So....I got stuck in a fence once

Ok. So stuck might not be the right word. I guess dangling would be the best term. What happened you ask? Well, I was around 17 at the time. We just got new neighbors and they happened to have three kids whose ages were in-between mine and my sister's age (we are 5 years apart). Even though they only lived across the street, new boundaries caused them to have to go to different schools than we did. It took a while for our initial meeting since right when they moved in, school started. Eventually the "heys" and "hellos" happened and they ended up inviting us over one day. We were asked to come in through the side of their property as their aunt and uncle, who they lived with, were going to be gone and preferred they didn't have people over when they weren't there. Of course that's the best time to have people over, so as a teenager, you get it. Anyway, the side of their property consisted of a large field of tall grass with a fence that ran along side it. To avoid anyone being able to report back to their aunt and uncle that we were there, we were to go to the side door. So, there we were. Me, my sister, and a friend of hers. We walked down the street a little ways and then kind of scaled back until we were in the field. We came upon the fence, which was about as tall as I was (5'2") so you had to climb up and jump over. I thought I'd be really cool and go first. Totally show the middle school kids how it's done. I always took any and every opportunity to show off my total awesomeness to my sister and her friends since they looked up to me. Unfortunately I tend to forget that I'm not always the most graceful person. As I went to jump off the top of the fence, my shoelace got caught on something. When I should have landed on my feet, acting as if I just did some amazing daredevil stunt, I'm instead dangling upside down, one leg stuck upright because of my shoes attachment to the fence post, the other flailing around as I try to jerk myself to get unstuck. Unfortunately this did nothing to get me free from the fence and I'm not acrobatic enough to fold myself in half in order to reach my shoe, so I had to rely on my sister and her friend. Once they were done laughing, they managed to get me unhooked. They really should be glad I didn't hurt myself, but whatever. I was very thankful that the grass was at least tall enough that no one else could have seen what happened. I would have died of teenage mortification. I stood up and got the grass out of my hair, brushed all the dirt off my clothes, and then we headed over to the side door and knocked. I played it real cool. Totally acting as if I hadn't just did a face plant into the ground while hanging upside down and wiggling around as if I had ants crawling all over me. Luckily I had the sense to threaten my sister and her friend into total silence. Although it didn't stop them from giggling all the way up to the door, I knew they wouldn't dare say anything. Our new neighbors opened the door and inside we went. A moment of awkwardness passed over everyone while we all just sat there, not saying anything. Finally one of them asked me if I was ok. I gave them one of my best raised eyebrow looks I do when I feel like someone just asked me something completely stupid and said, "Yea. Why?" He reached over, pulled a twig out of my hair, and then they all burst out laughing. Apparently the grass is not as tall as I thought. They saw my grand leap from the top of the fence, only to disappear from sight. That is, except my foot, which they could see sticking straight up pointing towards the sky as they looked through the window, waiting for us.

So......I'm growing my bangs out

Let me start off by saying that there has never been a time in my life that I have not had bangs. For some reason I have always been self-conscious about my forehead. I don’t know why as it’s just a normal forehead. Nothing weird about it. It’s not like it’s a beacon for aircraft to use as a landing strip. I’m not attempting to hide a family history of the dreaded unibrow. I’ve just always been aware of it. In my younger years, I spent quite a bit of time looking at it in the mirror trying to determine why it bothers me so much. I’d pull my hair back to scrutinize it, turning from side to side. Nothing….and yet it still made me take my hair and fan it across the space above my eyes in hopes to conceal the idea that I even had a forehead to begin with. Everyone is always talking about body issues and body shaming. Maybe I have forehead issues. I guess that could be a real thing. I mean obviously it is for me. Seems a bit odd….but then I’ve never been completely normal.

Some people probably think that since I’ve had bangs this long and I obviously have issues with my forehead, why even bother growing them out. The answer? No idea. I just decided one day to give it a go. Maybe it’s my minds idea of a mid-life crisis. Although I refuse to believe I’ve reached mid-life yet. Lots of people live passed 100. Regardless of the reason, I’m finding the whole process a bit frustrating. I mean normally my bangs grow at such a rapid pace that I am practically trimming them every other day to keep them out of my eyes. Since I’ve decided to let them grow, they’ve gotten to right below the eye level point and seem to just stay there. It’s a bit annoying. I keep having to blow them out of my face. I know I could just pin them back, but for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t want to do that. I still find myself styling them in a way that causes them to fall in my direct into my eyes, causing me to blink rapidly and make sure my contacts don’t pop out. I’ve been tempted to grab the scissors, but everyone freaks out and tells me to stop. Wait it out a little longer. It will be worth it. I hope so. I’d hate to think I would go through all this just to, at the end, get bangs again. I guess I will just suffer through it. How much worse could it get?

So.....I hate spiders

The Houdini of the arachnid world, spiders just seem to be able to appear and disappear as if by magic. Many times I have left a room to get a shoe, newspaper, flame thrower….and when I come back, it’s gone. Just like that. Vanished. And of course no matter how hard I look, I can’t find it anywhere, so to continue living in my home is no longer an option. As much as I hate them though, I don’t believe the feeling is mutual. They seem to love me. They follow me everywhere. I even have had them fall into my lap. It’s occurred more than once! One particular time I was sitting in a chair in my living room reading a book when a spider fell right on the page I was reading. I have no idea where it came from as I always do a quick “spider sweep” when I enter a room. But there it was. Falling out of nowhere to land right in front of me. Needless to say, if I could throw like that all the time, I could have made a career as a softball pitcher.

The worst part of seeing a spider in your home is that when you notice it, no can of Raid is in sight. And of course no amount of pointing it out to my cats and yelling, "Well? Are you going to kill it?!?" gets them up and motivated enough to rid the home of this leggy intruder. I usually have to go to the next best thing. Whatever bottle full of chemicals or object is within arm’s reach. I’ve killed spiders with hairspray, oven cleaner, tennis rackets, coffee cups, Windex, laundry starch, you name it. Normally if I am able to get my hands on a chemical, I spray the bottle of death behind me while I run away (I'm usually screaming as well) so I can’t always say I actually hit it until I force myself to go back and examine the crime scene. I then creep real slowly back into the room with my weapon of choice (I usually upgrade to something more solid) and a flashlight, eyes darting everywhere looking for the spider body. I'd think about how nice it was when our kids still lived at home because I’d just have them do it. I figured bravery would be a good trait for them to learn. But they are adults now and don’t like it when I call asking them to come over just for that reason. If I am lucky enough to be able to send someone else in, a spider hitman if you will, I always demanded proof that it is, in fact, deceased. As unsettling as it is, I need to see the body. For the sake of myself and everyone else who lives in the home, it’s a necessity. Sometimes, when I’m absolutely certain that the spider will not suddenly spring to life, I will leave its body where it is for a little while as a warning to others.

What I find the most baffling when it comes to spiders though, is that there are people who actually like them. Seriously. They find them cute and keep them as pets. I know a couple of them. I’m pretty sure they are deranged. I refuse to go in their house. Ever. If I have to stop by their home for any reason, I will honk and talk to them from the safety of my car while it’s still running so I can make a quick getaway if need be. I know for a fact that they will let the creature out of its cage and allow it to walk freely around their home. Of course they try to say that they don’t do this when they have company. But I don’t trust them. They’ve aligned themselves with the spider community. I won’t take that chance.