arachnophobia

(Written Sunday)

Today I woke up. Then I read. For four hours. And finished my book. Frick I love not studying and having time to do things like this! Not for long...



Oh, also, I haven't gotten ANY pics from anyone yet! I mean of your houses/apartments. I dunno if you all assume that everyone else will do it so you don't need to, but um ... I THINK YOU'RE ALL THINKING THE SAME THING...hence I have a problem. Please please please, if you even have 5 minutes just send me 2 or 3 little pics. PLEASE. I would be very grateful.



Um. So you will NEVER guess what I did yesterday. Now many of you probably know that I HATE SPIDERS. WITH AN UNBRIDLED AND LIMITLESS PASSION. I sometimes have dreams that I'm in our old living room in Ellefeld and there are spiders everywhere. Covering the walls, carpet, ceiling, piano, everything. And the giant coffee table that was always in the middle of the room is actually a GIANT MOTHER SPIDER. And I'm frozen. I can't move. I'm just in a room full of God's nastiest joke on 90% of the female population. Rebekah (my sister, Rebekah) knows what I'm talking about. In fact I think she might hate them even more than me, if that's humanly possible...


So yesterday I was in Chemnitz for the day with Daniela, Claudia, Elisabeth, and Ulli. We visited the Naturkundemuseum (a nature museum???...i don't know how else to translate that) and they had a giant "Insektarium" in there. Oh, and by the way...there were INSECTS in there. And bugs. And beatles. And gross yucky living creatures that in my opinion simply have too many legs. I mean, things that scuttle, scurry, and can disappear in the folds of my sweater or my carefully straightened hair without me noticing. CUZ THEY JUST HAVE PLAIN OLD TOO MANY LEGS. Anywho, so this lady had brought out a giant spider and had it sitting on this piece of bark in the middle of a table where a photography class was going nuts over it. We didn't even notice what they were taking pics of til this insect lady overheard me say I was going to barf if the tarantula we were examing behind the glass started moving. She then proceeded to pick up giant tropical centipedes and reach into cages with scorpions in order to test my gag reflexes and try to convince me that they really do belong in the "cute and cuddly" category. Um. No. But anyways, she then drew our attention to the table with the giant "Kraushaarvogelspinne" just sitting there. No cage. No net. No bullet-proof glass separating me from this nasty hairy fang-bearing creature. And then she started petting it ... and then she TOLD ME TO PET IT!


Instinctive reaction: "ARE YOU CRAZY, WOMAN? DO YOU ENJOY CLEANING UP BILE AND CHUNKS OF TOAST AND APPLE????" (My breakfast...in case you didn't get it...) Well, thankfully I was blessed with some primitive form of filter and managed to clamp my jaw shut before these words escaped my lips.

But then I was like, "No way. I'm not some silly girly-girl who's afraid to try new stuff and get over stupid fears. And I won't turn into one now" So I FREAKING TOUCHED A TARANTULA. TWICE. It was as soft as velvet. Seriously. Incredible feeling.

And I'm just gonna say this: I'm fricking proud of myself. Boo-yah.

oh, if you're interested, pics of the gals and me in chemnitz here: http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=111180&id=573967603&l=bc4ed4fcea


Last point for the day:

I've noticed something curious here in Germany. If you go to the movies here, you'll quickly realize that once the film is over and the credits start rolling ... you should just stay sitting. They actually watch the credits out here. I mean, some get up and leave, but it doesn't quite take after the bomb evacuation drill that the post-movie-stampedes in Canadian theatres resemble. I mean, honstly, as soon as the screen goes black and the last sentimental instrumental sequence trails off, indicating the finality of said cinematic experience, North American movie-goers are almost out to their cars already. It's like someone walked into the theatre with one of those baseball game t-shirt guns packed with 10 kilos of anthrax or something. But here in Germany you just sit. And wait. I find myself tapping my heels and drumming my fingers, even considering yelling "Fire" at the top of my lungs. I mean, do I really care who did Anne Hathaway's makeup? Or who did Anne Hathaway's makeup artist's makeup?

Mmmmmm. That would be a no.


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