First, let me preface this with this:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Thank you.
So I have a decent day at work, head home, make dinner, pop out with my housemates for dessert at a cool 50’s type diner here in San Diego, then call up some friends and go dancing at the hot Friday night gay boi club and find myself surrounded with a bevy of beautiful Asian boys, and even though none accompanied me home, I had a faboo time - been quite some time since I did that.
So I come home, a little tired, and make a nice cup of tea. When I reach for the teabags, however, I see that my cupboard is once again filled with ants. This would be a bad thing, except for the fact that they were swarming over the poison we laid out for them, so I know they will all be dead, and with them their evil queen, so I resis the urge to Raid them into non-existence. Satisfied with that course of action, I head towards my computer to finish out my evening before going to bed.
As I enter the computer room, I look down to see…
A FUCKING SCORPION NONCHALANTLY WALKING ACROSS THE FLOOR!
So, if I may reiterate…
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
At this point I am seriously freaking out - my housemates are long since asleep, and I know I’m a grown man and can handle this myself; however, the irrational part of my brain is too busy going, “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” to really be of any use to me. (Needless to say, we didn’t get these kinds of things in Pennsylvania; instead, I move to California, home of earthquakes, brush fires, traffic james, wolves, rattlesnakes, black window spiders and, of course, SCORPIONS!)
So, not wanting to get too close to the little fuck, I grab a Tupperware bowl, put it over him, and weigh it down with a box of Pop Tarts. (There’s some irony in there somewhere, but I’m too wigged to appreciate it right at this particular moment.) I pop into IRC chat to bemoan my freaking-outness, and Monster104 promptly tells me to save it for him, so he’s getting a new pet at Dopetoberfest next month. (Other people, such as Ooner, suggested I pick it up by the tail. Still others, like MrVisible, start regaling me with urban legends about scorpions and bugs in general. These things, of course, are not generally aiding my state of freak-outishness.)
So there it sits. Staring at me through his little plastic burpable prison. I can tell he hates me. He’s using his magic scorpion telepathic powers to call his brethren to his aid, or at least to convince them to hide in my shoes and in my toilet and in my underwear. I’m typing this with my feet on a chair. I am, when it comes to such things, a little girl, and wish desperately for my dyke-ish housemate to come home to either dispense of it or put it in a jar for me. (What do I feed a scorpion to keep it alive for another month? I’ll let Monster figure that out.)
On the one hand, it fascinates me (I’d always wanted a pet tarantula as a kid); on the other hand, I don’t find it so fascinating when it’s CRAWLING ACROSS MY ROOM! I can’t ever go barefoot in this house again.
So, yeah, I’m wigging. And here I thought it was going to be a good weekend…
Esprix
[de-AAAAAH!ed the post just enough to make it fit the forum-Czarcasm The AAAH!inspiring]
[Edited by Czarcasm on 09-15-2001 at 09:16 AM]