Be Kind To Spiders. But Not Snakes.

Well, since the frequent flyer miles I transferred to my Mom's account haven't posted yet (although they HAVE been debited from my account, and my credit card has been charged the $175 transfer fee), and I don't feel like starting the paper that is due on Saturday (the. last. one. EVER!), I figure I might as well bore you all with the reason I did not sleep last night: fear.  I can't promise this will be coherent, because I'm not sure if I'm really awake or not.

Last night the phone rang at 4am, and I was greeted by some delicious heavy breathing.  It also happens that Joel went to Chicago for the week, and that I'm sort of afraid of the dark.  So, I spent the rest of the night clutching the wooden oar that Joel refuses to throw away, and praising my boyfriend's packrat nature, with my eyes wide open, listening for sounds of people coming to kill me.  This gave me some time to think the irrational fears that I seem to have some problems with.  Such as?  Well, If I had to name the three things I'm most afraid of, it would be:

1. Snakes
2. High places with no railing
3. Being killed by an axe murder/serial killer/The Blair Witch

For some reason, being relatively free of all three of these beasties has only intensified my fear of all three.

Part 1: The Serpentine Creatures That Should Really Not Exist, If You Ask Me

So. Snakes.  I loathe and fear them.  I can't understand why anyone would actually LIKE snakes, and I would not be sad if the entire class of animals were wiped off the planet.  I know, I know, they do so much good, like keep the rodent population under control.  Well, you know what?  I'd rather live in a rat-infested diseased city than a clean environment with snakes slithering around.  Oh, wait. I already do live in a metropolis overrun by our furry disease-carrying friends.  AND THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT.   

I watched this show, called Man Vs. Wild I believe, on Sunday.  In the show, a very handsome man with an Australian accent, who allegedly was a former special ops agent for the FBI or some similar agency, is dropped off in the middle of the wilderness with a backpack of supplies and 5 days to make his way to a checkpoint many, many miles away.  At least I think that was the objective.  I sort of jumped in when it was 20 minutes in progress, and was enthralled, because: WOW.  You should have seen this guy.   As he woke up in the middle of the night, silently packed up his camp, and took off running through the woods to evade a grizzly bear on Day One, I was nervous for him.  On Day Two, when he jumped off a 70 foot cliff into a river to escape the bear and rafted down the raging rapids in nothing but his jeans and hoodie sweatshirt, clutching his backpack to his chest, I willed him on.  On Day Three, when he killed a snake with a rock, I cheered for him.  Then, when he roasted the snake over a fire and ate it, I lost interest and let Joel watch Tour de France.  Frankly, I'd rather starve.

I've determined that the reason I truly think snakes are so horrible because they are sneaky.  They slither around, and you could have no idea they're even there until BOOM! They bite you and you're dead (poisonous or not -- I would die of a heart attack either way).  The big snakes don't scare me as much as the little fuckers because it's harder for an anaconda to hide and surprise you than it is for a tiny garter snake.  I once had a dream that Madison was being crushed in the grips of a giant phython, but I killed that snake by chopping him up with my Cutco cleaver.  This was probably a direct result of the dead boa constrictor that was found in the ceiling of the house that Joel shared with the rest of my male friends in college.   Reason #1 not to have a pet snake: IT MIGHT ESCAPE AND LIVE IN YOUR DROPPED CEILINGS FOR THREE YEARS BEFORE IT DIES.   *Hmmm, have we found the root of my intense fear?*   In part, Dr. Phil.  But I'm more complex than that.  Because you want to know what's worse than small snakes and big jungle kitten-strangling snakes combined?  Water snakes.

I spent most of the summers of my impressionable youth frolicking at the idyllic Deer Lake Club, which was unfortunately home to a large population of water loving snakes, including copperheads and diamondback rattlers, among others.  Oh, and a huge snapping turtle aptly named "Chomper" who relieved fishing hooks of their curvature and prolifically procreated.  It's a miracle I survived to adolescence, really.  But I did, and when I reached the ripe age of 15, I realized my dream of becoming a lifeguard at DLC, and became charged with assuring worried parents with memorized phrases like, "The snakes are more scared of you than you are of them," and "Oh, no, those snakes you saw sunning on those rocks over there never come near the swimming area," and my personal favorite, "Of course none of the snakes here are poisonous!"  All of these statements were patently false, and I spent a large portion of my paid time throwing rocks and sand at vicious little child-biting snakes, trying to steer them out of the swimming area and back into open water.  They were fearless, and they were mean.  The worst was when they refused to leave the swimming area, and ducked their heads under the murky water, disappearing completely.  Cue the Jaws theme song, please.  Can you believe I only made like $7 an hour?  I'm billing that place for my therapy when I finally have nervous breakdown at the sight of a harmless snake on television.

Oh, and then there was this one time, when I was out running on my quiet little hometown street, blasting music over my vintage walkman, and I very nearly stepped on a snake that had been run over by a car.  It was completely flattened and baked into the roadtop, but I didn't know that when I narrowly averted stepping on it's head.   The scream that escaped my lungs must have been louder than I realized, what with the Ace of Base blaring in my ears, because when I came back along that route ten minutes later (on the other side of the road OF COURSE) there was an old man standing in his driveway, looking rather worried.  I stopped to ask him if he needed help, and he said he had heard a bloodcurdling scream a few minutes ago, and was trying to see what had happened and if he needed to call the police.  Um, oops.  Stupid snakes.  Now they're giving old people heart attacks, too.

And another time (much more recently, I'm afraid), I went on a hike with my family.  I believe it was for Mother's Day.  We hiked to this nice, cool pond on a hot, humid summer day.  My mother and brothers promptly dove in to cool off and tried to coax me into the water.  Um, let me think about that... HELL NO.  First, I hate swimming, but my hatred of all things water is another topic altogether.  Second, and more importantly, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY SNAKES ARE PROBABLY SWIMMING AROUND IN THERE?  So I contented myself sitting on a mildly uncomfortable rocky formation and attempted to make friends with the dog that a couple of European swingers had tied up under a tree while they groped each other on a rock a few feet away and talked in a foreign language about how pissed they were that we'd showed up and ruined their skinny dipping lovefest.  I was a little surprised that they hadn't even given the dog anything to drink on such a hot day, so I offered him some water cupped in my hands, and then I sort of lost my balance because I had taken off my shoes to dip my feet in the water.  I put my hand down to catch myself, and what to my wondering eyes did appear?  But A HUGE FUCKING SNAKE all coiled up, probably plotting how it could eat me and then have the dog for dessert.  Please do not think I am exaggerating when I say that this snake was AT LEAST four feet long.  I began to hyperventilate, and apparently it decided I was too nervous and stringy to make a good meal, and it slithered off INTO THE WATER.  And  then it ate my entire family, as well as the European swingers.  And you know what?  Served them right, because I told them so.

Oh.  And let's just talk about the lovely people who live less than two blocks from my house and have, at last count, three giant boa constrictors as "pets".  In typical Baltimore white trash fashion, these folks enjoy sitting out on their marble steps, smoking and drinking beer -- WITH THEIR FUCKING* SNAKES CRAWLING ALL OVER THEM.  Now, I have nothing against people who have tattoos (in fact, I've been meaning to get a cute little wing on my ankle for years now, but I have this thing about needles...) (SHIT, there's fear #4), nor do I hold any predjudice against those who ride motorcycles, whether it be for transportation or recreational purposes.  But I DO have something against people who sit on their stoops with Harley Davidson bandanas tied around their heads, a Natty Boh in one tattooed arm, and a boa constrictor sliding around the other arm, which is also covered in tattos of half-naked women.  Listen, I have a right to walk down the sidewalk without encountering a jungle snake on my way home from parking my car.  Just read the Constitution.  It's in there, right after my right to chop your snake's head off with a high-end kitchen knife if I even catch him THINKING about coming near one of my cats. 

When I was a freshman in college, there were rumors -- "urban legends" I believe people were calling them -- of snakes hiding in the dorm ceilings, living off the mice from the cafeteria (rumors which TURNED OUT TO BE TRUE, I might add, urban legend my ass), and to calm my frequent panic attacks about snakes slithering down from the ceilings in my sleep, my friend, who is a Maryland native, told me that there were no snakes in Maryland.  Nope.  They just don't like it here.   I believed him for quite a long time.  Until THE SNAKE WAS FOUND IN THE CEILING OF HIS OWN HOUSE, that is.  I would give anything to have that innocence back. 

But at least Maryland is no Thailand.  Because thanks to the "diversity" of private universities, I have a friend from Thailand, and MAN you should hear the stories he tells about the snakes there.  I used to think that no one could possibly understand my deep hatred and fear, and then I met Brooke.  And Brooke, he understood.  One time, he saw in the newspaper that a snake ate a cow, and then died because it's stomach exploded or something.  Another time, a snake ate a woman's baby.  If you don't believe me, why don't you ask this 18-year-old boy who was eaten by an anaconda?  He'll tell you it's true.  Anyway, Brooke lives in Guam now.  It's an island, and there are no snakes there.   

Snakes are horrible scary disgusting sneaky creatures and they either need to grow legs and become lizards or die.  The end.

Next time: I blame my fear of heights AND my inability to do simple math on our home renovations.  Stay tuned!

*I would like to apologize to anyone** who might, perchance, be offended by my use of profanity.  I've been trying to cut back, really I have.  However, there is absolutely nothing "ladylike" nor "educated" about snakes, so I think it's justified in this instance.  Snakes fucking suck.    

**Yes, Mother, I CAN read your mind.  Scary, isn't it?

Comments

[Linda]

Yes, it is very scary how you can read my mind ... while reading this entry I was mentally composing my email to gently chastise your language as "unladylike" and "uneducated" ... but then had decided that if you did have to swear, that writing about snakes might be the correct time!

[Dominic]

Man vs Wild
It wasn't an Australian accent.
He's British.
I worked on teh show.