Witz Pickz: Hitting Bottom

Let me first say that while I am a hairy guy, I am not THAT hairy a guy-- which is to say, I am not as hairy a guy as you might expect if my crazy curly hair, darkened legs, and facial hair are any indicator. I don't yet have the "Sweater" although I'm pretty sure there is an epic genetic war going on in that department to determine my future. I have had two separate hairdressers say, "Oh, you don't need me to shave your neck-- most guys with your...hair...need me to shave their neck." What I have on my back are sporadic, but symmetrical patches of hair that can best be described as "Wings." They are right where you would expect wings to start growing, and they are primarily conical in shape. To be clear, I don't THINK I have wings, I am simply telling you what these patches look like. And then, of course, there's the slight glazing of rebel hair, awaiting their moment to find a weakness and strike-- to become the dominant hair group.

SO, now that you have a slightly better knowledge of my furrial lanscape, lemme tell you how I hit rock bottom. Because of the sporadical nature of the wings, it's a pretty easy process to shave the hair off when I feel like it. So yesterday, grabbing my electric razor, I jumped into the shower without turning the water on, popped open the medicine cabinet so I could see in the mirror, and went to work. I mean, sure, some of the most uncomfortable arm angles known to man were involved, and yes, it is extremely difficult to manuever a razor on your back IN A MIRROR with your arm TWISTING AROUND (have you ever played that game where you twist your wrists around, interlock your fingers, flip your arms up and have someone pick a finger you are supposed to try moving, but your brain can't quite figure out which moves which? It's like that), but I pulled it off. It's not something I would attempt to do smoothly in public to impress anybody, and people would probably think I had MS or cerebral palsey, but in the privacy (pronounce that priv-a-see just this once and see how it feels-- creepy, right?) of my own home (and apparently in text for all to see), I felt comfortable.

I get distracted by email or lunch or something else after doing this, so instead of taking a shower, I leave the bathroom for about forty-five minutes. No big deal.

Here's something else you should know about me if you don't already: I'm terrified of spiders. I don't like em. I don't like their look, I don't like their Poisonous/Not Poisonous randomness, and I don't like their schtick-- the web-making, the waiting, the pouncing, the saving their food for later while they lie stunned. I don't like that they can swing, stick upside-down, drop, repel, and sometimes jump. I don't like that they have fangs, venom, and sometimes fur. I am wary and freaked out by the little ones just as much as I am by the big ones, but the big ones are absolutely terrifying. Except, I would rather have that "Attack of the GIANT Spider" than an "Attack of a Regular, but Poisonous Spider," any day, because the giant ones would not really have the properties I fear the most. Stealth. I don't like how they scuttle. I don't like that they could be in my bed without me knowing, I don't like that they might bite me while I sleep, and I didn't like the movie Arachnophobia except for the part where John Goodman goes crazy with the blow torch. I don't like how they may or may not have laid eggs in Taco Bell tacos (just the fact that the rumor exists says something...for both spiders and Taco Bell). I disapprove of their moral compass and their innate judgement. So I don't like spiders.

Getting back to the bathroom, it's time for a shower. I futz around with the mirror and my scruff for a minute lackadaisically, strip down, turn on the water and hop in. Get ready for it. Suddenly, a large brown mass floats past my vision as I get into the shower. It is large, and brown, and dangerously close. So I SCREAM. Not like a little girl, but like a Man, fearing for his life, and shocked out of his wits(z). I SCREAM and I hop out of the shower, tripping over myself, grasping for a towel and something to strike with at the same time (note: I don't like how spiders could be hiding in my towel). I step back towards the shower and that's when I see it-- a clump of hair. Yes, people, I screamed in terror as a clump of MY OWN BACK HAIR that I SHAVED OFF attacked me. And that's when I knew I'd hit bottom. When your own excessive body hair comes back to scare you, you have to start re-examining your life.

Now, I'm not a physics man, but I think I can tell you what happened. The water pressure is strong in my shower, and since I aimed the nozzle at the wall as I entered, the draft created along with the curtain being open, led to a breeze that blew the clump from the curtain where it had clung earlier towards the wall, forcing it past my vision. The surprise, in conjunction with the delay between shave and shower, in conjunction with everything I'd been hearing about California having spiders, in conjunction with recent comments from adult figures regarding spiders, made me believe this brown object was a spider. I would say that if I thought about it, I believed it was a Brown Recluse Spider-- theoretically the worst brown RECLUSE spider ever. There's no hiding in the shower.

Regardless of reason or explanation, there's no turning back from the shame that I now have from the event. In telling this story, I hope to at least admit that I have a problem, and hope that someday I can move on. If there is any truth in Fight Club, it is that you have to hit bottom before you can start rebuilding, and yesterday, I did just that. Of course, I can't help thinking that this is now the best possible time for a spider to strike in the shower. It's like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, only far more scary, because I'd notice a wolf in the shower and you'd probably see some evidence. So if you find me dead in the shower with swelling on my body, don't assume that I had a panic attack-- that's just what the spiders want you to think.

Step By Step, Day By Day, Fresh Start Over...Something Somethng Something Something,
Witz