Spiderpocalypse 3. Ya know how usually by the time a movie gets to part 3 it pretty much sucks balls and is nowhere near as shocking or amazing or terrifying as the the first one was? That's so totally not how this went down. At all.

Thursday, July 12th 2012.


Approximately 10:00 am. 


Or something like that.


I don't know for sure.


Because after the events of that morning, time ceased to matter.
As a matter of fact, after the events of that morning, lots of things ceased to matter. 
After the events of that morning, my carefree, willy nilly, look at the shiny things, life changed.
As in hard-core changed.
I no longer have the luxury of letting my gaze turn wistfully towards something shiny.
Oh. Hell. To. The. No.
There's not a heck of a lot of willy nilly-ness going on around here either.
I am constantly and unavoidably on high alert.
We're talking level 10, you guys.


As you all know, I am always on an alert called Zombie Alert. ALWAYS. Just last night while on a walk with my mom, I alerted her that I had that zombie feeling.  And although we didn't end up seeing anything besides a few non-zombie geese, mark my words: Strange things were afoot in those woods. And if there is a body found in there with it's face eaten off in the near future, I will not be surprised one bit. I mean, there is an ever so slight chance that it was just some horny teenagers getting their freak on out there or something because my mom said she sat on a condom on one of the park benches the other day. But there is an ever so bigger ass chance that it was Zombies.


But this is an even higher alert than my constant Zombie Alert. Patti's Constant 24/7 Zombie Alert-ometer runs at about a 7. And that's high as shit. Cuz even a level 1 for me is super high. I am like the Chuck Norris of alertiness. My alertiness is mega hard-core. Mega. Like, take your highest ever alertiness and multiply it by infinity and add a gallon of awesomesauce and a Chuck Norris kick to the balls, and that's how much more alert I am than you. 


And my current state of alertiness is, as I said before, a level 10. 


That's the Holy Shitcakes level.


And it's all because of those freaking spiders.


7/12/2012
It was a busy morning. I was in the midst of a Patti Waits 'Till The Last Minute Pack-A-Thon for our trip to Missouri, and I was also trying to shower and get myself all purdied up. The Boy yelled to me from the office, so I went to see what was going on. He said there was a spider on the door, and I almost flipped out until I saw that it was small. About the size of my thumb nail. So I grabbed a tissue so I could squish it. Then it jumped. And although that freaked me out a teensy bit, I stayed calm and took care of business like a champ.


About 10 minutes later as I was walking through my bedroom, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a big grass spider in the middle of my floor. It was about the size of a half dollar, which is about the size of the nuggets that I wanted to poop because that is a big enough spider to scare the shit out of me. I called The Boy in for back-up which consisted of him standing in the doorway yelling while I sprayed the spider with Sebastian Shaper Hairspray and pounded him into oblivion with The Hub's heaviest shoe. (And believe me, I have tested all of his shoes for this purpose. My closet -being mostly filled with flip flops- is useless in the spider killing arena. Plus, I don't want arachnid guts on MY shoes.)


About 10 minutes after THAT episode, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law while packing up my bathroom stuff, when suddenly I sensed that I was being watched. I turned towards the shower, and there it stood. The Jaws of the arachnid world. This spider:

"Hi. I am an asshole. I will fuck up your entire mental well-being and then have babies in your underwear drawer."

So I did what any normal human being would do. I freaked the freak out. Big time. My sister-in-law must have thought there was a murderous hobo zombie dressed as a clown coming at me with a machete in one hand and a chainsaw in the other. Which I honestly would have much preferred. And I am not even being dramatic. That is how I really feel. Spiders are my Kryptonite. Well, spiders and John Denver. If you ever wanna do me in then train a spider to sing Rocky Mountain High and let him loose in my abode. Mission. Accomplished.


So anyways, I start freaking out and I remember that I have some Hot Shot Spider Killer under the kitchen sink, so I run to get it, yelling for The Boy to come and help me. But guess what? After I told The Boy that Spider jaws was in my bathroom, he refused to cross the threshold. And let me just pause here and say that when my OBGYN told me that I was giving birth to a penis, I thought there go all those mother/daughter mani/pedi's and tea parties, but at least I'll have a spider killer in my midst. What a load of crap THAT dream was. Cuz my little dude wants ZERO to do with saving my ass from creepy crawlies. So I gave him the phone, and ran back into the bathroom, and guess what else? Spider Jaws was gone. So yeah, I freaked the freak out some more. Then jumped in the tub so I could survey the area whilst in a protective moat of sorts, and I spotted him over by the shower and went balls to the wall spray-a-rama on his ass with my Hot Shot while I screamed bloody murder and The Boy screamed bloody murder into my sister-in-law's ear on the phone. And guess what happened THEN??? A nightmare of the most epic proportions. Something that you hear about while sitting by a campfire while a dude in a hockey mask stalks you from the woods. Something that is so horrifying you can't even believe it to be real. A shitload of  baby spiders started running all over the freaking bathroom, abandoning ship after being pummeled with the spider spray. There were tons of them running in all directions. It was shocking, and I went a bit comatose for a minute. The horror that I was witnessing wasn't even registering in my brain. I couldn't come to terms with what my eyeballs were seeing. I imagine that's how people react during major traumatic experiences like war, mass murders, and Justin Bieber concerts. But this was probably worse. Cuz duh, we're talking about spiders here. And it happened to me. And everything's worse when it happens to me. 


So finally I realize the unspeakable horror that is taking place right in front of me and I snap to it and start spraying the spray all over my damn bathroom while screaming words so foul I'm sure the boy would have aged a good 20 years instantaneously had he heard any of them. Which he didn't, due to the fact that he was in the living room screaming bloody murder himself. Even though he had never laid eyes on WTF was going down in my lavatory, due to the other fact that he doesn't love me or want to protect me. So eventually, after what seemed like about 6 months, 17 days, 5 hours and 32 minutes, Spider Jaws was barely moving, so I jumped out of the tub and ran to the office to grab the big ass college dictionary, ran back to the bathroom, dropped the book on Spider Jaws and proceeded to jump up and down on it for approximately 5 minutes while yelling "Die! Die! Die!" and "Holy Shit!" on a loop. And the entire time I am jumping up and down on this book, the 2 inches of Hot Shot that I've flooded my bathroom with are splashing all over the freaking place, including on my skin, which will probably erupt in weird growths and protrusions at some point in the near future. Or maybe I'll grow a tiny little twin out of my ankle or some awesome shit like that (a girl can dream). And after I was done jumping I sprayed the dictionary and vicinity with even more Hot Shot for good measure. 


Better safe than sorry. And better a one-eyed, snaggle toothed, annoying little ankle twin than a spider any old day.


Then I went into the kitchen to try to gain some semblance of composure and wash the poison off of my hands, and guess what else? There was a goddamn spider standing next to my sink looking at me like "What the fuck did you just do, bitch? What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. DO???" And so I crushed him with a book and put him in the disposal and we threw our shit in the car and got the hell outta dodge.


And I swear to Sweet Baby Jeebus on a tilt-a-whirl, I didn't stop shaking for 5 days. And scratching. I look like a tweaker. And I'm swatting at things that aren't there. And I'm totally still looking over my shoulder. Well, more than looking over my shoulder. I am constantly scanning the perimeter at ALL times. It's like I'm looking through some kind of Robocop or Terminator eyeball situation where I see some sort of computer screen that can detect any oddities or movement or arachnid activity of any kind within a 50 foot radius of me. I told you. I am on high freaking alert, you guys. And It's starting to take a toll. It's like Nam, or something. I keep having flashbacks and bouts of the shakes and involuntary spasms when I think too much about what happened. I definitely have PTSD or something.  And I have to go home in a few days, and I'm scared. The only hopeful thing is that my cat sitting friend did let the bug guys into my house and they supposedly attacked the situation full force. Which in my mind would have been burning the house down and re-building out of solid metal and putting it on electrified stilts 30 stories high, but in their mind was some old-fashioned spraying and stuff. But my friend has made no mention to me of seeing any spiders on the premises. Which is good. And she texted me this photo of The Cat a few days ago:

And I really like to think that if there was a Spiderpocalypse 3 going on at my house, The Cat wouldn't be sitting around masturbating with a tennis ball. So this photo makes me hopeful that all is well.




In case you missed it:
Spiderpocalypse Part 1
Spiderpocalypse Part 2