7.13.05

Category: dribblings

so i’m painting at the Holy House and dad (the Schneider (spanish?) of the building) comes in and says, “i’m going to need you to help me on a job after lunch.”
“okay,” i say, “clogged drain?”
“no. um, well…”
“ew. toilet?”
“uhhh no. the lady in 205 says she killed a tarantula.”
“huh.”
“and she wants us to look in her closet and in some boxes to make sure it didn’t lay eggs.”
“yeah. um. are we qualified for that?”
“i don’t know.”
“we need a Tarantula Monkey for this, not a Paint Monkey.”
“yeah. or Steve Erwin.”
“no wait, better yet, let me run and get Crazy Lola. she can talk to spiders, y’know.”
“ha! that’s what we need!”
“and she’s probably not busy.”
“oh, i guarantee you she’s not busy.”

we actually didn’t believe that the lady had killed a real, honest to goodness tarantula. we figured it was probably just a big spider and that she just equates all big spiders with tarantulas. that is until we got there and she says, “now, aren’t they the ones that sneak in on banana bunches?”

huh, so maybe she does know what a tarantula is.

however, we found no spiders, giant or otherwise, and no eggs. but also, we wouldn’t know where to search for spider eggs if you held a gun to our heads.

here’s the kicker though. she said she killed the tarantula 3 weeks ago. and she just now told us about it. she said she kept thinking about it over and over and now she’s scared herself thinking about tarantula eggs hatching in her room.
it was slightly tempting to tell her that tarantulas bite people and lay their eggs inside the bite. but, that would be SO mean.

***

before it rained today, i mowed the lawn and cut down tree branches and trimmed up some of the wild crap that grows on the other side of the house (the alley way where Crazy Lola drives through my yard.) because it was needed. i scared lola’s sex spying cat, it hides in this tree by the street. it ran to her house and i yelled, “oh sure! run! you tattle tale!” it made me laugh. the cat looks a lot like toonces whorecat, only it’s ugly. it also sleeps on top of the volkswagen that’s parked in my yard.
no, it’s not my car.
sure, make an offer.

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