Your New Best Friend, The Black Widow

It seems that being bitten by a black widow isn’t all bad. That is, there’s an upside to it. Sure, it is commonly fatal to children and the elderly, but in healthy adults, men in particular, it can prove to be a good thing.

In Chile, they call men who are particularly virile “spider-bitten”. Some clever scientists decided to pursue the facts behind the folklore. What they found was that a certain variety of black widow native to southern Chilean wheat fields may lead to superhuman virility. In strong young farmers the bite leads to “erections that can last for days and involve involuntary ejaculations.”

Hello lover!


Antonio de la Jarra reports for Reuters:

“Scientists have discovered a potentially marketable contraceptive in the venom of Chile's black widow spider, whose bite is fatal to many but can also cause prolonged, painful and involuntary erections in men.

“The venom of the Latrodectus mactans, a variety of black widow found only in the south of Chile, has spermicidal properties not found in black widows in other regions of the world, Chilean Dr Fernando Romero said.”

Hmmm…. What an incredible opportunity… a non-stop boner and no one gets knocked up... If only they can harness these properties…

Which is exactly what they are up to!

They are in the process of creating and patenting spermicidal gels, condom lubricants and whatnot that utilize the contraceptive and erectile dysfunction abating properties of the spider venom and they are going to be rich rich rich!

In the meantime, I’ve got a hot date tonight and I’m off to the rare and exotic pet store to pick up a certain black widow.

Dirty Nun

Apparently scandalous catholic clergy behavior is not exclusively pedophilic in nature.

Who says that being a nun means: Don't want nun, ain't never had nun, ain't gonna get nun.

Creepy Stalkers

I’ve never been stalked. At least, if I have been stalked, it’s been by someone who did so in a fashion that is subtle enough that I didn’t notice it. I’ve also never stalked anyone. I’ve googled people, and I assume that most people do that. As an adolescent, I would do the “drive by” maneuver to at the houses boys who I had crushes on and put myself in their paths but nothing that involved delusions that they might appreciate it or creating a vivid fantasy of my life with them. I may be too apathetic for that sort of thing. I’ve known people who were victims of stalkers and it really isn’t very funny or cute at all.

On a cross country flight, I watched a VH-1 show called Decades Live where they showcased Elvis Costello with Billie Joe Armstrong, Death Cab for Cutie and Fiona Apple honoring Big E and his influence on modern music. I’m a fan of Elvis Costello and have been since the end of the 1970’s. Not enough to stalk, but I think he’s real swell, like his writing style, his music, his geeky glasses, the whole shebang. One of the songs performed in this tribute was a duet with Elvis and Fiona Apple where she sang “I Want You” in a very creepy and alluring way. If I was to be stalked, I’d pick to be stalked by Fiona Apple.

I'm a Leaping Deer... Or Not.

Over the weekend, I got to hike up onto the top of this rock, also known as Deer's Leap Overlook, in the lovely hills of Vermont. I've got a thing for climbing onto rocks and watching the world from on high. A good time was had by all. And "all" consisted of me and my ever-lovin'-Kristie, who is a wing-nut from the word go, but always a good time to run amok in nature with. So, half way down the mountain, I managed to slide off a rock that I thought my foot was squarely planted on. And then there were three distinct echoing pops. And next thing I knew I was on my tuckus writhing and wincing in pain with alternately escaping through my clenched teeth, "Owie owie owie" and "fuckety fuck fuck fuck". Kristie, in a feat of great heroics, managed to get me to my feet and saw me the rest of the way down the mountain and then she kept me drunk for the rest of the weekend as I elevated and iced my sprained knee. None too pleased about how much my body is betraying me. At least I got a nice hike out of the deal before the wheels came off the bus.

Get Nekkid For Art

Claudio Cruz / AP

On Sunday, thousands of Mexicans stripped to thier skin and were part of an art installation conducted by Spencer Tunick. Apparently, there is a movement to cast away the image of Mexicans being prudish. Have they not been to Tijuana?

Another Bullet Dodged

My last post got me thinking about another tall tale of dodging bullets.

Becoming a geologist requires a lot of quality time camping. If you are lucky and you live in an arid region, you get to do this in the desert. Oddly enough, an academic discipline that requires going into nature, ya-hooing around in four wheel drive vehicles, hiking to some of the most beautiful places the mind can imagine, and sitting around a fire, drinking and telling lies can prove to be seductive. I totally fell for it being the easily seduced kind of lass and all.

If you’ve ever had the opportunity to go to Death Valley, you’ll know that it’s an amazing place. It’s admittedly challenging to stay for long in the searing heat of summer, but in the springtime, when the desert blooms… Amazing! There is really nothing like it.

On one of my many trips to the desert Mecca of Death Valley, I was camping with scads of people and a group of us built a fire and were drinking beer around said fire as is the tradition when sleeping under the stars in the desert. As the evening grew long, nature inevitably called. So into the desert I wandered to heed the call. I found a respectable shrub of chaparral and was in the process of squatting before said chaparral when from behind me, I heard the ominous rattling of a rattlesnake. This, for the record, did not scare the piss out of me. It scarred the piss right back from whence it came. So there I was duck walking away from my shrub grappling at my jeans to keep them from causing me to pitch onto my face and praying to anything that is holy that a) the rattlesnake wasn't a Mojave green, b) that it wasn't a baby, and c) that it didn't take that opportunity to pierce my butt.

All of which begs the question: Should my butt have been pierced by a rattlesnake, which of my friends would be drunk enough yet sober enough to suck the venom out of my rump? This can only be answered with another tall tale from the desert.

The previous autumn, I was in the Eastern Sierra Nevada, once again camping with scads of people and... you guessed it... drinking enthusiastically. My best friend, M, has a bad habit of getting drunk and forgetting that booze and pot don't mix. I've told her about this time and time again, but the girl won't listen and learns the lesson badly over and over again. This phenomenon has never really been a problem for me as I've been a pot-free-zone for most of my life. But it has given me the opportunity to point and laugh self-righteously. Anyhow, over the course of the evening, I lost track of dear M for a bit and when she showed up again, she was draped on Felix's shoulder. He promptly passed her off to me stating that he had to whiz (the slippery little bastard). As he walked away, I asked if he let her smoke pot and then damned him after he confirmed it. So poor M was in a state to be reckoned with and I said, "M, darlin', you have to execute the preemptive strike. It’s time to puke."

She slurred out, "I can't do that..."

"Of course you can!" said I.

"No, I can't." said she.

"You just shove your fingers down your throat until all lets fly."

"I can’t do that…" she insisted.

"M, come here. Hold back your hair, open your mouth and bend over."

To my surprise, she did. And my fingers went straight down her gullet and I tickled her tonsils until the heave ho was executed and she barfed her fool brains out. That's friendship. And you're darned skippy that she would suck the venom out of my ass!

For the record, the current first aid care standard for snake bites follows:
1) Call the Poison Control Center or EMS.
2) Do not attempt to suck the venom out of the victim.
3) Keep the affected limb below heart level.
4) Calm and reassure victim.

It’s not very proactive.

Happy Cinco De Mayo, Y'all

On this day, we take time to remember that a depleted ramshackle army of 4000 Mexicans can whip the ever loving shit out of the proud French army (8000 strong and well equiped, mind you). Viva la Raza, Y'all!

Bullet Dodged...

A few weeks ago, I was being courted by a fella, I'll go ahead and call him Frank. No... Francis... Because he was as lame as you would expect a fully grown man named Francis to be. So we met and were having a lively series of email exchanges leading up to what would be our first date. So in the process of all this, I managed to come down with a fierce head cold that was proving to be an impediment to our first date.

So I sent him this email:

Hey Francis,

Not a lot is new on my end except that I'm sick as a dog. Coughing, sneezing, snot everywhere. It's not so glamorous to be me right now. Feel free to call or email, but I'm afraid I'm not really up for fun and shenanigans.

To which he responded (and I've not edited his text) after several days:

H Fresh Hell
are you better, your last e-mail you didn't seem to horny, I expect you are feeling well now.?
What to talk/
Frank

Ok... so WTF?! Umm... I'm easy... but not that easy. So I told him as much because I'm like that. And I told him that if he wanted to talk or email me that would be fine and no hard feelings if he didn't. After a couple of weeks Francis sends me the following response:

Hi I was looking forward to talking with you again, or meeting for coffee. But I never agreed I would have sex with you, I think you presumed I would want to have sex with you, you really haven't shown me much, so no way was I thinking that. Perhaps if you impressed me, then maybe, I have 2 grad degrees, I know you have this intellectual superiority attitude, but believe me, it is not based in fact.

Ok, two graduate degrees and for the record, he claims to be a writer... of screenplays?!!! And an ability to occasionally complete a sentence renders me an intellectually superior sort? Since when?

I wonder if he seriously thinks that his charms will get him a visit to Happy Canyon. Yup... he's a champion. And here is a picture of the most recent bullet dodged:

Fuck him... He's a loser and a tool.

Deadly Handsome Men

Here is a sad summary of my past beaus. I'm not proud, but a gal has to eat.

Going to the Ci-Tay

In a couple of weeks, I'm having a long weekend in The City. I live near Boston, and when going there, it's generally understood that "I'm going to Town" means Boston. Likewise, when you tell anyone here you are going to "The City" they usually assume that you will be heading to New York City. However, if you say you are going to "Beantown" for Boston or "The Big Apple" for New York, natives to those areas will cringe.

As a native daughter of California, when I go back home, I go to "California". Here in New England, most people will greet this news with, "Oh, so you're going back to 'Cali'?" as I swallow back the bile that has surged up my gullet. Like two more syllables would kill you...Fuck! I assume that is the feeling that New Yorkers and Bostonians get when faced with "The Big Apple" and "Beantown", or how San Franciscans feel when their town is referred to as "Frisco" (which for the record, among Californians is "The City" while Los Angeles is far, wide, and no matter how you slice it, "LA"). It seems silly that these things should matter, but they all create a visceral response in natives. Curious. It seems that we all have insignificant things we need to cling to.

I'm also planning a trip to California this summer. I spoke with a friend of mine from "back home" who is a linguist and she says my accent is changing. It's clear that I need to recharge my Californian tongue. Not that there is anything wrong with the Boston accent, but on a lady, it just sounds low-brow and trashy. I am many things, but low-brow and trashy I ain't. So off I will travel to the Golden State where the letter "R" is a reality of language, intensifiers include "killer", "ripping", and "rad" not "wicked" and anyone can be called "dude" with a straight face (which for the record, makes me giggle on the inside). And so you don't misinterpret what I mean by a "California accent", I'm not talking about speaking Vally Girl. I don't speak in "likes" and "oh-my-gawd-Becky's". Anyhow, it will be nice to hear people speaking proper English not this railer colloquial New England spewing, but some fully kind local jargon from the west coast. (I'm bracing for the barrage from the Brits)

And speaking of "killer", the collective media is cumming all over themselves more than they have since September 11, 2001. Payday has arrived thanks to the unstable tendencies of an Oriental gunman in Virgina. The moral of the story, perhaps higher education is not always the best call. For that matter, perhaps leaving the house is ill advised. How long do you reckon we will have to hear interviews with people who are neighbors of someone who's child attended Virginia Tech and is alive and well, but we still have to see their hyperbolic emoting over people they don't actually know? Then there are all the other higher learning institutions across the country on high alert and camera crews ready in wait for the media glee of a chain reaction of catastrophic killings to unfold. Cynical? Perhaps.

Gads! Don't ever let me near a computer before I get coffee down the pipe.