Monday, July 30, 2007

arachnid groping

My goal as of late is to spend as little money as possible, seeing as I’m an unemployed massage therapist and a partially employed office bitch. Given my distaste for shopping, which is mostly due to the throngs of annoying consumers and not a lack of materialism, my economizing goals haven’t been too hard to realize. Downfalls are as follows:

- Sushi
- Grocery store extras (i NEED baked lays cheddar and sour cream chips)

It’s a short (and taste driven) list, so I guess I’m doing pretty well except sushi is an expensive indulgence and should probably be listed 3 times because of how much it leeches from my bank account. We’ve been trying to cut our wasabe laden habit in half, which works until we enable each other and wants suddenly turn into needs. This month I have an unexpected sushi fund care of my grandmother who probably wouldn’t touch the stuff with a ten foot pole. Funny how she’d rather suck on her lucky strike cancer sticks than experiment with seaweed and raw fish. To each their own, and to me, salmon avocado rolls please!

I should probably save a little of the grandma money for a therapy session. Backstory: There’s a ceramic bowl (made by Erin Root) on the top shelf of our bakers rack that used to house bananas, avocados and the like, but has since been replaced by a bowl from Portugal. Yesterday I happened to wonder whether there was any rotting matter in the ceramic bowl since you can’t really see what’s in there from ground level. I cautiously ducked my hand into the bowl, feeling around for the glass eggplant that I knew was in there, planning to use it as a starting point for my exploration. My pinky finger hit the familiar stickiness of a spider web and I yanked my arm away from the bowl. Not content to leave it alone, I pulled the bowl down from the shelf (being sure to keep a safe distance). I personally would call it a yelp. Others may loosely interpret it as a scream. Call it what you like, but there was a spider in the bowl that my hand had just occupied.

She said she knew about it and didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to get mad that she had left it in the bowl (to eventually suck my blood).

I ask you, is this love?

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