Bugs Are Gross.

I'm not really a girly girl.  Promise.  I have very little tolerance for the color pink.  I don't do lots of ruffles and fluff.  Until I had a place of my own, the only things I "cooked" were Kraft mac & cheese, frozen pizzas and toast.  And I'd rather play with toy trucks than I would with baby dolls.

But bugs and spiders are another story.  This is where my girliness really shines through.  OK, not all bugs are gross.  Ladybugs are cute (as long as they aren't those imposter Asian beetles that bite).  Caterpillars/Butterflies are beautiful and fun.  Lightning bugs are amazing!  I don't mind ants or roly-poly bugs.  And while they suck (literally and figuratively), mosquitoes only succeed in making me yell and itch.

There are two creepy crawlies that I really, truly cannot stand: spiders and silverfish.  

Spiders

I have been afraid of spiders since... Well, since I was born, probably.  I'm one of the most arachnophobic people you'll ever meet.  Once, when I was about 8 or 9, I saw a spider in my room.  I tried to get my dad to kill it, but before he got there, it was gone.  I slept on the couch in the family room for a few nights since I didn't know where it had gone, and I was NOT sleeping with a spider on the loose in such close quarters!  

When I was in my early twenties, I remember sitting on the couch downstairs when I saw a spider booking it across the floor.  I panicked.  I had no clue what to do.  It was headed toward my only escape route, and I was determined to live on the couch in order to avoid it.  I got talked into killing it myself, so I went to the fireplace (it was a safe enough distance from me at that point) and grabbed the little broom that gets kept there.  I got as close as I had to and beat the HELL out of that spider with my broom.  I then grabbed probably 10-15 tissues to pick it's squashed little body up and flushed it down the toilet.  

The very next night, I saw the same flippin' spider, hauling ass across the floor.  I thought I was having a "Groundhog Day" moment!  Repeat the scene from the previous night.  

Third night, SAME DAMN SPIDER.  Turns out there was a nest of those fuckers hiding in the wall and I was just seeing the same type of spider each night (which is only slightly better than a spider that comes back from the dead to haunt you each night).  Dad bombed it and I didn't have the problem again, but it was a less than pleasant experience.

Girl Scout camp actually taught me to deal with most spiders without too much flailing.  If they're on the ceiling or in a dark corner, I give them a name and talk to them a bit.  Ask them to leave before my hubby gets home (though, in all fairness, he hates spiders nearly as much as I do), lest there be consequences.  They never listen, but I keep trying.  If they're outside, I just walk away.  Outside is their domain, and I respect that.  Inside, though, all bets are off.

Silverfish

My first encounter with a silverfish was actually in college.  My college roomie and I had one scurry across our room one night, and I didn't know what the hell it was.  Some kind of small alien?  A science experiment gone terribly awry?  What the HELL kind of creature is that?!

I didn't see one again, I think, until we bought this house.  Since owning this house (not even 2 years yet), I have seen at least 6 of the bastards, and it scares me shitless every damn time.  The first time I saw one I was headed to the basement.  Now, I didn't grow up with a traditional basement (we had a finished lower level in a split ranch), so to this day, basements scare me a bit.  And as I was headed down there, I saw that same scurrying I had seen in college.  I bolted upstairs and didn't go into the basement for a few days.

The next time was while I was working.  I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when I saw movement.  Sure enough, there was a damn silverfish on the curtains.  A-hole.  I grabbed the vacuum, but by the time I got back, it was gone.  I kept the vacuum there for 3 days, just in case.

My most epic battle involving a silverfish had to be today.  I decided to do some laundry on my break, since Hubby and I are going camping this weekend.  I grabbed some stuff from his hamper, and then started grabbing clothes from my hamper when something moved.  I gasped, jumped back, and looked into the hamper.  A G-D silverfish was squirming around in there like it was his own personal pool or something.  I froze for a bit before picking up a shoe (a really nice dress shoe, at that) and hitting it.  I dropped the shoe in the hamper and ran.  

I plugged in the vacuum and got the extender attachment ready.  I used it to pick up my shoe (in case he had decided to infest it next) and, upon seeing it bug-free, put it back on the floor.  Then I used it to gently push my sock out of the way, and there he was.  Not yet dead, but definitely stunned by my hit.  It took two tries (the first time I nearly sucked up a pair of underroos), but I sucked the damn thing into the vacuum.  I left it running, to make sure he got good and sucked up, and then left the room.  The vacuum is still in the bedroom, there's a basket of clothes in the hall, and I'm not about to do anything about it until Hubby is home.  Eff that.

I haven't learned any tricks for dealing with those creeps yet.  They come out of nowhere and are gone just as quickly, but you just know they're waiting for the right time to show up again.  Nowhere is safe.  Nowhere.  Is.  Safe.    

Edit: I've just learned that what I'm encountering are called house centipedes, not actually silverfish.  They're still creepy and I still dislike them in my home.  That is all. 

No-So Secret

Everyone has secrets.  Also, everyone has things they think are secrets, but really aren't. 

Of the several I have, the one I feel the need to bring up at the moment is my mental disorders.  Yes, we all know I'm depressed.  I also have major anxiety, occasional panic attacks, and OCD-like tendencies.  Prozac, as I've said, helps greatly.  I no longer find myself curled into a ball on the floor just because I broke a vase.  I'm not afraid to go into low-key social situations (but still prefer to have someone I know by my side).  I don't need to set alarms for weird times (I had this thing about 0's and 5's... don't ask).  It's nice.

But I'm not without issues.  The most notable is the phone phobia.  I cannot call someone I don't know.  Cannot.  The few times in the past year that I've HAD to, I have almost thrown up repeatedly during the course of the calls and often cried before and/or after the call itself.  Suffice it to say, not good.  

But the one that really can be a pain is the complete and utter lack of self esteem or confidence in myself.  It makes some things really difficult and others impossible.  It'd be nice if I could just suck it up and stop caring.  Or if I could, in the words of a friend, "fake it until you make it."  But I just can't.  

I'd love to be confident enough to start my own photography business.  I mean, I'm not good enough to be taking shots for Nat Geo or anything, but I enjoy it and I'm decent at it.  But in reality, I'm not even sure some of my friends really like me, so I'm certainly not confident enough to approach strangers to sell myself (which is what business is all about, right?).  It's a sad reality, but reality nonetheless.

And before you go asking why I don't just go to therapy, trust me.  Been there.  Done that.  Still like this...

Maxine: Protector of... Herself?

So, I have no doubt that our dog loves us.  She enjoys cuddling with us and is always happy when we come home, no matter how long we've been away.  She plays with us and barks at "intruders" (aka friends who have come into the house).  There is much love, and we give as much as we can in return.  (I'm not sure humans are actually capable of the level of love dogs are, which is why I say that we give as much as we can.)

HOWEVER, I have noticed one thing that makes her forget her loyalty to the ones who feed her, walk her, buy her stuff, and love her unconditionally: the vacuum.  

Yes, I know dogs (and cats) are notoriously afraid of this evil monster we use to clean our floors.  They're noisy and they appear seemingly out of nowhere to interrupt the day's events (usually naptime).  I imagine Maxi sitting there wondering why we would align ourselves with such an awful being.  Makes sense, I suppose.  We're the ones hanging out with it, touching it.  We show no mercy when it comes time to vacuum.  Floors beware!

And yet, as horrible as this "creature" must be, when it comes time to fight or flight, the dog inevitably runs like hell.  She doesn't bother trying to protect us from what she clearly sees as Enemy #1.  Hell, after the first time I brought it out, she doesn't even bother barking at the thing anymore.  She sees it and freezes.  Then, as soon as the noise begins, she looks for an escape route.  Every dog for herself!

I suppose people are a lot like that, too.  We all have something that cripples us to the point where we're useless even to the ones we love most.  But it just makes me wonder just how loyal my puppers really is...

Aw, hell.  She's cute.  I'll let it slide.