The Spider’s Name Is Dan

There’s a spider that lives in my room.  I first noticed it the other day.  Granted, it was 5:30 in the morning, but even at that hour I know that woodgrain shouldn’t move.  A few days later, I saw it again when I was making my bed.  I was careful not to flip the comforter too high so as not to knock it off the wall.

Which shouldn’t have been a concern of mine, because three minutes of crack internet research tells me it’s probably a phiddipus audax jumping spider.

Some people (including my best friend and roughly half of the men I have dated) would develop full scale panis disorders at the mention of this spider and its probable jumping abilities.  And if it was any other insect, like one of those incredibly repulsive and mutated thousand leggers, I might have freaked, too.  But spiders…not so much a problem with me.  If one has to be in residence, I’d rather it stay and eat the other bugs.

Not that I have bugs in my house or anything, but it’s an old building and these things happen.

I haven’t seen the spider yet today, which surprises me a little because this whole place is getting deep cleaned.  I am not a cleaner.  I am a sit-around-and-not-care-much-about-the-mess-er.  I once avoided doing dishes for a whole year.  My habits have gotten slightly less disgusting over the years, but anyone concerned with pet hair or shoes strewn about the dining room should probably not come over.

Except for tonight, of course, because if you’re coming to the party, you should know that I’ve been cleaning for two days.  For you people.  You’re welcome.

I’m just now starting to worry that no one will show up.  I worried like this last year, too, only to realize at one point of the night that it was hard to walk from the living room to the kitchen and I didn’t know 15% of the people in my own house.  But I didn’t advertise so heavily this year (ie, I didn’t tell Katie to text anyone she wanted) and I hope enough people show up to allow me the delusion of being popular.

Logical Self: Oh come on.  If less people show up, that means you’ll have less cleanup in the morning.  Plus the neighbors probably won’t call the cops.

13-Year-Old Self: WHY DON’T I HAVE ANY FRIENDS?!?!?!

Logical Self and 13-Year-Old Self will be duking it out for the next several hours while Getting Ready For What May Or May Not Be A Decent Party Self finishes cleaning.  And food prepping.  And repeating to herself over and over again that she is not one of the Stinky Kids anymore, and most certainly has friends.

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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