).

I’d left the alarm on because I’d just showered, and I always put the alarm on when I’m showering.

When I heard a bang downstairs, I figured it was the cats. They always knock shit down, and since George was already being evil and pooping out what smelled like a paper rendering plant in the laundry room, I assumed it was him being more of an asshole.

Then I heard voices.

What. The. Fuck.

Doing the one thing that you should never do in a horror movie, I went downstairs to check it out.

The radio on the kitchen was on. Really strange because I know I hadn’t turned it on. Unless maybe I had because, you know, I admit that I’m not always fully aware of what I’m doing when I wander through the house (exhibit A: the time I put a bag of pretzels in the fridge). But still, I’m pretty sure I did not turn that on this morning.

So I knew where the voices were coming from at least. I turned it back off and went to check the alarm.

The alarm was still red, so it was on, and there were no warnings about bits being off.


Since I was downstairs anyway, I went to grab a bag of silver bead spacers I’d forgotten in my office.

Then I saw it.

The top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.

I swear I hadn’t opened it. Not for days and days. Maybe even over a week now.

It was open.

It’s the shelf with all my creepy toys in it.


Now I’m hiding at Starbucks doing work until I have to go back home and face the weird.

spiderduck-frontspiderduck-backOkay, so lots of weird stuff.

First off, the devil ducky is not a devil ducky.

I know. I’m sad, too.

While I was giving it a good scrub to get off all the road dirt, I realized there was a spider on the back of its head. After almost freaking out, I realized it wasn’t a real spider – it was a spider printed onto it. And then, as I kept scrubbing, I saw that it had a costume on.

It’s a Spiderman ducky!

That’s not quite as cool as a devil ducky, but it’s still kinda awesome, and so I went ahead and left it on my desk.

Then, last night, Patrick was off in California, and I fell asleep to Pysch. (Don’t you judge me. It’s one of the best ever shows. You’re just jealous.)

Around 3:15, I woke up because there was a weird sound out front. The alarm was on, so I knew it wasn’t that someone had broken in. But it was a loud almost knock. I thought maybe it was just in my dream, but then I heard it again.

I grabbed my phone for light, and I wandered out into the living room.

Moronic, I know. But it was the middle of the night, and I was trying to be an adult. Mostly because, you know, I kind of am an adult.

I saw something on the floor by the front door, and I thought, “OMG THAT SPIDER IS HUGE!” and was going to go run for a huge book to toss, but then I realized it wasn’t the right shape for a spider.



Non-Dramatic Reenactment

I flashed the phone light onto it, and it was the ducky. Just sitting there. On the floor. Looking all Spiderman-like and a bit creepy because the eyes were reflecting the light.

I still have no idea what the sound was, but I’m assuming the ducky got there thanks to the love of one of the kitties. Probably George because he is evil like that. Or maybe Molly knocked it off the desk and Sammy batted it into the hall. No idea. But I couldn’t get back to sleep for a while.

Just to make sure I don’t get another middle of the night freak-out, the ducky has found his place in the cabinet instead of on my desk.

Long live Spider-ducky!



duck-for-take-1No, not from “16 Candles.” (That was the movie, right?)

Anyway, no, it was this little red devil ducky I saw by the side of the road.  It made me all sad – the poor little ducky had been abandoned! It also totally intrigued me. Who abandoned it? Why was it there?

I saw it there a bunch of times. It was in the gutter by the turn onto the feeder road for 45, right by the car dealership. It never moved. But it did get dirtier each time.

I went and got it yesterday.

I know, it’s gross and disgusting, right? But I thought it would be cool for my cabinet of curiosities. It looks weird as hell, completely worn out from all the weather it saw. And its eyes did that soul-piercing thing. Okay, maybe not soul-piercing, but still. I felt bad for it.

Did someone toss it out of their car? Was someone on a bike and it fell out of their pocket as they took that dangerous as hell corner? Was someone foolishly on foot, got hit by a car, and it went flying from their backpack? No idea.

But now I have it, and I’m going to clean it up and add it to my cabinet with all my creepy toys. Go cabinet!

Image by Chase Urich – http://flickr.com/photos/q4radioguy/237028612/in/photostream/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1592771

Me (carrying four rolls of toilet paper to the bathroom)

DH: Don’t use them all at once!

Me: Don’t you judge my bathroom habits!

Which reminded me.

Years ago, I worked at a local teaching hospital, in one of the graduate programs.

I guess this other employee got bored one day, so she was complaining to me about the amount of toilet paper her husband used. Apparently she wanted him to ration it out, only using a certain number of squares each time he used the bathroom. I forgot the number now, but she felt very strongly about it, and talked to me about how she made sure to not use any more than that each time. It was a pretty low – and unreasonable – number. I want to say it was four, but it may have been five.

That complaint has stuck with me for a few reasons.

First – that she would count. I mean, it was the days before cell phones, so maybe she got really bored in the bathroom. She was older, so maybe number two was a struggle for her. Counting sheets could keep her busy when she was done reading magazines.

Second – that *this* was her marital complaint. She was almost ready to divorce over it. No problems with him cheating, him spending money, him lying. Nope. Not that he did those things, mind you. He just used too many damn squares of toilet paper. And I would totally not blame him for doing any of those things, especially because that would probably mean he got to use enough toilet paper to actually wipe his ass.