I Did Something Nasty Yesterday

My friend Liz invited some friends over for dinner.
We sat around the table eating the quintessential Australian BBQ....you know your average, sausages, salad, potatoes...
Not talking much. gulping like Mackerel, trying to think of conversation. It's a funny situation, like suspended animation, when you're in a group who aren't kids, but aren't quite adults. You are not quite sure who you are yet, or how you interact with other human beings.

I was observing the rather awkward table, and asked, "So...is everyone here from the Pressie Church?"
Everyone made noises to the affirmative.

"What church do you go to?" a reedy voice from across the table piped up. A young socially awkward kinda guy.
I had a choice here. Tell the truth, the boring truth. Or spice up the night a bit.

"I actually go to the Kotku Mosque," I announced, "I would never step foot into a church!"


"Oh, okay..." the guy mumbled. Christians Never Know what to say in that situation. My friends Isaac and Dan looked at me rather surprised as they weren't aware of my sudden religious conversion.

My friend Liz grinned.

"I suppose you won't mind, then, when we discuss the five points of Calvinism over dessert?"

"Oh not at all, " I waved my hand affably, "If you won't mind, when I put a fatwa on you!"

Everyone laughed. I basked in the attention. This may have nudged me off the edge, when Nervous Guy continued:

"So where are you from?"

"Um, I'm actually from England." In My Best British Voice.

"Ah, okay, I thought I heard an accent. What part of England?"

Getting in Deeper.

"Ah, Sussex"

"Oh, Sussex. I have some friends from Gloucestershire, that's not far from Sussex is it?"

Damn, he has friends near there! Make an intelligent comment up!

I half laugh, "They must be very poor, coming from there..."

He chuckles, too, "Oh yes, they are, they say it's a crap place...."

That was Very Lucky.Time to push my luck.

"So, would you call this a typical dinner?" I ask innocently, spreading my hands over our now cold food.

"Yeah pretty much," Poor Nervous Lied-To Man nods. "What would you call a Typical English dinner?"

"Bangers and Mash." I answer promptly.

It must be noted, it was very lucky he did not question me on this. What the heck are Bangers and Mash?

Anyways, by now, all my friends who know me are cacking themselves, trying not to bawl with laughter.

I ended up pretty much embarrassing the guy pretty badly, when the two questions, "How long have you been away from England?" and "How old are you?" rendered the same answers.

The guy turned red, mumbled into his plate, while I felt worse than the leftover soggy coleslaw.

Never do this to anyway, ever! Only if you never have to see them again!

NIDA scouts, if you are out there....I'm a flippin' genius at acting. Recruit me! Recruit me!

Indiana Haase and the Huntsmen of Doom

Had a rather horrifying moment driving home not long ago.

I'm driving along the highway...after having dinner with some of my awesome older friends, Anne and Bill.

Suddenly, the Sinister and Threatening Silhouette of an Ultra-Large Huntsmen creeps across my vision... and to my absolute Horror, I realize it's jutting towards me...That Spider is INSIDE my car!!!

Hurriedly, and only 27% safely, I jerk the car onto the side of the road, and quickly extricate myself, all the while making high pitched squeaks of Horror.
It's funny how absolutely one's psyche demands personal removal from Spider Surrounds...as if the little buggers are just going to bare their fangs, and leap for the Jugular, and begin to: "NOM NOM NOM!"

Removing my shoe, and darting my eyes around like a Trained Killer, I jog the dashboard, and get the Invader into position. With an almighty THUMP, I whip my shoe onto the top of it's bare, hairy head. But this is no ordinary spider. This is obviously some kind of well-trained Kamikazee Spider.

Because when I hit the durn thing, it Dropped to the floor of my car...and no matter how gingerly I searched, I couldn't locate it.
I wanted to give it another THUMP, because upon examination of my shoe, the complete lack of Spider Guts convinced me that it was alive, and only slightly wounded, inside my car....just waiting to take revenge.

Realizing with an unreasonable shiver that I had pulled over in front of the Juvenile Justice Centre, I knew I had to return to my Spider-infested car and get home somehow.
This was not easily achieved, as I was afraid to touch the floor....petrified of the Creeping Legs that were bound to return when I was least prepared....

Laugh Not, Cruel Arachnid! I Will Have my Revenge, and you Will Die!

And as Colin Buchanan so aptly puts it:

Don't help a spider out of his troubles
Cause he won't listen to you
You'll soon find yourself on the wrong side
 of A Stomping Foot or Insecticide....