People who kill spiders AND People who ignore them and pretend they will go away on their own

July 30, 2010

It was as hot and sticky as an X-rated theater on the kind of evening when you relinquish your body issues, accept your stretch marks and bacne as character-building tools, and lie naked on the kitchen floor because tiles are surely cooler than Berber carpeting.

I had just moved into a new apartment after the demise of a damaging and over-priced marriage. Still in my ultra feminist, “I don’t need a man and since my underwire broke I might as well burn this bra” stage, I was feeling confident in my abilities to master things I had previously left to the opposite gender. I had changed the batteries in the fire alarms all by myself and supervised my father as he installed a new toilet seat.  If it weren’t for my well-endowed form I could have been mistaken for a man.

Having just finished hanging my last Bob Dylan poster, I was rewarding myself with excessive quantities of peanut butter and jelly saltine sandwiches – a perfect excuse to open the fridge and feel the cool gust of the electronically-produced, climactic heaven contained inside. I was settled comfortably on the kitchen floor, shrouded in my nakedness when I saw it.

Gigantic in size. Grotesque in appearance. Rivaling Donald Trump in sheer arrogance. A spider.

A gangly, furry, hemorrhage-inducing spider clinging to the corner

My spider's runt cousin, Fred

of the ceiling and the wall, its eight limbs, the forceps of evil personified.

A wave of panic coursed through me. A spider? A SPIDER? Really, God? A failed marriage, a radically bloated anatomy, an appalling American Idol finale, and now a spider? What kind bulls*** is this?

I slid up the wall, my bare back sticking uncomfortably to the glossy paint. It wasn’t moving. I tip-toed toward it with the speed of a clay-mation turtle, temporarily paralyzed as I often am when confronted by creatures that disgust me, like neo Nazis or born again Christians. Testing the waters to determine what kind of personality I was dealing with, I tapped a wooden spoon on the wall a few inches beneath the beast.

It remained unscathed.

Conceited twat.

I backed away from the wall and paced the kitchen. This was a serious situation. A situation that would test not only my faith, but my new found masculinity.

I knew I had to either kill it or scoop it up with a piece of paper and put it outside. But ten minutes passed and I was still being controlled and manipulated by this self-serving prop of Satan. It was getting late and I didn’t want to stay up any longer waiting for my testicles to descend, so I made an executive decision.

“Just let it go, Lena,” I told myself. “This little spider will not hurt you. This little spider will not crawl into your mouth in the middle of the night, and lay eggs on your tonsils. This little spider will realize the error of its ways and leave quietly in the night. No blood shed. No walk of shame. Just a mutually respectful understanding of boundaries.”

So I did just that. I walked away. I got ready for bed, nestled under my sheets, and slept though the occasional sensation that something was crawling on me did disturb my slumber more than once.

actual spider, May 2011

A few weeks later I spotted the crumpled, rigor mortise, remains of a faithfully departed spider on the floor of my unused second bedroom. Out of respect and unapologetic laziness I left it there. Now, 10 months later, as dust collects on its vestigial limbs, I realize that most people would have not only taken care of this matter the second they were faced with it, but would not allow this sort of madness to continue for a second summer.

I, evidently, am not most people. Which brings me to the next categorical segregation of this entirely useless blog:

People who kill spiders and people who ignore them and pretend they will go away on their own.

I am confident that I am in the vast minority here. In fact this posting may help me eliminate some unwanted Facebook friends and birthday present recipients. But that’s ok. Because you know what, people? I have no shame. That’s right. NO shame.

I do what I do. I let all kinds of wildlife infest my apartment and I don’t think twice about it. I’m sure there is some sort of psychology behind this behavior, involving the avoidance of unpleasant things and eating your feelings. But I don’t care.

You can judge me as you like, because I judge you too! I judge anyone who could kill a spider and heartlessly crumple its body in a paper towel, or paralyze it with hair spray as a certain family member of mine has started to do.

This chick believes in the cause

A progressive at work

Why can’t we live in a world where we do not kill and wreak havoc upon these armpit hairs of Mother Nature but instead welcome them into our homes and hearts?

Ponder this, my children. Feedback regarding this topic and my mental health is always appreciated.

Peace be with you.


The girl who wears bleach-stained clothing in public

***In an effort not to offend any female readers, I do realize that most women and men go through life with an equal amount of spider/insect related deaths on their conscious. Referencing my weak femininity was simply a literary tool that I used to salvage my lack of imagination.

As children, myself and my siblings took great pleasure in this gem of film making. I encourage all parents reading to put this on the TV play list for your children the next time you go clubbing.


About thegirlwiththeblog

At any given time I can be found moisturizing my elbows and searching for words that rhyme with orange.
This entry was posted in Two Sorts of People in the World and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to People who kill spiders AND People who ignore them and pretend they will go away on their own

  1. Collin says:

    Dear God Lena, that is one huge, ugly monstrosity of mother nature… And to think that you just let it’s carcass rot and decay in your spare room for over a year now is both unfathomable and unforgivable. I would have sucked that black hairy-legged creature of death up in one fowl swoop with my Dyson ball vacuum. Actually, that sucker might have been a bit too gigantic even for the infallible power of the almighty Dyson, in which case I don’t know what I’d have done, besides soil myself and have a nervous break-down of epic proportions.

  2. Makya McBee says:

    There is a third option – I kinda like spiders. Maybe it’s the fact that I fondly recall reading Charlotte’s Web as a child, maybe it’s the hope that their bite will give me superpowers…I don’t know, but I welcome them as roommates.

  3. raincoaster says:


    I think I love you.

  4. bearicaquinn says:

    1. I called dibs on marriage, lonnnnng long ago.
    2. I have several spider bites currently AND am wearing pants with bleach stains all over the ass. They are currently my only pair of shorts. It’s hot. I’m sure you know where this is going.

  5. Magdalen says:

    Based on the number of spiders I’ve seen recently that I chose to ignore, I think you know which camp I fall in.

    Which is ironic: I don’t camp.

  6. Aaron says:

    To me, anything with more than four legs shall suffer the same grisly fate. When I spot it, I declare the next World War upon its unholy presence. I get an immense sense of satisfaction killing the little s.o.b. and in fact devise a plan for its corpse. One time after killing a spider in my room, I skewered its body on a toothpick and left it on my desk as a “warning” to others; “This shall be your fate if I catch sight of you”. To me, a world without insects is a world I can find some peace in. I’m positively certain that if we can put a man on the moon, and invent cinnamon flavored dental floss, we could find a way to continue global pollination without the honey bee.

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