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99 Days to Wed

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I’m a pretty singular person. Not in the sense of “oh look at me, I’m so great, there’s no one like me!” singular, but singular in the sense that I don’t like being in relationships. I like being single. Also in the sense that I used to work for Cingular. I was a singular Cingular person. Except I worked for them twice.

My point, readers, is that I like my own company. I’m a great conversationalist with myself. I could talk to myself all day. Sometimes I do. If you and I meet face to face, you will probably call me a good listener. Anyways, I’ve been fine with this arrangement for a few decades now. But the other day, my mom said something to me that changed everything. “What would happen” she asked, “if you were alone and a black widow bites you?”

(it’s this)

I can stomach the idea of a childless existence (prefer it, actually) and will gladly traverse into my twilight years alone if it means that I will always have the remote control, but this was an Achilles heel I had not considered before.

Some of you may have noticed, I’m a little scared of spiders. Actually, I know you’ve noticed because I have the gruesome stories, videos and pictures to prove it, you sadists. When I first started drawing about my arachnophobia, some doubters thought I could not conceive of 99 ways in which I was afraid of them. At least consider a different title, the doubters said. Leave yourself a back door. Sure, those doubters may have been in my head and this could have been one of those conversations with myself. What matters is that the doubters had a point.

Even if you revisit some themes.

30 plus comics in, I am running out of steam. Not because I am running out of ways to be afraid, but because I’m running out of ways to convey it in my chosen form. How do you draw a stick figure representation of a spider crawling in your mouth and down your throat and laying eggs in your stomach so that it’s million babies eat you slow from the inside out? Seriously. I’m asking.

Not that it matters, because I had a flash of inspiration. It is very, very easy to take horror movies of all shapes and sizes and drop a spider in as the villain.

Norman’s mother was a spider and you know it.

Why is it so easy? Because spiders are very very evil and they do in fact want to kill you. I know they do all sorts of awesome things like kill pests and other stuff I guess, but I’m sticking with my them or me mentality.

Which brings me back to the beginning. My circular, singular journey. You cannot remain vigilant when your enemy can seize you in your sleep. I now know I have to be married, post haste. All you have to do is promise to be by my side, always always always and protect me from any and all spiders in line of sight. For this, I will pledge my eternal love to you and perform any service you consider to be a spousely duty and in the bounds of legality, or at least ethics.

All applicants may send reply via any small animal antithetical to the presence of spiders or time travelling carrier pigeon, serious inquiries only please.

Matrimonially yours,
Martin

(the preceding article is dedicated to Vince who lovingly shared that he found a black widow in a space which I regularly visit… thanks for the inspiration?)

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Not Inclusion

Brutha, Can You Spare a Home?

Brutha, Can You Spare a Home? published on No Comments on Brutha, Can You Spare a Home?

So things have been a little quiet at Camp EaZee lately. I know you would probably think current events have me too down to speak up, but then you would have not met me. I may be down, but I plan to speak for at least three years after I’m dead (note: this is just a when it happens thing. I’m alive and well and writing from an undisclosed location that in no way resembles the island on Lost. Sadly).

No, what’s kept me quiet is my sacred trust of pet sitting for my BFF. I know that there’s this rumor that cats sleep sixteen hours a day , but god the damage they do in those last 8 hours is formidable. And it doesn’t even have to be damage of anything but the mental variety. Cats have their own way of gaslighting. They do things that make you doubt your own reality. Right now Marley, who is a colorful character, is sitting on the heating register and cleaning himself. Is this the kitty version of a hot shower or a bidet? Just what the heck is that about? The heater was already on, so there must be something about the feeling of hot air on one’s bum this little kitty finds appealing.

His mate (as in pal, not literal mate) Mithras does this thing where he goes down to the basement and he yowls. He does this long and he does this loud. Again, the Rorschach thing. I have no idea why he does this. I imagine he’s sad. He misses his owner and he needs a quiet corner to express his displeasure at the universe. I have no reason to believe this. On the contrary, he does it when he owner is here as well. But that’s what my mind imagines. His owner is a musician and he could be just as easily writing her a song. These cats are cryptic.

But creative. This took some skills.

Then there are the dogs. Like many dogs, these dogs are the opposite of cryptic. Their transparency would be laughable if it were in a movie instead of in the kitchen. Ranger looks at the cat dishes about once an hour to remind me that they’re empty. I can (and do) tell him that he’s not a cat. He shouldn’t eat cat food. But he’s a dog and doesn’t speak english. He does speak dog, and the language of dog is “I’ll eat anything that looks like some kind of food substance”. The cats must be practically hand fed because Ranger is a nervous eater.
Finally, there’s Stella. She’s the most loving creature you will ever want to meet. Like many love stories, she worries that she’s not loved so much as she loves. She has giant brown Disney doe eyes and she knows how to use them with military precision. She’s 45 pounds and has yet to be convinced she’s not a lap dog, because she’s a big furry walking hug. If you don’t mind having the world’s heaviest fur stole, I think it’s a role she would happily take on.

Taken all together, all four of these animals are a handful and a half. Because they outnumber you four to one. Imagine having two sets of twins, one pair two years old and the other pair one and it’s something like that. Easily managed if you live in an it takes a village house, more daunting if there are four of them and you have only the two hands.

Guess which one of these is my favorite right now.

For all that, I’m enjoying myself immensely. Not only because these are incredibly quirky, cute, adorable animals and my landlord says “No pets! Grrr!”, but because this will probably be the last time I get to pet sit them. Their owner has had a lot of life changes over the past few years and no longer really has the capacity to care for the twins and the twins. If you are in the area of Utah (ok, so my location isn’t totally undisclosed) and your household (or a friend’s household) would like a super awesome animal that needs some one on one TLC, drop me a line. The more free time you have, the better it will work. Stella, in particular, is about the best emotional support animal you would ever want to meet. I guarantee these animals will love you more than you love them, however much that is.

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