kitchen bitch kryptonite

there's not many creatures in this world that i'm scared of. partly because the creatures i am regularly exposed to aren't that scary {canada is not exactly known for killer sharks, crocodiles, or anything poisonous}, and partly because i am usually able to find the good in every creature. 


for example, the poor, misunderstood spider. they mind their bidness, spin their pretty webs, and kill pesky bugs. what's not to love? fuck man, they have 8 eyes! that is some cool shit! i really like spiders.. so much so, that one of my fondest spider-related memories is of BF and i having a toke outside in a light summer rain and watching a group of spiders maintain their webs and wrap up a few unsuspecting insects who were so masterfully caught in these awe-inspiring works of art. YES, i know, i was stoned.. isn't EVERYTHING awe-inspiring? but man, those spiders were the shit. ok, so i'm getting a tad off topic, aren't i? well i guess you could say i kind of dreaded writing this, even though i wanted to. but it's january, and i'm safe from the winged spawns of satan for another 5 and a half months. 


basically, that ugly motherfucker up there is one of my BIGGEST fears ever, and that is the subject of this post. maybe they will be less terrifying if i can laugh at them, or at least make someone laugh at me. i know, i know. they don't bite, they don't sting.. some fucking psychos people even think they're cute. ugh. so this fear makes absolutely no sense, right? but still, i am reduced to a cowering, screaming, crying, hyperventilating wreck if one so much as zooms by my head. many a dumbass has had a chuckle at my expense as i spastically jerk around, twitch, jump, and scream at every little sound that even bears a passing resemblance to that horrible, blood-curdling whir and click of their disgusting little wings; this, of course on the rare occasion that i allow myself to be put in a position where i have to be outside during their peak season. 


i don't know when this weird, irrational phobia began. and it really is a phobia, not just a case of being creeped out by a bug. here is the definiton of phobia according to wikipedia: "A phobia (from the Greek: φόβος, Phóbos, meaning "fear" or "morbid fear") is a type of anxiety disorder, usually defined as a persistent fear of an object or situation in which the sufferer commits to great lengths in avoiding, typically disproportional to the actual danger posed, often being recognized as irrational. In the event the phobia cannot be avoided entirely the sufferer will endure the situation or object with marked distress and significant interference in social or occupational activities."


i do not like being classified as having a "disorder" at all; i'd rather just say i'm unique.. quirky even.. but who am i to argue with wikipedia?! {*snickers*} what i will admit is that i do indeed have a "persistent fear" for the aforementioned winged spawns of satan, and i will go to GREAT MOTHERFUCKING LENGTHS to avoid any exposure at all to them. obviously, this is VERY disproportional to the actual danger, because like i said THEY DON'T BITE. also, when i can't avoid them {read: when they ATTACK} i react with something a bit more intense than "marked distress". i'll give you a couple examples before i go curl into the fetal position somewhere over the realization that i have but 5 and half months before they begin their annual reign of terror. 


DEMONBUG SEASON '06
i was hugely pregnant with #2, it was early june. i was so hot and uncomfortable inside the house because we had no AC, and as soon as the sun started to go down i had shut most of the windows so i wouldn't have to hear the blood chilling buzz and click of the dirty little assholes trying to get in through the screen. yeah yeah, i KNOW that they couldn't get in, there were no holes, but FUCK. i was scared ok? scared shitless. 
but of course, BF and his silver tongue convinced me to come out onto the porch and cool off a bit in the middle of the night. it was breezy, and he assured me that he would not let a single junebug within 5 feet of me. so he brought out my chair, and stayed true to his word. but then one of his friends stopped in, seeing the light on. this guy is an ASSHOLE, in every sense of the word. after shooting the shit for awhile with BF, he commented on my incessant twitching and ducking at every noise. with a sigh i admitted my fear, not expecting anything worse than a little teasing. a few minutes later, ASSHOLE decides to try to be funny by pretending to grab a junebug out of the air and throw it at me. WELL, i am telling you that i don't think i have ever moved my ass that fast in my life, at least not while carrying around an extra 50lbs of pregnant lard. i was in the house and locked in the bathroom within seconds, huddled down by the sink in a sickening, sobbing mess. then i heard BF yelling. FUCK. i had to pull myself together enough to go back out and see what was up. ASSHOLE was terrified, apologizing hysterically as soon as he saw me, going on about it being just a joke, and backing away from BF, who was ready to lose it. thankfully i was able to convince him to chill out and let ASSHOLE leave without tearing his head off.


DEMONBUG SEASON '07
it was late-may, the winged devils were just getting into the swing of things. we had recently moved to a small town about 3 hours away from where we originally come from. i was in no way prepared for the earlier appearance of the fuckers, but i was coping. i also didn't want to pass on this fear to my boys, and damage them somehow. 
BF had a manual labour type job, and he worked long, hard hours every day. part of my ritual every evening was to run him a hot bath as soon as he got home to help with the soreness. on one such occasion, he asked me if i would mind washing his clothes for the next morning, as he hadn't done his laundry {yeah, i know!! he does his own laundry, YAY}. this was back in the 2 kid days, so i didn't have quite the same hatred for laundry as i do now, so i said SURE, NO PROBLEM. little did i know what the evil hell's minions had in store for me. you see, SOMEONE had left the windows open in the basement where our washer and dryer were. that same SOMEONE had also left all of the basement lights on. add that to the fact that by the time i made it down there, it had been dark for at least an hour.. well if you know anything about these junebugs, you'll probably know that they love light and are drawn to it, AND they are most active once the sun goes down. of course, none of this had occurred to me. after all, who would be cruel and/or stupid enough to leave ANY window open during hellbug season?! anywho, down the stairs i went, tired after a long day of minding a 1 year old and a 4 year old. i was in too much of a cartoon-induced stupor to take any note of my surroundings. it was my house, i felt safe. 
BF didn't have quite enough laundry for a load, so i figured i'd throw in a couple pairs of jeans from the kids' pile too. i picked up the closest pair in the pile, and that's when i saw it. those next few seconds passed by like hours as i first realized that the jeans i was holding were covered with at least 20 fucking junebugs, THEN looked up and saw them fucking EVERYWHERE: on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor, and flying around the bare lightbulbs. how the fuck had i been so tired as to not have noticed that awful clicking, buzzing sound?! i'm not sure how long i was frozen there, like a deer caught in headlights, before i started screaming and swearing and running up the stairs. i went straight to my room, still screaming, stripped naked, shook out my clothes and put new ones on, all the while feeling like they were all over my body, under my skin, in my hair, EVERYWHERE. but they weren't, i was just sketched the fuck out. well, BF had nearly went into cardiac arrest at all the madness and mayhem that had erupted and had hopped out of the tub, running naked through the house in a panic trying to find me. it took ages to compose myself enough to tell him what had happened, but when i did he redeemed himself for leaving the windows open and the lights on. as tired as he was, he went downstairs for at least 2 hours and killed every last one of those evil, disgusting little bastards. he even disposed of the disgusting little carcasses, and tried his best to wipe up the stains left around each little murder scene. despite the great lengths he went to in order to right his wrong, however, i was afraid of going down there by myself for the next few weeks. 




and there you have it folks. my kryptonite. the one thing that will have me crying and begging for mercy within seconds. even though this may accomplish nothing but making a few of you laugh at my expense, i'm hoping that maybe the utter ridiculousness of this fear will become more clear to me and that some day i'll be able to get over it. ugh. 


after all of that revisiting of past traumas, i gotta go eat some cigarettes while curled into the fetal postion and regroup just a little. anyone have a valium?