The spider

At work, I’ve been sending out weekly updates each Friday with new things going on around the library, important dates, etc. But, I also put something at the beginning that isn’t work related. It’s something people might get some entertainment out of, or so I hope. The last one got some good feedback around the office, so I thought I might post it here. Here it is:

A few days ago, I got in my car and started driving down the road, ready to come to work. Well, not ready to come to work, per se, but willing to do so. (I’m not a morning person; or an afternoon person, for that matter. I like the nighttime. It is the right time, after all, because they rhyme.) I was driving down the road, still yawning and rubbing my eyes, and I put my window down a few inches, hoping the unseasonably cold air will keep me from running off the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something at the window. Upon closer inspection, it was, in fact, a spider hanging down inside the glass and bobbing with the movement of the car like a pendulum.

I am scared of spiders. I’m okay with that. It’s only really a problem every once in a while.

Here’s how I saw the spider hanging down my window: BigspiderHere’s what it probably actually was: littlespider

My gaze was fixated on this terrible creature when I noticed I had run the car into the middle of the road. I watched the spider bob left to right. I knew I only had a limited amount of time before it would drop below the threshold of the window. I pulled the car to the side of the road. The spider swung closer to me. I just knew it was about to attack. I tensed up. The car was stopped. I inched my hand up the side of the door, just below where the spider was hanging, and hesitantly pushed the button to lower the window completely.

The spider was now dangerously close to the threshold, and if it made it and dropped into the car, I knew the result. I would have to abandon the car and run screaming into the dew-covered grass field up ahead.

I readied myself. The spider was still just hanging, twiddling its legs. I raised my right hand, slowly, mind you, because I knew any sudden movement could be my last. With a quick flick of my arm, I knocked the evil devil spawn out the window.

I breathed a sigh of relief, returned home to change my pants, and was back on my way to work. Crisis averted.



Here’s the schedule of what I’m working on, and I’ll post it up here as it’s done. I’m working on a short story about a celebratory lifeguard party.

After that, unless I get sidetracked (which is entirely possible), I’m getting into what is my new favorite genre of fiction: Harry Styles fan fiction. It’s my new favorite because I didn’t even know it existed until a few weeks ago. And yes, it is a thing. Go to I know exactly what you’re thinking: That’s the most amazing thing ever. The same thing went through my mind. (Side note: I didn’t even know who Harry Styles was before I found Harry Styles fan fiction, but I’ve since discovered who he is.)

There are even some NC-17 stories, and it doesn’t appear the teenage girls writing the stories know what NC-17 means. I started reading a few, and they were…fantastic! It was like reading Anne Frank writing about Peter Van Daan, except without the whole Holocaust thing. And the Harry Styles stories have a lot more unnecessary adjectives and adverbs, which I love. Sometimes, when I’m writing, I’m like, “Oh, this character’s smiling? No, he’s smiling incredibly narcissistically.” Oh yeah, I nailed those adverbs. Screw Stephen King and his whole “adverbs are unnecessary” thing. I don’t see any Stephen King stories on …loser.

Anyway, seriously (see? excellent adverb use), the Harry Styles story is a neo-noir murder mystery, and it will begin with two detectives describing the many cigarette burns, broken bones, signs of rape, and other terrible things done to Harry Styles’ dead body as they begin investigating the murder. And yes, it will be posted on Thanks to Ryan Peverly for helping conceptualize that story. I know, I know. He’s a douche, but he can be semi-creative at times.

It will be a story that can stand outside the Harry Styles fan fiction world. I’ll just change the names.

Dead squirrel

You know when your dog dances around you, ears perked up, tail wagging, all excited? It jumps and jumps until you follow it. When you get out to the porch, you see something terrible: a dead squirrel. Yes, a dead fucking squirrel. Gross.

But the dog doesn’t know any better. It’s excited. It brought this for you. It killed this animal (or found it, and wanted you to think it killed the squirrel; it is slightly decomposed).

Instead of taking it and flinging it in the air before devouring it, the dog thought, “Hey, you know that guy that’s always petting me and filling my bowl up with that food? I should take this to him. Oh yeah, he’d love it! Who wouldn’t love it? It’s a dead squirrel! Okay, maybe that food he gives me isn’t that great. It’s all dry and pretty bland. Honestly, sometimes I’d rather eat my own shit…and sometimes that’s just what I do.

“But God love him, that guy tries. I feel so bad for him. He spends all his free time with me. I never see him with a girl. He sits and watches a bunch of stupid shit on the flat window thing in the living room. I have to sit there with him. Sometimes, other dogs try to get in through that window, but they run away after I give them a little bark here and there. Pussies. He just watches that damn window and sometimes he holds a stack of paper, and flips the pages every once in a while. What kind of life is that? I mean, the guy’s a loser, pretty much. But I love him. And what better way to show him than bringing him this dead squirrel! Yay!”

So you see the squirrel, and you’re horrified at first, but you pretend it’s great. You smile and pat the dog on the head. It’s a lot like when your grandma gives you one of those hideous sweaters for Christmas, and you have to try to not look disgusted. Same thing: dead squirrel and ugly sweater. Pat the dog on the head; pat grandma on the head. 

That’s what this blog is. This is my dead squirrel to the world. I think it’s great, but everyone else knows it’s shit, and really, I just want a pat on the head.