“Where? Oh, God! Get him off me!”

TiVo has changed more than just one aspect of my life.

I’m not naming any names, but there were boys screaming in my living room the other day. I heard the word, “Spider!” screeched, and I thought perhaps I was needed to remove a spider from the room.

No. They were watching a documentary on spiders. They were huddled around couch cushions, screaming, “NO!” and “Mother fucker! Mother fucker! Would you look at that!” I walked towards the remote to shut the show off and they screamed again, “NO! Leave it! You have to see this! It’s the scariest thing ever!”

Not Halloween or Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist. Documentaries on spiders. One of the boys pointed and screeched, “Look! The spider is on his face! On his face! Ahh!”

[scripty]
PAMIE
I’m turning this off.

BOY 2
No! Not yet!

PAMIE
You two are going to have heart attacks. I’m turning this off.

BOY 1
Look! Look! Look! Look! That spider can swim! Oh my God, IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WHY DO THEY LET SPIDERS KNOW HOW TO SWIM?

BOY 2
Oh, my god damn god. No. It’s swimming.

PAMIE
Turn this off before you hurt yourselves.

BOY 2
Augh!

BOY 1
Augh!

BOY 2
Augh!

BOY 1
Augh!

BOY 2
Augh!

BOY 1
Augh!

BOY 2
Augh!

PAMIE
What is it?

BOY 1
Don’t you see? That’s a spider with SPIDERS crawling on it!

BOY 2
A spider with spiders crawling over it. That is some sick shit right there, people. Wrong. That is wrong.

PAMIE
You know it’s on television, right?

BOY 1
Move!

BOY 2
Oh, sweet Jesus. That spider’s got a face like Mickey Mouse. That’s so wrong.

BOY 1
AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!

BOY 2
Augh!

BOY 1
Augh!

BOY 2
Augh!

BOY 1
Augh!

BOY 2
Augh!

PAMIE
I refuse to help you anymore.
[/scripty]

Television shows of spiders. That’s all it takes.

Last night I went to a bar with some friends and I saw two of my favorite Mr. Show people in the world sitting at the opposite table. I dorked out and called people to tell them. For real. Then a group of people from my school came in and sat at another table. A friend from Texas was sitting at the bar. I looked around the room and saw that I knew about half of the people in the bar, some well, some not so well, some only by their work and I was sitting at a table with some of my closest friends in Los Angeles and there was something very comforting about it.

I needed some comfort, as I almost ate Tyson’s pack of cigarettes raw. Two months. It’s almost two months. And I just want to say, “No, it’s been, I guess…huh… about nine years, I guess.” It feels like I haven’t had a cigarette in nine years. It’s so pussy to be like, “Eight weeks! Give me a medal! Give me cash! I deserve things!” Eight weeks isn’t really an impressive amount of time.

And my break-up with cigarettes has reached that, “Oh, I’m cool and don’t need cigarettes,” but secretly I’m stalking cigarettes, trying to figure out why someone else gets to smoke cigarettes and I don’t. That bitch at the bar is too skanky to be with cigarettes and doesn’t know how to love cigarettes like I do. I still smell cigarettes on me every once in a while and I get all misty-eyed. I miss the hell out of cigarettes like, every five days. Then there are times I don’t think about it at all. It’s not that it’s getting easier, it’s just a different way of missing them. My friend Jessica is on her like, fifteenth day of not smoking. That’s an accomplishment. Between the two of us we’ve smoked more cigarettes than James Dean ever did. If the two of us can quit, anybody in the world can.

I like that people say it’s harder to quit smoking than to kick heroin. This makes me feel really good because now I know I can develop a heroin addiction and quit it. Obviously I’ll be able to.

These are just good things to know.

But knowing your roommates weaknesses is the most important. Not that he’s one of the nameless spider boys.

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