A spider, the largest I’ve seen around these parts in a while, has managed to spin a huge web in front of the picture window of our house. This means either:

1) He’s noticed that the moths and flies flock to the window at night, attracted by the light coming from inside…

or

2) He thinks he can capture the whole house.

Nature and logic tell me the answer is #1, but I’ve stocked up some grenades and a flame thrower just in case it’s #2 (And you would all do well not to ask me where I got them).

From the looks of it, he’s literally making a killing. I had only noticed the web today, but it’s starting to look like a Woodstock for flies (of course, one where the main performer would play the Star Spangled Banner and then drain you of your fluids… ew… nature is icky).

It may only be a matter of time before the web is deemed too gross, even for the sake of studying nature, and swept away by one of us. Until then, that spider’s got some prime real estate. Seriously. He could charge rent for other spiders. He could let the web get full of leaves and let strands break, but the other spiders wouldn’t complain because the web was in such a prime spot.

But then the other spiders would complain that they didn’t have enough electricity to run their blenders or their eight treadmills, and the first spider would say, “Why don’t I build a coal-burning power plant?” The other spiders would all bitch and moan that it would pollute their environment, so he’d say, “Alright, how about wind-based power plant, you know, the one with the giant pinwheel thingies?” And the other spiders would still moan, “But it’s such an eyesore! We pay too much rent to have to look at a bunch of pinwheels!” And then they’d reach some compromise that would involve kicking a bunch of younger spiders out of the lilac bush by the front door, and everyone would be happy for a while.

But then the really rich spiders would start having 30-odd kids each, and these kids would grow up without any real affection or parental supervision, and they’d become brats who cause fights and car accidents, wandering around the house looking for hair gel or money for drugs. The first spider would want to form a police force, an trained team of grasshoppers, charged with keeping the peace, each armed with a tiny can of bug spray. And the rich spiders would complain that they don’t want to be “kept in line,” by some “hard-nosed military force.” The yelling would continue for months until several of the spiders were robbed in the night, and then they start crying because the first spider didn’t do anything to prevent it.

Then they’d let the grasshoppers patrol the strands, but in an incident one night, the richest spider in the web will come stumbling out of a bar, naked, wielding eight big knives. He will threaten to kill anyone who walks by. The grasshopper/police force will show up, spend hours reasoning with the spider, but when he freaks out and attacks one the officers, he will be shot with a can of bug spray. He will be rushed to intensive care in the upper web, but will die shortly after. The neighborhood will be in an uproar. The spiders of the web will demand that the grasshopper that shot the spider be banned from the force and sentenced to life in a jar. The grasshopper, having done everything by the book, will be allowed to resign from the force, after which he will relocate to the mailbox area.

Or, you know, I’ll just get a broom and sweep it away tomorrow.

Have you ever been waiting for someone for so long that you begin to realize you'd be dissapointed if they show up?

I had the occasion to say something which, while totally justified, was going to make me sound like a jackass.

The plan was, “OK, have a good weekend. And paychecks are coming in on Monday, right?” With enough emphasis on “…right?” to state that I was displeased with my paycheck being two days late, and would thus not be getting to me until after the weekend now.

Aware that this might sound a bit petulant, I tried mixing it up and spinning it into a joke. I said, “Have a good weekend! I’ll see my money… er… you on Monday… he he.”

We both laughed, but I was acutely aware of how awful that sounded. “My money?” What the hell was I talking about? Was I going around breaking legs in lieu of interest on high-volume loans?

Objective: Jackass: Complete

Stupid? Yes.

Stupider than anything else I’ve said to my employer this week? Not really. It’s been a strange week.

I suppose the other major faux pas was when I sent an e-mail to the higher ups requesting, for the umpteenth time, that they send me a copy of this mythical employee handbook that they keep talking about: the one that outlines the policies on vacation time and sick days.

In desperation, related to certain misunderstandings and unpleasant revelations about the benefits package, I stated that if I did not have a copy of the employee manual by the end of the week, I would seriously consider looking for work elsewhere.

This was a mistake. Not because they called me on my bluff; they didn’t, whew. This was a mistake because I would never consider working anywhere else. I like this job very much. Considering what I went through in job hunting, this job was very hard to get. So long as they didn’t send ninjas to kill me in my sleep, I would not consider quitting this job.

Fortunately, they got me my manual, and they said how glad they are to have me and how they wouldn’t want to lose me. Whew x2!

That was stupid of me, but I kept learning things about the benefits package after the fact, and it would have been nice to have it outlined from the beginning.

I should have just kept my mouth shut this week.

Yo!