I get easily sidetracked sometimes. Chalk it up to a generational thing; with 140 characters for Twitter and eight seconds of video on Vine, compounded with being part of the Nintendo Generation, paying attention at times can be something of a challenge. I don’t blame the media, it’s all me but I’m taking steps to correct it. Part of which is following up on my threats, er, I mean, my promises. One such promise came from a blog, many moons ago that I recently referenced in another blog. I’m not sure what kind of karmic math this works out to, but I found myself telling the story over dinner a few nights ago to my Save Yourself costars, Jessica Cameron and Sydney Kondruss along with our fearless leader/director Ryan M. Andrews and figured that before I wore the damn story out too much, I’d best commit it to my blog, lest I suffer a head wound on set and forget the incident ever happened.
If you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, and I’m sure that you have because you are likely intelligent and attractive, then you’ll know there was a time when I found myself being the unwilling nursery keeper to a colony of maggots in my closet. They were living off of chicken bones that I had assumed were well cleaned and that I had been saving for a crafting project. However, with a busy touring schedule at that point in my life, I’d had to put the idea on the back burner. When I finally pulled the bones out and spread them all over my bed for a photoshoot, I realized I had something of a collection of maggots that were now all over my bedding. The idea, the bones and the infant silverfish were all disposed of and I didn’t give it much thought afterwards.
However, I hadn’t evicted all of my unknown roommates in my closet. I was on my hands and knees looking for an errant costume piece, when a very large wolf spider flew out of the spot where the bowl had been, front legs up, rearing back. I’m fairly certain that this wasn’t a posture to save a goal in a game of spider soccer that was happening in my closet. To be fair, I didn’t know I had a maggot nursery going on in there, either so it was possible there was a foul ball in play. But I’ve watched my fair share of nature documentaries to know an aggressive posture when I see it. This spider wasn’t looking for a high five.
It’s been a few years since this incident to which I’ve considerably mellowed in my attitude towards spiders. Live and let live, appreciate the unique biological engineering that makes them what they are, and not freak out like a drunk reality television starlet when I see a little guy in a web, minding his own business. However, back then I had a considerably less copacetic attitude towards sharing space with them. Especially when unannounced. I still don’t like killing things just because of this, so I fetched a jar and a piece of cardboard and trapped my arachnid roommate. I’m not au fait with the typical behaviour of the common lycosidae, but I’m pretty sure this one, which was throwing itself against the glass, was unusually aggressive.
I didn’t want to release it into the alley, for fear it would hit a passing car, and given it’s size, potentially dent it. I knew that in our basement laundry room, we had a number of bugs in the meter cupboard, so with my angry eight-legged buddy, I relocated him to his new space. This involved opening the door, bowling the jar to the back of the room, slamming the door and bolting like the wind back up to my apartment. I’m not going to lie, I might have locked the front door and hidden under my blanket. I kept listening for multiple footsteps up from the basement and a knock on my door and a voice, not unlike Samuel L. Jackson, demanding to be let back in, or he’d kick the door in, but nothing happened.
Years have passed, and I moved out of that space at the beginning of this year. But before I went, I was doing laundry downstairs, and I swear that I could feel eyes on me in the basement. Six of them, to be exact. I felt the spider’s gaze and glanced over at the meter cupboard and saw a leg, just one, protruding by the door. I waved and said hello. It withdrew. I wonder now from time to time, or whenever I tell this story if Mr.Manyfoot lies down there, with generations of children, telling the story of the strange human that brought the family down there. Like Aragog from the Harry Potter books, my name will live on through generations of spiders as the strange human who named their grandfather and rather than kill him, brought him to a new life and world, so that their family could flourish. And that name that I bestowed on their patriarch is still revered and spoken to this day. The one I called ‘EEEEEEekkkkk’.
Little Miss Risk